Wedding Violet (Fair Cyprians of London 4)

“I’m sorry.” Violet plucked at the silken folds of her peignoir and thought how strangely different men were from women when dealing with crises of the heart. Recalling the moment of realisation that the man she’d loved had let her down so terribly still sent ice through her veins, nearly two years later. But her first recourse had hardly been sexual diversion. A wave of self-revulsion engulfed her. Oh no, that had come much later. Though hardly at her behest.

“Lord, you can’t imagine it! I’d arrived at the church feeling sick to my stomach with nerves but determined to do the right thing.”

She searched for any sign of remorse on Lord Belvedere’s part for having assuaged his wounded pride in the arms of a…lightskirt—oh, how she did suffer at the term that indicated how far she’d fallen.

But she could find none.

He glanced at her, then looked away, stroking the glossy tops of the marble pieces as he added, reflectively, “Of course, I got what I deserved. The whole debacle was, after all, my fault.”

“What was your fault? That she didn’t arrive?” Violet tried to imagine what scenario might have prevented an eager bride-to-be from making such an important appointment. Her self-recrimination of a moment before was replaced by a surge of anger towards the man in front of her. Somehow, she suspected, Lord Belvedere had evaded a marriage he didn’t want. Perhaps he hadn’t waited long enough. Perhaps he’d ensured his bride-to-be was detained on purpose. Oh, Violet knew of many underhand ways a man could slip and slide out of his obligations.

Yet, was she any better? If she were made of sterner stuff and lived by her principles, she’d point at the door and tell him to get out right now. No young woman should ever have to go through what Violet had gone through.

Just as quickly, the emotion drained away. Why should she expect any better from a client? Clearly Lord Belvedere, for all his charm and winning ways, was as morally deficient as all the rest.

And besides, one only had to see how far Violet had fallen than to know that she was the last person alive who could criticize another for their morals.

Lord Belvedere shook his head, unaware of her changed feelings towards him. “No, it was my fault for asking her to be there in the first place. For asking her to marry me when I knew she didn’t want to. Standing there in the silent vestry, feeling the sympathy of the wedding guests while my own shame nearly felled me…well, it was just divine punishment.” He took another sip, then kissed the tips of his fingers in a careless gesture of gallantry towards Violet.

Violet sought for a response. She was hardly about to exonerate him if that’s what he wanted. “That sounds like an excuse to me. She wouldn’t have accepted if she didn’t want to marry you. What if she was in an accident and that’s why she was delayed?” Her outrage grew. What a terrible thing for him to have done? Gone straight from the church to Violet’s bed. Why, that made Violet implicit in causing an innocent young woman pain she did not deserve.

“Believe me, there was no accident. Mabel cried off at the last moment. She realised what I should have realised—that she should never have accepted me, and that she’d be making as big a mistake as I by trying to please our families rather than ourselves.”

His face softened as he extended his arm and stroked Violet's shoulder. “No need to look like that. No harm done. Best thing that ever happened, in fact.”

Violet frowned. She couldn’t decide whether his cavalier attitude hid a broken heart, or whether he really was as overjoyed to be free as he made out.

“Your father must have been dismayed to say the least.”

“Pater’s been dead a long while. Mother the same. No trouble from that quarter.” His smile broadened.

“So…the poor young lady’s decision to cry off has left everyone happy? What a strange state of affairs.”

“Well, not everyone was happy. My grandfather was irate, to say the least, as was hers. They share adjoining estates and thought the idea of forging the next generation to create a mighty union a capital idea.” Lord Belvedere sighed and, for the first time, looked regretful as he toyed with the pieces. “My great-aunt, alas, is inconsolable.”

Violet wasn’t sure how to navigate such strange territory. “I suppose it’s better if one doesn’t get married just to please one’s grandfather…or great-aunt,” she said slowly while also thinking of the many women who married to please everyone in their families other than themselves.

Suddenly, he became brisk. “Now, where were we? Your turn, I believe?”

Violet studied the draughts board and made her move.

“Got me! And I didn’t see it coming!” Lord Belvedere took another slug of champagne.

“That’s either because you wanted to redeem yourself by playing the gentleman and letting me win or because your wits are addled.”

He laughed as he moved one of his pieces three places. “I like to think of myself as a gentleman. I’ve not found myself in an establishment like this before. And as to my wits being addled, it is not, in fact, a sensation with which I’m terribly familiar. I like operating with a clear mind. Tonight is an exception.”

“That would make you an anomaly amongst your set.” Violet sent him a wicked smile across the top of her glass as he raised one eyebrow and clearly pondered a response. She wondered if he were the kind who was quick to anger when their manliness or any other apparent prowess was questioned, despite his assertions that suggested the contrary.

“I am an anomaly amongst my set apparently.” He gestured to his surroundings with a sweep of his arm. “Yes, it’s my first visit to a place like this, and I don’t know why I allowed Bletchley—that’s my best man—to persuade me to come here, though when I set eyes on you all objections died on my lips. But, do you know; I recognised three gentlemen. Married men, too.” He shook his he

ad. “Now, coming to a place like this when one is married is not, in my opinion, the mark of a gentleman.”

Violet shifted position, uncomfortable with his talk. “Some of these men do not enjoy the comforts of home that they—”

“Feel entitled to?” he interrupted. He shook his head, his expression uncompromising. “Sorry, but that doesn’t wash with me. They should have been wiser in their choice of wife.”

“You do not recognise a double standard? I hardly believe you are practising as you preach, Lord Belvedere. Sorry if I sound sceptical, but don’t you think you’d have soon been back through those doors to see me as a married man if the woman you wed proved unsatisfactory in bed?”