Chapter 19

Her palms began to sweat as she fidgeted with the note in her hands. The edges of the parchment had begun to crumple after an hour of vigorous handling.

She can't possibly know.

Her mouth felt dry as the carriage ran over some stones in the road. She'd awoken to a note from the Dowager Countess inviting her for tea, when she'd barely been able to process what had happened with Greyson.

Greyson…

Her breathing slowed a little when images of the night before flashed in her mind. He'd caressed her in such an intimate way that his touch felt seared into his skin. She'd lain awake hours after sneaking into the house, her skin hot and tingling. She ran the tips of her fingers over her neck where his tongue had licked a path to her chest.

She yearned for an experience like that again and wondered if there would come another time when they'd be intimate with each other.

Did he tell his mother? Or perhaps the butler told her.

She quickly snapped out of her reverie when her heart pounded with fear. The note had to be a coincidence. Greyson had promised her that his butler was discreet and loyal. What reason would he have for telling his mother about their little dalliance anyway?

The carriage came to a stop in front of the grand country manor, bringing with it a deeper sense of fear and foreboding. Her life would be over if anyone found out, not to mention that both she and Greyson would be miserable if anyone forced them to marry.

Would it be the worst thing if we marry?

The question caused her breath to catch in her throat.

A footman opened the carriage door and ushered her into the manor before she had time to think.

"Her Ladyship is awaiting you in her private quarters," he said bluntly and showed her down a secluded passage that she wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been pointed out to her.

He opened one of the doors and then quickly ushered her inside.

There was definitely something afoot. No footman would treat her so briskly if there wasn't anything wrong. The Dowager Countess had more than likely heard what happened and now planned on scolding her and demanding that they marry as soon as possible.

Violet's heart pounded like a drum as she looked around the neat, little room with fine furnishings and a plethora of plants.

Christina Stone was sitting in one of the armchairs, with a small quilt over her lap. "I'm so glad you could make it, dear. I was beginning to wonder if my note had made it on time." Her smile was warm and inviting as she gestured for Violet to take a seat in the chair on the other side of a small table.

Violet gulped down the fear that rose up her throat as she gingerly made her way to the proffered chair and took a seat. "The note was waiting for me as soon as I woke up this morning," she replied tentatively.

"Good. I'm sorry for inviting you on such short notice, it's just that I wanted to spend some time alone with you. Greyson always hovers around you like he's afraid to let you out of his sight—as it should be with couples in love. It's nice for you and me to get to know each other a little better." Christina gave a tired smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Love.

Violet's heart clenched with guilt as she examined the older woman's face. Perhaps she and Greyson had played the part of besotted lovers a little too well. His mother truly believed that they were hopelessly devoted to one another.

"I would ask how many children you would like, but I think that would be a little too forward. Have you and Greyson discussed having children yet?" Christina's eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned over the table and poured Violet a cup of tea.

"I… I can't say that we have," Violet stammered, her cheeks flushing.

Laughing, Christina shook her head. "I was just teasing you, dear. Young couples seldom discuss these matters at the start. That, too, is how things should be at the start of any courtship. Everything should be about anticipating feelings, wondering if he feels the same as you do—even the little arguments should bring the two of you closer."

The atmosphere was light with an undercurrent of something that Violet couldn't put her finger on. The Dowager Countess seemed sad and almost tearful as she smiled.

At that moment, Violet decided to broach the topic that Greyson had tried to avoid the other day at the lake. "Were things like that at the start for you?"

"Not with Greyson's father." Christina placed her cup back in its saucer and leaned back in her chair. "I was in love with another man when I was about your age. I like to believe that my affections were reciprocated—he told me more than once that he loved me."

"Why didn't you marry? Or did you love the late Earl more?"

Violet relaxed when she realized that the older woman wouldn't be questioning her about her late-night dalliance with her son. Christina's motive for wanting to spend more time with her seemed sincere.

Christina let out a shaky breath, causing the cup to rattle. "No, there was no love between the late Earl and me. Our parents insisted on the marriage—an alliance that expanded the family's estate to what it is today."

Violet's heart clenched again when she noticed the sadness in the older woman's eyes. The Dowager Countess had lost the love of her life because of societal values and greed.

Her story only solidified Violet's belief that love was a fool's game.

But what if she married the man she loved instead?

Her thoughts drifted to Greyson and their connection when it came to intimacy and conversation. What would life be like for her if she were forced to marry a man who couldn't match her intellect or to whom she wasn't attracted? Life as a spinster was preferable to one of unfulfilled expectations.

"The late Earl and I hardly spoke, unless the subject involved children or family matters. He would traipse across the globe on his many business trips, and I would stay at home, raising Greyson."

Christina's breathing somehow grew shallower, and Violet glanced at the quilt over her knees. The room was warm enough that she didn't feel a chill, yet Christina seemed to be struggling.

"Did you fight when he was at home?"

"We would, but it had never ended pleasantly, and he had never apologized. We lived separate lives and came together when it was expected of us to make a public appearance. One can tell the quality of a marriage, or even a courtship, by the way the arguments end. One of you should always bend and apologize. It can't be the same person every time, mind you. It's a constant give and take, with no room for pride. Has Greyson apologized to you?"

The sadness in Christina's eyes faded again as she gave Violet a mischievous smile and sipped on her tea.

"He brought me flowers once after an argument. Although he did say that he got one of the footmen to pick them—which diminished the significance of the gesture a little, in my opinion—it still counts, I guess."

Violet's heart swelled at the memory of Greyson presenting her with a bouquet of purple flowers.

She decided to leave out the part where he'd also tricked her into a surprise dinner and given her the single most sensual experience of her life.

"His footman?" Christina cocked her head with a frown.

"Yes, Greyson told me that he asked one of his footmen to pick the flowers for me as he sat in his carriage." Violet rolled her eyes and smirked at the memory.

Christina let out a laugh before placing her cup on the table. "I am afraid you have been duped by love, my dear. I think that it's more appropriate to say that Greyson had been duped by love and you have been dragged along as a casualty."

"I don't understand…"

"If you look to the left of the manor when you leave, you will see a field of wild violets. I happen to know that Greyson picked the flowers himself because I saw him doing it. I did hope that he was doing it for you. Heaven knows I've never seen him do such a thing for anyone else." She shook her head as she muttered the last part under her breath.

Violet wondered why he had lied to her if he had been the one who picked the flowers.

"Men are strange creatures, my dear. They like to take credit for anything that makes them look good, except for when it comes to matters of the heart. Greyson had been outrunning love since he was a child, and now you came along and presented him with reality. You can't outrun something that is right in front of your face—not when the problem is as lovely as you are." Christina's smile was warm again as her lips quirked up.

Violet sucked in a breath, her heart skipping a beat. She and Greyson were lying to a sweet old woman who wanted nothing but the best for her son. How would she feel when everything came to an end? Violet had bargained for a quick courtship who would keep her mother at bay, yet now she was faced with the prospect of hurting not only her parents but a woman whom she was quickly beginning to like.

She realized now that she and Greyson were being na?ve when they caved under the pressure to have their families mingle. Nothing the Dowager Countess had said was true, yet the woman believed it to be so with every fiber of her being. She believed that Violet and Greyson were deeply in love with one another and that their union would someday result in children.

Violet's attention was drawn back to the conversation at hand when the Dowager Countess suddenly coughed, pulling the quilt higher on her lap.

"Are you feeling ill?" Violet furrowed her brow in concern when all the color drained from Christina's face.

"I think I just caught a chill. I had to take my lady's maid to see a doctor, and the lengthy carriage ride didn't do these old bones any favors."

Christina's arms shook visibly when she shivered, and Violet noticed for the first time that her arms were thin even for a woman of her slender build.

The door to the solarium opened, revealing a tall, thin woman who looked to be in her mid-forties. "I beg your pardon, My Lady, I didn't mean to interrupt. I know you were feeling a little chilly this morning, so I thought that you might like a shawl." She walked into the room, carrying a thick shawl of dark green wool.

Violet thought the fabric a little too heavy for the pleasant weather outside, but the older woman did seem to be struggling with a chill.

"Thank you, Wilkins. I don't know what I would do without you." Christina allowed the maid, who didn't seem to be ill at all, to drape the shawl over her shoulders and fuss over her like a mother hen.

Violet felt dread sink into her stomach as she watched the scene unfold before her. The maid didn't seem to be ill at all. She seemed to be in the prime of her life with rosy cheeks and a healthy complexion. Even her movements spoke of vitality, despite the streaks of grey that were just beginning to sprout at the roots of her hair.

There were, of course, other conditions that sent women to London and other villages to seek better help, yet Wilkins was a lady's maid and wouldn't be concerned with the usual problems such as an inability to conceive or even keeping a pregnancy. Violet knew of a lady who needed those services, but it was unlikely that Wilkins needed them too.

"There you are, My Lady. Just ring for me if you feel as if you're getting a little too tired," Wilkins said in a deeply concerned tone, making Violet realize with sickening clarity that her fears were more than likely true.

"You are a treasure, Wilkins." Christina reached up and patted the maid's hand, before dismissing her.

Pushing the situation with Greyson to the back of her mind, Violet observed his mother more closely. "Are you sure you're feeling well? Should we not send for the doctor?"

Christina's smile turned sad once again. "The doctor has already been here, my dear. All that is to be done now is rest. It's just a chill from the long journey. Please, do not worry. It's you and Greyson that I would like to discuss. I haven't sent out the invitations yet, but I would like to host a luncheon here tomorrow for everyone who helped bring the two of you together. Marie Webster included."

"Are you sure that you wouldn't want to wait until the chill has passed? We could always arrange a luncheon once you're feeling better," Violet offered, searching the older woman's face for any signs of illness that she could have missed.

Christina's eyes seemed bright enough, and her skin wasn't yellowing or pale, yet Violet couldn't shake the feeling that something was dreadfully amiss.

"I'm honestly up for a simple luncheon, but it does warm my heart to see your concern for me. Greyson made the right decision in choosing you. He has put things off for far too long. In fact, we all have. I wouldn't want to put the celebration off any longer. A good night's rest is all I need before tomorrow." Christina smiled at her again.

A celebration.

Guilt gnawed at Violet's conscience with increasing vigor. She and Greyson were awful people for having tricked such a sweet old woman into believing their lies.

She couldn't carry on like this anymore, not now that she cared for his mother.