Though, he had nearly gotten his kiss. If only Lady Esther hadn’t finished her book when she had, Emory might finally know how Violet’s lips tasted.

  Liam checked his timepiece then stood. “I’ve got an early morning.” He then tossed coins upon the table. “Will you be remaining or returning with me.”

  As Emory didn’t know anyone else within the tavern, he drained his ale and stood.

  However, as soon as they stepped outside, they nearly ran over a woman.

  Why was she walking outside, this late at night, and alone?

  “Mrs. Wilder, I hope you are unharmed,” Liam stated while steadying her with a grasp of her elbow.

  “I am fine, Dr. Talbot. Thank you for asking.”

  “Why are you out?”

  “Sometimes I find it difficult to sleep and have found that a brisk walk in the evening air tends to help.”

  Liam nodded, then turned to Emory, and made introductions.

  “I remember Lord Ferrard from my one Season in London.”

  “Mrs. Wilder,” he greeted.

  “I’m not comfortable with you walking about without escort,” Liam said. “If there wasn’t somewhere that I needed to be, I’d see you home.”

  Emory shifted his eyes to his brother. Liam had claimed he only wished to return home, and Laswell wasn’t so large that he couldn’t escort Mrs. Wilder home before he retired.

  “It is not necessary, Dr. Talbot,” Mrs. Wilder insisted.

  “It is not safe,” Liam insisted. “My brother would be happy to escort you.”

  Liam had intentionally arranged this encounter. Looking at his timepiece and then suddenly deciding that it was time to retire just as Mrs. Wilder was walking by. Had the two planned this together?

  “That is very kind of you, Lord Ferrard.”

  “I am happy to be of assistance. Mrs. Wilder.” And with that, he offered his arm. He’d murder Liam later.

  Chapter 20

  The days weren’t so difficult for Violet. In the morning she sat beside the window in her chamber and read and took notes for later reflection. At the proper time, Mary prepared her for courtship by seeing that she was put to rights before meeting Lord Ferrard.

  The nights, however, were more difficult. Violet was still unable to visit with Silvia, and she found it difficult to sleep. This wasn’t unusual since her mind was constantly thinking, making lists, and contemplating. However, of late, she’d been contemplating Lord Ferrard. If her dearest friend wasn’t so ill, Violet would be in her chamber this instant confiding in Silvia and asking the most pressing questions.

  Oh, she knew all about flowers, plants, bees, and spiders and what she didn’t know, she could learn. Human emotion and response were Silvia’s expertise. Violet tried to analyze her reactions, but with so little experience in the ways of love and attraction, she couldn’t be certain that she’d reach the correct conclusions.

  However, each person reacted differently when friendships grew and that was where she became confused. Was she simply feeling a deeper friendship for Lord Ferrard, one that quickly developed, far quicker than she thought possible? Or were her emotions beyond friendship? She’d not loved anyone outside of her family previously. She’d not experienced a longing to be with someone, yet she wished to be with Lord Ferrard. However, was it on account of a deepening friendship and nothing more?

  Oh, it was so aggravating not to be certain. Violet prided herself on being sensible and logical, but there was no logic to her emotions, nor sense either, and this uncertainty was foreign to her.

  In a huff, Violet opened one of the books and settled by the window, a lamp lit to illuminate the pages, and began to read, hoping the dissertation on tropical plant life would distract her from her chaotic thoughts. However, after what seemed like hours, she gave up, unable to recall much of what she’d read, a further aggravation.

  Never had she been unable to concentrate on a study of interest. Tightening the wrap around her shoulders, Violet pulled her feet up onto the chair and smoothed her gown over her knees and stared out the window.

  As he had been for a sennight, Tommy was keeping watch. It was unnecessary, as nobody was going to bother her or worse, try to do her harm, and a complete waste of time when the young man would probably prefer to be home in his bed. At least the family was benefiting financially from the unnecessary security.

  Few people were out this late, but she watched a few couples stroll by and some men returning home from most likely visiting Crawley’s, which was the closest tavern to the Harleys’. All were people she recognized as having lived here for as long as she could remember. They were familiar faces and a comfort.

  It was pleasant to watch people spend time together, to have loves or friendships. To not be alone as she was.

  Violet had never suffered from loneliness before, as she could always visit with family or Silvia if she wished for company. Neither were available to her now, and these introspective thoughts that had invaded her mind, the questioning, and realizing that she was for the moment very much alone weighed heavy as if a wet, woolen blanket had been placed upon her. This loneliness was an uneasy feeling and as unfamiliar as the odd sensations she experienced with Lord Ferrard.

  He was a danger to her. Not that he’d ever intentionally cause harm, and certainly not in a physical manner, but Violet feared that she might fall in love.

  As she watched out the window her gaze was drawn to Mrs. Wilder strolling along the street with a gentleman who was turned away from her. As they neared the lamplight, the gentleman first nodded to Tommy, which wasn’t unusual, and then he turned to glance at the Harley house.

  Violet sucked in a breath. Why was Lord Ferrard walking with Mrs. Wilder?

  The answer came before she could finish the question. Mrs. Wilder was a lovely young widow, having lost her husband at Waterloo.

  Violet knew before she had ever met Lord Ferrard that he preferred young widows, and he’d found one in Laswell.

  How had he met her? Was Lord Ferrard spending his nights with the widow, when not getting foxed with his brother, and his afternoons with Violet?

  A new sensation welled inside, another that she’d never before experienced, but she identified it immediately as jealousy.

  Why was she jealous?

  Violet moved away from the window, no longer wishing to watch who passed below.

  Their courtship wasn’t real, just a convenience to appease their parents. They both knew that it was to end on January sixth. She had no real claim on Lord Ferrard, nor did he have a claim on her. Therefore, it shouldn’t matter that he was spending time with the widow, should it?

  Yet, it did. It mattered very much.

  Chapter 21

  Emory glared at Liam across the breakfast table.

  “Did you not have a pleasant night?” his brother asked as he poured a cup of coffee.

  “That depends on your version of pleasant.”

  “I assumed that after you saw Mrs. Wilder home that your evening had improved.” He leaned back. “However, I’m rather surprised that you appear well-rested.”

  Emory slammed his fist on the dining room table. “You arranged that meeting, did you not?”

  “It would do me little good to deny it.”

  “I told you that I had no interest, yet you went against my wishes.”

  “I thought you needed a reminder of who she was. I thought for certain that interest would return.”

  “It did not,” Emory ground out. “And you left me in an awkward position.”

  “How so? It was an introduction, nothing more.”

  “Because Mrs. Wilder expected more. Even if she never explicitly said the words, you knew, I knew, she knew, and she anticipated an intimate interlude.”

  Emory couldn’t believe that his brother would arrange such for him. First, he’d already said that he did not want to pursue Mrs. Wilder, and second, it was a betrayal of his trust.

  “I thought one of us should have some enjoyment in this village, as I’m not granted such.”

  “That is your decision, not mine.” Emory stood with such force that the wooden dining chair fell, banging on the floor behind him. “I have always avoided causing pain to others when I can. However, my rejection of Mrs. Wilder last evening did just that.”

  “I’m certain she was not harmed,” Liam dismissed.

  Emory stared at him. “Have you not felt the sting of rejection yourself?”

  “We all have,” Liam dismissed, though Emory doubted as such. “Further, I really think you are making too much of this.”

  “And you didn’t respect my wishes.”

  Liam sighed and set his coffee aside. “I am sorry.” At least he sounded apologetic. “I found it difficult to believe that you’ve changed so much.”

  “I’ve not changed,” Emory argued.

  “Have you not?” Liam countered. “Until the end of last Season you made no secret of your many lovers. The fact that you behaved in a somewhat proper manner at the end of the Season was more on a dare from father, and not a desire you wished to pursue. Then after the accident, you were hell-bent on marrying the first woman that you could tolerate, until Lady Violet pointed out the error of your thinking. Therefore, I assumed that you’d return to your earlier behavior, and I introduced you to a perfect widow to help you get back to normal.”

  Emory gaped at his brother. “Back to normal? You think I tup women simply because they ask? I pursue them to determine if they are willing and often avoid the ones who are a bit too overeager, if you must know. There must be balance and understanding of the situation or one party is going to be disappointed when matters do not progress beyond simple bed sport.”

  “A commitment,” Liam clarified.

  “Yes, a bloody commitment.” Emory threw up his arms in irritation. It was as if his brother suddenly didn’t know him. Emory had avoided commitments his entire life, especially ones that risked emotional involvement as those never ended pleasantly and one person always suffered when the association was terminated.

  “Do you consider yourself in a commitment with Lady Violet? Is that why you declined the widow’s invitation?”

  “We have a temporary arrangement, as you well know. A binding agreement due to expire in…a few days.”

  They were to end on Epiphany, which was in two days, and Emory was taking every moment of that time to be with Violet. He still hadn’t bloody kissed her yet. He’d wanted to, but they were never allotted privacy, not even when they were shopping yesterday afternoon, sans chaperone, because they were in public shops and too many people were out and about. It was quite aggravating, which further fueled his ill temper this morning.

  “As it is not a commitment, I still don’t understand why you declined the widow. It was midnight when you made her reacquaintance, and you could have left a few hours later, and no one would have known, as the village would have still been slumbering.”

  Emory placed his fists on the table, leaned forward and glared at his brother. “I will not disrespect Lady Violet in such a manner. Whether anyone knew or not does not matter because I would know.” He straightened. “Besides, how do I know that Mrs. Wilder doesn’t gossip.” Ever since their discussion in the park, and the pain he witnessed in Violet’s eyes over the cruelty she’d suffered, he refused to be guilty of the same offense, irrespective of whether their courtship was real or not. He would not humiliate her in such a manner.

  “There is more to this than not wishing to upset Lady Violet.” Liam studied him. “I’ve not seen you so adamant or angry over any woman before, especially since this courtship of convenience was agreed upon simply to appease your fathers. There is no real emotion attached.”

  “It is more than Lady Violet. It is more than an agreement. It also has to do with being able to look Father in the eye and tell him that I did court a lady. That I grew fond of that lady. That I behaved in all manners respectable, which included not taking a widow or anyone else to bed.”

  “It is likely Father won’t remember, Emory,” Liam said quietly.

  That’s what pained him the most, not that he’d say as much. “There are moments of lucidity, as you know,” Emory offered in a calmer tone. “And when that time comes, I want to be able to tell him of my courtship of Violet and maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally stop being a bloody disappointment and earn his respect.”

  With those words, Emory stormed out of the dining room, paused in the entry long enough to take his greatcoat from the peg, then left the home, slamming the door behind him.

  That was the truth of the matter. He wanted to earn his father’s respect. He hadn’t realized that it had been lost, or perhaps he had never had it, but the rambling words since his father’s accident made it clear that Emory was a disappointment.

  He paused only a moment then made his way down the winding, cobbled street until he once again stood near the beach in the bay, where he and Violet had stood not long ago. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, absorbing the sound of the waves, the sun on his face and willed both to soothe his soul.

  “Disappointment? And what is this about respect?”

  Emory blew out a laden breath at his brother’s voice. He really didn’t wish to discuss this with Liam. He didn’t want to think of those words at all, yet his brother had followed.

  “It’s not important,” he finally said, hoping that Liam would let it rest, but knew better.

  “It’s important enough that you stormed out of my home, slamming the door, when you’ve never been one for violent, emotional outbursts. You are not acting like yourself, and I wish to know why.”

  Emory hadn’t been himself since he realized that Father would not enjoy a full recovery from his accident. “Father has been more vocal of late about his disappointments.” Perhaps he could leave it at that.

  “Father suffered a head injury,” Liam reminded Emory, as if he could have forgotten.

  “It’s also freed him to voice his opinions, in that, his speech is no longer guarded.” He turned to face his brother. “He loves each of us, he has repeatedly assured me of that, but there is nobody who can ever replace Gavin.”

  “No child can replace another. Is that what this is about?”

  “‘Gavin was a good viscount and would have made an excellent earl’,” he quoted his father. “‘You, Emory, are a disappointment. A rake, a rogue, a disappointment’.”

  “He said that to you?” Liam asked, his wide eyes and slack jaw spoke of his shock. Emory had the same reaction the first time he’d heard those words.

  “On more than a few occasions.”

  “He is not in his right mind. You can’t take his words to heart.”

  Emory stared at his brother. “Everyone knows that drunks often speak the truth, as do children. I also believe that those who are at the beginnings of a demented state do as well. He’s not imagining that he is something or someone he is not. He knows who we are. He knows that Gavin is dead, and he knows that I’m a disappointment.”

  “That is why you’ve entered into a courtship with Lady Violet and why you truly declined the widow’s invitation.”

  “Yes. I want to be able to look my father in the eye, tell him what I’ve done, promise to marry well, so maybe I can gain some of the respect our older brother had before we lose father for good.”

  Violet tried to sleep but found it nearly impossible. When she did drift off, she suffered through fitful, detailed dreams of her beehives been taken away by the gardeners because all the bees had died; of the plants withering in her conservatory; of butterflies falling from the sky, their lifeless wings against the straw colored grass; decay surrounding her with everything turning brown, but not because it was winter and such was dormant, but because everything had died. She was left with nothing to call her own. All that she’d worked for, her passion, was gone. She ran to the well over and over, pulling up buckets of water, dousing her plants, but the more water she used, the more the petals and leaves curled into themselves, shrinking, until they crumbled like autumn leaves after they’d fallen to the ground and were shattered by the lightest of step.

  Nobody to help her. Her father and grandmother were there. They said nothing, just shook their heads with disappointment. Wesley, holding a baby wrapped in a blanket, told her that she’d brought it upon herself. Then the gypsy drove her vardo over the dead plants in her garden. “You can have one or the other, but not both.”

  That wasn’t what she’d told her before.

  “Now, you have neither and never will.”

  Violet had woken up in a cold sweat, her heart pounding, and in a panic similar to what she experienced in the close confines of a ballroom. Except, she was very much alone.

  Pushing the blankets aside, she rose from the bed and went to the window, then turned away. She didn’t want to see Lord Ferrard returning to his brother’s home. She did not want to know how long he’d entertained Mrs. Wilder.

  What if he remained there all night?

  What if others saw him?

  She’d trusted him. He only needed to wait a few more days, then their courtship would be at an end and then he could visit the widow as often as he wished. He could take up residence there, and Violet would never know because she’d be safely back at Forester Hall and would not expect to see him again until the spring.

  Had he been visiting the widow often? Nightly? Did the entire village of Laswell know that he courted Violet during the day and visited Mrs. Wilder’s bed at night?

  Her stomach churned.

  Even if the residents didn’t know yet, they would. Mrs. Wilder was a frequent visitor of Mrs. Harley, and the two spent hours in gossip so once it was safe to visit the residence, all of Laswell would know by the next day.

  It was too much.

  Violet shouldn’t care, but she did.

  Further, her heart ached in a manner that Violet didn’t think possible. To think that she had believed the certain signs of attraction of heart palpitations and racing pulse were unpleasant. Those symptoms were nothing compared to a broken heart.