Page 38 of These Violet Delights
Robert shrugged. “Is that all? I’ll consult Dawe, he will know all about it. And where shall I have these pigments and brushes sent?”
Shifting, Alasdair glanced toward the busy sitting room. He wondered if Violet even remembered being carried into her home, or if she could recall the way he had cradled her to his chest on the ride there. He didn’t know what he hoped she would remember. His face prickled with heat; oh, but did she hear him when he bent down and asked her to stay awake, to stay with him…
“It’s for a young lady in Cray Arches, a budding artist of some promise and potential,” Alasdair grunted. “But please, put no name to the gift.”
“Oh! A secretive gift! Does Miss Holzer know? My, how splendidly mysterious and romantic! But take it from me, old friend, a lady tends to love one better if she knows she is, in fact, being courted, and by whom.”
“Then you should leave it as I have instructed, for I am notcourting the lady. Have you never considered the value of a woman’s friendship?”
“Friendship? Why would I do that? Lillian provides all the feminine companionship I could desire. And when I tire of looking at her, I console myself with dreams of a mistress. Then, I remember what a bother it is to keep a woman happy enough to maintain a secret, and I come to my senses.”
Alasdair squeezed his eyes shut. “Just…do as I asked, please. I will provide the address, do not indicate the sender.”
“No need to use that tone,” said Robert, abruptly sober, perhaps afraid he had conjured the Mute Brute. But Alasdair let himself shrink, no threat to the man. “But what sort of friend would I be if I did not nudge when a nudge was needed?”
No nudge required,thought Alasdair, tired.I have already toppled well over that cliff.
In fact, it pained him not to take credit for the gift of the paints. If only he could see the surprise and delight bursting behind Violet’s smile as she beheld the package…He shook his head and began to walk off toward the sitting room, hand on the back of his neck, then he swung back around toward Robert. “Oh, and she will need canvases, paper, an easel. Buy the very best and send the bill to the house on Wimpole.”
Robert Daly shouted with laughter, bounding after him and clapping Alasdair on the shoulder. “For you, my friend, there is no need to reimburse. Just the thought of you agonizing over a secret gift for a young lady will sustain me for months!”
—
Less than a fortnight later, Alasdair was ready to return to Sampson Park. He had no interest in displaying the Caravaggio there but had it wrapped and ready for transport, alreadyimagining where it would hang in Clafton. Before departing for the country, he had accepted a hasty invitation from Robert to join him for one last visit. He decided he owed Robert for helping him acquire the Caravaggio and for his role in sending Violet new supplies. As the carriage neared the Dalys’ home, he further decided the Caravaggio would have a place of honor in Clafton when it was finished, and that the art acquired for his mother over the years (the sum total of which could furnish two estates) must be confined to certain halls and one sitting room; their tastes did not align, and he saw Clafton as much his home as hers. A place to begin again, a memorial to his beloved father, perhaps even where he might raise a family…
What family?He tried to imagine the sort of woman Lady Edith would want for him. Once upon a time, she had tried putting an array of eligible ladies before him, and though they were all nice enough, none sparked a feeling stronger than indifference. The most he could say about his mother’s selections was that they were tolerably inoffensive, nothing like…
What would he choose for himself? He knew it was corrosive to imagine her.
“Is this weather not gloriously fine?” Robert greeted as Alasdair presented himself once more in the lavish jewel box of the Dalys’ library. The shelves gleamed, the neat rows of books smelling faintly of leather. Robert himself stood utterly coiffed in a sky-blue cravat near a table displaying several maps. “Lillian will be along shortly,” he continued, joining Alasdair near the sofas. “I’m afraid she’s just received devastating news about her mother.”
“My apologies. Is she unwell?”
Robert waved him off, eyeing the tray of refreshments that had already been brought in. He chose a pink macaron and considered it with a sniff. “Oh, no, she is very well, butunfortunately joining us for Christmas. Lillian is beside herself. You have never met a person more in love with the sound of their own voice.”
Smiling, Alasdair coughed lightly into his fist.
“Ha-ha. I am nothing like her, believe me. She is tedious, and I am merely full of information.” Robert ate the sweet in one bite and shrugged. “Which leads me to our business.”
“Business? I thought this was a social call.”
“Dear boy, it is neverjusta social call with me, you should know that by now.” Robert gave a self-indulgent little laugh. “Do you know, after you had me arrange that sly gift, I had my man inquire after the occupants of, what was it? Beadle Cottage?” He said the words as if describing something he had stepped in. “The Ardens live there, yes? And then, I had a cheeky think about where I knew that name, and at last I landed upon it: Violet Arden. Now, there’s a namerifewith material.”
Robert’s pale blue eyes were sparkling, which was rarely a good sign.
Shifting, Alasdair set his gaze on a vague point in the distance. “I don’t see why this is important, Robert. I told you; I’ve no interest in courting her.”
“Yet she’s reported to be a great beauty!”
“Some say so.”
Robert’s grin slid into a smirk. “But not you?”
Alasdair set his jaw. “Why does this concern you?”
“I knew it.” Robert hissed; he didn’t sound at all excited. “Are you aware of her reputation? Her obscurity? It’s almost a pity she’s so beautiful, for who would have her?”
Who, indeed. Wandering toward the far wall, he pretended to appraise the portrait of Lillian painted by Dawe. Robert came up behind him, hovering. “I don’t need her money.”
