Chapter 21 #2
He leaned forward, folding his hands together.
“Not like that. He only expressed that he didn’t know you’d be involved when he accepted your father’s offer, and I had the impression that he wished it didn’t have to be an ‘either, or’ situation.
He has a great deal of respect for you, Miss Whittemore. ”
She remembered the hurt in Cyril’s eyes that day as he’d turned away from the tower to make his way back to the school. It had cut her to the heart.
She straightened her shoulders. “As I do for him.” She was growing uncomfortable with this discussion, and yet she couldn’t quit it.
“Forgive me for being indelicate, but there seems to be more to your relationship with Mr. Burke than just friends of a friend.”
She pulled at the Irish lace on her cuff. “What makes you say that?”
He smiled kindly at her. “I’ve been his friend for a very long time. And, in that time, I’ve seen him respond when your name is mentioned, when he has spied you from across the way, when he excuses himself if you draw near. You may tell me if I’m wrong, and I’ll say no more.”
She sighed and rounded her eyes in his direction. “Promise?” she asked tartly.
He grinned and she breathed a laugh.
“Very well,” she said. “He and I were thrown together quite often when we were children. You might say we grew up together. We did not get on well, except for the times we did.” She paused, lost in a blur of memories.
“But then he went to school, and I became … me.” She gestured to herself in a queenly manner.
“And now we find ourselves thrown together once more, on either side of a competition I created and he wanted nothing to do with.” She shrugged as if that in anyway summed up the complexity of their relationship.
He nodded. “That clarifies things a bit. Except for the part where you say you became”—he gestured to her person in the same queenly manor—“you.”
“What do you mean?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Miss Whittemore, you’ve always been you.” He leaned toward her. “And I mean that in the best way, my friend.”
The endearment warmed her more than it should have, and she blinked tears back. “Flirt,” she said, and they both laughed. He offered her a handkerchief, and she righted herself. She frowned. “If memory serves, you’re a year younger than Mr. Burke, correct?”
His brow lifted. “Cyril? Yes. His brother Oscar is a year younger than I am, and then George.” He closed his eyes as if pained. “And don’t ask me the order of the rest of them. I’ve never been able to keep it straight.”
“Ruby is next.”
His eyes snapped open. “What was that?”
“Ruby is next. Of course you remember that.”
He blinked. “Of course. But, to be honest, I have a difficult time lumping her in with the rest of them.”
“Then, perhaps you shouldn’t ‘lump her in.’ She’s in the very center, like a mast to their ship. A capstone to their archway. Polaris to their constellations. S—”
He held up a hand. “Yes, yes, I take your meaning. Stem to their petals and so forth.”
Violet stifled a laugh, and it came out a grunted snort. “How very delicate of you.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.”
Her laughter continued. Then she laughed at the absurdity of her laughing. Her laughter grew until she shook her head, and Andrew’s expression changed from one who was delighted to cause laughter to one who was concerned and perhaps should call for help.
Tears formed and her chest heaved. “Oh dear,” she whispered, and too late to do anything about it, she began to cry.
“Oh dear.” Andrew stood abruptly and strode across the room, then returned with a glass of water.
Handkerchief already in hand, Violet attempted to compose herself. She took the proffered glass and sipped, hiccupping and sniffling and being very careful not to choke.
“Andrew! What have you done to her?”
Violet glanced up as Lydia rushed forward, followed by Spencer.
“I’ve done nothing,” Andrew exclaimed. “She—”
“He’s done nothing, I-I assure you,” Violet said in his defense.
“Then, whatever is the matter?” Lydia smoothed Violet’s hair and took the handkerchief over, dabbing at her cheeks. Lydia’s dark brows furrowed, and she spun to her brother. “What did you say to her?”
Andrew spread his hands wide. “We were having a discussion—she was laughing only a moment ago.” He looked to Violet in a silent plea. Violet stared back, her mind spinning.
“Honestly, Andrew, you can be so insensitive—”
“I’m in love with him,” Violet blurted.
Lydia and Spencer spun in her direction. “What?” they said in unison.
Violet kept her gaze locked with Andrew’s. “I’m in love with him.” She lifted a shoulder.
Andrew’s expression softened.
Lydia cried, “You’re in love with my brother?” at the same time Spencer’s eyes grew twice their size. “With Andrew?” he said. He turned to Lydia. “You said there was nothing between them.”
Lydia spun again to Andrew, pointing back to Violet. “Did you break her heart?”
“No,” Violet said firmly. She sighed. “No, not Andrew.”
Lydia looked between Violet and Andrew and back again.
Spencer spoke up. “Then … who are you in love with?”
Violet still looked to Andrew, whose gaze grew compassionate.
“May I?” he asked.
She nodded and sniffed. “I believe I’m in need of a scheme.”
With a nod, Andrew folded his arms. “I believe Miss Whittemore … is in love with Mr. Burke.”
“What? Mr. Cyril Burke?” Lydia exchanged a look with Spencer, then approached Violet and knelt before her. “Is this true?”
Violet took a deep breath. “It’s true.” She looked again to Andrew. “And I—I’ve ruined everything.”
Lydia took Violet’s hands and gently squeezed them. “We’ll fix it.” She nodded. She looked behind her. “Won’t we, gentlemen?”
Their deeply murmured acquiescence blended.
Then Lydia sat back on her heels and held her hand up, palm flat. Spencer dug a note out of his pocket and pressed it into her waiting hand.
Lydia closed her fingers around the money. “I told you so,” she said.
Behind her, Spencer shook his head. “That you did, love.”
Violet gasped. “You placed a wager on me?”
Lydia lifted a shoulder, having the nerve to look contrite.
“And I’m the insensitive one,” Andrew muttered.
A commotion at the door drew their attention.
Florrie appeared looking pale and upset, Nibs in her arms. “Oh, you’re all here.
Good.” She took a few steps into the room.
“We’d only just arrived when Ralston met us at the bottom of the staircase.
Ruby had a call—her mother knew she’d be here, of course.
” She stopped, as if unsure what to say next.
Violet stood. “What news, Florrie?”
Florrie turned to Violet, hugging Nibs firmly, her eyes wide. “Ruby’s father. Mr. Burke.” She shook her head. “He’s taken a turn for the worse.”