Rivals and Roses (The Vaughns #1)

Chapter 18

“L etter for you, Mama,” said Violet, inching open the door to the lady’s bedchamber.

The curtains were still pulled tight against the light, and the air sat heavy with the scent of the sickroom; the fireplace cheerily burned, but the lady in the bed remained bundled beneath the mass of blankets. Mama gave no acknowledgment, and Violet crossed to her, sitting upon the corner of the mattress and pressing a hand to the lady’s forehead. The skin was clammy and warm still, though far from being worrisome.

Mama opened her eyes, and she gave a faint smile. “Is it from an admirer?”

“I would say so. It is from Isaac,” replied Violet.

With a smile, Mama shifted and leaned against the headboard before reaching out for the envelope. Violet handed it over and began gathering the many things that had been left out on the side table during the past few days; they were nearly through the stack of novels, so she would need to send Peggy into Bentmoor to fetch a few more from the lending library tomorrow once the maid was finished with the laundry .

“I apologize, but I will have to leave you to your knitting or sewing this afternoon,” said Violet. “I have several pressing prescriptions to fulfill.”

Mama waved that away and broke the seal, unfolding the letter. “Do not trouble yourself with me. I feel wretched, but it is nothing I cannot manage. You’ve sacrificed too much of your time entertaining me as it is.”

“It is not a sacrifice, Mama,” said Violet as she reached for the tea tray and piled the dishes atop it.

“Oh.”

The quiet exhalation drew Violet up short, and she turned to see Mama staring at her son’s missive with a furrowed brow.

“What is it?” asked Violet.

“Nothing significant,” replied Mama with a sigh that revealed the true disappointment lingering beneath the words. “Isaac is having a lovely time in Portsmouth with Martha, and he’s decided to join Lilibet in Stoneford for the rest of her aunt and uncle’s visit. They won’t return home for another fortnight.” With a tsk, Mama set the letter aside. “I ought not to begrudge him the time apart. He is a grown man, after all. But I do miss him when he is away. This house is so empty without him here.”

Straightening, Violet drew in a sharp breath. Just a few words. Hardly anything significant. Yet there was no denying the longing in Mama’s tone, making it clear just how much more important Isaac’s presence was.

The lady’s eyes drifted to her daughter, and Mama straightened. “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that I do not value your company, my darling.”

Reaching out a hand, she beckoned for Violet to join her on the bed. With a pained smile, Mama pressed her free hand to her head. “I fear this fever is making a muddle of my words. I love spending time with you. Of course, I do. I love you dearly, and I am so grateful for all the time you’ve spent at my bedside. You take such good care of me. Isaac simply has a way of enlivening my spirits. That is all. ”

Violet smiled as she knew she ought, but she couldn’t help but hear the implication—however unintentional—that she didn’t possess that skill.

“Oh, my sweet girl. I am so proud of you,” said Mama with a gentle smile. “You do know that don’t you? Your father and I were always amazed at how diligent and capable you are, though I do not know where it came from as it certainly wasn’t either of us.”

“Papa would’ve forgotten his head if it weren’t attached to his neck,” said Violet, offering up the familiar refrain the gentleman had said many times.

“Too true. You do so much for our family, and you always have. I do not know how you manage it all and all the ledgers and such, but you do it beautifully, and I am proud of you,” said Mama with a smile that was affection and joy blended together. “Whenever your father fretted about things, I always said that we needn’t worry because Vi will sort it out in a trice. And you always did.”

While the words were pleasant to hear, the genuine admiration in her tone resonated through Violet, lightening her heart and drawing with it a genuine smile. “Thank you, Mama.”

“No, thank you,” she echoed, though the words were broken when she yawned deeply. Shaking her head, Mama straightened and handed the letter to Violet. “Martha left a postscript for you.”

Violet glanced over the sheet and found only a scant line at the end; she flipped the sheet over but found nothing additional there. Just a few simple words, hastily scrawled at the end.

Tell Vi that I am well and send her my love.

“Is that all?” murmured Violet, drawing Mama’s attention.

“I am certain she means to write when she has time, but Martha’s very busy now that she’s a married lady.”

Violet held back a grimace. How many times had she heard that excuse? During the courtship and early days of their marriage, ladies were quick to dismiss their friends in favor of their sweetheart, which was entirely understandable. Yet as the weeks turned to months, their justifications shifted to include all their new responsibilities as a “Mrs.” Then children quickly followed, stealing away even more of their attention and making it impossible for them to spare even a passing thought for their former companions and confidants.

However, Violet couldn’t help but notice how often those ladies were able to carve out time for their new friends amongst the matrons. She doubted Martha forewent social calls no matter how demanding her daily diary was.

“No doubt Martha has many demands on her time,” said Violet. “But being married has nothing to do with it, as her husband is traveling the world aboard his ship and rarely at home.”

Mama leveled a disapproving look at her daughter. “She has a household to manage now, which I assure you is quite the undertaking. To say nothing of having Isaac underfoot for a sennight. And I would be cautious about saying such things, Vi. It makes you sound bitter.”

Turning her eyes heavenward, Violet hid the expression and gave her mother a smile as she knew was required of the moment, and in a grand show of goodness and humility, she did not bring to Mama’s attention that her unmarried daughter was already managing much of the household and making all her brother’s prescriptions yet still found time to write Martha. But to say such would likely make her sound even more “bitter.”

Rising to her feet, Violet helped to settle Mama into the bed properly, tucking the covers around her before turning back to the side table to finish stacking the remaining dishes atop the tea tray.

“Peggy is busy with the laundry today, and Mrs. Stevens is on her half-day, but I’ll leave the doors open so I should be able to hear if you call,” said Violet.

“Do you think Isaac was able to convince Martha to visit?” asked Mama, her brow furrowing as she stared at the ceiling. “I asked him to speak to her, but he didn’t say whether he was successful or not. I understand she wishes to live in Portsmouth, but surely, she could come to Oakham from time to time rather than insisting we always come to her.”

“You know Martha, Mama,” said Violet, snatching up the knitting bag and sewing box that had been abandoned on the far side of the room and setting them on the bedside table.

“That is the trouble,” murmured Mama in a wistful tone. “Papa was always her favorite. Inseparable, those two. I fear with him gone, she won’t bother coming home again.”

“She loves us.”

“Yes, of course she does,” replied Mama with a sigh.

Violet couldn’t help but turn the lady’s words against her. “And she is a married lady with a great many things requiring her attention.”

“But surely, she could find some time for us.”

With only the mightiest of efforts on her part, Violet managed to keep from laughing or warning Mama that she was sounding “bitter.” However unintentional, the lady had slipped into an all-too-common position of the pot, and as the metaphorical kettle, Violet longed to tease her about the hypocrisy, but justification was a powerful tool that never allowed people to see the truth of their behavior—even when it slapped them in the face. So, there was no point in attempting it, and Violet chose to be amused by it.

Hefting the tray, she turned to the door. “I will keep an ear out for you, Mama—”

“Yes, yes,” she replied with a halting chuckle. “Go now. Get your work done.”

Needing no further prodding, Violet swept from the room.