Chapter 6
A rm in arm, Diana and Violet stepped through the door of the Three Crowns. Excitement buzzed through Violet as she gazed out upon the gathering. One might think that a lady with two and thirty years to her name would be well past the age when such entertainments held any pleasure, but her heart soared.
The Wolvertons had outdone themselves tonight. Where the innkeeper usually served his libations, the master of ceremonies had arrayed the counter with a variety of drinks and nibbles to keep the party watered and fed for the evening, though Violet had heard rumor that one of the private parlors upstairs had been converted into a tearoom, should they require a seat. There certainly was no space here.
Dancers lined the floor, moving through their figures carefully so as not to collide with the others. Onlookers stood shoulder to shoulder, as there wasn’t room enough for them to gather in groups, the way they were wont to do in other circumstances. Thankfully, the Wolvertons were fond of long breaks between sets to allow for milling.
The music rang out, and Violet beamed at the quartet they’d procured. Thank the heavens. Last assembly, they’d made do with three, but it was beastly difficult to hear the tune with so much noise.
This was truly magnificent.
And most especially, Violet was eager to feel the wave of heat enveloping her. No doubt she would curse the sweltering temperatures later, but it would take some time before the gooseflesh on her arms faded. With summer well underway, one ought to manage with only a shawl, but fate was determined to mock her; the air outside was bracing, and Violet hadn’t the funds to replace her cloak yet.
Slipping between the pair, Osborn Gadd inserted himself in the middle of his sister and her friend, taking them both by the arms. When he touched Violet’s arm, he grimaced.
“You would think an intelligent lady such as yourself would know how to properly clothe herself,” he said with a raised brow. “Where is your cloak, madam? Even with my gloves on, I can feel that you are chilled to the bone.”
Violet laughed and smirked. “Hush, dear sir, else you will bring attention to my plot. What better way to warm oneself than to find a gallant young man to hold me tight?”
Giving a choking squawk, Osborn chuckled. “Ah, I hadn’t thought of that, Vi. Surely, you are a mastermind at luring in men.”
“As is evident by my spinster status.”
“What is evident is your good sense at not taking on any young fool who looks your way,” he replied.
“Is that so,” she said in a wry tone.
Diana leaned around her brother with concern twisting her brow. “But are you chilled? I do hope you do not catch cold.”
“Nonsense. Our Vi is made of sterner stuff,” said Osborn, but then his laughter faded, and his brow furrowed as he considered Violet. “Do you wish for a drink? I am certain they have something that will warm you up in a trice.”
“Off with you now,” said Violet, pulling free of him and pushing him toward the dancers. “I see Miss Giles standing just there. Go plague her. ”
Osborn’s eyes brightened, and his spine straightened as all thoughts of his sister and her friend vanished, dismissing them as though they’d never existed. Without a word of farewell, he drifted off to chase the young lady who was so adeptly toying with his heart at present, and Violet’s exuberance dimmed at the all-too-familiar dismissal. It was ridiculous to feel even a spark of indignation or hurt, as experience had taught her well just how quickly a person could be forgotten when a prettier face appeared.
Scoffing at herself, she cast that silly thought aside.
Taking her by the arm once more, Diana let out a sigh as her brother wove through the crowd with eager determination. “My brother is a fool.”
“Yes, but we wouldn’t like him so very much if he were sensible,” replied Violet.
Diana considered that and nodded. “Too true. For all that he is older, one would think he was the younger sibling by some years.”
Violet held back a huff of laughter at the manner in which Diana said the word “older.” There was a hint of a shudder to it, as though to be past the age of thirty was ancient, indeed. But Violet paid it no mind, for Diana meant nothing by the slight, and she remembered what it was like to be on the earlier side of thirty when anything else felt ancient.
But Violet’s attention veered away from that when she spied another friendly face in the crowd. “I see Felicity.”
“Where?” asked Diana, for she couldn’t see past the crush of people, despite rising to her tiptoes.
It took some maneuvering for the ladies to wade through the crowd, and though having the set end might be viewed as a boon (as it allowed them to cut across the dance floor), it only added to the chaos as couples shifted about. But with effort, they drew up before their friend, and Diana quickly embraced Felicity, bussing her on the cheek.
“How good to see you both,” said Felicity before reaching back to a pair that stood just behind her. “And this is my sister- in-law, Mrs. Annette Finch, and her daughter, Miss Joan Finch. And my brother-in-law is somewhere in this mess, though I haven’t spied him or my husband in some time.”
“No doubt they are causing trouble at the card tables,” said Mrs. Finch with a hint of a laugh. “Just as my two youngest are likely plaguing their nursemaids at home.”
“It is so good to meet you, finally,” said Diana. “We’ve been eagerly anticipating your arrival.”
Violet managed to cover the smile that threatened to emerge at that statement, for innocuous though it sounded, the anticipation hadn’t been of the pleasant variety.
“Oh, we are equally eager to be here for such a happy time,” said Mrs. Finch as she smiled at her sister-in-law. Felicity echoed the expression, resting a hand upon the swell of her stomach, though her expression became strained when Mrs. Finch added, “Losing my father-in-law was such a shock to us all, and my husband is quite determined to honor his father’s legacy and do his best as the new head of the family—including welcoming the newest member. My father-in-law would expect no less.”
When the lady’s attention turned, Violet widened her eyes and met Felicity’s with an amused smirk, which her friend returned in spades. Despite having never met Mr. Darius Finch, Violet had heard her friend speak of her husband’s family often enough to know that all had not been sunshine and laughter in the Finch household. But that was the nature of death. When one passed beyond this life, those left behind suffered fits of forgetfulness, ignoring any flaw or fault in order to paint the deceased as an angel or saint.
Mrs. Finch turned her attention back to her sister-in-law, and Felicity’s smile faded into something genuine as they took each other by the arm. The faint tightness in Violet’s chest eased at the sight. For all Felicity’s fretting, it seemed as though the visit was a pleasant one. So far.
“You two look a picture,” said Felicity, giving the pair an eager once-over .
Violet ran a hand down her skirts, which were far plainer than those of the ladies surrounding her. The Gadds were by no means in the same realm as the Finches—with their gowns of silk and lace—but they were wealthy enough to afford a carriage and six household servants (two of whom were manservants, no less), and Diana’s gowns were the creations of a modiste in Bentmoor.
“I do love this gown,” admitted Violet. Then, with a wry smile, she added, “Though Mama thinks the stripes are not becoming on a lady of my stature.”
Felicity straightened. “She said that?”
“Not explicitly. She would never be so critical, but our tastes in fashion are vastly different, and though she never says a word against my choices, there is an expression that crosses her face that reveals her feelings. I’ve learned to interpret her subtle cues.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Finch, snapping open her fan to bat at herself as her gaze swept down the length of her. “Whilst I know most avoid stripes on such a tall figure, the thicker width of the pattern is quite becoming. Not something I would’ve chosen but looks lovely on you, nonetheless. Especially with the contrasting swath of thin stripes that form your sleeves and the strip along your décolletage. Having them at an angle and different size is unique and eye-catching.”
Violet cursed her wayward tongue. She knew better than to say such a thing. When it came to fashion, Myra and Violet Templeton were quite content with a live-and-let-live philosophy, but others were unable to maintain such a sanguine attitude and always swept in to buoy up Violet’s supposed hurt feelings, never believing that Mama’s disapproval meant nothing more than a difference of opinion.
“And the pale blue is so flattering with your dark eyes,” said Diana. “Just the perfect shade for you.”
“To say nothing of your coiffure,” said Felicity with an envious glance at her curls. “Though my hair has just as much natural curl as yours, mine is more wild and unruly. ”
Holding up her hands to hold them off, Violet shook her head. “I didn’t say such things to elicit compliments, ladies. It was an off-the-cuff remark. That is all. I adore my dress and am happy with my appearance. I was simply laughing to myself because Mama tries so very hard to hide her disapproval and fails miserably every time.”
And perhaps she had been a touch jealous of their finer gowns, but their enthusiastic praise banished the last of those thoughts. Less because of the compliments and more because they allowed her to recognize that insidious envy did nothing but sour a lovely night. Violet Templeton would never be as graceful as Felicity or petite like Diana, and wallowing in such unassailable and unalterable truths did no good.
“Mrs. Finch, you must explore Exmoor before the summer is over,” said Violet, grasping onto a change in subject. “And the coast, if you can manage it.”
“But you must make a trip there in August when the heather is blooming,” added Diana. “It is divine with all the moors covered in a purple haze.”
Violet nodded emphatically. “Quite so.”
“Oh, I had forgotten about the blooming heather,” said Felicity with a sigh and a wan smile. “It’s been so long since I last lived in Oakham that it slipped my mind. If I’d been thinking properly, I would’ve scheduled our wedding a month or two earlier so Lewis and I could’ve arrived in time to see it last year. I still have fond memories of picnicking on the moors as a child.”
As though summoned by magic, Violet’s mind flooded with memories of those times they’d shared before Felicity’s father passed, leaving her in the care of her uncle and taking her to far away Plymouth. The girl had left at the tender age of twelve, so many of Violet’s memories were hazy things, but a few remained as bright and happy as ever.
Violet felt a prick in her heart as she recalled the many times she’d visited Farleigh Manor, searching for news that Felicity and her uncle had returned for a visit—only to be disappointed again and again. Violet still couldn’t quite believe that the newly married Mrs. Felicity Finch had chosen to settle in Oakham, rather than in her house in Plymouth.
“Do you recall the time Father insisted on taking us all out on a fine summer’s day, but by the time we arrived, a deluge was pouring from the heavens?” asked Violet, her tone far more wistful than intended.
Felicity’s eyes widened, a laugh escaping as she glanced at her sister-in-law. “He’d made such a fuss about this perfect day that we were giddy by the time we arrived, and we couldn’t be stopped.”
But Mrs. Finch took that confession with wide eyes. “It is so like a man not to worry about giving you a chill.”
“Father always said it made no difference,” replied Violet. “Temperatures aren’t the culprits, rather miasmas in the air. People get sick as often on dry days as they do rainy ones.”
“I am certain that is not true,” replied Mrs. Finch with a frown. “If I get caught in a downpour, I always feel poorly afterward.”
“Perhaps, but I find that people often feel poorly when they expect to,” added a voice from behind Violet.
Turning, she spied Dr. Vaughn standing there, his hands tucked behind him, and her heart sank to her toes.