Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

T he next afternoon, Violet halted on the stairs as she tried to identify the whimpering sound that came from the first floor.

It sounded suspiciously like weeping.

She quickened her steps and then slowed when she heard the deep rumble of her husband’s voice over the quiet sobbing. Unsure of what to do, she peeked into the sitting room and found Edward patting her sister’s back while tears leaked onto his shoulder.

“I don’t…fit in,” Isabelle said between sharp inhales.

“Why not?” he asked, still gently rubbing her back.

Violet knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop.

It was an awful habit, and the result was rarely positive. Trying to ignore the voice inside her head that told her to either enter the room or leave, she silently eased back into the shadows of the hallway, out of sight of the doorway, but not so far away that she couldn’t hear what they said.

“I’m not anywhere close to as beautiful and sophisticated as your sisters are,” Isabelle murmured. “They keep trying to include me, but sooner or later they’re going to realize that I’m nothing but a simple country girl.”

Violet stiffened.

How had she not realized her sister was unhappy?

Edward made a soft shushing sound. “You fit in with my sisters just fine. They are country girls too. Were you not aware that this is the first time Jane and Louisa have been to London? Or that it’s only the second time for Belinda, Emmeline, and me. Sebastian is the only one who has spent substantial time here. The rest of us are as out of place as you seem to believe you are.”

“You aren’t out of place. You fit perfectly. Your brother is an earl.” She sniffled. “Did you know Emmeline told me that I could debut alongside Jane when the time comes? Can you imagine? What will people think if they see us together? Or even worse, what they will say?” Her voice wavered. “Here is Lady Jane. Beautiful. Poised. Accomplished in all the ways a woman should be. And here is Isabelle. Plump. Awkward. Accomplished at nothing.”

“That isn’t true,” he argued.

“It is . They’ll know my sister married you, and that your family has no choice but to welcome me into the fold. They’ll think it ridiculous if I debut alongside Jane.”

“First of all, Emmeline would never offer to sponsor you unless she genuinely wanted to. And second, you?—”

“—I can’t even dance,” Isabelle wailed, interrupting.

It was untrue, and Violet wanted to rush into the room and assure Isabelle that she was a sensational dancer, but she forced herself to stay where she was while Edward made the soft shushing sound again. “That isn’t true. Your dancing was perfectly adequate when we were at the assembly. If you wish to improve or learn more complicated steps, I’d be happy to partner with you so you can practice.”

“It won’t matter how accomplished my dancing becomes,” Isabelle lamented. “I’ll still be a girl who does not belong. And the worst part about it is, I can’t say no to Emmeline. A part of me doesn’t even want to. It’s just—I already know what it’ll be like. I’ll be ignored and I’ll hate myself for it.” She whined the last five words, her voice pitiful and sad.

Violet’s head dropped back against the wall.

She’d thought that getting rid of Basil would solve everything, but she hadn’t considered that he wasn’t the only challenge they faced. Violet hadn’t even contemplated how Isabelle might be feeling now that Violet had married.

She’d only considered how the changes affected her. She was an awful sister.

“You don’t have to enter society if you don’t want to. Emmeline would never pressure you, and neither would anyone else in my family.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I wish I could claim otherwise, but I don’t want to lie to you. Society isn’t always very welcoming, and if you choose to debut with Jane, the curiosity about who you are will be enormous. I do not believe that anyone will be outright unkind, but I feel as if I should warn you. My family is rather notorious. My parents are a cautionary tale. Belinda is a failure . And I’m a scandal . Once again, only Sebastian has weathered their expectations without issue. And that is only because he is very good at rising above the petty squabbling of his peers, and he can hold onto an icy stare regardless of the situation.”

“You think”—Isabelle hiccupped—“that I should decline Emmeline’s offer?”

“If it won’t make you happy, then yes, of course. But regardless of what I think, you don’t need to decide yet. Jane isn’t debuting this year. She isn’t old enough and neither are you. Also, Belinda may never enter society again, and while your sister and I have not discussed it, Violet and I have no reason to participate in the Season this year or in the future. I’m certain Sebastian and Emmeline will, but they’re the only ones who have any sort of obligation. You aren’t going to be left out if you decide not to.”

Isabelle voice was so quiet that Violet almost couldn’t hear her reply. “You’re sure?”

“Very sure.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be worrying about it now. It’s a problem for another day. I’m very sorry I cried all over you. I haven’t cried in an age.” Her voice was a little stronger when she added, “I’m glad Violet married you.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m glad Violet married me too.”

“I know she probably hasn’t told you, but she’s glad too.”

A rustling sound drifted into the hallway as if Isabelle had risen to her feet.

Violet moved quickly and quietly as she retraced her steps up the stairs and into the bedchamber she shared with Edward. She’d been avoiding her husband as much as she could since she awoke that morning. As was becoming typical, their love making had unearthed truths she didn’t particularly want to face and avoiding him allowed her the opportunity to pretend that nothing had changed.

She paced to the window and stared out at the grey sky. It wasn’t raining, but the heavy clouds made it clear that the rain would return sooner rather than later.

As she stared into the dreary day, her thoughts coalesced into a single truth .

She was glad she’d married Edward.

He was everything he’d presented himself to be. The fact that he was as kind and patient with Isabelle as he was with her was particularly meaningful. It had only been a few days, but she was starting to think she could trust him.

It didn’t scare her as much as it should have.

Maybe she had no reason to fear.

Or maybe she was just as foolish as she’d ever been.

How could she trust herself to know the difference?

She gripped the edge of the windowsill, her knuckles turning white. Her brain was at war with her heart, because if she allowed herself to trust him, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from loving him, and she would be absolutely wrecked if he betrayed her.

She heard the door click open and spun around, her heart in her throat. Edward took one look at her, crossed the room in brisk strides, and tugged her into his arms. He held her tight and kissed her forehead softly as she sank into him.

Comfort enveloped her, and it made her want to weep.

“What is the matter?” he asked into the wispy hair that had escaped the knot at her nape.

“Nothing.” The lie tumbled out.

“I thought you were going to join me for tea, but instead I find you morosely staring out the window.” He looked at her closely. “Something is wrong.”

He had no way of knowing how truly confused she felt, so she said, “I am perfectly well, and tea sounds lovely. I must have lost track of time.” She was nearly certain she had convinced him that everything was fine as she followed him out of the bedchamber.

* * *

Violet had lied. Something was bothering her. Edward knew it as well as he knew his name.

The faraway look on her face when she’d spun away from the window had suggested she was distressed. Her insistence that she was fine had confirmed it. He couldn’t help worrying that she had somehow discovered the truth about her inheritance, even though he knew she hadn’t.

Waiting had been pointless.

There was never going to be a perfect opportunity to tell her she hadn’t needed to marry him. It was always going to be an unpleasant revelation.

“Are you alright?” he asked again, as she poured their tea.

She didn’t respond other than to glare at him and ask, “Sugar?” even though she already knew quite well how he liked his tea.

He nodded, and for the first time since they’d met, they sat in near silence, sipping their drinks. It wasn’t tense exactly, but it was ripe with things they weren’t saying.

He’d give just about anything to know what she was thinking, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to ask. It was long past time that he tell her about her inheritance, and yet the words still wouldn’t leave his mouth. He had never been particularly adept at lying, and the longer they remained unspoken, the more the omission ate at him. He needed to tell her, but he couldn’t make himself do it, especially not when she already seemed out of sorts.

His concern for what was wrong grew as the afternoon passed, and by the time they climbed into the carriage to join his family for dinner, he was overwrought. He hoped an evening with his family would allow them both the chance to breathe easier, but he wasn’t at all confident that it would.

* * *

Violet was relieved when the meal was over. The tension between her and Edward had been almost unbearable. She wasn’t sure if he was responding to her turmoil or if he was experiencing his own.

Either way, she couldn’t help wondering if he regretted marrying her. Or if he was simply annoyed that she’d been so curt with him all afternoon.

The conversation she’d overheard between Edward and Isabelle continued to consume her thoughts. Her sister had been as cheerful as ever at dinner, but now that Violet knew how awkward Isabelle felt, she could see the underlying doubt that plagued her.

“Are you going to tell me what is amiss between you and my brother?” Belinda asked later in the evening when they found themselves alone. They’d been deserted by Emmeline, who was weary and had retired to her bedchamber, and Jane, Louisa, and Isabelle, who had disappeared up the stairs at Louisa’s insistence.

“Nothing is amiss. We’re—” She had no idea what they were.

“Something is amiss. You barely looked at each other while we ate.” Belinda wrinkled her nose. “I’ve been wondering, has Edward painted since the wedding?”

“Painted?”

“With a brush.” Belinda twirled her hand in the air, as if Violet might be unfamiliar with the concept.

“I know what painting is,” she grumbled. “And no. I don’t believe so.”

“You’d know.” Belinda gestured at the doorway. “Come. I want you to see something.”

Curious, Violet followed Belinda down the hallway.

They entered a room with large windows, very little furniture, and an easel in the corner.

“When Edward returned from his trip to the cottage, he brought a single painting with him. It wasn’t finished yet, and he toiled over it for hours at a time.” She walked across the room and pulled the cover off the easel.

Violet blinked at the unexpected sight. “That’s…me.”

“Maybe.” Belinda tipped her head to the side as if she were considering it.

“Not maybe.” There was zero doubt that she was looking at herself. It was a perfect likeness, even down to the tattered gown she had been wearing on the day they had met.

“Maybe,” Belinda repeated. “It’s rather hard to tell from this angle.” She rotated her finger. “Turn around.”

Without pausing to consider exactly why she was following Belinda’s instructions, Violet moved so she was standing next to the painting with her back facing Belinda.

“It’s still a little hard to tell with your hair up, but the shade is almost an exact match. And your shape is nearly identical.” Violet turned so she could see Belinda out of the corner of her eye and caught the other woman pursing her lips. “It’s definitely you,” she added, as if there had been any doubt. “The thing I can’t figure out is, why did he paint you from behind?”

“It’s more powerful that way.”

“Well, sure, from an artistic perspective, that’s true, but I’ve seen practically every painting Edward has ever done, and there is nothing he loves better than painting portraits. He’s exceptionally talented and can capture the essence of a person in a painting like no one else can.”

“That’s high praise,” Edward said from the doorway.

Having expected him to spend more time with his brother, she was startled at the sound of his voice.

“I do love painting portraits, but I can only capture so much from memory,” he added.

“I didn’t know you painted,” Violet blurted.

He rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze dropped to the ground. “It never came up.”

It was a logical explanation. They hadn’t really had the opportunity to explore each other’s likes and dislikes, let alone their hobbies, so his reasoning was sound, even though he seemed uncharacteristically self-conscious about it.

Belinda, though, wasn’t as accepting.

Clicking her tongue, she said, “You shouldn’t keep parts of yourself hidden from your wife.”

“Belinda.” His voice was gruff. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Meddling.”

His sister frowned. “You obviously require help. You’ve only been married a handful of days, and yet something is off between you. I recognize tension when I see it.”

“And you thought violating my privacy would help? You know I don’t like sharing my work until it’s finished.”

Belinda gestured to the painting. “It’s finished.”

“And if I had wanted to share it, I wouldn’t have covered it and placed it in the corner.”

“If you didn’t want anyone to look at it, you wouldn’t have left it out at all. You know as well as I do how easy it is to hide a painting.” She tapped on her chin. “I’d be willing to bet every single member of our family has taken a peek since you shoved it in the corner. I caught Louisa staring at it just yesterday.”

His shoulders fell, and his expression turned almost weary. “You’re right. I could have packed it away. It’s just—I haven’t painted much lately, and I suppose that I’m proud of it.”

“You should be. It’s gorgeous,” Violet assured him. Whatever challenges she was wrestling with internally, she couldn’t allow him to doubt his talent.

The tips of his ears turned an unexpected shade of pink. “Thank you.”

Their eyes locked.

Time slowed.

Thankfully, Belinda coughed, and they both blinked, dropping their gazes to the floor.

Violet couldn’t remember the last time she’d been truly embarrassed, but she felt heat rise into her cheeks. If Belinda hadn’t coughed, Violet might have stared at him all night.

“You should take it with you,” Belinda said.

“Yes,” burst from Violet’s lips.

“You should display it,” Belinda added.

Violet nodded, but Edward only shrugged.

He’d said he was proud of the painting, so why wasn’t he excited to take it and display it? She started to ask but realized the tightness in her chest had receded somewhat during their conversation, and she was loathe to say anything that might bring it back.

“I’ll need to wrap it up if I’m going to transport it,” he said.

“That’s easy enough,” Belinda agreed.

As he started preparing it to travel, Violet considered where they ought to hang it.

Ultimately, their bedchamber seemed like the best option. It was the only place where she could stare at it without interruption.