Brenda Joyce (17 page)
Authors: The Finer Things
He was silent. Then, “I hope that you do.”
She choked, turning away. Reaching for the door, Blake dropped his hand, allowing her to open it. “At least I got hopes an’ dreams,” she said. “Not like yew.” And she went inside.
Blake did not move, and he did not reply.
BLAKE’S
phaeton rolled up to the curb in front of Harding House. Three weeks had passed since he had spoken with Violette outside of Lady Allister’s specialty shop. In those three weeks, Blake had thrown himself singlemindedly into his business affairs.
phaeton rolled up to the curb in front of Harding House. Three weeks had passed since he had spoken with Violette outside of Lady Allister’s specialty shop. In those three weeks, Blake had thrown himself singlemindedly into his business affairs.
Blake bounded up the wide front stairs and past the two stone lions. The footmen bowed and immediately swung open the immense door. As soon as Blake entered the rotunda, he heard a pair of female voices which he recognized and he smiled. He hurried into the parlor, reserved for the family’s use, just a few doors down the hall.
Catherine and the countess were in a lively discussion about the countess’s first event of the Season, a ball. It would also be the very first ball of the Season. Blake hardly cared. Last week he had found himself thoroughly bored at the two dinner parties and the single dance which he had attended. He intended to put in a very brief appearance at his mother’s ball tomorrow. He had also been working late most evenings. It was preferable to the inane conversation he endured at the parties he did choose to attend.
Hugs, kisses, and greetings were exchanged. “How are you, Mother? Catherine?” Blake asked warmly.
“I am so very worried,” the countess said. “The ball is tomorrow and there is still so much to be done!”
Blake smiled fondly. “You are always worried to distraction before any social gathering you sponsor—and it is always, without fail, a great success.”
His mother frowned, already lost in thought, and walked over to the secretaire where she sat down and began making notes and lists. Catherine plucked Blake’s sleeve, her smile gone, her eyes on his. “Blake, we must talk. About Violette.”
He was immediately all ears. “And what is there to discuss?” He tried to sound indifferent when he did not feel indifferent at all. It was almost as if he missed Violette and yearned to hear about her.
“I am afraid I have done something terrible,” Catherine said, gnawing on her lower lip.
“I doubt it,” Blake replied easily.
Catherine sighed. Taking Blake’s arm, they moved farther across the salon. “The other day I stopped by Lady Allister’s to visit her. I have repeatedly tried to find out where she lives, so I might call there, but Violette has always changed the subject, making me wonder what she is hiding. Anyway, Violette did not seem well. She seemed tired. And, well, sad.” Catherine regarded Blake. “Impulsively, I invited her to your mother’s ball.”
Blake’s eyes widened. And his pulse positively leapt. “Is that the end of the world?” he asked calmly, but his thoughts were far from calm. All he could think was that Violette would be at the ball tomorrow night. He was far more than surprised. Suddenly he was looking forward to the event.
“I am very worried now about this. Blake, the countess’s ball is one of the most elegant of the Season. Invitations are coveted and fought over. Violette was thrilled to be invited. I know she will come. But what will happen once she is here? This is not like a dinner at Harding Hall.” Catherine wrung her hands. “She is very sensitive and I am afraid she is going to be hurt. You know how cruel people can be.”
Blake realized that Catherine was right. He turned away, his hands jammed into the pockets of his trousers. His crowd would be appalled to have Violette Goodwin in their midst. She would be cut dead.
“I haven’t told the countess, either.” Catherine worried the ivory sash which adorned the waist of her cream yellow gown. “Oh, dear. I sense a huge disaster in the making.”
Blake’s mind raced. “Do not worry about Mother. I shall explain to her, and she has a heart of gold. Well, I am afraid we have no choice but to close ranks around Violette and protect her, so to speak.”
Catherine brightened. “What a wonderful idea! In fact, not only shall I make it clear that she is a dear friend of mine, why do you not give her your attention? If people see you courting her, they will think twice about being rude and uncivil, I daresay.”
Blake regarded Catherine. He said slowly, “Catherine, I do hope this isn’t some mad scheme on your part to throw me together with Violette Goodwin?”
Catherine gasped. “Blake! How could you even say such a thing!” If she were dissembling, then she belonged on the stage. If he did not know Catherine so well, he would think she was taking on Violette as some sort of project or experiment
with which to amuse herself. But Catherine was a genuinely compassionate woman. Her motives were pure.
with which to amuse herself. But Catherine was a genuinely compassionate woman. Her motives were pure.
But Blake continued to stare.
Catherine smiled at him now. “Lord Farrow has stopped by Lady Allister’s three or four times in the past few weeks. He has even given her a gift. A very beautiful scarf.”
Blake stiffened. “She should not have accepted it.”
Catherine’s green gaze was level. “I am afraid that she did not know any better.” Suddenly she brightened. “Jon!”
Jon was sauntering into the room. The countess did not glance up. “What are the two of you whispering about?”
Catherine flushed. “I was just explaining to Blake that I impulsively invited Violette to your mother’s ball.”
“That was a capital idea,” Jon said, kissing her cheek. “Don’t you think so, Blake?”
Blake met his brother’s far too benign gaze. He had little doubt that he was being set up by them both. He turned and walked over to a window. It did not matter. He was looking forward to seeing Violette Goodwin again, even if it meant flirting with danger.
When Blake had left, Jon invited Catherine with him outside. Arm in arm, they strolled in the countess’s resplendent gardens. “You have been very clever, Catherine,” Jon remarked warmly.
She laughed with delight. “I do think so. I am also lending Violette one of my gowns. I do want everything to go so well tomorrow night.”
“She will be stunning, I am sure,” Jon said as they paused to watch the goldfish in one marble pond, “although not as stunning as you.”
Catherine cast her gaze down, smiling, her cheeks pink. “Thank you.”
He released her arm. “It’s a shame,” he said, “that Violette does not have a real mentor amongst our set, because all she needs is a little polish and no one would ever suspect that she is not one of us.”
Catherine stared. “A mentor? A little polish? Jon, she needs a tutor. She needs to learn how to speak correctly, without that accent, to walk and move gracefully, even to stand up, sit down, and curtsy! Why, she needs a complete course in fashion, and I dare say, etiquette. In short, she needs far more than a simple polishing!”
Jon smiled at her.
Her eyes widened. And as it was so often the case between them, she understood him perfectly. “How clever you are,” she said.
Ralph stared as Violette finished dressing. His eyes were cold. Violette knew him well enough to know that he was angry and unhappy. But she couldn’t be too sorry. She was filled with a combination of excitement and dread.
She was going to her first ball. At Harding House. Violette was so nervous that she was lightheaded. She was terrified of making a mistake, of talking the wrong way, or saying the wrong thing, or behaving in some manner that was considered rude or unfashionable or declasse. She had been working at Lady Allister’s long enough now to know that there were all kinds of rules which the upper classes relished following. Violette hardly understood any of them.
But Catherine had been kind enough to invite her to a grand event, a real ball, just like the one she had witnessed eight years ago. Nothing would keep Violette away.
And Blake would be there.
Her heart lurched. She stood in front of an oval mirror, but closed her eyes. In the past three weeks, Violette had thrown herself into her work. This week, Lady Allister had told her that she had made more sales than the other clerks. Her employer was so pleased that she had given Violette a raise.
What would happen tonight? What could she do? To gain Blake’s attention, to win his heart? Or at least to make him see her differently than as a mere friend?
If only he would kiss her again the way he had at Harding Hall on the summer night in York. It was only a month ago, but it seemed as if it had been another lifetime.
“Yer goin’ to get into trouble t’night, I can feel it!” Ralph cried, breaking into her thoughts.
Violette opened her eyes. She faced her very pale reflection in the mirror. Somehow she had managed to arrange her hair into a chignon, although numerous tendrils were escaping around her face. Catherine had lent her an ice-blue taffeta ball gown, one Violette at once loved for its rich and sensuous feel, yet thought terribly plain. It was the first time she had ever worn her shoulders bare, for the bodice of the gown was cut straight across her chest and arms, the small velvet cap sleeves hanging. Violete wished the gown had lace trim, or roses, or
even beads. All it was adorned with, other than the velvet cap sleeves, was a darker blue, stunningly wide satin sash. The underskirts, exposed when she moved, were a wonderfully rich shade of iridescent green that at times glinted purple or mauve.
even beads. All it was adorned with, other than the velvet cap sleeves, was a darker blue, stunningly wide satin sash. The underskirts, exposed when she moved, were a wonderfully rich shade of iridescent green that at times glinted purple or mauve.
“Did yew ’ear me?” Ralph demanded.
Violette faced him with an anxious smile. “You are daft.” She intended to speak with utter precision tonight. “What could possibly ’appen—happen—tonight?” But she thought, a
kiss
. A wild, savage kiss, one that would show her that Blake did not really think of her as a friend but as a woman.
kiss
. A wild, savage kiss, one that would show her that Blake did not really think of her as a friend but as a woman.
“’Is Lordship’s goin’ t’ dance yew right out o’ the ballroom int’ the library or some such place, an’ ’e ain’t got marriage on ’is mind—yew remember that!”
“How could I forget?” Violette glanced at herself in the mirror. She thought she was lovelier than she had ever been, but she was afraid, not hopeful. Tonight, she prayed with all of her heart, was the beginning of the rest of her life.
Please, God
.
Please, God
.
“Yew ain’t one of them, Violette. Yew ain’t niver gonna be one of them,” Ralph said furiously. “An’ no fancy job or fancy dress is gonna change the facts.”
“I don’t care,” Violette said. But it was a lie, and she knew Ralph was right, which was why she was so scared. The truth was unavoidable now. Tonight she was entering a world where she did not belong. She was determined not to make a fool of herself. But how could she not? What if she tripped while on the stairs, perhaps even falling down them, or stepped on a gentleman’s feet while dancing—if a gentleman even asked her to dance, and Violette had the terrible notion that no one would. Yet she did not know how to dance, so if someone did ask her, she should refuse. But Violette knew she wouldn’t refuse; she would somehow fake it, pretend. And wasn’t that what Joanna Feldstone had called her? A pretender? Violette had never wanted to do anything more than to go to the Harding ball, but she was a pretender, because she wasn’t really Lady Goodwin, she was only Violet Cooper. The ball was proof that she wasn’t a real lady, that she was completely unprepared for the evening that loomed ahead.
Ralph cut into her thoughts. “
I don’t care
,” Ralph mimicked. “Wot airs yew got now, me lady!”
I don’t care
,” Ralph mimicked. “Wot airs yew got now, me lady!”
Violette faced him, trembling. “I just want to better meself. You shouldn’t make fun of me talking properly.”
Ralph stared at her as Violette faced him. “Yew gonna get ’urt tonight, I can feel it, an’ I don’t gotta be a wizard to know it.”
“I ain’t going to get hurt,” Violette said firmly. “You’re jealous, Ralph Horn.”
He glared. Abruptly he turned his back on her, making Violette feel terrible—she hated fighting with Ralph, her dearest friend in the world, dearer than any brother could ever be. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He whirled. “No, yer right. I’m jealous. I’m damn jealous, luv.”
Violette stiffened. “Of me airs?” she whispered incredulously.
He laughed slightly and cupped her bare shoulders with his callused palms. They were damp. “No, . not o’ yer airs. I’m ’appy fer yew if that’s wot makes yew ’appy, talkin’ like some nob.”
Violette searched his pale eyes, finding a tenderness there she rarely saw. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m jealous o’ ’Is Lordship.” Ralph’s eyes darkened. “I ’ate the way I seen yew look at ’im, an’ I ’ate the way ’e looks at yew!”
Violette stared, stunned.
Ralph’s grip tightened and his eyes flared and suddenly he pressed his mouth against hers. Violette was so surprised that she did not move. He immediately stepped away from her, ending the brief kiss before it had even begun. His own eyes were wide and stunned and somehow frightened.
“Ralph?” She could not believe what he had done.
“I …” He stared. “Gawd, I’m sorry!” He turned and strode out of the bedroom, as fast as his legs would take him.
When Violette arrived at Harding House, servants were in the foyer, relieving the ladies of their wraps, the gentlemen of their hats, capes, and canes, if they carried the latter. Violette had nothing to give over and she felt her cheeks flaming—she had already committed a mistake, which she prayed no one would notice. But the two couples in front of her were not even glancing at her. And then Violette saw Tulley, the butler.
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