Page 18 of A Wicked Duke's Redemption
Violet could not have said if the medicine truly aided her mother or not. She never seemed to improve much for very long, but there were no other apothecaries near the village, much less surgeons or physicians. There were no other options, save to continue giving her mother the medicine and pray that it worked.
“I can ask our driver to take you home, so you do not need to walk,” Liza offered.
“That is all right,” Violet replied. “I enjoy walking at night. Besides, it is only a short distance.”
“Be safe,” Liza said. “I shall come to call in the morning, and we can think of some plans for finding your mysterious suitor.”
Violet laughed. “He is not a suitor!”
She had not even really considered him as such. To her embarrassment, Violet realized that all her fantasies about the mysterious man neatly excluded anythingafterthe wedding night. Sometimes, she did not even think of the wedding. Was she to blame for that, though? Queen Guinevere had never wed Sir Lancelot, and yet they had engaged in frequent amorous congress.
Admittedly, that story did not end especially well. Violet bit the inside of her cheek. If she indulged her desires, her life might also end rather badly.
“He will be a suitor,” Liza insisted.
Violet shook her head, but her lips twitched into a small smile. “Suppose that he decides he does not find me so charming without the mask?” she asked.
But Violet’s eyes shined, and her heart soared. She was only asking to tease Liza. If Sir Gawain was interested enough in Violet to try and find her, he would surely be equally enchanted once he met her again.
“If he does not, I shall have no choice but to give him a fierce scolding,” Liza said. “That will change his opinion quite readily.”
Violet smiled. “I am sure.”
Violet said her farewells to her friend and began the short journey to the old hunting lodge. She wondered what Sir Gawain would think of it. Violet had never found her home lacking, but now, she looked at the ivy trailing up the façade of the lodge and the overgrown grasses surrounding it. A large, thin scratch stretched over one of the windows, and inside, the hunting lodge was sparse.
Only a little furniture remained. Would her dance partner be embarrassed by this? Or would he be like the villagers, who felt that she was too unlike them? She knew nothing about him, not really, and she could not even reasonably say that herassumptionsabout him were correct. Maybe she had tried too hard to craft that gentleman into a romantic hero.
When Violet entered, her father was seated by the stove, which scarcely filled the lodge with any warmth. He was mending a hole in a stocking. Violet closed the door behind her, noting her father’s worn face.
This was reality. She needed to accept that her mysterious stranger and thoughts of meeting him were just a seductive fantasy which would never be fulfilled. The thought caused an ache to form in the pit of her stomach. “Good evening, Father,” she said.
“Violet,” he greeted. “Did you enjoy your evening with Liza?”
“I did.”
“I am glad.” He was a man of few words, but Violet heard the fondness in them. “It is unfortunate that she is to leave soon.”
“Next week,” Violet said.
“Perhaps you can visit her in London,” her father said.
“Perhaps.” Violet doubted that would be a possibility. Her father could not work and also make her mother’s meals and give her medicine. That was too much for any single person to manage, so Violet could not simply leave for London. Her father doubtlessly realized that, too.
Violet knew that if she really wanted to leave, he would make arrangements to manage without her, but it would be hard for him. And Violet would feel dreadfully selfish for enjoying herself in London while her family struggled in Essex.
Still, like her dance partner, it was nice to dream.
Chapter 9
Violet Brewer was not a lady of the ton, but her family had ties to the aristocracy. Misfortune and poor investments had led to her family living in a hunting lodge, the only property which they had not lost.
Once Leo learned that, he had taken his horse out to where the hunting lodge was located. Now, he sat atop his mount, some distance away, and observed the building. It reminded him of the ruins of Kirkstall Abbey in Leeds. The hunting lodge was a once-beautiful building, eroded by time.
Light flickered through the windows of the lodge, barely piercing the darkness. He had sent a few of his staff to inquire about the young lady, which would inevitably result in a new deluge of rumors about him. That seemed a small price to pay when the potential reward was so great, though. Most of the villagers had never seen Violet’s mother Frances Brewer outside of her home, for she was very ill.
Her father, George Brewer, had been a country lawyer, but a poorly made investment in shipping had resulted in the loss of most of his fortune. Leo had vague recollections of having witnessed the man’s fall from grace. Having sold most of his possessions, George had brought his family to Essex and the one property he still possessed. Since then, George supported his family with some small investments and by working as a clerk for the local church.
Leo clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He took the horse’s reins and led the animal back to his estate. After dismounting, he handed the reins to the stableboy and entered the house. He beckoned for a maid, who was cleaning the mantle above the fireplace. “Send Mrs. Gunderson to my study.”
