Chapter 22
Two days later, Violet found her new dresses laid out on her bed.
She thought about waiting to try them on.
Perhaps it would be fun to do it tonight, when Georgina comes to help her get ready for bed.
The two of them would be able to spend some time together, admiring each gown, deciding which one they liked the best—and, of course, there would be more teasing about the fabrics, for Georgina had been adamant about her distaste for the simple pale colors with embroidered flowers that Violet had picked out.
“No one will sit up and pay attention to these,” she had insisted.
“And maybe I want to fit in,” Violet had retorted as she’d paid for her order. “Maybe I don’t want to be paid attention to.”
“I know that’s what you say about it,” Georgina agreed. “But I don’t believe it.”
“You think I’m being dishonest?”
“Only with yourself, my lady,” Georgina said, her voice gentle. “I think you yearn, deep down, for love. If you’ll forgive me.” Color had come into her face. “Perhaps I’ve overstepped.”
Violet hadn’t said anything more to Georgina then, for, of course, she had overstepped.
But the trouble was, she had not been incorrect.
There was a part of Violet that did yearn for love and connection, and she knew that ache had always been with her.
She’d wished for her father to be more loving, even as she’d known that he never would.
Now she had the possibility of a connection with Noah in her life, and it pained her to think that she might lose him.
She picked up one of the dresses—the lavender one, with yellow stitching, and her favorite of the new ones she had purchased. Maybe she would try it now. It might be fun to envision wearing it to a party without having to field Georgina’s comments about what gentlemen might think when they saw it.
Putting it on without help was difficult, but she managed, though it wasn’t laced up properly—at least, she didn’t think it was.
It would fit her better when she had Georgina to help her.
This was enough to give her the idea, though.
She liked the contrast of the lavender with her dark blonde hair, and was it her imagination or did the gown make her eyes look bluer than they usually did?
She stood in front of the looking glass, turning this way and that, admiring the effect.
And she thought about what Georgina had spoken about—the possibility of wearing this gown to a party.
She did look good in it. She would be noticed, she thought—not in the way she would have if she had worn one of the garish fabrics Georgina had chosen for her, but in the way a gentleman might notice a flower and wish to pluck it.
She turned to the side and looked over her shoulder, imagining being seen in profile like this, imagining a gentleman deciding she was lovely.
What she felt, more than anything else, was a sense of disinterest.
At first, that was comforting. It was familiar and safe.
She had never been interested in courtship or in marriage, after all.
Her recent thoughts of impending loneliness were all tied specifically to Noah—she had grown fond of him and didn’t want to lose him.
That didn’t mean she had changed her opinion on wanting to marry, and it was refreshing, looking in the mirror now, to realize that that was true.
If a gentleman asked her to dance, she would likely feel a sense of obligation to him.
Or perhaps she would go along with it because the dance itself might be fun.
She might be flattered to be chosen. But she would certainly not wish for anything more beyond the few minutes of the dance occurring.
She closed her eyes—
Jonathan’s face appeared in her mind, and immediately, her heart beat faster.
She saw him holding out a hand to her. Leading her to the dance floor.
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes flew open.
When she had changed the scenario in her mind—when she had imagined that the gentleman taking an interest in her was Jonathan—it had mattered. Suddenly, she found herself wanting that dance, and knowing that she would not lose interest when the music stopped.
She could picture it all now. His hand in hers.
His dark eyes holding her gaze. That small smile he gave when something amused him, but he didn’t want to let on just how deep that amusement ran.
The things he would say. She couldn’t imagine what those things would be, but they would be clever and witty, and they would have a way of bringing cleverness and wit out in her.
Talking to him always made her feel like her best self.
Sometimes she couldn’t believe the things that came out of her mouth during their conversations.
Surely she wasn’t always so skilled at banter?
Of course I’m not. It isn’t like that when I speak with Dorothy and Agnes. With them, I am the wallflower, the quiet one. It’s only with Jonathan that I come to life in that way.
As difficult as she found him, she knew beyond doubt that she would miss him when he had been removed from her life. And that made things incredibly difficult.
There would be no dance between Jonathan and her.
Of course, there wouldn’t. That wasn’t the relationship the two of them had, and Violet knew it.
It wasn’t sensible even to hope for such a thing.
And yet, for just a moment, the fantasy had taken hold of her.
She swayed back and forth before the looking glass, her eyes drifting closed as she imagined his hands on her, him leading her through the steps, pushing her gently away only to catch her hand and pull her back to him…
She stumbled and fell to the ground.
As she fell, she let out a cry, but what she felt was less pain than confusion.
She landed on her hip, but that wasn’t so bad—the fabric of the gown had cushioned the fall somewhat.
She rolled so that she was sitting and braced her palms on the floor, taking stock of what had just happened.
She wasn’t ordinarily the most graceful and sure-footed person in the world, but to fall out of nowhere was out of character…
The door burst open.
Jonathan was standing there, his eyes wide. “I heard a cry,” he said, looking around as if he thought he might see some threat in the room. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She began to get to her feet, heat coming into her cheeks.
It was awkward and embarrassing to have to struggle like this.
Fortunately, he didn’t leave her to deal with it for long.
He came quickly to her side and took her by both arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all and setting her back on her feet.
She began to move away from him—and almost at once, tripped again. This time, he caught her before she could go down. Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed and set her down there so that she was sitting on the edge of it.
“What’s going on?” he asked her. His brow was furrowed with concern, and she felt warmth toward him and gratitude that he would look at her with such care. “Are you ill? Should I send for a physician?”
“I’m not ill.” She had noticed it when she had fallen the second time—she’d stepped on something, and that had caused her to lose her balance. She looked down at her skirts and saw that something was uneven; when she ran her fingers over the fabric, it split in a vertical line.
She clutched it together. “I must have ripped my skirt when I fell the first time,” she said. “That’s why I fell again when I was trying to get up.” Her heart sank. “I really liked this dress. I hope it can be mended.”
He was frowning, and he raised a hand to the tear she had discovered in her skirt. “May I?”
Without waiting for an answer, he eased her hand away and began to inspect it.
Violet’s heart hammered. This was so intimate…so personal. She should push him away, she thought, or ask him to stop, but she couldn’t find the words. And the truth was that she didn’t want him to stop, not really. It felt strange and nice to be tended to like this.
He looked up at her, and there was a darkness in his eyes, an anger on his face. “This isn’t a rip.”
“What?” She looked down at the fabric in his hands.
He held it up so that she could see what he was looking at. “Do you see how even this is?” he asked, running his finger along the edge. “This wasn’t torn. This was cut. Someone cut it with scissors.”
“You think the modiste…?”
“No,” he said darkly. “That’s not what I think at all.”
She didn’t understand. And then, all at once, she did.
“No,” she said quietly. “Noah wouldn’t have done this. Not after what happened with the tomato juice.”
“I’m sure he did it,” Jonathan countered.
“This is exactly the kind of thing he would think was funny. You know that. You know this is what he does. He plays these pranks, and he thinks they’re appropriate and humorous, but they aren’t.
And this is the reason, Violet, that I wanted to make sure he was properly disciplined after last time.
I wanted to make sure he realized that he couldn’t keep doing things like this.
Now he’s caused even more damage to your wardrobe—you just bought these things, and already this one is ruined.
And besides that, you could have hurt yourself when you fell.
Just as he did with the bucket of tomato juice, he caused damage, and he could have cause injury.
That isn’t acceptable to me. He must be disciplined. ”
A rush of distress swept through Violet.
This time, it had nothing to do with her fear that Jonathan might take Noah away from her. It was something deeper and more horrible than that. She caught him by the arm.
“Jonathan,” she said, “I don’t want you to be hard on him.
” She hesitated. “My father was hard on me, and I don’t want that for Noah.
I don’t want you to discipline him. I don’t want to see him punished.
You say that I’m too soft, and maybe it’s true, maybe I am.
But it’s better to be too gentle with a child than to be too rough on him. I believe that wholeheartedly.”
“I won’t be cruel to him,” Jonathan assured her.
“I do care about the boy. You know I do. I don’t want any harm to come to him, any more than you do.
I just want him to learn why what he’s been doing is not acceptable, and to put a stop to that behavior.
I know you can see after this prank why that’s so important. ”
Violet hesitated, then nodded. “I can,” she admitted. “And if you’re willing to do it…perhaps you are better equipped than I am to have that discussion with him. Perhaps you are the one who should reprimand him. As long as you promise me that you aren’t going to be overly harsh.”
“I promise,” Jonathan assured her, meeting her eyes.
He looked sincere. She believed him.
But as he left the room, she couldn’t quite suppress a tremor of anticipation, a thrill of fear that things had slipped beyond her control and were somehow about to go very wrong.