Chapter 8 #2
She took a rapid step to the side, freeing herself from the shadow of his body and the unwelcome heat of his breath.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.
” She frowned, reminding herself that this was her future brother-in-law, even though she saw little more than a snake in the grass.
And since when had he become so combative?
“I was out for a walk and must have lost my way. My presence on Watley land is unintentional, I promise you.”
Lord Frederick gave his hand a dismissive wave, sending the man who’d accompanied him fleeing in the opposite direction.
Then, he turned his attention to glaring at her, the eyes Arabella rhapsodized about growing beady.
“See it doesn’t happen again. You may have cajoled yourself into marriage, but that doesn’t mean you’re welcome—”
“Violet?” A familiar, airy voice rang out, and her gaze darted beyond Lord Frederick to land on a cluster of people coming through the trees.
Two of Lord Frederick’s gentleman friends from the house party.
His sister, Lady Kingsland. But most importantly, Arabella, who dropped her parasol and sprinted forward, her face breaking into a wide grin.
Violet ran, too, heedless of land boundaries. She couldn’t have predicted how good it would feel to spot a friendly face. A remnant of her life from before everything had been turned upside down.
“Oh, Vi, I’m so glad to see you!” Arabella stopped just short of colliding with her, reaching for her hands with a little laugh. “Meadowleigh is lonesome without you already.”
Violet eagerly squeezed her fingers against her sister’s, taking in Arabella’s poke bonnet with the pink ribbons, the little curls that hung fetchingly on the sides of her face, and the becoming flush in her cheeks. How pretty she looked. How joyful.
Yet Arabella’s brow furrowed as she peered at Violet, and her lips twisted uncertainly. “Are you well, darling?”
Violet swallowed, the crisp, woodsy air becoming cloying in her lungs.
She needed to say yes, to tell her sister the comforting lie that everything was fine.
However, the ache she’d tried to outrun had returned, and so many unpleasant truths hovered on the tip of her tongue.
She hadn’t a clue whom she’d married. She might never be happy again.
Lord Frederick Denham was a cork-brained coxcomb—
“Arabella?” Lord Frederick’s voice sliced into the silence as sharply as a poison-tipped dagger.
And here Violet was hoping he would vanish into the woods or turn into a frog or something so she needn’t look at him any longer.
He remained, though, as haughty and un-amphibian-like as ever, with a gloved hand extended to her sister. “Are you coming, dearest?”
Arabella’s frown deepened, and she ignored the proffered hand, even when he took a step toward where the rest of the group observed silently from the more distant trees.
“But you said we were going for a walk along the river and then would stop to play charades in the meadow.” She nudged her head in Violet’s direction as if trying to reestablish her bearings.
“It’s this way, I’m certain. And now that we’ve run into Violet, she can join us. ”
He did a poor job concealing his sneer. “I’ve changed my mind. We’ll finish our walk in the gardens at Watley and then have libations on the terrace. I’m sure Violet, as a newly married woman, has other things to keep her occupied.”
“But … but the dust,” Arabella muttered weakly, her eyes becoming forlorn pools that traveled between her sister and her beau.
Violet clamped her lips together, trying not to let her vexation show.
No one would enjoy a stroll in Lord Frederick’s parkland, which was undergoing extensive remodeling and had turned to little more than dirt and uprooted trees.
However, the unfavorable locale was apparently preferable to spending time with an undesirable woman such as herself.
She wished she were strong enough that the realization didn’t faze her.
Better yet, she wished she could tell Lord Frederick and all his gawking houseguests to go hang.
But as Arabella’s gaze continued darting back and forth, Violet saw where it lingered the longest: upon her beloved’s outstretched palm.
“You should go,” Violet whispered, trying to make the words for her sister’s ears only. There were few things less palatable than having Lord Frederick listen to her admit defeat.
Arabella kept hold of Violet’s hands a moment longer, her lovely face darkened by doubt.
Only a moment, though, before her grip slackened and a smile returned, bringing the cheery light back to her eyes.
“Of course, you must be very busy in your new role. I’ve been thoughtless; don’t let me keep you.
” With a skip in her step, she approached Lord Frederick, sliding the fingertips of her dainty cotton gloves between the sturdy leather of his.
“Goodbye, dear Violet,” she called over her shoulder.
“Promise you’ll come visit Mama and me as soon as you find the time. ”
“Goodbye,” Violet said, although the word was thin, drowned out by the swish of Arabella’s skirts and the returning lull of conversation as the group continued on their way.
They wasted no time departing, for the quicker they left, the quicker they could pretend the disagreeable encounter had never taken place.
For an instant, Violet stood transfixed, watching Arabella’s embroidered hem flutter in the breeze. Listening to the sound of her coquettish giggle as Lord Frederick murmured something in her ear.
No more. Violet spun abruptly, taking clumsy, hurried steps back in the direction she’d come. Upon insisting that she wanted no one accompanying her for the walk, why hadn’t she at least taken the trouble to determine where the property line lay? What a foolish oversight. So foolish.
She dug her nails into her palms, trying to erase the memory of Lord Frederick’s smug, infuriating face—along with the entire group of faces who’d given her the cut direct and disappeared without a word.
It was misery having to think of them all drinking lemonade and playing games while she returned to a strange house, alone.
I did it for Arabella. That’s what she attempted to focus on as she made her way out of the shady trees and back into the sunshine.
Arabella was so happy, she glowed. Arabella had everything she wanted.
Violet had no one to blame but herself—and another of her incredibly foolish decisions—for the fact that the price of that happiness was her own marriage to a stranger.
She blinked as the brilliant sunlight stung her eyes—for it was brightness that caused them to water, not tears—and glanced over to where the laborers remained busy digging along the channels, just as she’d left them. Except something was different.
Her footsteps faltered, her eyes widening despite the burn. Two additional men had arrived on the scene, not dressed in workman’s attire but in the finely tailored clothing of gentlemen. One of middle age and middling height, with thick gray-brown hair peeking out beneath his hat. And the other …
The other was tall and lean, with perfectly polished top boots and tan trousers that hugged his thighs, displaying each muscle. He had a crisp gray coat sculpted to rigid shoulders, a starched cravat, and a head of black hair with not a strand out of place.
So. It would appear Benedict did, in fact, have plans with his land agent. She’d half-wondered if he used the meeting as an alibi while he shut himself away to pen another erotic story.
She watched as the presumed land agent pointed at something in the grass with his walking stick, and Benedict’s gaze followed the movement, his lips pursing as he made an indistinguishable comment in response. His dark brows rose in question.
Lord, why was she staring at him so? She diverted her eyes, her body giving a sharp twitch like she’d just awoken from a trance.
Rather than ogling, she should go over there and make herself known.
Wasn’t that what she’d wanted since early this morning: to get their next meeting over with so it ceased weighing heavy on her mind?
No. Not anymore. This morning, she’d been brave, prepared to face whatever awkwardness, whatever aloofness, came her way and let it run off her shoulders.
However, she no longer had it in her to act as though everything were well.
As though she weren’t lonely, mortified, and unsure how she would ever dig herself out of such a colossal hole.
Fortunately, Benedict and the land agent remained absorbed in their discussion, their gazes fixed on one of the channels. And so, before that could change, she sprinted away without looking back, the bright sun continuing to make her eyes water.