Chapter 9

CHAPTER9

Xander hurried down the stairs, taking some of them two at a time. He even hummed to himself under his breath, the same tune that Violet had played the night before on his piano.

Turning his head to the nearest door, he saw that his mother and sister were in the parlor, having tea. Before he could go to join them, there was a light knock at the front door.

Xander moved to answer it before the butler could appear to do so. The face that greeted him on the front step made him smile broadly.

“Anthony?” he said in surprise.

Anthony turned to face him fully, looking away from the busy road behind him, and extended his hand.

“Now that I have seen you again, you hardly think I’m going to let you retreat into your own shadow so easily once more, do you?” Anthony asked with a chuckle.

Smiling, Xander took his hand and shook it firmly. “Come in,” he said happily and drew him inside. “Well, I am glad to see you.”

He did not say how surprised he was. That surprise and relief had washed over him greatly at the ball a couple of nights ago. For now, he was simply delighted that he still had his good friend, even after all their years apart and all the suspicion over his head.

“You seem much… lighter,” Anthony said eventually as he followed Xander into the hallway and the door closed behind him. “Light, indeed.”

“Do I?” Xander frowned, but it quickly turned into a small smile. “I guess I feel it.”

“The effect of coming back to the ton, eh?” Anthony teased him and then laughed, clearly knowing it could not be that. “Or something else has had this effect on you?”

“Well…” Xander considered why he was humming, why he was smiling at all, and the answer hit him in the shape of an image.

He saw Violet at his piano, playing such striking music before he had given in and kissed her. She was confusing to him, both indulgence, beauty, and yet also foe, for she was the one who had harmed his reputation, even if she had not done it with any malicious intent.

I like her. Far more than I should.

“Ah, I see you are going to keep the reason to yourself, then.” Anthony smiled and clapped him on the arm good-naturedly. “I shall put it down to the presence of a woman, then. Ah, speaking of which.” He peered through the doorway of the parlor to where Xander’s mother and sister were having tea. “Shall we?”

“If you like. One more thing, though.” As Xander’s eyes rested on Helena, a thought struck him. If his betrothed was to ever return, it could cause trouble for him in the future. “Your sister.”

Anthony stiffened and even paled at the mention of Tilly, turning to face Xander fully. “What about her?” he asked in a small voice.

“Have you ever heard from her since? Anything at all?”

Anthony sighed heavily, then raised a hand and rubbed his brow. “I wish I could say I had, but I have not. At least then it would give my parents some comfort if we had heard from her.”

“Yes. Yes, it would, indeed.”

Strangely, though, Xander took comfort in him not having heard from Tilly. It meant that perhaps she had no intention of coming back at all. If she did intend to ever return to the ton, she would surely write to her parents or Anthony first.

“Let us talk about happier things.” Anthony waved a hand toward Helena and Katherine. “I have received your mother’s invitation to your party here, the gathering to last for a week or so. I am delighted to accept.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Xander walked into the room, urging Anthony to follow. “Mother? Helena? You remember Anthony.”

“Of course, we do.” Katherine stood and turned to greet Anthony as Helena poured tea for the two of them. “Say you will come to our little party here, Anthony.”

“I have come to tell you in person that I shall indeed be attending, and thank you for the kind invitation.”

There were smiles all around as Xander took his teacup from his sister. The room held a happy air, something that hadn’t been here in years, and yet, as Xander looked away to the nearest doorway, through which he could glimpse the music room, he saw the piano stool and the lid over the piano keys, which was still lifted.

“Who else have you invited, Mother?” Xander asked carefully, finding a sudden determination to know if Violet was to come or not.

“Oh, so many people.” Katherine launched into the guest list, but not one of them was Violet.

“And Lady Violet and her friends?” Xander asked leadingly when she came to the end of her list.

Helena nearly dropped her teacup into her saucer as she turned to face him in surprise. In contrast, Anthony leaned on the back of the rococo settee, looking greatly amused by Xander’s question.

“Yes, I have also invited them.” Helena smiled even more broadly than before, turning to face Xander and offering him a slice of cake from the tea tray. “I hear you two were talking the other night at the ball. May I hazard a guess at some interest on your part, Xander?”

He said nothing and merely took the cake from her with a nod of gratitude. It was imperative for his plan to work that his mother and sister did not know of his ruse with Violet. He had a feeling if they heard about it, both Katherine and Helena would be outraged and demand he treat Violet with more respect.

No, if it was to work, no one could know.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Anthony whispered, all too loudly.

“I heard that,” Xander murmured.

“You were meant to.” Yet, as Anthony spoke, he cast a questioning look at Xander.

No matter what Anthony’s true suspicions were, Xander would not even tell his friend that more than a conversation had passed between him and Violet.

That is my secret.

* * *

“Violet.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, would you please stop looking at that blank piece of paper?” Celia pleaded desperately.

Violet looked up from the blank page that was so infuriating her, repetitively tapping the end of her quill on her chin. “What is it?” she asked from her place at a writing desk in the corner of their drawing room.

Celia stood a short distance away, looking out the window to the drive and the street beyond the gates. She seemed worried, chewing her lip, until she turned her head to Violet and snorted with laughter.

“What?”

“You do realize you have ink all over your chin, do you not?”

Violet wiped at her chin, realizing that in her frustration at not being able to write anything, she had tapped the inked end of her quill on her chin. She dropped the quill and dabbed at her chin.

“That’s just making it worse!” Celia laughed some more as Violet smeared the ink across her palm and her chin.

“Oh, well. No one can see me but you.”

“You might not be saying that soon.” Celia turned her amused grin toward the window again.

Violet paused, wondering what her sister meant by this, but before she could say anything, the door to the drawing room burst open.

“Oh, God’s wounds, my heart,” Celia cried, practically falling against the window in her surprise. “Mother, what are you doing?”

Violet didn’t turn in her seat to look at her mother. Instead, she gathered what pages existed of her story on the desk before her, throwing them into the drawer as quickly as she could.

Maybe someday she would tell her mother about her secret ambition, but now was certainly not the right time. She was not convinced that with her mother’s preoccupation of being a perfect lady in the eyes of the ton, her mother would be impressed with her writing.

“Have you seen? Have you seen who has come to call?” Marianne ran into the room with her skirts gathered in one hand.

“What is going on?” Violet asked, releasing the drawer where she had just hidden her work. “Mama, you are like an excited child after the promise of sweetmeats.”

“Oh, Violet. Look. Look who it is!” Marianne waved both of her hands toward the window. “Wait… what have you done to your chin?”

“It’s nothing.” Violet tried to wipe the ink off her chin once more, only to make it worse and end up with even more ink now on her other hand.

“What will he make of her now?” Celia teased, to which Marianne made a shushing noise. She ran toward Violet and offered a handkerchief, trying to wipe her chin clean for her.

“Ma! I am not a baby that needs to be fussed over!” Violet leaned away from her mother but to little effect.

“He’s here, he’s here. Do you really wish to look like this in front of a duke?”

“A duke? Wait, who is here?” Violet at last managed to push her mother’s hand away as she peered around her shoulder and looked at Celia.

“Care to look for yourself?” Celia pointed at the window.

Violet stood and ran toward the window, aware that her mother followed behind her, now waving the ink-stained handkerchief in the air in her eagerness to see her cleaned up.

Violet couldn’t see anyone, but she saw a grand horse which was now being held by one of the stable boys by the front gate.

“Who am I looking for?” Violet asked as Celia cleared her throat.

“Good day to you all.” That deep tone was something she could not forget.

Violet slowly turned around. In the doorway, where their mother had left the door wide open, stood Xander. In his hand was something wrapped in brown tissue, and he stood so tall that he towered over the three of them.

“Your Grace!” Marianne scurried forward like an excited mouse and bobbed a deep curtsy. “We are most delighted to have you here with us. Please, come in. You must forgive my… erm…” She turned to look at Violet and motioned wildly for her to clean herself up.

Violet took a clean handkerchief that was given to her by Celia and attempted to clean her chin.

“My daughter is fond of scribbling notes.” Marianne waved a hand dismissively at the writing desk. “It is so good to have you with us, Your Grace.”

“Thank you.”

There was something in his look, perhaps a mischievous glint in his eyes, as he looked at the writing desk, which showed Violet he knew exactly what she had been writing, and it certainly wasn’t just scribbling idle notes.

“I apologize for calling without prior notice. I have come to call on Lady Violet.” He nodded in her direction.

Marianne beamed so widely that Violet actually wished she had the Duke’s power to shrink into the shadows at that moment. Her face flushed red in embarrassment, and with the ink still smattered across her chin, she was certain she was an awful sight.

It is a wonder he kissed me at all last night.

Such heat coursed through her at the memory of what they had done that she remembered her manners. She stepped forward and curtsied, just as Celia did the same beside her.

“Good day, Your Grace.”

“Good day.” He looked at her, but he didn’t quite smile.

There was just the hint of something in the lifting of his cheeks so that the promise of a smile was something of a torment to her.

Oh, to be alone with him again!

“The weather is fine today.” He nodded at the window. “Would you care to go on a promenade with me, Lady Violet?”

Violet didn’t speak for a minute. With the ink-stained handkerchief in her hand, she felt certain that their ruse would fail. When she made such an exhibition of herself, surely no one would believe the Duke actually wished to court her?

He raised his eyebrows, clearly prompting her.

Or is it a reminder of what I owe him?

“My daughter would be delighted to join you, Your Grace, I am sure.” Marianne smiled widely and then turned to Violet, the hint of a glare in her expression when she still hadn’t spoken.

“Yes, I would,” Violet said hurriedly.

“Celia can accompany you as a chaperone.”

Violet and Celia exchanged a look. They both knew that with Celia’s experiences, she was hardly the most virtuous or well-placed woman to be a chaperone.

“I’d be happy to be their chaperone,” Celia said, nevertheless.

“Forgive me whilst I go and tidy myself up, Your Grace.” Violet walked toward the door, fussing with the handkerchief against her chin.

“You were writing something most intriguing, then, before I arrived?” His words made her halt at his side, staring up at him. There was that glint again in those icy blue eyes, that hint of knowing. “Something that… captivated you.”

“Perhaps.” Violet gave nothing away, enjoying the moment when the corner of his lips turned up in a smirk.

“I shall wait for you by the door.” He took his parcel with him and left for the front door.

Violet stood perfectly still, staring after him, before she felt a sharp jab in her back. That elbow from her mother made the swirling feelings of excitement and danger that were lingering in her stomach abruptly evaporate.

“What is it?” Violet asked, turning to her mother.

“A duke, Violet. A duke! Oh, I shall have a duchess for a daughter.”

“Ma!” Violet hissed, fearful that Xander would hear her mother as he walked down the entrance hall. “It is a promenade. It is hardly a declaration of marriage.”

“Perhaps not yet.” Marianne took hold of Celia’s arm and thrust her forward. “Go, Celia. You must report everything that happens to me.”

“When did I become your spy?”

“As of this moment. Go. And, Violet?”

“Yes?” Violet asked, struggling to tear her eyes away from Xander in the hallway. It felt wrong to give her mother such hope when it was indeed all a game—nothing but a deception.

“Do clean yourself up a little. You’ll never marry when you have ink all over you like that. A gentleman wishes to marry a proper lady of the ton.”

Violet said nothing as she walked away, but she couldn’t help glancing back at Xander and wondering if her mother was right, or if she was quite wrong.