Violet slowly descended the ladder, carefully holding her skirt so as not to trip, and he noted the slimness of her delicate ankles.

  “Why? Our courtship is not real.”

  “For the reasons you mentioned. The good people of Laswell do not know the truth, and we’ve both been gossiped about enough in our lives, don’t you agree.”

  She finally reached the floor, both feet on solid stone, and Emory was able to relax that she no longer risked injury.

  Violet nodded. “I apologize for assuming. It was wrong of me to do so without questioning you first.”

  She believed him. She looked hard for deception, but Violet had come to know Lord Ferrard in this short time and saw only sincerity in his sapphire eyes. While it was a comfort to know that he’d only been an escort, and it did ease some of the pain of jealousy, his confession changed nothing. She could not spend any further time with him, or she was in danger of caring for him too deeply. More than anyone should care for a friend.

  “Is that why you returned to Forester Hall before you intended to do so.”

  “It is only part of the reason,” she admitted. Did she tell him the full truth?

  No, she answered to herself almost instantly. There was more to protect, and the reason why she would have returned tomorrow had she not done so today, so Violet shared a partial truth. “I had a nightmare. It was a very vivid nightmare, as I’ve never experienced, and prompted me to return home.”

  “Would you like to discuss it?”

  “It was an irrational response to disturbed sleep,” she dismissed. However, she told him the whole of it, except about the gypsy and the vardo, and the words that were said to her.

  “I can understand the uneasiness, especially after you spoke of your gardens.” He did a slow turn, then walked the whole of the conservatory before returning to her, then approached the ladder. “What were you trying to retrieve?”

  “Nothing,” she answered. “I wanted to see what kind of web had been spun to see if I could determine the type of spider.”

  Lord Ferrard gave a slight shiver, and Violet didn’t bother to hide her humor. “You, a gentleman, suffer from arachnophobia?”

  “I am not afraid of spiders,” he defended. “I simply do not like them.” He looked up warily. “What kind is it? I hope it’s not poisonous.”

  “I cannot tell,” she admitted. “But I’ll know when the egg sack hatches.”

  “Egg sack?” He seemed horrified.

  “Do not worry, Lord Ferrard. You will be safely in Sussex before that happens.”

  “Yes, but you will be here.”

  “The spiders will scatter, most making their way outside, or into hiding, as they always do. And I’ve yet to see a poisonous spider. At least, not one that will make you ill.”

  “You continue to amaze me, Violet.”

  Whenever he addressed her simply as Violet, it did the queerest thing to her belly, which was different than the quiver she’d previously experienced, and she wasn’t even certain how to explain the sensation. Her vocabulary was far from limited, yet the words escaped her when he uttered her name.

  “Why are you addressing me with such familiarity?” Perhaps if he believed her to disapprove, he would stop. After all, she was certain he would not want her to address him as Emory.

  “We are friends, are we not?”

  Unfortunately, that was all they were. “Yes, we are friends,” she acknowledged.

  “Friends address each other with familiarity. I’d have no objection to you calling me by my given name of Emory.”

  It was one matter to be proven wrong upon further research and study because scientific questions did evolve. However, there was a bit of irritation in knowing that she’d assumed incorrectly on how he’d like to be addressed.

  It was also further proof that she was much better with plants, bees, and spiders because people confused and baffled her at times.

  “Violet?”

  She blinked at him. “Yes.”

  “Are you uncomfortable addressing me by my given name?”

  “I don’t think it would be proper to do so.” It bred too much familiarity, and she needed to distance herself from the emotions.

  “Well, I hope that in time you will change your mind.”

  If Violet didn’t know better, she’d think he was disappointed. “As the next time I see you, we’ll be in London, I doubt I will be doing so as it would not be proper.”

  “I will see you tomorrow.”

  Violet blinked up at him. “Why?”

  He smiled down at her. “Our agreement was to court until the sixth. Today is only the fourth. Therefore, I will see you tomorrow and the day following.”

  Her chest tightened, near panic, but it wasn’t fear. Not like she suffered during her nightmare, but something different.

  How could she maintain her composure and distance if he were going to continue to court her and call her simply Violet.

  She took a deep breath. It was two days. Certainly she could manage. If she were mindful, she’d not come to like him more than she already did.

  “Further, there is no chaperone to watch over our shoulders, as nobody knows you are here.” He paused and pulled back. “I’m assuming the Tilson sisters will not be traveling to Laswell.”

  “I wrote and said that there was no longer a need for their presence and thanked them for allowing time in their holiday to assist in our courtship.”

  “You gave no further reason?” he asked with a frown.

  “I didn’t deem it necessary that they know the private details of my affairs. Besides, they might ask too many questions, which I would not be at liberty to answer.”

  “You didn’t wish to lie to them.”

  “You are correct Lord Ferrard.”

  “You could have written that you had reason to believe that I was involved with a widow.”

  “I’d not disparage you in such a manner, nor Mrs. Wilder. Further, bachelors are given great freedom, whereas a lady is not. They’d think me foolish for ending the courtship over such an inconsequential matter.” At least that was her assumption since many gentlemen had lovers and mistresses during courtships and sometimes even after marriage, so she could only assume that it was acceptable behavior. “Shall I meet you in Laswell tomorrow?”

  He chuckled. “I see no reason why I cannot call on you here.” He glanced about. “You have yet to show me your gardens or the beehives.”

  Two more days of friendship. There were worse things. He wanted to be friends, and one couldn’t have too many. Especially when they accepted the person as they were.

  “Come along,” she finally said then led him out a separate door that he’d entered and exited into her gardens. There wasn’t much to enjoy as it was January, but she loved her gardens and spent as much time here as possible. What she appreciated most, especially when there were guests at Forester Hall, were the hedges that she planted tightly together and allowed to grow to beyond six feet to shelter her from the manor and anyone who might be outside.

  “How did you find me?” Goodness, had he gone to the manor and asked? Neither Father nor Grandmother knew that she’d returned.

  “Mrs. Harley advised that you were at the dower house. Your brother directed me to the conservatory, but he had to show me the path, as I would not have been able to find it otherwise.” He chuckled.

  “That is intentional,” Violet advised. “This is a little place that I’ve carved out as my own.”

  “You had the conservatory built and created all of this.”

  “No.” A bit of sadness swept through her. “The conservatory was my mother’s, as were the gardens. But it was let go after she died, and nobody cared for the plants until I reclaimed them as my own eight years ago.”

  “It’s peaceful,” he said quietly.

  “It’s why I never want to leave.”

  “Never?”

  “Never,” she assured him. “Though, I will one day, as I’ll be given little choice.”

  “If you marry a lord, as your father would expect, I’m certain the estate will have vast gardens.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

  “Please, explain.”

  “It’s not the number of gardens, or a conservatory. It’s my involvement in such. I could marry a gentleman who would not allow it. A husband would have full and complete control, thus all of this could be taken from me. Perhaps, he’d censure my reading and insist I sit at the pianoforte or stitch all day. I don’t wish to lose what I hold dear, thus I will not marry before I must.”

  He stared down at her. “You assume such will happen? That you’ll be given no choices as to how you conduct your life.”

  “Perhaps not so drastic, but most ladies in Society are quite happy to run a household, attend balls, host teas and luncheons, embroidery and whatnot. Such would bore me to tears, yet that is what will be expected of me.”

  “Perhaps, but you could still enjoy these pastimes.”

  “This is me, Lord Ferrard.” She stood back and held out her arms, knowing full well that she was not put to rights and filthy, but it was difficult to stay clean when one was digging in dirt and planting seeds, or weeding her gardens and any other activity she involved herself in. “No gentleman would allow his wife to appear as such.”

  “Balderdash.”

  She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Balderdash!” he repeated. “You are assuming much. What did you call me…a fool?”

  “I did not call you as such,” she reminded him.

  “No, but you agreed with me, and right now, I believe you are being foolish.”

  “That’s easy for you to say because when you do marry, you will be able to go about as you wish, and not even tell your wife if you didn’t wish to. I will not have the same freedom and frankly, it is quite unfair.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that when the time comes that you could ask your husband what would be allowed before you accept? You might be surprised.”

  “A gentleman who wishes to marry the daughter of a duke and gain my dowry might also lie to win me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. Or, even if he didn’t lie, I wouldn’t trust him because I’ve observed far too much in Society. He could promise me five conservatories and gardens, but as soon as we wed, could deny it all, and I’d be stuck. I’ve seen promises made and then broken within a week of the vows.”

  Emory stared at her and wished he could argue, but he knew she was correct. “Not all gentlemen would make empty promises.”

  “True. Yet, it is impossible to tell the difference between the two.”

  “Hopefully you’ll know before you say the vows.”

  Violet sighed. “I doubt that will be the case. I’ve yet to be courted, except by you. However, I will call upon your friendship when the time is at hand and seek the truth from you.” She looked up into his eyes. “I do trust that you’d be honest of a gentleman’s character, Lord Ferrard.”

  Chapter 24

  “Yes, I will be honest in my assessment,” he assured her, yet the very idea of Violet marrying anyone was quite irritating. Further, he could think of no gentleman of his acquaintance who could come close to appreciating her. Of being worthy of her. In fact, he was willing to wager that many would be intimidated. Not only was she not prone to vapors or fainting, thank God, but she was sensible and pragmatic. Most gentlemen assumed that ladies, especially wives, would need guidance and to be cared for and sheltered, and wrapped in wool for protection. Violet needed none of that, other than perhaps protection, as she was a female, thus physically weaker.

  They came to a pause before the wooden hive boxes. There were nearly two dozen.

  “Do bees hibernate inside?” he asked.

  “Only bumble bees and wasps hibernate. Honeybees remain active, though inside the hive where it is warm, which is why not all honey is taken at harvest.”

  “I’ve never given much thought to bees or honey,” he admitted.

  “Unless your cook complains there is none,” Violet offered.

  “She’d complain to my mother. I’d not hear of it.” It was probably one of many things that gentlemen took for granted, but the lady of the house would be aware if there was none to be had for recipes.

  “I get great satisfaction from providing the hives, growing the flowers over the estate that will provide nectar, and reaping the benefits of the bees’ work.” With a deep breath, she turned to him. “If it is your wish, I will fulfill the agreement of our courtship.”

  Why did she behave as if it was an obligation that she must endure? He’d explained about the widow, and she had believed him, so why was she so distant from him now.

  These past few days had been enjoyable and they had become friends, yet her manner toward him was the same as the first day they’d met. “You speak as if it is an obligation that you wished you’d not made.”

  “I apologize. Agreement, obligation, bargain, they are interchangeable, are they not? And, we had made an agreement, and it was wrong of me to end it because of what I’d seen without speaking with you first.”

  “It is a misunderstanding that has been put aside,” he offered. Perhaps she didn’t trust him. Or, it had upset her enough that it wasn’t something quickly set aside, even though the misunderstanding had been acknowledged.

  “How large are these gardens?” Emory wanted to change the conversation from her marrying someone who was not him.

  “That would depend on one’s perspective. Not nearly as large as Kew, but it is not so small either.” She held her arms out. “These are the private gardens of Forester Park. My family has visited, but guests have not. You are the first to be allowed.”

  Emory would feel honored to be her first guest, except she hadn’t exactly invited him. He’d come seeking her out.

  “If you’d like, I can show you my favorite place to read, when the weather is conducive to such an activity.”

  “Yes, please.” Even though he hadn’t been invited into her private sanctum, it pleased him that Violet still wished to share it with him. As if revealing a piece of herself that nobody else would ever see. Though, one day a husband would enjoy her secrets.

  Emory terminated his line of thought. He’d not think of Violet married.

  “This way.”

  She turned and Emory followed her down a winding path.

  He didn’t want to think about another gentleman learning her secrets when Emory did not yet know them all. He’d not had nearly enough time to come to know her as he wished. Except, he’d never learn everything, as he would not be her husband.

  At that one simple thought, disappointment as he’d never experienced in his life shot through Emory’s being.

  It was quickly followed by the question of why couldn’t he be her husband? Yes, this started as a courtship of convenience, but it had turned into so much more. Friendship to begin with, and his desire to kiss her. Further, he was never bored, but excited to see her.

  He was smitten with Lady Violet Claxton.

  Just because their courtship was to end in a few days, didn’t mean that he couldn’t ask for it to be extended, until he might win her heart.

  “Here we are.” Violet had stopped at the entry into a small gazebo. It wasn’t quite what Emory had expected, but as he took in the square seating area, lined with cushioned seats covered in various shades of blues, lavenders, greens, and yellow, he was simply enchanted. No gazebo of his memory had ever contained so much color. There was nothing simple about Violet’s favorite reading space, nor was it as open as all other gazebos, as each side, with the exception of the entrance, was covered by lattice where dormant vines had climbed up and over the roof. When the foliage was full, it was likely that no sun penetrated the interior, which might explain the oil sconces on each pillar inside.

  “What kind of vines surround this?”

  “Honeysuckle.” She smiled. “Bees love honeysuckle.”

  All he could do was stare at her. “Do you mean to say, that you sit in here and read while bees are flying about the blooms?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Do you ever worry about being stung?” Her sitting area was no longer enchanting but dangerous.

  “They do not bother me, Lord Ferrard. I am not a flower.” She laughed as if he were being ridiculous. “Honeysuckle is the perfect flower for bees, butterflies, and birds, and I enjoy watching each visit during the summer.”

  How many hours did she spend alone in her private sanctuary?

  Was she ever lonely, or did she prefer to be alone?

  As she looked up at him, slight humor in her green eyes, and he was struck with the need that had plagued him often these past few days. Those rosebud lips called to him, beckoning like a siren’s song, and he leaned forward.

  Violet pulled back. “What are you doing?”

  He had thought it obvious. “I was going to kiss you.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s what couples do when they are courting.”

  “If it were a true courtship, I suppose.”

  “Everyone believes that it is,” Emory reminded her as he drew closer. Yet, she stepped back.

  Blast!

  “We know the truth.”

  It was almost as if she were panicked. Did Violet fear him?

  Or was that desire? Sometimes it was difficult to tell, but her cheeks were abnormally flushed. Her breaths had also become shallow, which he noticed by the rise and fall of her bodice, scooped in a manner that was both tantalizing and demure, with just a hint of what lay beneath.

  Bloody hell. If he kissed her, he might want more.

  No! He would not.

  Yes, he would, but he’d not seek it.

  “My father complained that I didn’t come to know a lady long enough to steal a kiss, so those attempted courtships did not matter.” It was the truth, though Emory wouldn’t add what else his father had claimed and that it was how he could determine if there would be passion. Until now, Emory hadn’t desired to kiss any of the ladies he’d considered courting. However, with Violet, it was on his mind daily.