Chapter 27
“Well, Mr. Burke?” Lydia asked. “What say you?”
All eyes were on him. He’d stood, but he still stared down at the game. At the white-and-blue-flecked taw clearly sitting outside the inner circle.
After a long moment, he lifted his head. “I think I’d like a word with my opponent.” He looked to Hugh Whittemore. The man nodded and offered his wife an arm as they turned away for what looked like a leisurely stroll.
When he turned his gaze to Violet, the others made their excuses, finding the surrounding flora suddenly interesting.
Violet had gone still, like a hare sensing danger. “What have you done to my father?” she whispered.
He dared smile. “That is what you have to say?”
“I have much to say, but what have you done to my father?”
He looked over to Hugh and his wife. Mrs. Whittemore was speaking gently to the man as she patted his arm.
Hugh paused, dropping his head. As his wife continued forward, Hugh reached and took her by the hand, pulling her near him.
He spoke earnestly, though his words were indiscernible from this distance.
The couple gazed at one another. Tenderly.
“What, in the name of the Jolly Roger, did you do to my father?”
Anne Whittemore glanced wide-eyed in their direction, having heard her daughter’s not-so-quiet question, and pulled a chuckling Hugh farther along the lake’s shore.
“Nothing,” Cyril said, turning back to Violet.
Violet pointed. “That is not nothing. They were … they were … flirting!”
“Oh, that. I can’t be sure. We spoke earlier, and—”
“When earlier?”
“As soon as I arrived from London.”
“But you came straight to find me.”
He smiled and took a step toward her. “I came straight to find you after I spoke with your father.”
Indignation flashed in her eyes, and he took another step closer, reaching for her hand and drawing it into both of his. The action pulled her half a step closer, and she eyed him warily.
He didn’t yield, but he kept his words gentle. “I met with your father first because I wanted to be certain I could move forward with as little resistance as possible.”
“Because he doesn’t want me to be headmistress,” she said, her eyes becoming glassy. “And you’re going to give up the position.”
He paused.
She bent down and retrieved their marbles off the ground. Standing back up, she held out the taws. “They’re yours.” She flicked away a tear and braved a smile. “You won them, fair and square.”
Frowning, he reached for them, his fingers brushing over her palm, the shudder of sensation giving him courage.
In a single move, he strengthened his grip around her hand, encasing the marbles in her slim fingers, and pulled her to him, his other hand coming to the back of her neck.
Nearly nose-to-nose, he brushed his thumb along the tendrils of her hair, over the silky skin of her nape.
Her eyes closed, her quick exhale warm on his jaw.
“I don’t want the marbles,” he growled.
She opened her eyes. “You don’t?” She swallowed.
He shook his head slowly, brushing the tip of her nose with his once. Twice.
“What do you want?” she asked, her gaze lowering to his mouth.
He leaned toward her ear. “Not marbles,” he whispered. He kissed the tender spot behind her ear and her chin lifted. “Not elements.” He kissed her nose and then her other perfect ear, breathing in the scent of her. “Not thimbles or acorns.”
He heard her catch her breath, and he smiled at that. He kissed her temple. Then her cheek. He slid his thumb beneath her stubborn, regal, luminous jaw, and tipped her face up, meeting her dream-soaked gaze with his. “I want nothing less than this.”
He took her clever mouth with his.
“This,” he murmured against the sweetness of her, “for all of time.”
She softened beneath his touch, returning his kiss, and the part of him that was still able to think counted silently. One … two … three—
She pulled away from him with a gasp. “You spoke to my father.”
Slowly, he grinned. “I said that, yes.”
She became breathless. “And it wasn’t about the school.”
He shook his head.
“Oh my.” Her eyes brightened. “Oh my.”
He caressed her cheek, holding her gaze, and sobered.
“Violet. My only. I wondered what you’d think about running the school together.
As a team. Allies.” Holding her hands, he bent to his knee, and her eyes grew wide.
“As husband and wife. If you’ll have me.
We’d live at Pimms Mill, chasing one another around the property on the weekends, playing chess or violin.
” As persuasive propositions went, he could probably do better.
But seeing as this was his first time … “Barefoot,” he added absurdly.
Her mouth rounded. “Barefoot? For all three?”
“Preferably, yes.”
Seemingly astonished, she dropped down to her knees as well, then threw her arms around his neck.
He grasped her to him. “Marry me, Violet Whittemore. My other half. And, dash it all, say you’ll partner with me in running this school for exemplary girls.”
“Exceptional. Young. Women,” Florrie corrected him from a nearby stand of trees.
“Goddesses of Knowledge,” Lydia called out from down shore.
“What’s this?” Hugh bellowed from up shore.
“Nobody is changing the school’s name, Hugh. They are playing. Having fun. It’s a sign of intelligence. You used to play all the time.”
“What are you saying, Anne?”
Violet’s shoulders shook, and for a horrible moment, Cyril thought she was sobbing into his shirt.
But she drew in a breath, and her laughter bubbled up. He watched, entranced, as she threw her head back and laughed more, her hands bracing the back of his neck.
She tipped back toward him, touching her brow to his, a wide grin on her enchanting face.
“Do you know,” she asked, “what counterpart means?”
He threw her a curious look. “I do, but I’m sure you’re going to give me a more concise definition.”
She lifted her hand and opened it to reveal their two marbles, fought for many times over, but never so fiercely as in this last battle. “Counterpart,” she said, and he grinned at her Violet-ness. “A thing that fits another perfectly. See coequal, compeer, or match.”
She settled in closer, touching her nose to his. “You’re my counterpart, Cyril. My match. And I’ve loved you for so long. My answer is yes.”
His heart stuttered. “I like the sound of that.” He caught her mouth in a sweet, lush kiss. “I love you, my darling pepper shaker.”
She exhaled a laugh of surprise. Her lips formed a soft smile, her eyes alight with mischief. “I love you more.”
“Challenge accepted,” he growled back.
Someone sneezed rather loudly from the shrubs behind them.
“These bushes—” George began from somewhere outside their warm little circle—
“They’re called coreopsis—” Florrie interrupted—
“These cory-popsies are very exciting, but may we come out now?”
“I believe,” Oscar said, “we were just supposed to sneak off and allow them their moment.”
“What? Like the parents did?” George said. “That’s not very scrupulous, if you ask me. And you’re blasting away, sneezing over there. And where are Spencer and Lydia? Off for a cuddle?”
“Andrew!” Ruby called. “They’re just over there. No need to—oh, there he goes.”
“Lydia!” Andrew bellowed.
Cyril noted that he did not know which he liked best: holding Violet while kissing her or holding Violet as they laughed together. It would take some research, he decided.
Lots and lots of research.