Page 52 of These Violet Delights
“Clafton Hall is sure to bethefeature of the county when it is finished,” said Lillian, staring at the back of her husband’s head.
“Thank you, Mrs. Daly. And may I welcome you to Sampson Park?”
“You may.”
“And may I also suggest that, while you warm yourself and settle into your accommodations, I take Robert to the forest to look for our Yule log? You must be exhausted after—” Robert interrupted him, swearing as a branch swiped his cheek. “You must be exhausted.”
Lillian beamed up at him. “Sir, there is no need for further gifts. That singular one will do.”
Indeed, once Lillian was escorted to the house and pleasantries were exchanged with his mother and brother, Alasdair forced Robert right back out into the snow.
“Come,” Alasdair barked at him, swinging the axe to rest on his shoulder. “It will be the most heroic thing you’ve done in ages.”
“I don’t need to be heroic,” said Robert. “I pay someone to do that.”
Yet it was supremely amusing to take Robert into the steepest climb of the woods as the snow came down and began, hour by hour, to stick. He made his friend hold his hat and coat while he swung the axe at a big, obliging log, chips of bark and wood flesh flying after each meatythunk.The exercise heated him through, and with the churn of hot blood came the churn of other things—the familiar buzz in his head of mingled guilt and desire. He had declared himself to Violet, and now he was building to a confession. To himself. To her. Most unpleasant of all, to his family.
“You have the strangest look on your face,” said Robert, laughing nervously.
“I’m merely thinking…”
“I wouldn’t suggest it. I’m always at my worst when I pay too much attention to myself. Better to just do and live with the consequences. One can get lost in the forest of thoughts and never emerge.” As if reminded that they were in a very real forest, Robert glanced around, shrinking.
“Soon,” Alasdair muttered to himself, lowering the axe and leaning against it, breathing hard. “It can’t go on like this.”
“I won’t pretend to understand you. And don’t expect me to drag that log through the forest.” Robert sniffed, dodging debris. “These Hessians are new.”
The log was wrapped in hazel twigs and brought back toSampson Park. The groundskeeper met them at the edge of the wood and helped them carry the load to the great hearth in the main drawing room, where Lady Edith was already swaddled in her shawls, presiding over a book of sermons. The house was filled with greenery, every mantel, corner, and pillar hung with fragrant boughs, snow-crisped holly shining beside wreaths of ivy and rosemary, though per Lady Edith’s instructions, no mistletoe was allowed. Robert and Alasdair retired to the library to refresh themselves after their Yule adventure, sipping port while Robert perused the books on offer and decried the lack of novels.
“Lady Edith is not fond of the secular,” Alasdair explained.
“I gathered that from the décor,” said Robert, shuddering. “And how the devil do you go on living with all these martyrs staring at you while they bleed out?”
“Without sin, or so my mother hopes.”
“Is it working?” Robert barked with laughter, leaning against one well-stocked bookcase, several volumes of Fordyce’s work lined up near the rake’s head. “How fares your brother?”
“Poorly. He’s floundering.” Alasdair drained his port.
“Send him to London. I’ll take him ’round. You know we dine with a bishop every month; I’m certain your brother will warm to the profession once he sees the size of that man’s rings.”
Freddie did seem more himself when they sat down to dine that evening, and as much as Alasdair found fault with Robert, his friend did seem invested in Freddie’s good cheer. He engaged him in animated conversation, picking his subjects deftly and delighting both Freddie and Lady Edith with stories of hosting the bishop and going to Pargan Poole in previous years for Christmas, as well as listing out all the recent paintings he had acquired. Lillian sat largely silent, though sheseemed content to let Robert hold court while she ate the succulent roast goose and received compliments on her stately bearing from Lady Edith.
In fact, by Christmas morning, Alasdair was feeling proud of himself; he had accurately assessed that all Sampson Park needed was a dose of new faces to feel lively for the holiday. Lady Edith insisted that they go to the church at Anselm for the service, Mr. Danforth’s replacement giving the overlong sermon. His mother repeatedly swiveled in her seat, gazing off toward the door as if expecting Mr. Danforth to return at any moment.
For the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening, Alasdair felt a building sense of unease. His stomach was in knots as he dressed to go down for Christmas dinner; what if he had too much wine and blurted out that he wanted to marry Miss Arden? Maybe he ought to. He couldn’t contain the secret much longer. Freddie and his mother would be enraged for very different reasons. Glancing out the window, he watched the snow continue to fall and mound into higher and higher satin-white pillows. The trees drooped, their branches not so much lightly sugared, as Lillian hoped, but weighted until their tips brushed the drifts rising to meet them. That was it, he decided, that was the source of his unease.
What if Robert is trapped here for a fortnight? How will I survive it?
The house was more quiet than usual, the snow blocking them in muting every sound until it threatened to drive one mad. He thought of Mrs. Richmond’s generous invitation to attend her benefit, and he imagined Pressmore wearing its elegant emerald Christmas finery, musicians tuning their instruments, actors practicing their scenes, cooks mixing thewassail bowl, guests choosing their feathers and jewels for the event of the season, and among them…
Alasdair dismissed his valet and went to the window, gazing with hard eyes out at the snow.You fool, you shouldn’t have said anything to Violet about your feelings. Did you think somehow you would end up there and not here? In what world would that be possible? Certainly not this one.
He was stupid to hope but doomed to anyway. He wondered what Violet might be wearing for the benefit. She would look best in silver and white, he thought, or maybe a rich blue to bring out her striking eyes. He almost caved and went to steal a look at her self-portrait, but he tore himself away from the window and went downstairs, where Robert and Lillian were waiting.
“Lord, the mood in here is dire,” Robert muttered, his mouth pulling down at the corners until his neck wrinkled. “Lady Edith has read to us fromSermons to Young Womenfor the last hour. I thought Lillian was going to hurl herself at the Yule log!”
“Lady Edith is very shy, I think,” Lillian added gently. “I wonder if conversing comes easy to her.”
