Chapter 25
Violet knew of only one way to settle her whirling thoughts when nothing else would do it. Well, two, if she counted a good game of chess.
Just now, only a run would do.
Half an hour later, wearing the same overwrap she’d worn over her bathing costume and carrying a satchel with her running shoes, she hurried past the pool house to where the path intersected with the one leading to the foothills.
Her heart hammered, as she’d never dared run in daylight, but there were few people about this time of day, and she’d sent a note to Trent letting him know of her plan.
As she reached the trees, he waved from a large, blooming linden tree, its heavenly scent greeting her from within its broad new leaves.
“Thank you for meeting me, Trent. I knew you wouldn’t want me to go running off without someone knowing my whereabouts.”
“Indeed not, miss. And considering you’re the head of the athletics department, I’d say it’s high time the school knows what you’re capable of anyhow.”
“If only it were that simple. My being capable is one thing. My being judged as a hoyden—or worse—an athlete, well …” She shuddered dramatically, and Trent chuckled.
“Truly,” she said as she tugged on her shoes, “I’m not overmuch concerned until I imagine what my father would say—what he will say—if he catches me lolloping about like a deer.”
He chuckled at that. “Aye, miss. If I may say so, it boggles the mind that he continues to be surprised by his own daughter. Such as you are.”
She paused. “Such as I am?”
He only lifted his brow.
“All right, then.” She stood, taking a deep, shuddering breath and shaking her unsteady hands. “Trent, Mr. Burke’s father isn’t doing well.” She swallowed hard. “Pneumonia.”
“I’m right sorry to hear that. If his father is anything like Mr. Burke, he’s a fine gentleman.”
Violet gazed at the hill that was her goal. “He is. One of the best.” She blinked away the emotion blurring her vision and bounced on her feet. “All right. Here we go.”
“Take care for buried rocks on the trail. They’d twist an ankle quick.”
She nodded. And she was off.
She kept her focus on the trees and sky drawing her on, instead of the meadows to her left.
Cool air touched her bare skin. Her muscles warmed as they engaged the long climb up the hill, the muddied spots now dry or just damp.
Often, she looked down, to be careful of her steps but also to wonder in the miracle that was the human body, grateful she could fill her capacity in such a way.
Running was taken for granted when one was a child.
She had been fond of it then. She gloried in it now.
Once she reached the top, she stopped running and placed her hands on her hips, drawing deep breaths.
She took in the sight of the rising tower before her and its fragrant, green surroundings, all lit by the warm sun.
Such a contrast to her heavier thoughts and the dark emotions she fought to suppress.
Bending forward at the waist, she squeezed her eyes shut and shook away the mixed weight of memories, recent and ancient.
After a long exhalation, she pushed forward and entered the tower.
Violet paused, taking in the space where she’d sought shelter with Cyril.
Where they’d kissed. Where they’d fought.
She glanced upward and climbed the curving steps.
In all her history of climbing this tower, she’d seldom paused to consider the condition of a structure built centuries ago and abandoned to the elements.
Her mother’s family had always seen to its general upkeep—merely an annual grooming.
But the fortitude of the stones beneath her feet struck her this time.
Bits of crumbled rock and mortar dusted each riser.
Her gritty steps echoed with the sound of her breathing.
At last, she reached the crenelated lookout and stepped into the sun.
She lifted her face to find the stable block in the distance, where the students’ mounts would be kept.
As she noted how small the fenced yards looked from her viewpoint, Violet’s last exchange with Cyril’s father came to mind.
It was nothing significant, really. Last autumn she’d been riding Cirrus, her dapple gray, taking him through his jumps at Kinthwaite’s stable yards.
Mr. Burke must’ve had some business with her father, because both men ambled by.
While her father kept walking, Mr. Burke paused, leaning his forearm on the corral fence, and watched a few moments until Father called him along.
Mr. Burke tipped his hat to her, and she’d grinned and nodded in return.
The simple act had lightened the rest of her exercise.
Violet’s throat tightened as she crossed the lookout and folded her arms atop the parapet.
She had the entire view to herself today, but it had blurred into one of Monsieur Monet’s paintings.
Poplars and haystacks and such, in watery light.
Her arms moved to her stomach with a tight grip as her throat burned with the thought of a world without Benjamin Burke in it.
She knew too well what life without Cyril had been.
And now Mr. Burke? He was so much a tether.
A tether to her before. A tether to hope.
A tether to what family was—what it could be.
The terseness of her argument with Cyril over Lord Buckley came back to her with full clarity.
Cyril had argued on her behalf—over concern that she might not be able to have the position they were competing for.
Because he knew how much it meant to her.
Then they’d tormented one another—in a number of ways—in the tower during the storm.
Instead of rebuilding the foundation for friendship or whatever it was humming between the both of them so that she might’ve been there for him in such a time as this, she’d added another battle to their ongoing war.
He’d had every right to leave without a word when she’d confronted him at Pimms Mill.
He was carrying the full burden of the possibility of losing his father upon his shoulders.
And he would carry it alone, taking it on for his mother and his siblings as much as he could.
She’d given him no reason to trust her with sharing it.
Had she ever eased his burdens, instead of adding to them? With an uncomfortable tightening of her throat, she could not think of one instance.
On a choking sob, she slid down against the parapet.
Time could be such a sneak thief.
So could pride.
Y
“I was unable to partake of this view the last time I was here.”
Cyril watched as Violet lifted her head from off her arms and blinked her eyes at the daylight.
She’d been sitting against the parapet, her knees up, her arms folded atop them, her head cradled as she dozed.
According to Trent, she couldn’t have been sleeping long.
Cy had hated to interrupt her, but he knew from experience that she would become painfully stiff if she stayed in that position much longer.
That and he needed her awake.
She wore a running costume, her long limbs golden and toned. Her deep-honey hair had been twisted back and up, with a few tendrils escaping about her temples and behind her ears.
He took a step closer to where she sat, looking east. “You were right. I can see Tillingbourne Falls from here.”
Her disoriented gaze swung to his. Then her eyes widened, and she shot herself up, unfolding in one fluid movement, launching herself toward him.
She caught him at the shoulders, her forearms pressed to his chest, her eyes darting back and forth between his. “What news? What has happened? Are you well? Your father—”
Her nearness startled him speechless, until he recognized the bated fear in her eyes. “He is well,” he blurted. “It worked. The infusion worked.”
Her breath deepened, becoming rapid, and her fingers gripped his vest. A look of wonder replaced her fear, and she jumped up and down, then threw her arms round his neck with an exclamation of joy.
He knew not where to put his hands.
Rather, he knew not if to put his hands.
“You must be so relieved,” she breathed out near his ear.
He closed his eyes, suppressing a shiver. “I am. We are.” The perfume he’d come to know as hers had blended with her warm skin, and he wanted to breathe deeply, to press his mouth against her shoulder, her neck—
Abruptly, she released him and stepped away, folding her arms over herself.
She spoke to the thick wood planks beneath their feet, her voice thick.
“Forgive me. It’s just such splendid news.
I’ve been so worried.” She sniffed and pressed her fingers to her eyes, as if to release her built-up anxiety.
“I had hope, of course, but I couldn’t help fearing the worst when you—when you all left.
” After exhaling a deep breath, she frowned and looked toward the school.
“Hook, I dozed off. Trent must be wondering what’s taking me so long. ”
Cy’s daze cleared with a jolt. “No, he’s waiting just there.
” He gestured below the tower, and Violet went to the parapet.
Cy followed. “In my search for you, I met Trent on the path here.” Trent waved his cap at them both from the top of the path, and Violet waved back.
“He knew you’d want to hear the news and showed me the way.
” He looked down. “Though, he had no need,” he mumbled.
With another subdued wave to Trent, Violet stepped away from the parapet and moved to the opposite side of the tower, looking on the upward slant of Locke Hill with its cypress, maple, and pine. Cautiously, Cy stepped next to her.
“It’s been a long week,” he said.
She nodded. “Tremendously long. I didn’t know whether to call or let you all be.”
“My father returns his love.”
Her chin snapped around, her gaze open. “You gave him my message.”