Page 3 of These Violet Delights
“I will be heard! I will not be silenced! Where is he? Renaud! Renaud?” Her voice cracked. Even afraid, Violet felt a pang of sympathy; she recognized herself in this person, with her jittery eyes, her pallor, the tight, sideways purse of her lips, as if they were tired of holding back secrets. “But he should be here! I see, I see, it matters not!” She threw off the footmen again, strengthened by a desperation Violet also understood.
Maggie clutched her; Violet had begun to sway.
“You! It is you that fetched him away, stole his heart. You that made him false to a loving fiancée of three agonizing years!” Now the woman hurried toward them, toward Violet. She pointed an accusing finger; there were marks on her ungloved hands, and the hem of her dark green frock was torn. Even shabby as she was, there was no denying her good looks—an upturned, elfin nose, full lips, a pointed chin, and thick waves of black hair, all of it so like Violet’s own appearance. “Look at my face!” she screamed, finally caught and held by the footmen, who gathered her close and tried to force her toward the archway. “Do not forget it! I hope it haunts you, you…you…thief of hearts! You will never have him, Miss Arden! Whatever his promises, whatever his lies, you will not have him. Let the whole world know your secret: that you arebut liars in love! Renaud Moncelle belongs to me!” She tossed and bucked against the footmen. “Unhand me! That hurts, stop! Stop it this instant!”
But she was carried away, kicking and screaming, her final, broken shriek striking Violet like a well-aimed shot. The whispers thickened like portending clouds, her own name sizzling on a dozen tongues, flickers of lightning, Aunt Eliza’s shocked gasp the sizzle before the total unleashing.
Now everyone knew her secret.
Not like this,she thought.Not like this.
Violet managed to stay upright, shielded by the bodies of her sisters as she retreated to the one place that felt safe—her favorite painting, the one of fruits that Winny had been so enamored with. Everything else in the vicinity turned—the wine in her own stomach churned violently, and the light from the chandeliers hanging overhead crackled, then dimmed.
“Vicious speculation! Who could take the word of a complete stranger? Well! Well! To think! That man will never be welcome in this house again!” She could hear Aunt Eliza’s voice above the crowd. Already, she was trying to spin the evening into something less embarrassing. If Aunt Eliza could not save face, she would invent a new one out of whole cloth.
Maggie fanned her. “Can you hear us? Violet? Violet? Oh, Winny, get her some punch, she’s faint!”
Violet perceived them just fine. Two men stood near them, insensible of or uninterested in the drama that had played out. Violet could see only the backs of their heads; the man closest to her, just behind Maggie, was tall and imposing, adjusting a pair of spectacles and inspecting her painting at various distances with the air of a person who lived to espouse an opinion.
“This is practically that,” he muttered with utter disdain.“Derivative and silly,” he added in a cold undertone. “And for no one.”
Then, he and his companion were gone, winding through the whispering and gossiping as if impervious, upright ships slicing through a gathering storm. Violet stared at the man, watching him go with laughter spilling out of her. And so what if her work was just like Renaud’s? He had taught her to love art. He had taught her tolove…
And wasn’t that love? To be perfectly entangled.Indistinguishable.
“I loved him,” Violet said, hiccupping. Maggie fanned her again and then held her.
“I know, sweetling.”
“I should have told you…”
“You tried, didn’t you? We should take you away from here, Violet.”
“Yes, everyone is staring,” Violet whispered. This was to be her debut. Her triumph. She and Renaud would show London their beautiful paintings and their love. Maggie lifted her up, and Winny appeared, and together Violet’s sisters helped her toward the library and the stairs in the hall beyond, carrying her away from the erupting scandal. “If only I could speak to him; there must be some reason, some…something.”
Maggie and Winny brought her to the stairs, and Violet climbed them on all fours, realizing she couldn’t feel her hands or feet.
“I don’t think that will be possible,” Maggie told her.
“No,” said Violet, heartbroken, insulted, and ill. “No, I suspect I will never speak to Renaud Moncelle again.”
2
Crowns in my purse I have and goods at home,
And so am come abroad to see the world.
The Taming of the Shrew—Act 1, Scene 2
September
Alasdair Kerr had been considering going home for years; he lacked only the necessary inducement to finally get on with it.
Ah,he thought.And here it is, with the accuracy of Atalanta’s bow.
He watched the room fall to Julianna within heartbeats of her entrance. The late afternoon sun swarmed to her with almost religious fervor, cradling her and brightening her reddish-gold hair until it burned. A dozen or so others had gathered in Robert Daly’s overthought hall, but they may as well have been phantoms beside her earthly beauty. Even slight, even delicate though she was, there was a weight to her steps that reminded him of a marble statue. With her pure simplicity, she made the room—grand enough for a prince but furnished by a festooning pretender—seem even more unpleasant.
Julianna was there for the same reason he was—a promise of hidden treasure.
