Chapter 19 #2
She waited, noting the familiar darker striations of green against the field of moss in his eyes. She folded her arms to keep from getting lost in their depths. She drew in an impatient breath. “And?”
He turned back to the window, touching his finger to the glass to trace the path of a singular raindrop.
“I told her that if I wrote to you, if I visited, if I imagined you in my classes and my studies, that I would likely one day speak to your father.” He dropped his hand. “I would likely offer for you.”
Violet froze, her heart a thunder of beating.
His gaze was still directed at the glass. “I would wish to make you a wife.” He turned to her, but she could only stare at his collar. “And that would be a very real betrayal to my friend.”
Oh.
Violet’s next words came out in a shaky whisper. “What did Mama think of that?”
She noted a lift of irony in his expression.
“Your mama has a deep and abiding respect for your wishes.”
Seconds ticked by, and Violet could not speak, had no response. In a few select words, Cyril had sent her head, her stomach, her heart to tumbling.
He checked his pocket watch and put it away. “It’s time to meet with Lord Buckley and his daughter.”
She nodded, numbly straightening her shoulders as he held out his arm toward the office door.
“After you.”
Y
Roland Felton, Lord Buckley stood as Violet and Cyril entered the drawing room.
The man was younger than Cy had anticipated.
Alice Felton sat on the settee her father had just vacated, a miniature of the golden-haired man now reaching with a light touch on Violet’s arm. He bestowed a brief peck on her cheek.
Cy bristled.
“My dear Miss Whittemore. It has been a long time,” he said with an easy smile and clear admiration for the woman standing in front of him.
He might have been the sort of man who would wield his natural charms on any woman, but a profundity about him gave him a more genuine air.
Cy suppressed the urge to pull Violet back a step.
In his experience, sincerity charmed a woman faster than charm itself. Especially this woman.
With space between them once more, Violet curtsied. “Lord Buckley,” she said, her voice rich and pleasing now after being stilted and shaken only moments ago. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. May I introduce my colleague, Mr. Burke?”
She stood aside and Cy gave a brisk bow. “My lord.”
“Mr. Burke. I was told you were a co-headmaster of sorts.” Lord Buckley flickered a glance at Violet but refocused on Cy. “I know your father. Good man. I hope his health returns very soon.”
Word of his family’s plight had reached far in a short time. “Thank you, my lord. We are hopeful.”
Lord Buckley made a quarter turn to his daughter, who stood and stepped forward. “This is my Alice.” He smiled. “She is quite interested in your school.”
Violet curtsied. “Miss Alice. How wonderful to meet you. I’m Miss Whittemore.”
Cy stepped forward with a bow. “Welcome, Miss Alice. We thought we might begin with tea, then a tour. We shall do our best to answer any questions you or your father might have along the way. What do you say to that?”
Tea service arrived.
Miss Alice smiled at her father. “I say let’s begin.”
The tour might have been more pleasant had Lord Buckley not offered Violet his arm for the duration, had he not been in thrall of her answers to his questions, had he not made her laugh, and had he not bent and kissed her hand at the conclusion of their time together, followed by a request to call on Violet later in the week.
Indeed, the only pleasant part of the interview had been Miss Alice’s quick observations and obvious wish to attend Locke Hill—a wish her doting father would likely grant.
As they watched the Felton motorcar depart, Violet sighed. “That went well.”
“Yes,” he said. “You almost had Lord Buckley enrolling for the term himself.”
She lifted a brow in his direction. “Hardly.”
He gave her a pointed look.
She cleared her throat. “But I do think Miss Alice was quite pleased.”
“She’s a bright girl.”
“Indeed. I’ve heard it said that her mother was quite shy. I believe she takes more after her father in that area.”
“He is certainly not shy.” He turned and studied her profile, attempting to see her as a gentleman would upon first acquaintance. He could only see her as utterly fascinating. “I wonder … if you should be careful.”
She turned her green eyes to his. “Careful of what?”
“Of the possibility that Lord Buckley is looking for more than just a school for his daughter—that perhaps he is looking for a wife.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them.
For moments she seemed trapped in his gaze, then abruptly looked away, her cheeks pinking. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“It was only a thought.”
“It was more than that, and you know it. In one sentence you’ve insinuated that Lord Buckley was not here for his daughter but for me. That if I’m not careful and lead him to believe that I am … well, that if I am not, then I risk losing Alice as a student here.”
He frowned. “That is not what I meant.”
She raised her voice, her fists clenched. “Then, what did you mean?”
“I meant—” He gripped the back of his neck and growled. “I meant that should he pursue you, he most certainly would not allow you to remain here as headmistress.”
She blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Surely you don’t believe—he seemed so open to—”
“He’s a viscount. Perhaps if you gave music lessons or ran a garden club, he would overlook that. But running a school?” He shook his head.
Her jaw firmed, and he closed his eyes, resigned to the torrent of accusations he was about to receive.
“Would you?”
His eyes shot open at her quiet question.
She watched his feet. “Would you allow me to stay here? If you were a viscount? If you were anybody? If I … were to be a wife?”
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his, stealing his breath.
“Excuse me, Mr. Burke—”
“What is it?” he asked rather sharply to a startled Mrs. Cole.
“It—it’s your mother, sir. On the telephone.”
He blinked. “Forgive me, Mrs. Cole.” Giving Violet a nod, he said, “If you’ll excuse me,” and strode from the room.