Rue Seeds
Chapter twenty-eight
Violet
“Cousin Edmund is coming to dinner tonight,” Violet mentioned casually while Sarah pinned her hair.
She watched Sarah in the mirror. The brush paused for half a second, then resumed. A flush crept up her neck although her face remained impassive.
“That will be pleasant,” her maid said. “Mr Vexley seems good natured.”
“He does, does he not? I believe Henry has not had family to dinner in some time.”
“No, he has not.”
Sarah set down the brush and began with the curling iron. Violet sat still and let herself be arranged. Just as her maid was putting on the finishing touches, a footman informed that Mr Vexley had arrived. She felt Sarah tense but couldn’t be certain if it was her imagination.
She heard Edmund’s laughter from the corridor as she made her way toward the drawing room.
His voice was lighter and melodious where Henry was reserved and clipped.
He turned to look when she entered, his face opening with delight.
“Your Grace. You look magnificent. Henry, you scoundrel, you do not deserve her.”
“No,” Henry said, “I do not.”
Dinner was announced, and Violet took her husband’s proffered arm. The contact did more to her body than it should have. They moved toward the dining room when she heard Sarah’s voice. “Your Grace.”
It was perfect timing. She turned to find Sarah with the Kashmir draped over her arm as Violet knew she would.
Sarah held it out for her and as Violet turned to face the other way, she caught Edmund glancing in their direction.
The sharpening attention told her that Edmund did recognise her maid.
When she turned to study Sarah, her maid was staring at Edmund, her lips parted.
Edmund had looked away without much inflection, but Sarah’s ears had gone red.
“Thank you, Sarah,” Violet said, as a way of dismissal.
Sarah withdrew. Edmund followed her and Henry into the dining room and did not look back.
Henry sat at the head of the table with Violet and Edmund on either side. The pheasant was excellent, and the wine was good. Edmund talked about a horse he’d seen at Tattersalls and a farce at the Haymarket that had made him laugh until his ribs ached, and Henry listened. Violet ate and watched.
“It is high time you think about marrying,” Henry said over the game course. “You are distressing your mother.”
Edmund groaned and set down his fork. “And here I hoped I might escape my mother’s laments for one evening.”
“Your mother laments to me twice as often since she is under the illusion that I might be able to influence you as the head of the family.”
Edmund snorted a laugh. “I apologise, Cousin.” He dabbed his mouth not too elegantly with the serviette. He addressed Violet. “My apologies, Your Grace, but anyone sensible would consider you the worst choice for marriage advice or matchmaking.”
Violet looked at her husband with some wariness. To her relief, Henry was smiling. He then reached under the table and squeezed her knee.
“We both know that your mother is anything but sensible. However, all mothers must have an occupation. Yours included.”
“She should expect to be employed for a long time then. I enjoy my bachelor life. The freedom of it. I answer to no one, I eat when I please, and my private diversions are not called into question. I am perfectly content with my situation.”
“Perhaps that is the problem.” Henry picked up his wine glass. “You are living a life with no purpose. A man must have a purpose bigger than himself, Edmund. You need a woman who can keep you in line or you shall become a savage in your old age.”
Edmund leaned back in his chair and regarded both of them, shifting his attention from one to the other.
“You are different from before. Marriage suits you.” He pinned Henry with a look.
“You seem happy. I have not seen you this happy since,” he maintained the eye contact while thinking, “since the housekeeper forgot to close the lid on the biscuit jar.”
Tension left Henry’s shoulders as he chuckled, his hand now caressing her thigh just above the knee. His hand left a cold absence the moment it moved away from her.
“There is a rumour,” Henry began, “about an actress.”
Edmund’s features reassembled themselves into a look of confusion. “I no longer dally with women. I learned that lesson years ago. I do not wish to repeat it.”
Henry tilted his head. “Truly? One woman and you are declaring yourself finished?”
“Until marriage, of course.”
The crease on Henry’s face relaxed. “That I can understand. I am sure Harold's spirit would not mind me sharing this with his cousin. Did you know Harold had a natural child?”
“No! I had no idea. With whom?”
“Sarah Baker.”
Violet braced for impact and what she saw told her the whole story. Edmund was not shocked but confused. He stared at Henry without blinking or moving.
“Sarah?” His voice cracked a little.
“Sarah, my wife’s maid. She came to me after Harold died. She said the boy was his.”
Edmund picked up his wine then set it back down. “How old did she say the boy is?”
“Thirteen. But I confess I have never met the boy. I find myself curious about the child. His age, his health, his circumstances.”
Edmund’s face hardened and his nostrils flared. His mouth compressed into a firm line until he said, “Have you been supporting the child?”
“Of course,” Henry said. “He’s Harold’s son. How could I not?”
Edmund reached for his wine again. This time he drank, deeply, and set the glass down. “That is very generous of you,” he said at last.
“Have you met him?” Violet asked.
“No, I—” Colour rose on his neck as he realised the error he had made. “I do not know the woman.”
Violet did not push. She learned what she needed.
Henry sat back in his chair. “If you wish to marry, Edmund, I could settle a farm on you. Enough land to manage, enough income to support a household.”
Edmund’s expression softened with gratitude. “That is extraordinarily kind, Henry.”
“You are family.”
“Yes.” Some of the brightness returned to Edmund. “Perhaps you could introduce me to eligible ladies at your ball.”
“If anyone attends,” Henry said.
“Nonsense,” Edmund said with a smile. “Everyone will come. Curiosity alone will fill the room.” He addressed Violet. “Your Grace must save me a dance.”
“Of course.”
After the meal concluded, Edmund got up to his feet. “Forgive me. I am rather tired this evening. The ride took longer than I had expected.” He turned to Violet. “Cousin, thank you. The pheasant was superb.”
“Mrs Garrick will be delighted to hear it.”
He bent into a shallow bow then turned to Henry. “That was a most excellent dinner, Henry. And thank you for your generosity.”
Henry simply patted his shoulder and walked him out of the room.
After Edmund left, Henry offered his arm at the foot of the stairs. She took it with a hand resting lightly on his sleeve. They climbed together in silence.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
They had reached the second floor between the two doors to their rooms, the walls washed in orange candlelight. Henry stopped walking but did not release her arm.
“For?”
“For accusing you.” She looked at the carpet, at their shoes side by side on the runner. “Of fathering a child with Sarah.”
“You saw it too, then.”
She nodded. “It was fairly obvious. Although I do not fully comprehend the nature of their relationship.”
“Yes. And the cause of his anger. Does he believe she had an affair with Harold when he was alive? Or has she been relying on him financially?”
“Or she has not and his pride is hurt?”
“I suppose we shall uncover those details when the time comes.” His gaze searched for hers then darkened when they met. “I believe I have discovered the cause of your jealousy over Sarah.”
“It was not jealousy. It was more about trust.”
“Was it?” He wrapped one arm around her waist. “Or did you simply miss me?”
A huff of laughter came out of her throat. “You would like to think so.”
“You are jealous,” he said. “I had not thought you capable of it.”
“It was not jealousy.”
“No?” His other arm came around her waist. “Then I shall have to find another explanation for why my wife has been unreasonable all week.”
She opened her mouth to object, and he kissed her.
His one hand came up to her face, tilting her head back.
His mouth was warm and certain. She made a sound against his lips, and her hands gripped the lapels of his coat.
He kissed her thoroughly, without hurry, the way a husband kisses a wife he adores.
She felt it. She felt all of it in her core.
He broke from her mouth, breathing hard. His lips moved to her neck, his breath hot against her skin. A groan escaped him, low and rough, and she felt it vibrate through her collarbone.
“I cannot wait,” he said against her throat. “I cannot wait to have you again.”
Her back met the wall. His hands were at her waist, pulling her closer, and her fingers were in his hair. She was losing track of the hour and the fact that they were standing in a corridor.
When Henry finally released her, they were both breathing hard, their lips swollen from their ardour.
“I shall let you go before I am tempted to take you right here,” he said.
They both turned toward her room and stopped. Her door was ajar.
The warmth of the corridor left her in a single breath. Henry’s hand fell from her waist.
“Was it open before?” she whispered.
“No.”
She went toward it with Henry following. Her room was warm with hearth fire and candles. The bed was turned down for the evening. “She was just here,” she said.
“Indeed. And she wants us to know that she knows.”