Chapter 6

Chapter Six

E dward had his easel out and his paints ready when daylight finally crept through the window of his bedchamber. It was cloudy and therefore almost gloomy, but the lack of brightness didn’t dim his enthusiasm. Dismal weather was not enough to deter him from picking up his paintbrush and, for the first time in weeks, dragging it across the blank canvas.

He’d already completed half a dozen sketches by candlelight, and the image he sought to create was clear and vivid in his mind—almost as if it were a memory instead of a figment of his imagination. His brush danced across the canvas in bold strokes as he captured the foamy waves of the sea cresting in the distance. When he started to add Violet, his focus intensified. He was forced to guess how her fiery hair would look untamed. Would it be thick and long and unruly as it was tossed about by the wind? He didn’t paint her face, partly because she was facing away, but, more importantly, because he didn’t think he could properly capture her expression.

She had only given him glimpses of her true self, and it would be difficult to portray her without getting to know her better. At this point, considering how little he knew, it was probably dramatic of him to make her the focus of such a vibrant painting, but that didn’t stop him. He was aware he might be projecting his own chaotic feelings onto her, and maybe he should have felt guilty, but as he had no plan to show her the painting, it seemed like a victimless crime.

His stamina for creating was sorely depleted after weeks of nothingness, so he painted until his hand was cramping and his back was stiff. When he started to lag, he tossed his brush aside and stared at his work with a critical eye. The flaws were immediately visible, and they called for him to pick up his brush once again, but he knew he needed a break and it hardly mattered that his efforts weren’t perfect because he was actually painting again.

After another long minute of staring, he covered it—he hated prying eyes on an unfinished piece—and cleaned himself up. When his appearance was impeccable, he went in search of the woman who had inspired his most recent work. He found Violet in the entry murmuring softly to Isabelle as they secured their pelisses around their necks.

“Good day,” he said with a bright smile. “Where are you off to this morning?”

Violet did not look up, but Isabelle returned his smile with one of her own. “We thought we’d take a walk before the rain begins again.”

He loved to exercise in the morning. Or in the afternoon. Anytime really.

“How lovely. I wouldn’t mind getting out for a bit.”

Violet’s attention snapped to him when he spoke. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned him from the top of his head to the tips of his boots.

“It may rain,” she finally said, displaying a great deal less cheer than her sister.

“I do not melt,” he responded gamely, a little surprised by her chilly reception. He’d thought that he’d made some headway in securing her friendship the previous evening, but it seemed he might have been mistaken.

“You will get muddy.”

He had definitely been mistaken. “I grew up in the country. I am not intimidated by dirt.”

“We don’t have a particular destination in mind.”

He held back the sigh that wanted to escape. “If you don’t wish for me to come along, you only have to say so. There is no need for you to invent excuses to avoid my company.”

Isabelle none too subtly elbowed Violet in the side and then cleared her throat.

Violet winced and looked at her feet. “Oh…um…I did not mean to suggest—you are more than welcome to join us.”

It was a begrudging invitation at best, and though he wanted to go with them, he didn’t want to ruin Violet’s walk. Harboring the hope that they would become friends, he did not want to be a thorn in her side. “Perhaps we could convene for tea when you return instead.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “That would be pleasant, but please do not let my bad mood keep you from joining us. I didn’t sleep well, and as a result, I’m afraid I’m a touch grumpy.”

“Don’t let her fool you, she’s always a touch grumpy,” Isabelle said.

Some of Violet’s aloofness faded as she smiled ruefully and nudged her sister with her shoulder. “ Not always.”

“Always.” Isabelle chuckled, while Violet turned her smile toward him. It wasn’t overly bright or particularly cheerful, but it might have been the first genuine smile he’d witnessed from her, and he drank it in, trying to imprint it into his memory. He was compelled by this softer side of her, and if he were to eventually create a painting that required her face, her begrudging smile might be the expression he chose to replicate.

“In that case, it would be my pleasure to join you for a walk.”

Violet nodded once and turned her focus to adjusting the clasp at her neck, so it rested squarely in the center of her body. When they were all ready, he held the door open and then followed them out of the house, falling into step next to Violet while Isabelle trailed behind. They were only a dozen yards down the lane when Isabelle yelped. “My ankle!”

Edward turned and found Isabelle crumpled on the ground, clutching her half boot and wincing.

“What happened?” Violet moved quickly and, heedless of the wet ground, dropped to her knees at her sister’s side.

Edward followed and sank to his haunches next to them.

It was difficult to tell the severity of Isabelle’s injury just by looking at her, but she wasn’t crying or screaming, so he took that as a good sign.

“I stepped on that rock”—she gestured broadly—“and twisted my ankle.”

Violet surveyed the surrounding area, a wrinkle appearing between her brows. He did the same and noted that there were no rocks that looked particularly daunting nearby.

“You twisted your ankle on one of these pebbles?” Violet asked, snagging one and pinching it between her fingers.

“Yes,” Isabelle wailed. “Oh. It hurts. Do you think it’s swelling already? Ugh. What rotten timing. What if I’m not able to dance at the assembly this evening? I’ll be an invalid, tucked into the corner and forgotten.” She placed her hand against her brow and threw her head backwards as if she were in one of Louisa’s novels.

He barely withheld a snort. She had to be exaggerating the severity of her injury. Or at the very least using it to her advantage.

“You won’t be forgotten,” Violet said patiently, although her eyes were narrowed on Isabelle’s ankle as if she, too, was questioning how much pain her sister was in. “As to whether you can dance, I suppose it depends on how injured you are. Do you think you can stand?”

“No.” Isabelle swiped at her cheek as if wiping away tears, even though her skin remained dry. “It hurts too much to even consider standing.”

“Well…you cannot remain sitting on the hard, wet ground indefinitely.”

“I cannot get up. You should go on without me.” Isabelle shifted with a pitiful whimper. “Perhaps when you return, I’ll be able to stand.”

“Don’t be silly,” Edward said. “I can carry you inside.”

“You can?” Isabelle brightened and batted her lashes. “I’d be much obliged.”

* * *

Edward swept Isabelle into his arms and covered the distance back to the cottage without any signs of strain.

Instead of scrambling after them, Violet watched as his long stride ate up the distance to the doorway. Heavens, he was strong and virile. He didn’t even appear to be exerting himself.

When he cleared the first stair, she realized she was gawking.

Clutching her damp skirts in her hands, she finally had the wherewithal to dash after them. By the time she caught up, Isabelle was seated on the settee closest to the fire, and Edward was stacking pillows under her ankle.

“I’ll summon a doctor,” Violet said.

“No,” Isabelle practically shouted. “Let me rest a bit and see how I feel.”

“If it hurts so much you can’t?—”

“—it’s already feeling a little better. With luck, I’ll be right as rain come evening.”

Violet clung to her patience as she took her sister’s hand. “Isabelle.”

“Please,” Isabelle interrupted before Violet could say more. “Let me sit here with my foot propped up for an hour or two before you make a fuss.”

“I’m not making a fuss. If you’re injured?—”

“—I’m fine. You should still take your walk. You love wandering, and Edward doesn’t know how beautiful it is here. You can show him your favorite spots.”

Isabelle could not be serious.

Violet would never abandon her sister when she was hurt, and Isabelle was well aware of it. “I’m not leaving you alone with an injury.”

“I’m not that hurt,” Isabelle responded, directly conflicting every word she’d spoken since she twisted her ankle and solidifying what Violet had suspected from the beginning.

Her sister was not injured.

Edward snorted. They’d obviously come to the same conclusion—Isabelle was a dirty rotten faker.

The urge to crawl behind the settee and hide until Edward was gone was hard to ignore. If she were able to disappear without anyone noticing, she’d do it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, life was not kind enough to offer that option, so she had no choice but to pretend she was unbothered by her sister’s misguided attempt at matchmaking.

“I should watch over you,” she said. “Make sure you’re resting.”

Isabelle laid her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes. “I do not require an audience to rest. In fact, I believe I require a bit of quiet.”

“You require?—”

Isabelle cracked one eye open. “Please. Let me convalesce in peace.”

Violet hesitated for another minute and then relented. Isabelle asked so little of her. And she’d hardly complained when Violet had dragged her out of London in the middle of the night. Violet could be sociable with Edward for a single morning if it would make her sister happy. It wasn’t as if she were foolish enough to allow herself to become infatuated with him, and while Isabelle would probably be disappointed if her fake injury didn’t yield an engagement, she would hardly be surprised.

“You better be in this same spot when I return,” she told Isabelle before she turned her attention to Edward. “Shall we try again?”

“Absolutely.” He gestured toward the hall. “After you.”

They traipsed back out of the house in silence, but Violet knew if she didn’t acknowledge what had just happened, she would never be able to relax. They hadn’t even reached the spot where Isabelle collapsed when she spoke. “I’m quite sorry about my sister. She can be needlessly dramatic and…I suspect she invented an injury so we would be alone.”

He chuckled. “Remember that I have three younger sisters. I am more than familiar with their ability to wreak havoc.”

She nodded and then, for no reason at all, said, “Isabelle thinks you would make a splendid husband.”

He didn’t hesitate to agree. “Isabelle is correct.”

“I do not find arrogance attractive,” she told him.

“Ah.” He chuckled again. “What do you find attractive?”

Her steps faltered. It was not a difficult question, and she ought to have an answer, but try as she might, her mind remained blank. No longer trusting herself to identify attractive traits in men, she pointed in the direction of the village and avoided the question entirely. “If you’d like, I could introduce you to the townsfolk this morning”—she gestured in the other direction—“or we could simply walk.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for his response.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to walk this morning and socialize this evening.”

Relieved, she released her breath and turned in the opposite direction of the village, dodging around the muddy patches as she lengthened her stride.

His legs were longer than hers, so he easily matched her pace.

The beauty her sister had referred to was untamed—almost stark—and while she found peace in its wildness, she wasn’t sure exactly how to share her appreciation, so she kept her mouth closed.

She was not the sort of woman who was uncomfortable with silence. However, the farther they walked without speaking, the more her thoughts began to plague her. His arrival the prior day had destroyed her carefully constructed lie, and she could no longer ignore her predicament. Running away had done nothing but postpone the inevitable. Basil was still in London, and unless a miracle had occurred, he still intended to marry her. She’d had more than enough time to come up with an idea or a solution to free herself from him, and she hadn’t.

Probably because there wasn’t one.

Before she could sink too deep into melancholy about her future, Edward eyed the clouds and said, “We’re going to get caught in a downpour.”

The heavy grey clouds hadn’t changed since they left, so she wasn’t particularly worried. “I thought you didn’t melt.”

He scanned the empty field. “Is there somewhere we can take cover if necessary?”

“No, but if you’re worried, we could turn around and walk back.”

“I’m not worried.” He kept walking. “You don’t mind being caught in a storm?”

“It isn’t going to storm,” she insisted. “It’ll rain or drizzle or mist. Just like it’s been doing for weeks.”

“You’re an expert on the weather.”

“Not at all. However, the weather in these parts is rather consistent, and I don’t melt either. A bit of rain will not hurt us.”

“We’ll be chillier if we get wet,” he remarked.

She refused to acknowledge that she hated being wet and cold, so she stubbornly stayed quiet and when she didn’t respond, he asked, “Do you like it here?”

“It’s pleasant enough.” She was purposefully vague, because she didn’t want to admit how much she loved it.

“If I hadn’t come, would you have stayed indefinitely?”

“Maybe,” she responded, even though it was unreasonable for her to pretend she could stay forever. She’d always known she’d have to deal with the mess her life had become eventually.

“I’m sorry I’ve made your life more difficult.”

She hated that he was willing to apologize for something that wasn’t his fault, and that his apology seemed genuine. Why was he so damn nice?

And why hadn’t she pledged herself to a man more like him?

She bit her lip and admitted, “I’ve always known this was a temporary solution, so you have nothing to apologize for. In fact, I’m probably the one who should be apologizing.”

It was an undeniable fact that she owed the Earl of Greydon and, by proxy, his brother an apology, but he brushed her attempt away. “You felt safe until I showed up, and I think…you should stay. If I leave for London tomorrow, your life here will soon return to normal.”

Did that mean he’d come to his senses and was withdrawing his proposal?

Or was this simply the only other solution he could think of?

A wave of something that felt an awful lot like disappointment hit her, so she scoffed when she should have thanked him for his kindness. “You just got here, and we can’t stay anyway. I can’t imagine your brother will accept strangers living on his property.”

In truth, she couldn’t understand why Edward was unbothered by her lies and willing to let her stay. At the very least, he should have viewed her with suspicion, and it seemed likely that the earl would not be nearly as forgiving.

“You don’t need to worry about Sebastian. I’ll figure out what to tell him. Or I’ll tell him I handled it and pay for your expenses directly. He isn’t planning to visit in the near future, and if he decides to, I’ll figure something out.”

It was above and beyond what she deserved. “Why?”

“No one should be forced to marry. Marriage is supposed to bring happiness and joy, and if yours will not, you shouldn’t be forced to go through with it.”

“You’re a romantic?” she asked, even though everything about her interaction with him screamed that he was. It was difficult to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She’d been a romantic once, and she remembered what it was like to imagine a marriage filled with happiness and joy. It wasn’t something she liked to think about, and a part of her hated him for reminding her of what she’d lost.

“Maybe.” He smoothly stepped over a dip in the ground and reached out to assist her. “But even if I wasn’t a romantic, I wouldn’t want you to suffer.”

Suffer.

Guilt hit her square in the chest. She should explain. Give him the full truth.

Because suffer wasn’t the right word to describe what marriage to Basil would be like, and it was unfair to let Edward assume that Basil was violent or cruel.

But would Edward understand if she told him exactly what had happened?

Probably not.

A fat raindrop landed on her nose, and her feet stopped moving. She tipped her head back. Another hit her on the chin. Edward had been right. The rain was closer than she’d thought, and the size of the droplets made her think it was going to be a great deal more intense than she’d assumed. Maybe they’d even experience a true storm. If they did, they’d be positively drenched by the time they made it back to the cottage.

It seemed rather fitting.

And deserving.

Especially for her.

Edward must have concluded they were going to get soaked, too, because he shuffled closer and raised his arm up over her head, using his greatcoat to shield her.

“We should head back,” he said, close to her ear.

“You don’t have to protect me.” Violet gestured at his arm. “I can survive the rain. It’s my fault if I get soaked.”

“You’ll catch a chill,” he replied, his expression fierce.

“It’s a long walk,” she argued.

“Then we probably shouldn’t linger.”

He wasn’t wrong. It would be smart to return to the cottage. She sighed in agreement and, to make walking easier, stepped closer to him, moved under his arm, and allowed him to guide her in the opposite direction.

The rain had started out as big fat drops, but it soon became a steady wall of water. Despite its intensity, Edward somehow managed to keep her head and chest completely dry, and his body was warm enough that she hardly felt the icy wetness that soaked the bottom of her skirts. He steered her around puddles and divots in the ground with a sureness that made it easy to let him lead.

When the cottage finally came into view, she realized how intimate their position was and attempted to put some distance between them, but he either didn’t realize or didn’t care because he moved with her, trapping her arm against his side, and keeping her in the cocooning warmth of his body until they were through the front door.

When they were safe in the entry, she peeled herself away. The loss of his body heat sent a chill through her, and the urge to step back into his warmth caused her to put even more distance between them. Relying on him, even for heat, was unwise.

She moved so far away that she retreated straight down the hall.

With a few mumbled words of thanks, she kept going until she was out of sight. Turning her attention to her sister, she refused to consider whether he would join them or retire to his room. And she refused to admit which one she would prefer.

* * *

Edward hadn’t minded getting caught in the rain, but he didn’t love what it had done to his boots. Or his hair. He peered into the mirror in the corner of his bedchamber and tried to restore order to the latter. The former, he feared, were a lost cause.

He spent even longer than normal righting his appearance. Not because he looked awful, but because he was a bit flustered. He didn’t mind Isabelle’s machinations. If anything, he was amused by her ingenuity.

It was the reason for her antics that made him pause.

Why was she so certain he would make a good husband?

It wasn’t that he had doubts, but she hardly knew him, and she had thrust him and Violet together so readily. Was Basil more awful than he’d assumed?

Or did she truly believe Edward and Violet were right for each other?

He didn’t have the answers to either question, so when he was finally satisfied by his appearance, he went back downstairs and found Isabelle perched on the same settee, her foot still elevated, the remnants of tea and biscuits on the adjacent table, and Violet pacing near the window.

“Edward will understand if we have to skip the assembly,” she said without a touch of regret, and he couldn’t help wishing she sounded a bit sadder about it.

“Nonsense. I’m nearly certain I’ll be able to dance. I don’t feel a twinge of pain now that I’ve rested,” Isabelle responded, flexing her foot and raising it a few inches off the pillows.

Violet swung around, her hands on her hips. “What a miraculous recovery.” Her mouth stayed open like she had more to say, but she faltered when she noticed Edward lingering in the doorway.

Isabelle twisted, her eyes crinkling when she realized his arrival had caused her sister to fall quiet. “A bit of rest goes a long way,” she said with a wink.

“I’m most relieved you have recovered,” he replied, entering the room.

Violet came closer and grumbled, “I’m also relieved, but?—”

“Excellent,” Isabelle interrupted brightly. “I’m so glad we’ll still be able to attend the assembly together, but I’ll need some time to determine which of my gowns is least worn out.” She sighed, swung her legs off the settee, and gracefully rose to her feet. “And since it’ll be a later night than I’m accustomed to, I believe I’ll take a bit of a nap after I’ve chosen a gown.”

“How can you be tired when you spent half the day resting?” Violet asked.

Isabelle smiled serenely. “Resting is exhausting.”

With those words, she smoothly exited the room.

Edward couldn’t help smiling when he noted no evidence of a limp, but Violet put her face in her hands and groaned. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what has gotten into her.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. And neither does Isabelle.” If anything, he was flattered.

Violet peeked at him through her fingers. “She is incorrigible.”

“Most definitely,” he agreed. “But her attempts at matchmaking aren’t hurting either of us.”

“They aren’t helping either,” she mumbled.

“Nonsense.” He smiled. “We had a pleasant walk.”

And then, determined to allow her to guide the conversation, he rearranged the pillows on the settee, took a seat, and selected one of the remaining biscuits.

“Those are Isabelle’s leftovers,” Violet scolded. “Mrs. Eggington will provide fresh tea and biscuits if we only ask.”

Popping the biscuit in his mouth, he chewed and said, “They’re still delicious and I’m hungry.”

She shook her head and sailed out of the room.

Not certain whether she’d return, he ate another biscuit, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes. No additional ideas of how he could help emerged. If she wouldn’t marry him, and she wouldn’t stay, he wasn’t sure what he could do. Especially with the details he had. He considered questioning her again about Basil but concluded that badgering her further would only serve to annoy her.

A couple of minutes later, he was surprised when Violet silently followed Mrs. Eggington back into the sitting room. The housekeeper bustled about, chattering as she deposited a new tray packed with goodies on the table and then cleaned up the remnants of Isabelle’s tea.

She spoke over her shoulder as she exited the room. “I’ll prepare a light supper for this evening, but please let me know if you need anything else in the meantime.”

“Thank you,” he called as she disappeared.

“Mrs. Eggington has been most kind,” Violet said, sinking onto the other end of the settee.

“She does seem lovely.” He hesitated, and then added, “Housekeepers usually are.”

“I suppose.”

“Is that not your experience?”

“My father’s staff adores Basil. They are perfectly pleasant to Isabelle and me, but they aren’t nearly as…nurturing as Mrs. Eggington.”

“Are they not your staff now?”

“I suppose.” She studied the tray far too carefully before changing the subject. “You should have another biscuit before they get cold. I’ll prepare the tea. How do you take it?”

She hadn’t asked the previous day, and he couldn’t help hoping that maybe he was making a bit of progress in earning her esteem. “Just a bit of sugar.”