Page 80 of The Duke of Ice
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“Surely I can takea walk around the garden,” Violet insisted.
Her mother, lips pressed into a thin, white line, stared down at her. “The physician said you needed another week of rest.”
She’d already been in bed ten days. Or so she’d been told. She didn’t remember much before about five days ago. Apparently, she’d fallen on the sidewalk and become quite ill as a result. She’d suffered debilitating headaches, barely able to lift her head from the pillow, and her vision had been blurry. Today was the first time she wasn’t seeing two of everything.
She blinked at her mother, glad there weren’t two of her anymore because, really, one was more than enough. “Then I should at least be able to walk around the room.”
Her mother scoffed. “You’re a terrible patient.”
Violet wanted to suggest she leave, but held her tongue. Instead, she glanced toward Chalke, who gave her a sympathetic smile. The maid had apologized many times for notifying her parents of Violet’s injury.
At least Hannah would be arriving soon. She would have come before, but one of her children had been ill.
If only Nick would return. But he’d needed to attend the princess’s funeral. Violet looked back toward her mother. “What day is it?”
“Wednesday, the nineteenth.” She walked to the window where she had a chair situated in which she did needlepoint. Constantly.
“Is the funeral today?” Violet asked. They’d discussed it a few times, but she couldn’t quite recall.
“Yes,” her mother answered. “At Windsor. Now that you’re feeling better, I’m looking forward to hearing all about your time with the Queen. How splendid that you met her.” Mother had brought this subject up several times. “Maybe next time she’s in town, you’ll invite me to come.”
The implication was clear—why hadn’t Violet extended her influence to her mother? Maybe because she found her mother’s company grating and her behavior self-serving. She and Father had worked very hard to purchase a titled groom, largely sotheycould enjoy the benefits. They’d been far sorrier than Violet when Clifford had died.
“I do believe it’s time for luncheon,” Chalke said, bustling to the side of the bed and needlessly adjusting Violet’s bedcovers. “Then it’s probably best if Lady Pendleton rests.”
“I could do with a walk myself,” Violet’s mother said, looking out at the garden below. She flashed a smile at her daughter. “I’ll walkforyou, how’s that?”
“That’s perfect, thank you.” Violet resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
After her mother departed, Chalke patted Violet’s arm. “Hopefully she won’t stay much longer. Now that you’re on the mend, I think your father plans to leave.”
It was just as well. He was anxious to get back to the brood of puppies his favorite hound had just birthed. Violet couldn’t really tell if he was glad to see her or not. Her mother had at least demonstrated concern and care, helping to feed and dress Violet, much to Violet’s chagrin. She hated taking help from her, as irrational as that was.
“Has there been no word from Nick?” Violet asked Chalke.
The maid shook her head. “Not yet, but don’t fret. The physician he sent is drafting a letter right now to inform him of your positive progress. I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon.”
Violet could only imagine how distraught he must be. He’d already been a wreck following the princess’s death, and Chalke had told her of his anguish following Violet’s injury. She hated that he was at the funeral alone and wished she could be by his side to offer support. And love.
“Hear from who?” Her mother came sailing back into the room. “I forgot my needlepoint.” She didn’t go anywhere without it.
“No one, just a friend,” Violet said. She didn’t want to tell her mother about him, not when she’d ruined their happiness eight years ago. A small voice at the back of her head told her it might well be worth her mother’s reaction to learn that the man she’d prevented her daughter from marrying was now a duke.
Mother picked up her embroidery and walked to the side of the bed. “He must be a good friend if you’re hoping to hear from him.” Her coffee-brown eyes lit up with interest. “Dare I hope you’re planning to remarry?”
Not planning, but she had to admit she was hoping. She wasn’t sure about Nick, however. She wanted him, loved him, but feared he was trapped in the web of past tragedies.
“Not at present.” Violet glanced toward Chalke.
“He must be someone important if he sent a physician to care for you. Perhaps I’ll just askhim.” In other words, she’d find out who “he” was one way or another.
Violet decided to listen to the voice in the back of her aching head. “It’s the Duke of Kilve. We’ve actually been acquainted for some time. We met here in Bath eight years ago.”
Her mother looked aghast, her eyes widening and her hand fluttering to her chest. “You met a duke eight years ago? How did we not know about this? My sister would have told me.”
Violet’s auntwouldhave told her,ifhe’d been a duke. “His name was Nicholas Bateman. He wasn’t a duke then.”
