“I have a confession, Lady Lucinda,” he blurted out before the situation became any more uncomfortable in the strained silence.

  She blinked at him. “Yes?”

  “While I appreciate the invitation and the opportunity to renew our acquaintance, I do not believe we will suit.”

  She quickly masked her response by lowering her eyes and taking a sip of tea. So quickly that he had no hint of her reaction to his words.

  He glanced to Her Grace who had narrowed her eyes and frowned.

  “Why is that?” her grandmother demanded with a thump of her cane.

  While he needed to be honest with himself, Emory had no desire to cause Lady Lucinda any pain of rejection, but what excuse could he give?

  Then he recalled the evening before. The discussion between the invited gentlemen about the Claxton sisters, more particularly of Lady Violet. Emory knew of the younger sister, but he’d not gained an introduction, as she’d spent more time in the gardens at any gathering or entertainment than with the guests. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever viewed with her golden hair and pale complexion. A shy, delicate garden nymph who preferred flowers to people. Or that was what he’d decided whenever he glimpsed her among the foliage.

  However, the varying opinion of others had him wondering as to her personality and the general consensus was that she was odd. However, as she was not present…

  “Well?” Her Grace demanded when Emory didn’t answer quickly, and he noted that Lady Lucinda watched him, a dark eyebrow raised almost in accusation, as if he’d done something wrong.

  “I’d hoped that I might have the opportunity to become acquainted with Lady Violet.”

  Bloody hell!

  He’d just lied, and he never lied and avoided omissions and half-truths when he could, but he could think of nothing else to say.

  Lady Lucinda tilted her head as the corner of her mouth quirked. “You came all the way from Sussex, accepted an invitation that was clearly meant for courting me, in hopes of courting my sister.”

  Emory’s face began to heat, something he’d not experienced since he was a young man and the embarrassment was rather, well, embarrassing. He should have never mentioned Lady Violet, but it wasn’t as if she were around and would expect anything from him.

  He simply gave a quick nod.

  “Yet, you did not call on her in London.”

  “I didn’t feel it right to do so having not gained an introduction.” It was a flimsy excuse, and another lie, which he must cease doing.

  “Violet avoided those at gatherings as often as possible. It is no wonder you’ve not met.”

  Inwardly he sighed, otherwise, he’d have been hard pressed to find a reason for not engaging Lady Violet during the Season.

  Lady Lucinda set her cup and saucer aside, and grinned. Her entire being brightened as if she’d found joy. The transformation from a critical, rigid lady to one of delight was remarkable. However, it didn’t change Emory’s assessment of whether they’d suit.

  “This is brilliant. I’m just sorry that my sister hadn’t remained at home.”

  She wasn’t angry?

  Emory slid a glance to Her Grace, certain that he’d get a dressing down. Instead, she merely chuckled. “I applaud your initiative, Lord Ferrard, and I can tell you exactly where you will find Violet.”

  Damn and blast! Now they’d expect him to court a lady he’d only glanced in gardens.

  “Why the interest in my sister if you’ve never met?” Lady Lucinda asked with curiosity, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

  This was certainly a change from how he had anticipated the conversation progressing. “I admired from afar,” he admitted. Further, that wasn’t a lie. Lady Violet had fascinated him, and he had appreciated her beauty, but not so much that he’d follow her into a garden. To do so without a chaperone could lead to consequences he was not willing to entertain. “She took great delight in the gardens, which I found intriguing, but I never had the opportunity to speak with her.”

  “Yes, well my sister can tolerate crowds for only so long before she feels the need to escape,” Lady Lucinda chuckled. “She’s in the village, Lord Ferrard. Violet wished to avoid the house party and is visiting with a friend. You will find her with the Harleys.”

  Damn and blast! He’d assumed she was off in some other part of England, not in Laswell.

  Then he recalled what his brother had told him. “Wasn’t the footman who came down with the measles from the Harley household?”

  “How are you aware of the footman?” Her Grace asked. “We made no mention of names yesterday.”

  They had only discussed the concern for measles and why Forester Hall was short of staff. “My brother is Dr. Talbot. I traveled to Laswell early to spend Christmas with him. He informed me of the situation before I traveled to your home.”

  Lady Lucinda’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten the connection.”

  Emory slid a glance to Her Grace. Certainly, she knew of the connection.

  “I was aware, Lord Ferrard,” she simply acknowledged.

  “You needn’t worry about Violet. She’s already suffered from the dreadful illness as a child.”

  “I’m grateful that you do not have a concern, but I’m afraid that I cannot call on her there.”

  Her Grace sat forward. “Why is that?”

  “I have never encountered the measles.” At least that was a truthful statement. So long as he didn’t add any more lies onto the ones he’d just told, this would not get out of hand. Given Lady Violet’s location, he’d not be able to call on her, and perhaps he could put off such an encounter until spring.

  “It wouldn’t do for you to have come all this way only to become ill,” Lady Lucinda offered.

  “Hopefully, you can remain in Laswell long enough for an introduction to be gained,” Her Grace ordered, veiled in a comment.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Emory answered only to be polite, though he knew that he’d be leaving Laswell as soon as possible to get him out of this predicament. However, perhaps he should at least gain an introduction to the only woman who had ever intrigued him. Then again, the only reason the fascination remained was because he’d not met her. Did he wish to shatter his illusion of her being a shy, delicate garden nymph?

  “I’m confident something can be arranged,” Lady Lucinda suggested. “After all, Lord Ferrard was scheduled to be here for ten days so I see no reason why we can’t send for Violet and ask her to return home.”

  He was not staying at Forester Hall, trapped here for nearly a fortnight, and courting a woman he’d not yet met.

  Bloody hell, he should have thought before he spoke, and he should not have lied to begin with.

  “Though it is unlikely we’d be able to convince Violet to return and you may have better luck with your quest in Laswell,” Lady Lucinda reconsidered.

  “I’m certain that my brother will not mind having me. We’ve not seen much of the other since he took his position here.”

  “A perfect solution, Lord Ferrard.”

  There was no hope for it. He’d need to remain in the village, meet Lady Violet after he could put it off no longer, then hide in his brother’s house if necessary.

  Bloody hell! This was why one should always be honest.

  Chapter 2

  This was not the holiday Violet anticipated.

  The ten days spent with Silvia were supposed to be filled with planning for the coming Season, as Silvia was determined to marry before the summer came to an end. However, the match that she’d truly hoped to make was with Dr. Talbot. She and Violet were going to spend these days considering options to gain his attention that didn’t involve Silvia suffering a minor injury.

  Violet paused in her musings. Silvia may not have been injured; however, she had become ill, though unintentionally. It was likely Dr. Talbot would be visiting daily, which Silvia would quite enjoy, if she were well enough to do so. Though, it could also result in Silvia being mortified in being seen in such an unflattering light, especially if she developed the horrible rash, which was likely to occur. Silvia’s previous intent had been to turn an ankle but only when her hair, dress, and complexion were at their best.

  Silvia was Violet’s dearest and most trusted friend, and Violet wasn’t there to lend support because Mrs. Harley had made her leave. Instead, Violet was in an inn, surrounded by servants who thought they needed to see to her care, when they should have a concern about their health. Thus, when Violet couldn’t stand being taken care of or being cooped up any longer, she drew on her pelisse and escaped.

  Except, once she’d stepped out onto the walk, Violet wasn’t quite certain where she should go or what to do. She was never without something of interest to occupy her and Violet detested wasting time or cooling her heels, which is what she’d be doing until the guests vacated Forester Hall.

  Violet adjusted her grey bonnet and glanced about then noted the shop near the corner. This would be an excellent time to catch up on her reading and Bockham’s Book Shop would have the exact distraction she needed for the coming days.

  “Lady Violet, what are you doing?”

  She turned to find Bess calling to her from the entrance of the inn.

  “I thought to visit Bockham’s.”

  “Who will accompany you? I cannot leave.”

  “This is Laswell, not the streets of London,” Violet dismissed. “I am known here, and the residents will not think it odd if I am out and about without a maid.”

  Bess frowned. An expression Violet was familiar with, as she’d seen it far too often since she was fourteen.

  “You go inside and take care. I do not want you to become ill.”

  “We do have one request, Lady Violet.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think it’s possible that anyone is free at Forester Hall who could pack and bring our belongings.” Bess held out her arms. “We sleep in our shifts, but the only clothing we have is what was worn to the Assembly.”

  Violet should have realized this would be a concern before it was brought to her attention. “I’ll find someone to retrieve your belongings.”

  “Thank you, Lady Violet,” Bess sighed with relief.

  “Is there anything else that I can obtain for you while I’m out?”

  “Goodness, no, Lady Violet,” the maid insisted. “We only prevail on this because the need is pressing.”

  Of course, if bidding was to be done, it was usually a servant doing so for her. “Very well then, I’ll return shortly.” At least she now had a purpose, though it would not require much time or effort to arrange. However, the bookshop waited for when she was free once again.

  After glancing about to determine who would be best to assist her, Violet turned and marched to the residence of Dr. Talbot. He had the loveliest of cottages that sat at the far end of the lane. The residence also served as his offices, at least on the main floor of the cottage, as it had for Dr. Pierce before he retired.

  After she rapped on the door, Violet stood back and waited for the maid of all work to answer. However, instead of Mrs. Murry, who Violet had anticipated, she was greeted by a tall gentleman with the bluest of eyes and thick dark hair.

  Though they’d never met, Violet knew exactly who he was—Emory Talbot, Viscount Ferrard—a rake with a preference for widows. She may not know him but knew his reputation well.

  “May I help you?”

  His rich voice warmed her in an unnatural manner. Then again, she’d walked quickly and even though it was December, the weather was quite pleasant and the pelisse overly warm.

  “Is Dr. Talbot available?”

  “He is not at home.”

  “I suppose I should have anticipated such.” He did have patients that required his attention. It’s something she should have considered before calling.

  “Are you ill?” He looked her up and down. “Or someone else?”

  “No. We are all whole and healthy, for the moment,” Violet quickly answered. “I need items retrieved from Forester Hall for my servants.”

  Lord Ferrard frowned. “My brother is much too busy to run errands for you.”

  Violet blinked. She must learn to be clearer in her intentions. Too often she voiced only a portion of what she was thinking, which led to misunderstanding. It was a failing of hers which she must remain cognizant of in the future, and to fully explain her intentions. “I would never prevail upon him to assist me in such a manner,” Violet clarified. “I simply wished to inquire if the measles has spread and who I might trust to retrieve the clothing without fear of them taking the illness to my home.”

  Lord Ferrard seemed to stare at her for a moment and she wasn’t certain why.

  “There have been no further reports that I am aware,” he answered.

  She supposed she could visit those in Laswell who she knew had a form of conveyance, though it was unlikely anyone was free in the middle of the day.

  “Will that be all?” His left eyebrow rose, studying her.

  He must find her bothersome, and she had arrived without warning. “Yes,” she answered. “Thank you for your assistance.” With that she turned on her heel and marched away as she considered whom she might next seek assistance.

  Emory closed the door then leaned back against it. He’d not arrived at his brother’s home an hour ago and the first person to call was the very lady he’d hoped to avoid. He’d only answered because the maid of all work had gone to the market, and since it was the entry into Liam’s office where he treated patients, Emory hadn’t wanted whoever was on the other side of the door to be left cooling their heels in case there was a matter of urgency.

  Though, one question had been answered—Lady Violet wasn’t shy. Not even timid, as she’d spoken clearly and looked him in the eye.

  And her request was reasonable once she explained her thinking.

  Further, he’d been rude, not that she seemed to notice, nor had Lady Violet taken offense at his curt tone.

  It was not well done of him, and he could be of assistance. It would be no hardship to take a message to Forester Hall, even though he’d left there not long ago, then wait for the trunks to be packed and return to Laswell. After all, there was little else to occupy his time.

  Undoubtedly the servants must be in need since they’d not returned to their home in two days and hadn’t left Forester Hall prepared to spend the next fortnight in an inn. How would he feel if he were stuck somewhere with only one set of clothing to get him by for a fortnight? It would be miserable.

  Blast!

  Emory grabbed his greatcoat and headed out the door. Hopefully, Lady Violet hadn’t gone far.

  “Lady Violet?” he called after he spotted her on the other side of the street.

  She slowly turned and frowned. “You know who I am?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen you in London.”

  She nodded as if his explanation was enough.

  “Emory Talbot, Viscount Ferrard, the doctor’s older brother.”

  “I apologize for not greeting you properly.”

  “It isn’t as if we’ve been introduced,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, of course,” she agreed.

  He was now beginning to understand the discussions from the night before as to her oddities.

  “If you still need someone to retrieve the belongings of your servants, I will be happy to do so for you.”

  Her eyes widened as she smiled, nearly stealing his breath at her beauty. “That is very kind of you, Lord Ferrard.” Then she sobered and notched her chin. “However, I’m certain you have more pressing matters. Therefore, I will not prevail upon your time.”

  The shift in her emotions made Emory want to help. He wanted to see her smile again and realized that he’d not seen it once in London.

  “I’m here to visit my brother, but his presence is required elsewhere.”

  “If it truly is no imposition, I would welcome your assistance.”

  “I assure you, I have little to occupy my time for the duration of my holiday.”

  Her smile returned, just as he’d hoped.

  “I am grateful and, in your debt, Lord Ferrard.”

  Chapter 3

  It wasn’t unusual for Violet to be perplexed, though answers were usually found to solve her curiosity. Her encounter with Lord Ferrard had left her as such. In fact, he’d left her unsettled in a way she’d not experienced on any previous occasion. Not only did she experience an odd quiver in her belly the moment he opened the door and looked into her eyes, but she’d also grown warm.

  She wasn’t ill. At least she didn’t believe so. She had no fever, nor headache, nor did she feel the need to toss up her accounts, so this was not an illness. Yet, disquieting, as if something had shifted from her normal disposition.

  Maybe she’d eaten something that was unsettling. Though the symptoms did not match those of eating poorly prepared food.

  As she strolled back to the inn, Violet pondered these sensations.

  A queer sensation in her midriff, growing warm, both appearing together and almost instantly upon looking into Ferrard’s blue eyes.

  Though they were more than just blue. They were sapphire and quite lovely.

  Violet frowned and gave consideration that perhaps she’d been attracted to him, except she had not suffered the certain signs of attraction, therefore, it must be something else.

  In fact, Violet was certain that it was not attraction because she had far too much sense to be drawn to a rake. She well knew his preference for young widows and had lost count of the number that he’d squired away at balls. Not that she faulted him, of course. It was how bachelors behaved, and widows as well.

  A few of her brothers were no different, and therefore should not be judged on such behavior. She only wished others wouldn’t judge her as it was quite unfair. Lord Ferrard could take a widow from a ball and return hours later, and everyone knew that he’d not simply escorted her home and nary a word was mentioned. However, her sitting among the flowers and trees was remarked upon often, as if she were the one behaving in a scandalous manner.