Page 95 of Hearts of Locke Hill

She turned.

Lord Buckley rubbed a hand down the side of his face.

“I think you’ve had help,” she said, and he choked on a laugh. “Really though,” she went on, “I’d no idea—that is—I wasn’t expecting—”

He sighed and shook his head. “Obviously, if you were so unaware of my intentions. Your staff, on the other hand …”

“They were not subtle, were they?” she asked.

He shook his head. “As subtle as a locomotive. They are loyal to you, Miss Whittemore. I had no idea how deeply entrenched you were to this place.” He looked around, and then he scrunched his face up. “A course on the study offlight?”

She nodded. “Yes. Absolutely. America can’t have the corner on that one, can they? Not when we gave them the boy who could fly.”

He watched her, and she remained steady under his gaze.

“You won’t consider leaving this school, will you?”

“No,” she said gently. “It’s a part of me.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “It was in here first.”

His smile held sadness.

She rose, and he with her. She extended her hand to him, and he took it. “I thank you. I’m honored. But … may I be frank with you?”

“I’ve always liked that about you. Your frankness.”

“You are among a blessed few.” She smiled, but it was tempered. “But I must tell you, my heart belongs to another. It has for a very long time. It wouldn’t be fair to pretend to give it to someone else. Not fair to you or me.”

“Or to Mr. Burke.”

Her brow rose and she felt her cheeks flush.

His gaze sharpened. “Well now. I think I’ve the right of it.” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “I can’t say I don’t know what you mean. I daresay I’d hoped a …companionshipbetween us was possible, despite my …” He looked away at the windows and swallowed. “Well, one can’t force a heart, now, can one?”

“She was a lovely woman, your wife.”

He returned to her once more, a wistful look in his eyes. “She was. And so are you, Miss Whittemore. I sincerely hope you find your heart’s desires, whatever and wherever they may be. You deserve no less.” He let her hand go and strode from the room. “Be sure Alice is in that flight class,” he commanded. “She’s no ear for music.”

Violet pressed her fingers over her mouth and closed her eyes, caught between amusement, weeping, daze, and relief.

But not regret.

Chapter 23

At four o’clock, Violet found Mama in the music room, playing the grand piano. Rachmaninov’s No. 1, Andantino in B-Flat Minor. It had always touched her—the lilting sweet sadness of it, yet persistent hope rising again and again. She knew Mama’s mood.

Violet remained in the doorway, witnessing the sunlight through the windows caress her mother’s face and chestnut hair, the deep gold of her gown. Devotion and confusion toward this woman who had steered her life thus far warred inside her heart.

Mama paused in her song and turned on the bench, her eyes widening upon finding Violet lingering there. “I heard you had a visitor.”

Violet straightened. “Good afternoon, Mama.”

Mama narrowed her gaze and stood. “My dear.” She approached, extending her arms. “What a day it has been. Dare I guess the purpose of the viscount’s visit?”

“Dare not,” Violet said. “Only know that we are to make an aviator of the honorable Alice Felton, and His Lordship, though a good man, owned that he is still in love with his wife.”

Mama drew back, her eyes now penetrating. “My goodness. Youhavehad a day. My child, you are exhausted.”

Violet dropped her shoulders. “Does it show?” Her mother’shands were warm and firm on her arms, and she was led to one of the velvet-upholstered benches.