Page 23 of These Violet Delights
“A jest, a jest,” he assured her, chuckling, anticipating her while sneaking a look at her from the corner of his eye. “Moncelle’s art is even more insipid than yours.”
“Have you ever doled out a compliment without a knifehidden behind your back?” she asked, laughing despite herself. She inhaled deeply through her nose. “Insipid. Oh, but I like when you call him that. Were it not for our families, perhaps we could be friends after all.”
He cleared his throat.
“And there I go again, saying far too much.Close your mouth this instant.”
Mr. Kerr’s head swiveled toward her, bringing them almost nose to nose. His breath skittered across her chin, alluring as a whispered secret. What was coming over her? She wouldn’t allow herself to forget the terrible things he had said about her paintings. She wouldn’t. “For whatever my opinion is worth—and I’m sure, being a Kerr, that is little indeed—I often feel the same. Imprisoned by my thoughts, never mastering them for long before the churning begins again.”
Violet nodded fervently. “The churning, that’s how I would describe it, too. I’ve always had it, but it became so much worse when Father died.”
Mr. Kerr flinched and looked elsewhere, falling into a despair she recognized.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no,” he said, gruff. “It is my own fault; I insisted we could speak freely.”
A door was shutting. Violet didn’t fight it, instead marking the distance he had carried her. The silence stretched on, though she wouldn’t call it unpleasant. She expected to fall back into the mire of her thoughts but instead found herself remarkably at ease.
After a while, he said, “We are to be commended, Miss Arden.”
“Oh? For what, I wonder?”
“For completing a pleasant exchange, and with not a single serious offense given. Impressive, mm?”
“You’re teasing, Mr. Kerr.” Violet swished her lips to the side. “Your celebration is premature—we have not yet reached the house, and I will not forget you complained of my so-called shrieking when it was only spirited debate.”
“Mm, too true. I hope you will not debate me when I say that it is immensely relieving to know the fire did not claim any lives. From here, I can see that the damage is minimal.”
“Yes,” said Violet as they crested the second gentle hill, passing out of the mist completely. “We can abide no more excitement at the house. Emilia’s melancholy was more than enough of a strain.” She felt an icy curtain descend between them at once. It was a betrayal, she thought, to laugh with him when Freddie had treated Emilia cruelly. “She has taken it badly. He might have disappointed her gently, but his harshness has left a wound.”
“Would it be better to let her cling to hope? Confusion is a greater unkindness.”
“And how is your brother?”
Mr. Kerr wrinkled his nose and tilted his head to one side, a nervous gesture. “He has not been at Sampson Park for many days now.”
“Curious,” Violet murmured.
“Suspicious, you mean.”
“Your words, not mine.”
Mr. Kerr snorted and widened the distance between them. “And so, you were right. My celebrationwaspremature. I will not apologize for what transpired between my brother and Miss Graddock; he has no future with her. The matter is closed.”
Violet looked away, disgusted. Even if she agreed that Emilia could do better, it was ugly the way he said it. “You should put me down.”
“Tolerate this but a moment longer, Miss Arden. We are nearly there.”
At the top of the hill, they were now in perfect view of the house and those still mingling outside below the portico. Here, Mr. Kerr hesitated. Violet waved toward Pressmore as Cousin Lane and Emilia broke away from the others, hurrying to where Mr. Kerr still held her in his arms. “I must ask again that you put me down, Mr. Kerr. It was good of you to bring me, but there is no need for you to go any farther.”
Before another word could be exchanged between them, Lane and Emilia arrived, both of them breathless. Lane, the left sleeve of his shirt flapping from lack of an arm, looked them up and down, his eyes finally falling on the strange way Violet was holding up her foot.
“I twisted my ankle badly by the water,” she said, hurrying to assuage their fears. “Mr. Kerr was…out for a morning walk and was good enough to carry me here. The person I was chasing escaped on horseback, but I believe they were riding for the village. If we send someone now, we might be able to catch them.”
Neither of them commented on his curiously damp state.
“I’ll go at once.” Lane bowed curtly to Mr. Kerr. “Can you make it to the house, cousin, or shall I call for Bloom?”
