Chapter Thirty-Two
Lady Violet Banfield
“Hello,” I call out from behind the till to the tourists who have just entered the gift shop. “May I help you find anything today?”
“Oh no, we’re just looking,” a woman says, smiling at me. She’s with a group of women who appear to be in their fifties, and they immediately descend upon different corners of the gift shop, picking up and examining items.
“All right. Please let me know if you need any assistance,” I say cheerfully.
“Thank you,” they all reply.
I go back to putting price tags on new jars of preserves. It’s Monday afternoon, and I don’t think I’ve fully recovered from my whirlwind trip to Australia. I’m so tired. I think it’s going to take a few days to fully adjust to being back in England again.
However tired I might be, there’s one thing that can’t wait.
I’ve decided tonight I’m going to bring up my art ideas during dinner.
I’ve been ready to do this ever since I talked with Noah. The fact that he believes in me, that Nicholas and Amelia believe in me—well, I finally believe in me, too. Again, I know I’ll fail. I’ll make mistakes.
But that makes me human, doesn’t it?
I know I’ll still struggle with that—I’m sure I’ll be mortified when my future employer has to correct me on something I’ve done—but I’m ready to face that feeling. Whereas before, the mere idea of that left me paralysed in fear.
Not anymore.
I’m excited to put my plans out there for Mum and Dad to hear. Once I’ve told them my ideas, I’ll ask if I can set a time to sit down with them and review all my proposals, and hopefully—if all goes well—pick out a few dates on the calendar as targets for the events.
I tune out the conversation between the tourists, as well as the classical music playing overhead. I’m thinking of how the conversation will go over dinner tonight. I prepare myself for the arguments they’ll make, and plan out exactly how I will answer them. I know Nicholas will be there to back me up and plead my case if needed.
But somehow, I hope they’ll see I’m serious now. That I was afraid before, and that caused a pattern of behaviour that I found myself trapped in for years.
“Excuse me.”
I look up and find one of the women standing before me at the till. Wow. I was so caught up in my ideas, I didn’t even notice her!
“Yes?” I smile at her.
“Are you Lady Violet Banfield?” she asks.
“I am.”
“Holly, I told you it was her,” she says excitedly to a woman studying tea towels. Then she turns back towards me. “I recognised you from the photo at the back of the guidebook!”
“Yes, that’s me. I work here on the estate,” I reply, still smiling.
“This is so exciting! Will you sign this book for me? After I buy it?” the woman asks, holding up a copy of Wintersmith Hall: Legacy of an English Country Home.
Well, this has never happened before! Someone actually wants my autograph!
“Yes, of course, I’d be delighted to.”
She beams at me. “Thank you. I’m going to leave this up here, if that’s okay. I want to look around a bit more.”
“Absolutely,” I say, taking the picture book from her and placing it on the worktop behind me. “I’ll hold it back here for you.”
“Thank you,” she says, moving back to browse with her friends.
I go back to tagging the preserves, and a few minutes later, I hear my name again.
“Excuse me, Lady Violet?”
I look up and see one of the women’s friends is looking at me. She’s standing next to the preserves.
“Do you have any honey?” she asks.
HA! Honey! I knew I was onto something with that idea!
“No, unfortunately we don’t. Would you be interested if we had honey that was harvested from beehives here?” I ask.
“Oh yes, I adore local honeys,” she says.
“Well, I’ll be sure to let the estate management know that.”
They go about shopping, and soon I ring them up, carefully wrapping up their souvenir mugs in paper before placing them in shopping bags. Then I sign her book for her, and even pose for selfies with the ladies, which makes all of them very happy.
After they leave, the gift shop is quiet. I glance at the clock. The last tourists were admitted at two o’clock, and we close the estate at four. It’s now three-thirty, so there’s only half and hour left in my workday.
I frown as I pick up the jars and take the crate over to the shelf where the preserves are displayed. Well, technically I close the shop at four, but it takes me forever to balance the till because I’m so bad at maths. Nicholas always teases me about having to come in behind me and correct the figures.
So I should be out of here by five. Plenty of time to prepare my thoughts before dinner at six.
I start stacking the jars on the shelf, and then I hear my phone buzz from its place on the worktop behind the till.
I leave the jars and walk over to it, picking it up. Ooh, it’s Noah!
We’ve been working around a seven-hour time difference the past few days as Noah travelled to Sydney, played another friendly on Saturday, then travelled yesterday to Perth, where they’ll wind up the tour with their final friendly on Tuesday. Meanwhile, I made the marathon journey back to England on Friday, slept for a lot of the day on Saturday, and drove back to Dorset yesterday.
Texting has been the one way we can communicate, so we can send messages no matter what time it is. Needless to say, I’ve become pretty good at time maths since Noah has been in Australia—ha, perhaps there is hope for me after all—and I know it’s ten-thirty at night in Perth. He has one more game to go on the tour, then they fly back to London immediately after the game. I tap on his message:
Call me after you talk to your parents tonight. Don’t worry about waking me up, I want to hear your good news.
I smile happily. I couldn’t ask for a more supportive boyfriend if I tried. I take a moment to message him back:
I will NOT text you back and wake you up when it’s the next day in Australia. You are on tour, preparing for your season. I’ll text you everything tomorrow as soon as I get up. Love you. X
Saucy Shorts is typing …
Now you’re frustrating me. CALL ME TONIGHT, VIOLET.
I grin and text a reply:
Nope. I love you enough to know you need to sleep AND it’s nothing that won’t wait until the next day. Remember I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUU, SAUCY SHORTS!!! BTW, if you keep this up, I’ll start calling you DADDY DARBY.
I hit send and chuckle as I picture him blushing.
Saucy Shorts is typing …
You’re impossible. I give up. I have to because I refuse to be called Daddy Darby.
I burst out laughing. I message him back:
I love you so much, Noah. I’m excited about tonight. Thanks to you, I can begin living the life I was supposed to live. I can’t wait to tell you the next steps tomorrow. Now get some sleep, you have a friendly tomorrow. AND THEN YOU ARE COMING HOME AND I CANNOT WAIT.
Saucy Shorts is typing …
I can’t wait to hear everything, Violet. You’re going to smash it. Can’t wait to take you out for a posh dinner to celebrate.
I smile. Once Noah is home, we’re going to sort out when we’re going to see each other next. Starting with a celebration of a new future.
Not just for me, but for both of us.
* * *
I’m buzzing.
That’s the best way to describe my feelings as I trot down the stairs in the family wing.
It’s time for dinner. And it’s time for me to make my move.
I’ve gone over what I’m going to say for the past hour in my room. I’ve thought of all their arguments against my ideas and formulated responses for all of them. I know they might say no—but I’m not going to be deterred by that. I will push through that obstacle by asking to present my ideas in an official meeting, as if I were someone outside the family approaching the estate. I’ll make a PowerPoint presentation if I have to.
I’ll do whatever it takes for them to see me not as a flittering butterfly, but as someone who has emerged into something new.
So they see me in the way Noah sees me.
I reach the bottom step and move down the hallway, passing pictures of Banfields of the past. Whether my dad wants to admit it or not, this home has always been a place for change. We’ve changed and grown since Lady Lily’s days here, as well as changed from family to family, as each one has left their imprint on Wintersmith Hall.
Nicholas and I are part of the next generation. We should be heard and allowed to participate in our future, which is something different from previous generations. This is a change that should happen, but will only happen if Nicholas and I fight for it.
Nicholas has been met with nothing but rejection when he’s tried to create change, and I understand why he’s resorted to having other people present his ideas to get them to go through. He’s exhausted from fighting Dad for opportunities and standing up for himself.
Which makes me love him all the more for wanting to stand up for me.
I enter the kitchen and find Amelia and Nicholas putting dishes on the table. From the looks of things, it’s taco night. I spot shells, a dish of shredded chicken in sauce, and all the accompaniments for tacos. I smile at everyone and retrieve a glass from the cupboard.
“How are you feeling, Violet?” Mum asks as she takes her seat at the table.
“I’m still tired, but I think I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” I say, filling my glass with water. I head over to the table and slip into my seat.
Dad shakes his head. “I still can’t believe you went to Australia for one day,” he says, disapproval in his voice.
“It was what I wanted to do,” I say simply, picking up two taco shells and setting them on my plate.
Dad chuckles as he fills his shells with chicken. “That’s two different things. Doing what you want to do as opposed to what is the logical thing to do.”
I get prickly from his words, but I refuse to allow him to upset me. I take a moment to think carefully before I speak.
“I had my own reasons for going to Melbourne, personal ones, and I know I made the right decision. My travels didn’t impact anyone here, so I don’t understand why it’s such a point of interest.”
Yes! That sounded really good! I’m rather chuffed at my response.
Dad quirks a brow. “Don’t be too sure about that. Didn’t the whole gift shop schedule need to be reworked for your last-minute idea to fly off to another continent?”
I try to fight the heat that is pooling in my cheeks. I’m about to reply when Nicholas beats me to it. “The last time I checked, the gift shop was fully staffed whilst Violet was away,” he says pointedly. “So why are you making it a problem when it never was?”
Dad shoots him an annoyed look.
“Well, I’m right, aren’t I?” Nicholas continues. He picks up his taco and takes a bite, as if he knows Dad can’t argue that with him.
I love my brother so much.
I happen to glance at Amelia, who is looking at Nicholas with so much adoration in her eyes that I can’t help but love her for loving my brother in the way he deserves.
In the same way Noah loves me.
Mum clears her throat. “Amelia, I don’t know if you’d be interested, but I’m going to meet with a silver restorer tomorrow to get an estimate on restoration of some pieces. Would you care to join me?”
I glance at Amelia, and her green eyes light up with interest. Now that we all know she’s more interested in learning how an estate runs than operating a bridal boutique—so she can take the reins behind the scenes at Swallowhedge in the future—my parents love showing her what they do.
“Oh, I would love that,” she says eagerly. She glances at Nicholas. “Is that okay with you?”
“Peahen, you don’t need to ask me,” he says. “Of course it’s fine.”
“Well, I always want to make sure you don’t need me first.”
“Nope. I’m going to work on some roof repairs to one of the cottages. I’ll be busy all day.”
“I’ll come help you when I’m finished,” Amelia reassures him. Then she turns back to my mum. “Jocelyn, I’ll definitely join you tomorrow. Thank you so much for inviting me.”
Mum lights up. “I’m so glad you want to do it. Meet me here in the kitchen at ten.”
“I will,” Amelia says, smiling happily.
More chatter flows around the table, as the mood shifts to light-hearted conversation. I eat, waiting my turn for the right time to shift the topic to my art ideas.
Finally there’s a lull in the conversation, and I know it’s my time to bring it up before people start leaving the table.
“Mum, Dad, I have an idea I’d like to share with you.”
“Another idea?” Dad asks, looking sceptically at me.
Mum smiles. “That’s our Violet. Full of fanciful ideas.”
I don’t flinch. It’s time to prove to them I’m serious, and I know I have an uphill battle on my hands.
“We tried something new with the plant sale,” I begin, laying down the groundwork for my argument, “and it went so well. People loved it, and we raised a lot of money for charity.”
“That was a huge success,” Mum says, nodding.
“And we’re going to do more of them as a result,” I say.
I feel Nicholas staring at me. God, I want nothing more than to blurt out the truth—that the idea was never Steven’s, but Nicholas’s, and Mum and Dad should be thankful they have such a brilliant son willing to pour his heart and soul into this estate—but I refrain.
That’s not what Nicholas wants, and I have to respect that.
“Where are you going with this, Violet?” Dad asks.
I pause for a moment and try to settle the nerves that are attacking my stomach. I can prove to them I’m capable, I tell myself. I just have to convince them to give me one chance. Just one.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” I begin slowly, “about what I want for my future. I have always loved art, and I have dreamt of a career in it. But when it came to acting upon it, I held myself back. Out of fear.”
“Fear?” Mum asks, looking taken aback. “What do you mean, out of fear?”
My gaze meets her surprised one. “I was terrified of making a mistake. I was scared that if I messed up, if I made mistakes, I would disappoint people and that idea terrified me. So much so that it froze me in place—right here, at Wintersmith Hall.”
Suddenly I feel Amelia staring at me, and I break away from my mum to look at her. There’s surprise in her vivid green eyes, but also something else I can’t quite read in them.
“Violet,” Dad says, commanding my full attention, “are you trying to say you haven’t pursued a career because you were afraid of making a simple mistake?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s not easy to admit, but it’s the truth.”
“Sweetheart, why didn’t you ever say anything? We would have told you how silly that was,” Mum insists.
“Because I was embarrassed,” I say. “I wasn’t confident like Nicholas. And in my eyes, he never made mistakes. So it was easier to stay here and help you and work in the gift shop than take a risk of disappointing people.”
Dad stares at me. “You were that afraid of making a mistake? Good God, Violet, did you think you were going to go through life—and a career—making none? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Inside, I want to crumble in humiliation from Dad’s words.
In the past, I would have. I would have stopped speaking, brushed it off, and gone back to starting and stopping projects instead of seeing anything through for fear of failure and disappointing people.
But not tonight. I know I’m capable of so much more.
“You’re right, Dad, it is ridiculous,” I say, acknowledging the truth in his words. “Which is why I’m going to stop thinking that way and focus on pursuing a career in art.”
“Oh, I think that’s wonderful, Violet,” Mum says enthusiastically.
Okay. I need to rely on her now to convince Dad to give me a chance.
“I’m glad you say that, Mum, because, I’m going to need some help in filling in the gaps on my CV. If I want to work in a gallery, I need to have experience in cataloguing pieces and setting up exhibitions. And I’d like to do some of these things at Wintersmith Hall so I can show a gallery I have hands-on work experience in these areas.”
Mum laughs. “Oh, Violet. You couldn’t even finish the library book project. That was cataloguing. If you couldn’t finish that, how are you going to set up some kind of exhibition from start to finish?”
My heart sinks. Okay, maybe Mum is not exactly going to help me, but I won’t let her defeat me, either.
“I wasn’t ready before. But I am ready now. I’m ready to plan, organise, and complete a project from start to finish. I have actually been working on this for a few weeks. Researching and fleshing out some ideas from start to finish. I’ve been planning. Looking at what other estates are doing. And I have an idea for some art events we could host here at Wintersmith Hall. Like a sip-and-shop event where people could come in and purchase art from local artists. I think it could be popular—like the plant sale—and bring in new guests and new revenue to the estate.”
Dad begins to chuckle, and the sound makes me queasy. “Violet, Violet, Violet. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ve never lacked for that—in the beginning stage of your ideas.”
“Dad, Violet just told you why she did what she did,” Nicholas says. “She’s ready to face her fears and move forward. She’s brilliant and capable, why not give her a chance?”
“Because that’s not the way things are done,” Dad says. “You know that better than anyone, Nicholas. There’s an order to the life here.”
“But Violet isn’t the heir,” he replies, his voice low. “There’s no threat if Violet succeeds, is there?”
The tension in the air is enough to choke a person right now.
“Nicholas, it’s not about threats—it never has been. It’s about the way things are done,” Dad says, his voice sharp with a warning tone.
“But there is room for change if you want it,” Nicholas counters, his brown eyes flashing. “I’m not asking for myself. I know better. But I’m begging you to give Violet a chance. If she’s going to get to London and make a career, she needs our help.”
“I do need your help,” I reaffirm. “All I’m asking for is a chance to design, plan, and host an event. Just one so you can see I’m serious about this.”
“But how can we take a chance on that when all we have to go off is unfinished ideas and projects that you have abandoned for years, ever since you came back to Wintersmith Hall?” Mum points out. “Darling, we love you, but just a week ago, you left a mess in the library. Then you were running off to spend time with Noah, and the next thing we know, you’re winging yourself to Australia just to watch a friendly, which makes zero sense.”
My cheeks burn hot now with humiliation.
“I was going to finish the book project, but you had Melanie clear it up,” I say, working hard to keep my voice even and not sound tearful. “I covered all my shifts so I could spend time with Noah.”
“But spending God knows what to follow your new boyfriend to Australia? No, Violet, that smacks of bad decision-making,” Dad says.
“No, it does not. I had my reasons for going to Australia, none that I’m willing to share with anyone out of respect for Noah’s privacy,” I say, my voice shaking. “And I wouldn’t be so careless as to host an exhibit and then go off on holiday!”
“How do I know that, based on your recent behaviour?” Dad challenges. “The answer is no, Violet. I won’t risk Wintersmith Hall’s reputation for your whims.”
“Dad, I’m begging you. I know how I acted in the past, but I’m facing my fears now. I’m taking them head-on. I won’t let you down if you give me a chance. I have proposals I’ve written up, just as if I were an outsider coming to you with a business idea. Would you and Mum please at least read them? Please?”
“No, I will not. I won’t be talking about this further with you—or you,” he says pointedly, shooting Nicholas a warning look. Then he turns back to me. “I’m sorry, but being a butterfly is who you are. That’s why it’s perfect for you to work in the gift shop, where people can cover you when you want to flitter off on a whim. There’s no harm done in that. But you pulling that routine with an event? No, no thank you.”
Tears fill my eyes. The reality of my situation sinks in.
My parents will never ever see me in another light. I won’t even get a chance to prove to them I’m ready to change. They want things to continue on as they always have, with Nicholas not bringing up new ideas or demanding some autonomy.
And they want me folding tea towels for the rest of my life.
Don’t give up,I think, as the new Violet fights to be heard. Don’t.
“But what if I had an idea and we handed it over to the events team to run?” I ask. “They could oversee it, I could consult with them, and you’d be assured it would run.”
“Don’t they have enough to do with weddings and other special events already on the schedule without having to worry about chasing you around to get details on an event you’ll most likely lose interest in?” Dad retorts.
His words slap me across the face.
“I told you, it wasn’t losing interest, it was fear,” I say, my voice beginning to break.
“Was it? Or is that the reality you want to paint for us?”
I bite down hard on my lip. I refuse to let Dad see me cry. I won’t do it.
“Often the truth is a mixture of things,” he says. “And I can’t risk the reputation of Wintersmith Hall on your butterfly way of doing things. I love you, Violet. But you’re going to have to start somewhere else for experience. I’m done with this topic, and I don’t want to hear about this anymore.”
I glance at Mum, who looks helplessly at me. As if part of her wants to believe me.
But part of her doesn’t.
I’ve sat down at this table and admitted my failings to them. I was vulnerable and honest, and for what? For them to pick me apart? To reiterate my past and not believe me when I’m telling them I want to grow and change?
It’s the lowest I’ve ever felt.
I rise from the table, and Nicholas puts out a hand to stop me. “No, Violet, sit down. This isn’t over. Not when I have things to say.”
“You’re wrong. This is over. Mum and Dad have made it abundantly clear that me admitting my faults and fears isn’t good enough to earn me an opportunity here. I’ll never be good for anything more than folding tea towels at Wintersmith Hall, and I accept that. I think what hurts the most is that I’ve come to you, as my parents, being vulnerable and honest, and that wasn’t good enough to even give me one chance.”
“You can thank your trip to Australia for that,” Dad snaps.
I’m shaking as I look over at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“That was the flakiest thing you’ve ever done, and you only did it a few days ago. I’m sorry, if you want honesty, you’re going to get it. You might have fears, but you also flake out, Violet. Repeatedly. Just this month you’ve been running around after a footballer, and God knows what you’ll be doing when the season starts. Running off to Surrey to watch his home games? Changing more schedules to accommodate your whims? No, Australia just proved to me that as much as I love you—and I do—I can’t trust you with business. And that’s reality.”
I can’t trust you, I think, reeling from this comment.
All because I went to Australia to prove to Noah he was worthy of being loved.
“Well,” I say, fighting back tears, “thank you for your honesty.”
I pick up my plate.
“Dad, how dar—” Nicholas begins, but I cut him off.
“Please don’t, Nicholas. Don’t say anything on my behalf. I know where I stand now. Please don’t say anything to cause a row. Please.”
He stares at me, his eyes flashing and his jaw clenched. I have no doubt he will ignore me as soon as I’m out of the room, but I hope he doesn’t. I don’t need to be responsible for causing more upheaval in the house than I already have tonight.
“I think things are being said now out of hurt feelings,” Mum says, trying to calm everyone down.
“No. Things are being said because they are meant,” I say, pushing my chair back underneath the table. I walk to the sink, turn on the tap, and with shaking hands, rinse my dishes and leave them there. I turn back and walk past the table, pausing to look at my family. “Thank you for your honesty. I know where I stand now.”
Then I leave the room.
As soon as I’m out of sight, I hurry down the hall, tears pooling in my eyes as I think of how my parents view me. I knew that this outcome could happen, but I thought when I was honest about my reasons, they would see me differently.
In a new light.
But instead, they see me as flightier than ever, someone who can never be trusted with anything of importance at Wintersmith Hall.
Tears begin to form on my lashes. I don’t bother to wipe them as I hurry up the stairs. I reach my room, shut the door, and go straight to the window seat, leaning my head against the cool pane of glass, and staring out at the gardens below.
I know Noah would never think this, but I feel as if I’ve let him down a second time. The first time was when I texted him my “let’s be friends” message, and now, I’m going to have to tell him I’ve failed. I was ready to try and do something, to take a chance and prove to everyone I can see a project through from start to finish, but before I even got the opportunity, I was told I was too much of a flake to be trusted to do anything other than fold tea towels.
The tears fall freely now. How am I going to explain this to Noah tomorrow? He has one last match to play before flying home, I don’t want to ruin his mood or break his game preparation. Perhaps I should wait and tell him later.
No,I think, mopping up the tears with the back of my hand. Noah would want to know.
I’ll have to tell him what happened. And that this more than likely will delay my move to London, unless I can find an entry-level opportunity somewhere else and work my way up to a gallery in London.
What if I have to move further away to take that kind of position? Like Manchester or Liverpool or something? How will logistics work then? I know Noah loves me, and I also know we’ll find a way, but this becomes so much harder the further away I have to go.
And there will be less time for us to spend together if that is the case. I bite my lip to keep from bursting into sobs.
Buzz!
I freeze as I spot my phone sitting on the charger on the bedside table. I pray it’s not Noah. I don’t want to tell him this now. He won’t sleep well, and that’s a priority before a match.
I get up and walk over to the bedside table. When I see the most recent text message, I blink in surprise.
The text isn’t from Noah.
It’s from Amelia.
I tap it open to read:
Violet. Can you meet me in the garden? Outside the aviary? We’re more alike than you could ever know—and we need to talk. You helped me find myself when I came to you in the gift shop with nothing but plans on my laptop. I have an idea—I’m not ready to share everything yet, but I might be able to help you. X
I stare at the message, puzzled. How are we alike? Other than Amelia coming here with an idea in her head to start a bridal business but then finding her true passion was estate management?
She’s nothing like me in that sense,I think, my heart sinking. My parents obviously can provide a list of how much of a mess they consider me to be.
Then I reread the last part of her sentence.
I might be able to help you.
With those words in my head, I hurry out of my room, down the stairs, and make my way to the aviary to see what Amelia has to say.
And pray that somehow, she might be right.