Chapter 23
Violet remained in the doorway, witnessing the sunlight through the windows caress her mother’s face and chestnut hair, the deep gold of her gown. Devotion and confusion toward this woman who had steered her life thus far warred inside her heart.
Mama paused in her song and turned on the bench, her eyes widening upon finding Violet lingering there. “I heard you had a visitor.”
Violet straightened. “Good afternoon, Mama.”
Mama narrowed her gaze and stood. “My dear.” She approached, extending her arms. “What a day it has been. Dare I guess the purpose of the viscount’s visit?”
“Dare not,” Violet said. “Only know that we are to make an aviator of the honorable Alice Felton, and His Lordship, though a good man, owned that he is still in love with his wife.”
Mama drew back, her eyes now penetrating. “My goodness. You have had a day. My child, you are exhausted.”
Violet dropped her shoulders. “Does it show?” Her mother’s hands were warm and firm on her arms, and she was led to one of the velvet-upholstered benches.
“Did you not take a nap as I suggested?” Mama asked, joining her on the bench.
“I rested earlier.”
“Let me guess. You got as far as your room, sat down, then got back up and went for a walk.”
Violet’s mouth opened to protest, but she did not have the energy to lie.
Mama gave her a compassionate look. “I know how much Mr. Burke means to you.”
She felt her face grow warm and could not meet her mother’s gaze. “I really don’t think you do,” she muttered. If she did, Mama might not have discouraged Cyril’s eventual suit.
With a sigh, Mama pulled Violet closer. “I know you thought of him as a father figure,” she said in hushed tones. “I don’t blame you.”
Violet drew in a deep, steadying breath.
Mama was speaking of the elder Mr. Burke.
Of course she was. Just as Violet should have been thinking of the elder Mr. Burke.
She dropped her face to her hands, her cheeks still flushed, but now with shame.
Yes, she did think of Benjamin Burke as a father figure.
What’s more, she couldn’t help thinking that if Cyril had asked for her, and if she’d accepted, Mr. Burke would be a father in truth and law.
How strange life was. Just as Mr. Burke had told her all those years ago. It wasn’t a straight path at all.
She released her breath. “Did you know,” Violet said from behind her hands, “that Cyril taught me to swim?”
She felt Mama’s movement of surprise. “To swim? When was this?”
“That summer, after Daniel drowned. I ordered him to teach me, and he did. I was terrified. And belligerent. But he stayed with me, and he taught me until I could swim across the pond on my own. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was ridiculously proud of me.”
Mama did not move nor speak.
Violet sat up, gaining courage. “Scandalous, I know. But I was ten and determined. I’d harbored a guilt I could not shake, and Cyril told me Daniel would want me to learn. And it was glorious.”
“You did not tell me.”
“I did not tell you a lot of things concerning Cyril. He tried to teach me how to fish once. Your daughter is an absolute failure as a fisherman. Fisherwoman. And when Freya needed to be put down, he sat with me and taught me bawdy drinking songs he believed my horse would like until I couldn’t help but laugh. ”
Mama’s brows rose. “I never took Freya as one for drinking songs.”
“Neither had I, but it was perfect.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” Violet sniffled and wiped her nose.
“You provided me with this wonderful education, and I’m so grateful.
But I wonder if you see that Cyril is the reason I can best most men at swords but play Handel to make those same men weep.
He has always pushed me to be my best, to do my best. In maths, in horsemanship, in blasted darts. ”
“Language, Violet.”
“It’s true. And now he is here, besting me at running this school and goading me to prove myself—goading me to oust him from this position he seems to need out of nowhere.
” She threw her hands up in the air, and Mama handed her a kerchief.
“Once again, he’s a part of the hours and minutes of my life, as if ten years were nothing.
” She blew her nose hard and took a deep breath.
“But he is not here, because his dear father might—” She shook her head, unable to form the word.
“His world might be about to change, and what am I?”
Mama studied her tenderly. “What are you, my dear?”
“I don’t know,” she said, trying and failing to hide the desperation in her voice.
“I’m in the way. Useless. In all he taught me, did he teach me how to help him when he needs me?
” She shook her head. “These last ten years, he has been a ghost in the room. A passing face I used to know so well and had to stop acknowledging. I’d no idea how or why such a distance raced between us.
As if we’d both stood on the moon and one of us dropped to Earth”—she snapped her fingers—“like that.”
Finally, she faced her mother. “I know about the letters, Mama. Cyril wrote to you.”
Mama’s eyes widened and she reached for Violet’s hand.
Violet discreetly shifted away. “You discouraged his suit. You made him believe that it would be better for him to remove himself from my life than to pursue one spent by my side.”
“Violet, you were so young.”
“Yes, I know. And the last thing I wanted was to fall into Father’s mold for me. But I don’t understand how never hearing from Cyril again, until being forced together in this inane game of my own making, was good for me either.”
“Please, dear, I only did—”
“He was my best friend, Mama!” She met Mama’s wide gaze.
“He, in no way, shape, or form resembles the man you married. So perhaps you might have left the decision-making to me.” Violet stood, stepping away and turning.
“Of all the times you boasted of my intelligence, my competence, my innate sense of human nature, why on earth would you make this choice for me?”
After a deep breath, Violet held out her hand. Hesitantly, Mama took it.
“I am not so sure of myself,” Violet said, “that I know what might’ve happened had Cyril chosen to pursue me back then, as he continued school and I grew up a bit more.
” Tears welled in her eyes, and she steadied herself.
“But I am absolutely certain that I would never have cut off my own arm in order to experience life without it.”
Mama’s mouth opened as she took in those words. “Oh, my dear. I did not—” She swallowed and stood, pulling Violet into her arms.
Violet remained stiff until releasing a slow breath, allowing her head to lean against Mama’s.
“Perhaps I should not have interfered,” Mama whispered. “But, my darling, Cyril was equally concerned for your future. He’d expressed his warring desires, both to make you his future and not to hobble your passions. We both, he and I, knew marriage might probably lead to the latter.”
“You were wrong, Mama.” Violet remembered her volatile argument with Cyril. “Any man who is at war with himself over whether to give a woman freedom or marriage would be the first man I would attach myself to.”
After several moments of silence, Mama squeezed her tighter. “How is it that your wisdom surprises me?”
Violet barked a laugh and withdrew from Mama’s embrace.
She swiped a finger under her eyes and sniffled.
“Wisdom? Mama, I have been playing a game with a grown man, and for what? To prove that I can win? To prove that I am best?” She shook her head.
“I am not the best. Cyril will always be the best. The best heart. The best person. As soon as Father brought Cyril into this position, I knew he would be the best person for the job. It’s why it hurt so much.
It’s why I raged against it. I’d lost before I had a chance. ”
Mama was shaking her head, but Violet continued, bracing her own middle with both arms. “If I had the power to turn this school’s leadership over to anyone, it would be Cyril Burke.
” She took another deep breath and let it out.
“This position will help his family … whether or not they lose their father …” Violet straightened her shoulders and dropped her hands.
“I will give it up. I’ll forfeit to Cyril. Now.”
Mama stepped toward her, an argument on her lips, Violet was certain, but Violet stepped back. “No. I’m determined. You call me wise, but I’ve been behaving like a child. It’s time I grew up.”
Instead of the anxious need to prove herself and the devastation she thought she might feel should she lose this fight, Violet felt a surprising release.
She filled her lungs as though breathing in light itself.
“But don’t think for one minute that I won’t be teaching here.
That I won’t be pushing my ideas into all decision-making.
” Her throat tightened with a grief she accepted. “I think I’ve earned that.”
Mama made to speak again, and Violet shook her finger. Laughter choked her words. “I’m reaching for that wisdom you’ve so recently attached to me. You cannot dispute my decisions after doing so.” She pushed another tear away with her handkerchief.
Mama sighed and met her gaze. “I suppose not. I only mean to warn you.”
Violet lifted her brows, curious.
“I don’t know how we will endure your father’s boasting, nor how disappointing it will be that he should celebrate his own child’s defeat.
Next, before you give up entirely, please consider the regret that might come later.
Trust me when I say, regret becomes an immovable wedge if allowed too much time and heft.
It can destroy a living, viable thing more thoroughly than one swift blow. ”
Violet frowned. Her mother was speaking from experience, she was certain. Had her parents once shared happiness—even love? And allowed it to succumb to something as seemingly marginal as regret?
“And lastly,” Mama continued, “I can’t imagine Mr. Burke accepting your forfeit. He is as stubborn as you are, make no mistake.”
Violet put her hands to her hips. “No one is as stubborn as I am, Mama. That is a crown I shall likely always wear.”
Mama laughed gently and leaned closer. “Really? Ask him about violin lessons sometime.” She arched a brow with a nod.
Violet narrowed her gaze. “Violin lessons? How odd you should mention that. I caught him playing today. Before I told him of his father.”
“Oh?” Mama turned and went to tidy up the music on the piano.
Violet followed her. “Yes. I’d always understood Cyril had quit.
He’d quit the instrument just as I was beginning to reach his abilities.
And today he was playing as if he’d never set the instrument down.
No, he was playing as though he’d continued to study and had become infinitely better.
” Her mother moved to return the music to its shelf, but Violet reached for her arm and held it.
“And, apparently, you have insight as to why.”
Mama lowered her gaze.
“Mama, I will not be asking Cyril about violin lessons. I’m asking you.”
Mama turned and rose to her full height, meeting Violet eye-to-eye.
“Very well. In the weeks before Cyril quit his lessons, your instructor, Mr. Worthing, had begun to quietly express his desire to challenge Cyril further, while at the same time hinting to him that it would be a waste to impart more instruction on you. Because, as a young lady of gentle breeding, you could do nothing of much importance with the skill. I was unaware of these murmurings. Mr. Worthing had always appeared solicitous. But little did he understand the singular connection between his pupils. Rather than have your brilliance shaded, Cyril made his own decision to withdraw from Mr. Worthing’s tutelage.
Cyril then came to me and explained the situation.
A month later, if you’ll recall, we took on a new violin instructor altogether. ”
“Mr. Topham.”
Mama nodded sagely. “Doing thus, we denied Mr. Worthing two of his most promising—and lucrative—clients.”
“And Cyril?”
“He took up his study at university. He never gave it up.”
“But … why couldn’t we have continued on together with a new instructor?”
“Ah, but you see, Cyril insisted that he never, as a male, get in the way of your musical progress again. I could not convince him otherwise.”
Violet stuttered, her thoughts whirling. “But—But Mr. Worthing. He told me all kinds of horrid reasons Cyril had quit. He said I’d been too aggressive and Cyril couldn’t take the humiliation of being bested by a girl.”
Mama frowned. “You did not tell me this.”
Violet shook her head. “I was too mortified. I was stricken. And furious. And you seemed to take Cyril’s quitting in stride.” She dropped inelegantly onto the nearest chair. “But of course our competition wouldn’t have bothered Cyril.”
“No,” Mama said quietly. “It wouldn’t have.” She sighed. “Not all things are as they appear. You are more like Cyril than you believe.”
“No,” Violet said. “I’m nothing at all like him.”
“Oh? And what would you have done if your places had been reversed? Allowed Cyril to be shaded?”
Violet knew she wouldn’t have. Not then. “I would’ve been louder about it.”
“Inarguably.” Mama lifted Violet’s chin with a gentle finger and held her gaze a moment, soft and penetrating at the same time. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
Violet nodded. Of the choices before her, this was the correct one.
Mama gave her a slow smile. “You are so precious to us, darling.”
Violet’s brow rose, fighting emotion. “Us? Even Father?”
Mama nodded. “Not all things are as they appear.”
Violet blew out a shaky breath. “Well. Isn’t that a sad thing?”
Mama’s thumb caressed Violet’s cheek. “One of the saddest,” she whispered. Then she lifted her skirt and strode from the room.