Chapter 17

CHAPTER17

“Father, please—”

Once more, Violet tried to speak to her father, though it was little use.

Her mother cut in, waving a swatch of lace around. “What do you think of this one?” She held up the white lace in front of Violet as she sat down beside her.

“Not now, Mama. Please.” Violet refused to look at the material. She stared instead at her father, who sat calmly in the chair in the small parlor Xander had given for the family’s use that morning.

Her father, Jonathan, had joined the party, though he had hardly arrived with any great smile or warmth in his countenance. For a man who was usually warm to everyone he met, the cold, reserved manner didn’t suit him. He sat in the chair as Marianne and Celia bustled around him, his face stoic.

“I think it’s beautiful, Mother,” Celia said, taking the lace and returning to walking. “Yet, you have to admit there is now so little time before the wedding that asking a modiste to make a new gown would be difficult, indeed.”

“Hmm, perhaps you are right.” Marianne stood, pulling on the loose tendrils of her auburn hair as she walked around the chair Violet was sitting in. “We could have her old debut dress adjusted?”

“That could work,” Celia agreed with a nod.

Violet took advantage of their distraction and stood up. She moved to the footstool in front of her father and sat down, trying to catch his eyes. He hadn’t yet looked her in the eye since his arrival early that morning.

“Father, please,” she whispered. “Are you so ashamed of me that you will not look at me?”

His eyes shot to her now. There was a sadness in that expression, and his face suddenly appeared older, the lines more wrinkled than before.

“Never ashamed of you, love,” he said calmly, sinking his chin into one hand as he rested his elbow on the arm of his seat. “I’m just deep in thought. Everything now seems to be happening so fast. Although, I’ll say this…”

He paused, his eyes flicking in his wife’s direction. “Your mother seems to have all the arrangements in hand—bar one, that is. The special license has been sorted by your betrothed and me. We got the confirmation this morning.”

“Oh, I see.”

She supposed she should have said, “Thank you,” though it felt strange to thank anyone for this. The idea that he had already been in communication with Xander, without them being formally introduced, was strange, indeed.

“Please, Father, what happened, the scandal, I ”

“Scandal? Such little scandal it is.” He laughed, though it was a forced sound. “Well, what do we live for, eh? But to bend the rules a little, laugh at others when they bend them, and do what we can to cover them up when it is us who bends them.”

She hung her head forward, finding she could no longer look at her father either. Somewhere, in a distant part of her mind, she was aware that across the room, her mother and sister were still talking about arrangements. The chapel was all set for the end of the week, the flowers would be ready and would arrive first thing that morning, and the organist had been arranged.

“Please, believe me, Father. This is not how I intended things to happen.”

“I know, my child.” He reached forward and rested a hand over hers. “Violet, you have nothing to apologize for, and no reason to look at me with those big eyes of yours in such shame.”

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“I mean that, simply, it is hardly the first rushed marriage of the ton, and you know how I feel about the ton.” He released her hand and sat back, stretching out his legs a little and looking more at ease than before.

“You do not like their ways.”

“I detest them!” He looked at the ceiling. “To think their ways and expectations are now to force my child into a rushed marriage…” He grimaced. “I’m heartily ashamed of the world I live in, Violet. That is my shame, not you. I want you to believe that.”

He looked at her with such sincerity that she nodded.

Violet knew her father well. While her mother enjoyed going to assemblies and parades, he had always enjoyed his own company more. He was more likely to be seen drinking in the company of his steward, too, than another peer.

“You are fond of bending the ton’s rules yourself, are you not?” she asked delicately.

“Always have been.” He nodded firmly. “I just didn’t think it would come to this.” He sighed and looked at Marianne and Celia. “Though your mother seems to take great delight in it.”

Violet shifted uncomfortably. It was something that had been bothering her, pulling at her like a petulant child tugging on her cloak. Marianne only thought of a great wedding and had not once asked her personally if this was the wedding she wanted.

Jonathan in comparison did not need to ask. He just looked at her and knew.

“I am sorry,” he whispered and leaned forward again. “If you tell me you do not wish to marry him, that you’d rather face scandal, then tell me so now, and there will not be a wedding.”

“Thank you, Father.” Violet smiled gently at him, though she struggled to maintain it.

I cannot do that. Not to any of them.

Her father was right to belittle the ways of the ton, for the fall of one family member meant the fall of the rest. If she now refused to marry Xander, the whole family would be tossed into scandal, not just her. She had to protect them, even if it meant marrying a man who would never love her.

“Yet, I shall marry him,” Violet said softly.

“Very well.” Jonathan sat back again. “Then I look forward to meeting the Duke in person, and I pray he is not as bad as his reputation suggests.”

His grimace was now so strong that his face contorted in two.

“I do not think he is, Father.”

Jonathan looked curiously at her. “You know him a little, then. You believe in some amount of goodness in him, do you?”

“I…” Violet thought a little. She pushed away all thoughts of heat and excitement between her and Xander and considered the acts of kindness he had shown her, including pulling her out of the bog and shutting down the gossip at the breakfast table. “I think he is capable of kindness, yes.”

“Persuade me of it,” her father said with sudden need.

“I—”

“What do you think, Violet?” Marianne was suddenly at her side. “We’ll have Come all ye faithful and Love Divine, All Loves Excelling.”

“No,” Jonathan spoke before Violet could. He stood and turned to his wife.

“No? Why not? Well, perhaps you are right. Perhaps we should go for To God be thy Glory instead.” Marianne turned away, as if the matter was resolved, but Jonathan called her back.

“No, that is not what I meant.” He stepped forward. “Marianne, you may be excited by this wedding, but nothing changes the fact it is to be done by special license and in a rush. Pick one hymn only if you must, but we will not stand on excessive ceremony for it. Is that understood?”

Violet looked up at her father in amazement. For a man usually so mild in manner, his sudden sternness had startled them all, especially Marianne, who stepped forward almost shakily.

“Jonathan, I—”

“I must insist on this, Maria.” He shortened her name, as only he ever did. “One hymn only, not too many flowers, and, please, not too many guests either.”

“The ones who are already here are to be guests,” Celia explained.

“Then leave it at that and invite no more. Do I have your agreement?” he asked with some desperation.

His sharp manner clearly had startled Marianne enough, for she nodded but couldn’t manage any words.

“Good, then it is settled.” Jonathan returned to his seat, though he didn’t sit back this time. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, as Celia and Marianne now planned for just one hymn. “Violet, promise me one thing.” He caught Violet’s hand once more.

“Anything, Father.”

“In this marriage, do not lose who you are.”

“I’m sorry?” she whispered in surprise.

“Maybe the Duke is a better man than I give him credit for, but I have met such wealthy and arrogant men before—”

“I never said he was arrogant.”

“Please, Violet,” her father said, that desperation back in his voice. “I know the vows say you have to obey your husband, but do me this one favor. Be yourself, always. Do not lose your life to his will and his rules. Hold onto you. That is the best chance any of us have for happiness, to be our true selves.”

The softness his voice took on made her smile sadly.

“Father, I promise to always be me,” she assured him.

She at once wished to tell him about her writing, that she was published, and it was through her own hard work alone that it had happened. Maybe then he would see her dedication to running her life with her own will.

But she couldn’t tell him, not when Marianne was so close by, for she would surely disapprove.

“That is good, then.” Jonathan stood. “Now, take me to meet him in person, though heaven knows I am hardly looking forward to this.”

With a great sigh, Violet stood and led her father out of the room. They left Celia and Marianne behind, who continued with the wedding preparations, barely taking notice of when Violet and Jonathan left.

It took some time to find Xander, but they at last located him in his study toward the back of the house. It was a darker room than the rest of the building, and his desk was piled high with books and notes.

He had discarded his jacket, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he looked over his papers. Violet was distracted momentarily by that flash of skin on his forearms and the show of muscle.

When they knocked on his open door and stepped inside, he jerked his head up and then stood, evidently realizing at once who Jonathan was.

“Lord Pembrokeshire.” Xander bowed from his place as did Jonathan. “Thank you for coming.”

“Yes, yes.” Jonathan waved a hand at Xander, urging him to stand up straight again. “Well, it is certainly… erm… good to meet you in person at last, Your Grace.” He forced a smile. As ever, uncomfortable with the rules of the ton that had now been made more awkward by the rushed betrothal between Xander and Violet.

Violet looked at Xander, unsure of what to say in the strange air that descended on the room. Something shifted on his face, an expression that was unreadable to her, and then he stepped out from behind his desk and moved toward the pair of them.

“I hope you will stay now until the wedding, My Lord.”

The invitation was a kind one, and Jonathan looked a little more at ease to hear the words.

“Thank you. Yes, I’d like that.” He sighed and looked between Xander and Violet. “Well, I suppose as my new son-in-law, we should get to know one another. Perhaps we could share a drink this evening?”

“We could, or, alternatively, I was going to take a walk now. Would you care to join me?” Xander gestured to the window. “I often take a walk at this time across the parkland.”

Jonathan looked immediately more comfortable with this idea. Violet knew why—he preferred to be in the outdoors, far away from the stuffy rooms of the ton.

“That is a good idea indeed, Your Grace.”

Violet watched the two of them leave, wishing Xander would say something to her before he left, but he did not. He only glanced once at her, that piercing blue gaze as unreadable as it had now been to her so many times before.

* * *

“Would you stand still?”

“No.”

“You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“It’s my bloody wedding. Where else would they be looking, anyway?”

“At the bride, perhaps?” Anthony offered.

“If she turns up—”

“Xander.” Anthony caught Xander’s arm, but he didn’t look back to meet his friend’s gaze.

Xander knew well enough what he had said, and just how much it was an insight into his thoughts. He cursed at his weakness for letting the words out of his lips and kept his focus on the priest.

The heavy scent of all the roses and chrysanthemums in the air was too much. His nose tickled, and he was in danger of sneezing repeatedly. The suit he wore for the day was a fine one, recently re-adjusted, and far too stiff for his liking. He kept fidgeting, pulling at the cravat and adjusting the waistcoat.

The whispers of all of those gathered in the pews were beginning to get to him as well. Their constant droning sounded a little like a bees’ humming, growing louder and louder.

What would they say if Violet didn’t come?

“Xander,” Anthony hissed once more, clearly still trying to get his attention. “Let us be frank, for Lady Violet is not my sister. She is nothing like Tilly.”

Xander still didn’t turn his head. He fixed his gaze on the jeweled cross on the altar and kept it there, refusing to look anywhere else.

“Tilly was… was…” Anthony searched for the right word to describe his sister. “Well, she was foolish, for one thing, was she not? Romantic and idealistic, for another.”

Violet is certainly a romantic.

Xander kept that thought to himself. He’d read her latest installment of The Dark Duke in the paper. The way she wrote showed she was a romantic, and yet Xander had not offered her romance or love. He’d firmly shut that door.

Perhaps she will not come at all.

“What time do you have?” Xander asked, checking his pocket watch. It was five past the hour. She was late.

“Ten o’clock.”

“It’s five past,” Xander muttered.

“Your clock is fast.” Anthony returned his pocket watch to his waistcoat. “Would you calm yourself? This bride of yours is very different from Tilly. I’ve seen that, even if you haven’t.”

“I know she’s different,” Xander said with sudden strength. He had seen it time and time again.

That first night when Violet had come across him in the garden and had told him of what she had done had proved just how different she was from Tilly. She had a more interesting heart, a passionate one, certainly, a bold and courageous one, unlike Tilly’s heart, which persuaded her to flee in the middle of the night.

If her writing was anything to go by, Violet also held a fascination for him.

No, she does not. She told me countless times that though I was the inspiration for the character in her story, we are not one and the same.

“What time is it now?” Xander asked again.

“For Christ’s sake,” Anthony muttered, sounding more frustrated than Xander had ever heard him before. “If I knew being your best man meant a job at keeping you calm—”

“What? You wouldn’t have accepted?”

“God damn it, course I’d still be here,” Anthony said with a heavy sigh, raking a hand through his hair. “But I wish you’d calm down. Look at the efforts that have gone into this wedding at such short notice. She is coming, Xander. You can be certain of that.”

Xander said nothing, though his mind was a whir. The arrangements had been made purely by his mother, Violet’s mother, and her sister. He couldn’t remember seeing Violet have any hand in any of the preparations at all. She had also done a good job of avoiding him for the rest of the week, and he’d decided to let her.

He had watched from a distance instead, and any time Mr. Garrett or any other man went near her to flirt, he simply simmered in silence, then warned the man off later once she was out of earshot.

“Ahem.” The priest suddenly cleared his throat, and Xander looked at him. “We are ready to begin.”

“We are?” Xander murmured in surprise.

The priest nodded at the organist, who struck up the music, and then Xander heard the distinct sound of the chapel door opening. He turned around, trying to keep the surprise off his face as his eyes found Violet in the doorway of the church.

She walked in serenely on her father’s arm, dressed beautifully in ivory white that was accented with the occasional flash of sage green. The embroidery was stunningly done, accentuating the curve of her waist and bosom, with her hair curled at the base of her neck.

She is quite stunning.

Xander pressed his lips together, worried he’d watch her with his jaw slack as she approached him. It seemed mad, almost impossible that beautiful Violet was about to become his wife. She still didn’t look at him as she approached, not until her father passed her hand into his. At their touch, she at last looked at him.

Xander tried to smile a little, to reassure her, and he saw the same flicker of a smile in her cheeks, though it faded fast. He turned the two of them to face the altar, his stomach trembling with nerves he had not been expecting.

She came. Part of me was so sure she would not come.