Wedding Violet (Fair Cyprians of London 4)

“How long ago was this?”

“Five, nearly six years ago. I was fifteen.”

“Was your grandmother kind to you?”

“She fed and clothed us. She paid for decent clothes, fashionable enough not to invite censure upon her for being a poor guardian.”

“But…you ran away? That’s why you do what you do? Or is she dead? Did she leave you nothing?”

Clearly, it was a leap too far for him. And, of course Violet couldn’t expect him to know without being told. She’d come this far; she couldn’t retreat.

But this was the part she didn’t think she could put into words. Her parents’ deaths had been beyond her control.

This had everything to do with her own youthful lack of control. She didn’t know if she were ready to admit to her own failings and deficiencies to such an extent.

“I hesitate to tell you yet I daresay you can’t think worse of me than you do.” She sighed, speaking over his predictable protest. “When I was eighteen, we had guests. We lived in a large house in the village of Ruislip and two distant relatives came to stay. The gentleman was charming. At least, he was charmed by me, and I, who’d had no experience of the ways of men who want something from a woman was naïve enough to believe he found me attractive. I believed I was in love with him and that he’d take me away from my hateful grandmother. I dreamt of a life where I could be free. I imagined how we would take Emily with us and live our lives for one another. Without always feeling grandmother’s dripping disdain for the daughters of the woman who’d lured her son away and been responsible for his death.”

“But he didn’t ask you to marry him?”

“He was in no position to though I didn’t know it at the time.”

She felt the tension in Max’s grip. “He was married.” He didn’t have to make it a question.

“And I was despoiled. As it turned out, his wife was a dear friend of my grandmother’s, and she painted me the seductress, though truth be told I’d never even smiled at a man before I met Ralph. Well, grandmother seized the opportunity to send me away to earn my own living.”

“She cast you out? With nothing? Her own granddaughter had to fend for herself on the streets?”

“She paid me a small allowance which supplemented my earnings from a position in a drapery. A respectable enough job, I suppose, as long as she didn’t have to be troubled by me anymore. But it was the least she could do. As you pointed out, I was her granddaughter.”

He didn’t ask her the leading question, but it was implicit. And by her tone, he knew there was more coming, so he waited. Working in a drapery was very different from working at Madame Chambon’s.

Violet sighed and looked down at her lap. “You will think badly of me when I tell you the next part of my sorry tale.”

Chapter 9

Max blinked and wished he hadn’t. Whatever else she misread in his expression indicated that he already thought the worst of her. And he certainly didn’t.

“Yet, Max, it gets worse. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t already sealed my fate. As if I hadn’t already cast myself into the ranks of the impure. The fallen. I just hoped no one would discover my shame.”

“I don’t think you need to be so harsh on yourself. You were very young.” Max stroked her heavy dark hair. It was soft and smooth and carefully coiled in the fashion of the day. Violet was an exquisite-looking woman. She’d have enjoyed a great deal of male interest, surely. Yet she’d had no guiding influence. Nor had Max, but he was a man. Mabel had reminded him of this often enough, teasing him about the way he muddled through life oblivious of the niceties sometimes, and that she wasn’t sure she wanted to devote her life to teasing out his potential. She’d said it playfully during the past couple of years of their betrothal. Lord, they’d been on the verge of getting married so many times, but an untimely death or something else had always pushed back the date.

He stroked Violet’s cheek. She was the one who needed guidance, and he didn’t want to think about Mabel. “Obviously, you’d been taken advantage of by your grandmother’s acquaintance. Your grandmother would hardly have spoken of it. I’m sure you needn’t have worried.”

Violet sent him a wry look. She continued, “It was heavy work and long hours. I didn’t enjoy it. But there was one bright spot.” She sighed but didn’t smile. “A gentleman who seemed kind used to stop by the shop, first to buy ribbons for his nieces and then, after a while, he paid me compliments. When I’d known him for several weeks, he crossed my path on my way home and, as we were both heading into the same tearooms, he bought me tea and buns.”

She squeezed her hands together and sent Max an imploring look. “You must understand how lonely I was. Apart from my weekly letter from Emily, I had nothing to look forward to. No other family and no friends, for Grandmother had discouraged friendships since we’d returned from India. Besides, I’d grown up in India, not England. I’d not gone to school here. Grandmother kept us isolated. I had no one.”

“I understand, Violet. I shan’t judge you harshly.” He suspected he knew where her story was going and wished he didn’t.

“One evening, when I’d known Cedric about two months, he invited me to the theatre. He bought me supper afterwards, and we had wine. He told me he loved me and kissed me. I thought I loved him too. It wasn’t too hard to persuade me, when he was walking me back to my boarding house, to stop by his own lodgings. I hadn’t had anyone tell me I meant anything to them in so long.”

She stiffened in his arms as she brought the back of her hand across her face. Max held her tighter. “I went with him to his bedroom. He hadn’t made me drunk. I went of my own free will. I wanted human contact. I wanted to feel loved.”

Her eyes were large and imploring. As if she really did want Max’s exoneration. “Afterwards, as I lay in his arms, feeling happiness like a glow throughout my body, he said, “My sister told me you were a whore. And now I’ve proved it.”

Max gasped. He’d not expected this. Unsure what to say, he held her as she stared over his shoulder and recounted her tale in a soft, unemotional voice.

“I cried as I put on my clothes and didn’t stop as I ran all the way home, alone, in the dark. Two days later, my grandmother wrote to say she was cutting off my allowance. She’d heard about my loose character from too many quarters, and it was clear I could survive well enough selling the commodity that only the virtuous quarantined for marriage. Those were her very words. I’ll never forget them.”