Chapter 13 #3
Ann joined them, poking her finger straight up into the air. “We should all call on him together! A walk would do me a world of good. And I can have Bloom see what’s available in the kitchen; a parcel of sweets and a few friendly faces will be a balm for the soul.”
Ann decreed it, and so it was done. Even Cristabel put on her shabby gray coat and dowdy bonnet and came along.
Emilia carried the basket of gifts for Mr. Lavin.
Arm in arm with her, Ann seemed determined to suck down all the fresh air there was to be had in Warwickshire as they ambled down the lane.
“I have not been myself,” she cried. “Cooped up in that house! Befuddled with worry! When my calling has always been to bring light and joy to the lives of others? No, it cannot continue! The Ladies’ Society for the Lonely, Abandoned, and Infirm was to be an outlet for my greatest works of charity, and so it will be. And so it will be.”
“What are you concocting in that clever mind of yours?” asked Violet, watching her.
“You will see quite soon, Violet, I can promise you that.”
Everyone’s imagination was churning in a different direction, apparently, for Cristabel snugged up to Violet’s side and inhaled in a way that told Violet to brace. What kernel of wisdom or shattering critique would she offer this time?
“Most artists I’ve taught fell on their knees and wept the first time I told them their work was actually worth good English money,” said the painter.
“I’m obviously happy about it.” It came out all in a single, rushed breath.
“Oh yes, you sound thrilled.” Cristabel laughed and, staring down at her, tapped the tip of her own nose. “Don’t forget, my little dauber, that I am a great observer of people.”
Violet fell silent, fixing her eyes on the road.
Indeed? I doubt you will observe in me the truth: that Emilia has tasked me with answering a terrible question.
An image imposed itself on her, a glimpse of Mr. Kerr’s horror-struck face as he learned the truth about his brother.
He would blame her, no doubt, when—if—it all came to light.
And why should that bother me? I did not make his rotten brother douse the Florizel in oil and set a candle to it!
Why should it bother her at all?
I declared it myself not half an hour ago—no man of sense or great fortune will marry me.
“I am happy,” Violet said through gritted teeth.
Cristabel swung toward her. They were nearing the edge of civilization, coming the tree-lined and sheltered back way down the narrow dirt road that ran from the Pressmore gardens to the western edge of Cray Arches, where the Gull and Knave postal inn presided over the first turn into the village.
“More believably spirited that time, Violet, but not exactly happy.”
“We haven’t been able to afford beef at the cottage for a month,” Violet murmured. “It would be nice to sell something, achieve something, and maybe have beef again.”
Cristabel nodded, solemn, then touched her gently on the wrist above the bandage on her hand. “I choose to believe you will have more than beef for all your effort, in the end.”
“Beef is a start.”
It was not difficult to locate Mr. Lavin, for he was standing outside the charred remains of the Florizel near a wagon, deep in conversation with a tall gentleman.
As they came closer, Violet felt her hands grow cold at the sight of Mr. Kerr; of all the people she’d expected to see in the village that day, he was not among them.
Before Emilia or Violet could say a word, Ann had loped right up to the two men and greeted them.
“Mrs. Richmond!” Mr. Lavin exclaimed, his bushy eyebrows bobbing with excitement. “It is good to see your face in the square again, it’s been too long.”
“I’ve had the exact same thought,” said Ann, gracious.
Violet could hide at the back of the group for only so long.
Eventually, propriety dictated that she make herself known and curtsy politely to Mr. Kerr.
When she stepped out from around Emilia’s right side, she watched the gold flecks in his eyes dazzle, his posture suddenly rigid as his lips parted.
“Miss Arden,” he said, nearly breathless.
It felt like she would be burned all over again by the intensity of his gaze as it roamed over her.
God, she had actually missed him. She could doubt how reasonable it was to admire him, but there was no mistaking the effect his presence had on her.
It felt like the sun was shining on just the two of them as their gazes locked. “Your hand. How is it?”
“Completely healed now, thank you.” Anxious flames licked up the sides of her neck, her bonnet immediately too tight.
He was just a man, practically a stranger; why did he have this power over her?
Violet held her head high, trying not to collapse under the surge of heat trickling down from her head. “You…are here.”
Behind her, Cristabel snorted. “Artfully perceived.”
“Yes!” boomed Mr. Kerr, too loud. He scrunched his brow and adjusted his spectacles, looking at each of the ladies in turn, though his attention came to rest finally on Violet and stayed. “I have returned from London just this morning.”
“London?” Both of Ann’s dark brows bounced to the edge of her bonnet. “How interesting.”
“Is it?” Mr. Kerr huffed a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I think it is a very ordinary thing to do.”
“Incredibly ordinary; so ordinary I can’t imagine there is anything else to say about it,” Violet added for him. He frowned again.
Ann apparently couldn’t help herself. “Any destinations of note while you were in town?” she asked coyly. “St. James’s, I would warrant? Piccadilly?” Her smile widened. “Great Marlborough, perhaps?”
And, like Ann, Violet couldn’t help herself, peering at Mr. Kerr as he floundered for a response, his face reddening to the tips of his well-formed ears.
He looked like he might explode and die before ever landing on a satisfying response, and Violet, compassionate before she was mischievous, felt it her duty to rescue him, shouting, “But here is a wagon!”
“Indeed.” Mr. Kerr bowed his head, smiling, visibly grateful for the change of subject. “The stoneworks in Anstey sent us too much material, and I thought Mr. Lavin might require the excess for whatever he has planned at the theater.”
“How generous,” Ann cooed, beaming at him. “There must be a spirit of charity in the air today, and it has dusted its fairy magic over the whole of the county, for here, Mr. Lavin, we have come down from Pressmore with a basket of delightful sweets, and all to cheer you.”
Mr. Lavin’s red cheeks shone like summer apples, and he pinched his lips together. “Cheer, my God, cheer! It has been in short supply. But there are unexpected angels, aren’t there? Thank you, Mrs. Richmond, and you, ladies, for the kindness.”
“The Florizel has been a steady source of joy,” said Ann.
“It is only fitting we return some to you in your time of need. Which brings me to another matter of charity—I have recently established a society for just such alleviations, and it is fitting that the Florizel should be our first beneficiary.”
In Violet’s mind, it seemed as if Ann were swooping in on Mr. Kerr’s valiant effort, but he didn’t react to the announcement.
In fact, he was preoccupied with glancing at something over Violet’s shoulder, always just over her shoulder whenever she got up the courage to look his way.
It was a strange kind of game, frustrating, though Violet feared what would happen if their eyes actually did meet again.
London. He was just in London. Great Marlborough, by any chance, Mr. Kerr?
“We will hold a benefit for the Florizel at Pressmore,” Ann went on, balling up her fists and shaking them like rattles with excitement.
“Miss Bilbury can auction off a portrait sitting, and the players from the theater must come and perform scenes from your Romeo and Juliet, for their hard work should still be seen and celebrated. Perhaps Violet can even paint a few scenic pieces for you! Oh! It will be perfectly enchanting, and all the money can go toward furnishing the new theater.” Everyone was too stunned to say no.
Mr. Lavin turned in a half circle, flapping his mouth and blubbering in surprise.
Smoothly, Ann turned to Mr. Kerr, the dancing lights in her eyes alerting Violet too late that there was more than just charity afoot.
“And you, Mr. Kerr, you must join us for the benefit. For undoubtedly, with this display of generosity today, you understand that art and artists must be passionately cherished.” The demure fluttering of Ann’s lashes was the coup de grace.
“What say you, Mr. Kerr? Will you join us?”