Page 4 of A Wicked Duke's Redemption
Since the late duchess’s death, no one in the village had seen His Grace, but anyone who dealt with him—like the servants who occasionally came from his grand house—reported all the horrible stories of his temper and monstrous behavior. He was curt and stormy, prone to locking himself in his study for hours and only emerging to eat or speak with his housekeeper.
“We should be going,” Liza said, her voice uneasy.
“Agreed. My parents will be expecting me soon, anyway.”
The young ladies quickened their pace, following the curve of the road to their homes. They parted ways, and Violet continued along the path for a little longer. Once, her family had been aristocratic, but generations of carelessness and misfortune left them with only a hunting lodge in the countryside. Violet remembered a governess and maid-of-all-work from her childhood, but their fortunes had deteriorated. Now, they had neither.
The lodge was empty when Violet entered. She hummed to herself as she walked to the kitchen. In all likelihood, her father would be in the village. Her mother was in her bedroom. She seldom left her room; her health had been failing her for many years.
Violet began preparing the stew for dinner. It was a small meal; made from the few potatoes she had traded for doing a farmer’s mending and some wild roots that she had dug up by the lakebed. There was no meat, but they were fortunate enough to have half a loaf of bread. As she prepared the meal, Violet’s thoughts wandered to the conversation with Liza.
“I will be next,” Violet said softly to herself. “Next to wed.”
She considered her prospects, but despite her friend’s optimism and encouragement, Violet knew that she was far less desirable than Liza. Her friend was the daughter of a baron, while Violet’s family was barely aristocratic. Liza had a substantial dowry and a father who had impressive business connections. Violet could offer a husband nothing.
She supposed that there were a few young men in the village who might be willing to wed her, but she had never quite felt as if she properly belonged with the people of the village. She did not belong anywhere. Violet was too poor for aristocratic circles and too wealthy to earn the trust of the villagers, most of whom had only met a single member of the ton—the notorious Duke of Farnham and alleged murderer.
With the stew finished, Violet prepared the table for dinner. Their dishes were still fine and delicate, even as most of the furniture had luxuries had been sold for money and to clear debts. After the table was ready, Violet filled a bowl with her stew and climbed the stairs to her mother’s bedroom. She opened the door, peering carefully inside.
Her mother lay in her bed beneath a mound of bedclothes. When Violet entered, her mother raised her head and smiled weakly. Once upon a time, Violet’s mother had been a great beauty. Like her daughter, she was blessed with thick auburn hair, but the long years of illness had made her hair limp and gray. Her face was pale and wan, the skin pulled taut over her high cheekbones.
“Are you hungry, Mother?” Violet asked.
“A little, dear.”
Violet smiled and took her usual seat beside her mother’s bed. Some days were better than others for her mother. There were days when she could feed herself and leave her bed, but those were becoming fewer. Her hands often shook too badly to hold spoons and bowls, so Violet had taken to sitting beside her dear mother and feeding her meals.
“How was your day?” her mother asked. “How is Liza?”
“Well,” Violet said, as she gently lifted the spoon to her mother’s lips. “She is engaged to Captain John Everleigh. Do you remember me telling you about him? He did some business for Liza’s father.”
“Oh.”
It was unclear to Violet if her mother did remember, but she did not press the matter. “He is a good man,” Violet said. “At least, Liza says that he is, and she is a sensible young lady. They are deeply in love with one another.”
Violet’s mother swallowed a spoonful of soup before speaking. “A love-match. That was rare even in my mother’s Season. I imagine it is even more uncommon now.”
Violet’s mother had been an heiress, but she had found her inheritance squandered before she could even claim it. There had been some disagreement over who ought to receive how much of her father’s fortune, and it had taken the chancery courts so long to settle the matter that by the time a decision was reached, it had all been squandered in solicitors’ and court fees. It seemed like a cruel twist of fate that both of Violet’s parents were fallen in a sense. Perhaps that was why they had wed—the impoverished heiress and the poor aristocrat.
“I am happy for her,” Violet said. “I hope that I may find a love-match of my own someday.”
“You deserve one.”
The conversation lapsed into silence, as Violet fed her mother the rest of the stew. Violet heard a door close below and thudding footsteps, and she knew her father was home. He would find the stew and eat by himself in what was once a parlor.
“I hope so, Mother,” Violet said. “At the very least, I should like to fall in love just once, so I know what it is like. I must know if it is as wondrous as the stories say.”
She must also know what happenedafterthe wedding when she and her beloved would be together in bed, kissing and clasping one another. Violet’s pulse quickened, and heat rushed to her face.
Her mother smiled. “What does your friend Liza believe?”
“That it is even better,” Violet said.
“Well, you must tell me when it happens,” her mother said, sighing and settling against the bed. “I shall wish to meet the gentleman.”
“Of course.” Violet recognized that her mother was tired, as she often was after meals. “Shall I leave you to rest, Mother?”
“That would be lovely, dear.”
