26. How the Breeze Really Blew

Meanwhile, in the breakfast parlor at Fenwick House

Violet stood before the sideboard in the breakfast parlor and stared at the array of offerings. A footman had set a ham in the middle, a few slices still giving off steam. The basket of rolls smelled divine. The yellow yokes on the plate of eggs looked as if a dozen eyes were staring at her.

"If you can't decide, might you allow me to step in?"

Giving a start, Violet looked up to discover her brother aiming a teasing grin in her direction. "I didn't hear you come in," she said, stepping aside.

"That was obvious." He scooped several eggs onto his plate and snagged a slice of ham with the serving fork. "Is everything all right? We can have cook make something else if this isn't to your liking."

"Oh, that's not it," she said, finally helping herself to some ham and a bread roll. "I was... merely lost in thought."

"That was obvious," he repeated, nodding to the footman who placed a cup of coffee on the table and held a chair for Violet. "You were terribly quiet in the coach on the way home last night. Did something happen at the ball?" he asked before taking a sip of coffee.

Violet felt her face grow warm. "No."

He arched a brow and chuckled. "You're blushing." His eyes suddenly rounded, and he set the cup on the table. "Violet Cummings, what have you done?" he asked, excitement in his voice.

"Nothing," she claimed. When he continued to stare at her, she covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Philip, I can't decide if it's awful or wonderful."

Not expecting that sort of response, he scoffed. "Met someone, did you?" he guessed before his attention went to his eggs.

Two fingers spread apart so she could peek between them. "I already knew him," she whispered. "Which is why it could be awful."

Intrigued by this bit of news, Philip glanced up at her and then sat back in his chair. "Anyone I know?"

She dropped her hands to her lap and nodded.

"Did I introduce you?"

She shook her head.

"Are you going to tell me who? Or am I supposed to guess from the... oh, twenty or more young bucks it could be?"

She straightened in her chair. "Will you please tell me exactly what caused you and Weston to fight when you were at university?"

Obviously not expecting the query, Philip sat back and regarded her with an expression of surprise. "I told you?—"

"Did you fight him because he claimed our father was his father?"

Philip's gaze darted to the side. "Uh..., he may have mentioned something to that effect, but I told him it was impossible. Why are you asking?"

"Did he really throw the first punch that day?"

Blinking, Philip leaned forward and pushed his plate to the side. For a moment, it seemed as if he wasn't going to answer her question, so when he finally spoke, Violet gave a start at hearing his claim.

"We were friends once."

"What?" The memory of Alfred having said the same thing the night before came back to her in a flash.

"The very best. Almost the entire time we were at Eton and the first year of university," he claimed.

"You are speaking of Weston?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "Before he inherited, of course. He wasn't a pompous arse back then," Philip added, rolling his eyes.

"So... what happened?"

"For some reason, he sorted that he was conceived before his mother married Weston. He never actually met Father, but Alfred was convinced our father and his mother had been secret lovers. I think because..."

"He didn't like his own father," Violet said in a whisper.

"Something like that," Philip said. "Father and I always got along. Maybe he was jealous," he murmured. "He is somewhat older than me, and now that we know Father was in love with Duchess Helena, it's obvious he must have discovered their relationship at some point?—"

"The dates don't work, though," Violet said. "He even admitted he had looked at a copy of DeBrett's, but he didn't believe what he had read."

Philip appeared lost in thought for a moment. "Learning the truth of the matter angered him, I think. He really wanted Father to be his father, and not because he wanted the Fenwick marquessate. He was going to inherit a dukedom, after all."

"You would have been his brother."

"Despite the fact that he looks nothing like Father or me," Philip responded. "Anyway, he grew angry with me. That I couldn't agree with his idea had him so frustrated, he started hitting me. I let him," he murmured, his voice growing quieter. "Several times until I'd finally had enough, and I hauled off and hit him. Punched him in the nose." He winced. "He went down like a rock. Blood everywhere."

Violet winced. "Eww. Did you apologize?"

Philip shook his head. "He never did, either. We haven't spoken since. Every time he saw me after that, his nose went up, as if he wanted me to know it had healed. Looks better now than it did before, come to think of it."

"And his arrogance?"

Shaking his head, her brother let out a guffaw. "I think he decided to become his true father's son," he replied. "I only met the man once, but he was... he was an arrogant man. Convinced he was going to live forever. How, I'm not sure, but it certainly didn't work out that way for him."

"And Alfred was forced to inherit before he had any idea of how to be a duke," Violet said.

"Indeed," Philip agreed. His brows suddenly furrowed. "You've spoken to him," he stated, not making it a question.

Violet nodded. "Last night," she admitted.

"That's not the sort of conversation one has during a waltz."

She shook her head before saying, "It was in the gardens."

Philip's eyes widened. "Did he... did he?—?"

"He was a perfect gentleman," she claimed, knowing her blush might give her away.

"Has he tried to convince you you're his sister?"

"No," she replied. Her eyes widened. "Gosh, no."

Philip's look of suspicion increased. "He favors you," he said suddenly.

Violet blinked. "Maybe."

"Do you favor him?"

Her brows furrowed as her lips began trembling. "I... I'm not sure. I only meant to... to lead him on... so it might make it possible for you to gain his permission to marry Amelia."

Philip scoffed. "How long has this been going on?"

She directed her gaze to the sideboard. "A few days. Since the night of the soirée. He does seem to be growing rather fond of me."

His eyes rounding, Philip scoffed again. "What did you expect to happen?" he asked in alarm. "A marriage proposal?"

"Something like that."

"Were you playing him? Were you going to beg off?"

She nodded. "Something like that. It wouldn't come to that, though. He would have ended it," she reasoned in a whisper.

"Why?"

Violet closed her eyes. "We haven't really been properly introduced, you see."

"You danced the waltz last night. Someone had to have?—"

"He doesn't know I'm your sister. He doesn't know I'm Fenwick's daughter."

Philip scoffed twice as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the stuccoed cherubs in one corner of the ceiling. "Well, I suppose if I'm going to gain his permission to marry Amelia, I had best head to Weston Hall before he learns the truth about you," he said.

"Father hasn't yet returned home, which means he's probably still there," she reasoned.

"Or in Doctors' Commons arranging a marriage license," he countered. He chuckled softly. "I do hope the duchess has agreed to marry him."

Violet grinned. "Me, too."

"Or Amelia and I will be heading to Scotland."

About to say she might join them as a means to escape Weston's wrath, Violet couldn't when Philip took his leave of the breakfast parlor.

Staring at the slice of ham on her plate, Violet decided she best eat some breakfast.

At some point during the day, she would have to face Weston and admit her relationship to Philip, and she didn't want to be doing it on an empty stomach.