Chapter 8 #2
“Hooray!” cried Cece. “I can start planning what manner of creature to hide in the wedding chamber.” She grinned at Violet, but Donovan brought such chatter to a thundering halt.
“Now, Cee, that is not the sort of talk one wants to hear from a married woman. You will need to curb your playfulness somewhat, just enough to pass for a civilized lady.”
“But I am not a married woman,” she answered gleefully.
“Would you like to be?”
It seemed an innocent enough question, and Donovan had certainly phrased it in a very casual way. But something in his tone suggested he was saying so much more.
Violet had never seen Cecilia at a loss for words. Indeed, the entire gathering had been silenced by his question. But Cecilia was not one for quiet.
“Uhm…” she said and looked at Donovan as if he had grown a second head. “I haven’t given it much thought. No one has ever shown that sort of interest in me.”
The rest of the company, Violet was sure, had in one voice—albeit in their minds—said, “Not until now!”
“Perhaps you have been too occupied with planning your next prank to notice,” Donovan replied. It was not a reprimand, but a declaration. Here I am, he was saying, and I want you to notice me.
“You are quite wrong, you know,” Mr. Blayne said to his niece. “Young Mr. Hughes has been patiently in love with you since last Christmas. I distinctly remember that the mistletoe had run out of berries and that he produced one from his pocket to demand a kiss from you.”
“But that was all fun and games!” Cecilia exclaimed. Then she turned a furrowed brow to Donovan. “Wasn’t it?”
“If you prefer to leave it at that,” he said softly, “I will honor your choice.”
Cecilia sat and thought for a moment. “So, when you always walk beside my horse because we know it will try to throw me, that isn’t just kindness.”
“We all know you could take care of yourself perfectly well, my dear,” said Mrs. Blayne.
“And… and when I was under the weather and couldn’t go to the Spring Ball and you said you weren’t going either and would keep me company, that wasn’t because you were tired from too much sun?”
“When has my brother ever minded the sun?” Violet thought aloud, realizing, along with her friend, that she, too, had missed the signs. “You know how much he loves to dance.”
“And you did,” said Cecilia. “Here, with me, humming in my ear as we waltzed around the furniture in the library.”
“Come on, Don,” said Victor, “Ask her properly. She understands now.”
Violet’s mouth fell open. “You’ve known?”
“Well of course. Just as your brother has known of my feelings for you. Men are not quite as dull as you seem to think they are.”
“Indeed not!” Violet answered, thoroughly amazed. “It seems it is we women who have been blind to everything around us.”
Cecilia, meanwhile, had cocked her head to one side and was looking at Donovan with new eyes. Interested eyes. Eyes that said, “If you ask me, there is a very real chance I might say yes.”
So Donovan did.
He did not kneel, because Cece would probably have giggled at him and told him she hoped the floor had been swept.
At least, that’s what Violet imagined. But he did take her hand.
And it clearly drew a solemn response, for Cece neither smiled in encouragement nor pulled her hand away by way of rejection.
“Miss Cecilia Isaacs,” began Donovan, only to be interrupted by a tiny, happy squeal from their hostess.
He cleared his throat and started again.
“Cee, I know you are fiercely independent, and I have no desire to tame you. I only hope you are willing to be fiercely independent with me. And that sometimes you will let me take care of you a little. I love you just as you are, even if that is a little rough around the edges. And I know you would prefer I speak plainly thus, for that is when you know you can trust what I say. I promise to make room for your many moods, if you will temper them a little out of pity for me. What say you? Is this agreeable? Could you marry me?”
“I think that is the best offer of marriage I could ever hope to get,” she answered firmly.
“Truly. I know you have seen me at my worst. If, in spite of that, you are willing to have me, I am happy to accept. For I have loved you as a friend my whole life. And being your wife grants me that friendship forever.” She took a deep breath and exhaled it. “The answer, Mr. Hughes, is ‘yes.’”
The dining room erupted in applause. Donovan and Cecilia blushed shyly at each other.
To be honest, Violet believed it was the first time she had ever seen Cece do anything shyly.
She rose from her chair and walked quickly around the table to her friend’s side.
“Not cousins, then, but sisters,” she said and squeezed her joy into Cece’s warm embrace.
“A double wedding!” cried Mrs. Blayne. “And, if all your parents are as happy as they no doubt must be at this news, we shall have our own friends here for Twelfth Night and prepare for your nuptials together. What a merry time that will be!”
“Does this mean I can kiss you now?” asked Cecilia, her impish grin returning. Donovan’s answer was to pull her to him and kiss her without hesitation or ceremony.
Violet looked longingly across the room at Victor. She yearned for him to be as spontaneous as her brother had been. But it was not in his nature.
Nevertheless, he watched her thoughtfully. “I wonder,” Victor said at last, “whether I might be excused to thank Mrs. Cartwright for her excellent dinner. And for her willingness to help bring an end to my fiancée’s ill-treatment by Miss Thompson.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Blayne, sharp on the uptake. “No doubt Violet feels exactly the same. Offer her your arm, Victor, and you shall find Mrs. Cartwright together.”
Violet, who had already preened inwardly at being called a fiancée, recognized the opportunity being created and latched onto Victor’s arm at once. “Thank you for a lovely dinner,” she said to her soon-to-be-in-laws. “And for not holding our little scheme against us.”
“Ah, but we can deny our new daughter nothing,” said Mr. Blayne with a hearty smile.
Despite her eagerness to be away and in Victor’s embrace, Violet leaned away from him briefly, reaching down and planting a kiss on Mr. Blayne’s cheek.
The gentleman touched the spot as if it were magical and smiled at his wife. “Lovely girl,” he murmured.
Violet clutched Victor’s arm tightly as they hastened from the room and across the foyer towards the back stairs leading to the kitchen. But they did not descend. Not yet.
“At last,” said Victor, his voice low and thick with longing. “I have wanted to kiss those lips for the longest time.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Violet found herself saying before she grabbed his lapels and pulled his head down towards hers.
Their lips met in a rush of warmth and softness before desire overcame their momentary inhibition.
Victor wrapped his arms round Violet and drew her deeper into his embrace, his mouth opening to taste more of her.
Violet’s skin tingled and hungered for his.
She slipped her hand around the back of his neck, spreading her fingers across the only heat of his body that she could reach.
Someone on the stairs cleared their throat. With a gasp, the couple pulled apart.
Williams blushed. “Sorry to disturb,” she said, waiting to pass.
Violet tried to gather herself, but she could still feel Victor’s touch upon her.
“Not at all,” Victor lied. “We were just heading down to speak with Mrs. Cartwright.”
Williams gave them a knowing look. “I’m sure she’ll be very happy to see you. She will want to offer congratulations. The staff have all been rooting for you.”
“Happy to oblige,” grinned Victor. And taking Violet’s arm once again, they took another step together toward the rest of their lives.