‘Yes.’ She gripped his arm tight, holding on to it like a lifeline. ‘Let’s go.’
* * *
Violet stepped back out into the street, heart hammering violently against her ribcage. What had just happened? It all felt unreal, like a dream, or a nightmare. She’d gone up to her old bedroom with every intention of simply collecting a few belongings, but once she’d reached the top of the stairs she’d found herself walking towards her father’s old chamber instead. She didn’t care about her own belongings, she’d realised. She cared about something else, something that had been bothering her ever since Lance had told her she looked like her mother and she hadn’t known if it was true.
But she ought to have known! Surely any daughter ought to know what her mother looked like. And so she’d gone to her father’s room looking for clues, starting off calmly enough by opening a few drawers and simply peering inside, then somehow become possessed by the idea, rummaging through every cupboard and hurling all his belongings to the floor—still finding nothing.
‘I’m sorry.’ She glanced awkwardly towards Lance as he stood on the pavement beside her. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. I’ve ransacked enough rooms in my time. You did quite a good job for a beginner.’
She tried to smile, but her face fell instead. ‘I just wanted to find something of hers.’
‘I know.’
‘Thank you for what you did.’
‘You mean Daniel?’ He brought his spare hand up to cover hers on his arm. ‘Hopefully he’s sufficiently motivated.’
‘It was a good idea. I just wish...’ She dashed a hand across her cheeks, the words dissolving into a sob.
‘Shall we walk for a while? Get some sea air?’ He spoke softly, almost kindly, and she felt an even bigger lump swell in her throat. She hadn’t expected kindness from him.
‘Yes. I’d like that.’
He led her in silence along the clifftop streets, across to the promenade that ran along the edge of the north bay, into the fresh sea air until she started to feel her mind calm again.
‘It’s so beautiful here.’
She stopped finally, her arm still hooked inside his as they looked out over the rippling expanse of the North Sea. It shone like an emerald carpet rolling out endlessly into the distance, calm today even though its moods could, and frequently did, change quickly enough.
‘It’s funny. Our house was so close to the sea, yet I only saw it once a week when we drove by. We never went down to the shore. I always wanted to walk on the sand.’
‘You never have?’
‘I have now. My father slept a lot when he was sick. I nursed him most days, but there were times when I had to get out or I thought I’d go mad. Ianthe was setting up a school for some of the shipyard children and I helped her sometimes. One day we all went for a walk on the beach in our bare feet.’
‘How did it feel?’
She brushed aside a lock of hair that had blown across her face. ‘Wonderful.’
‘Freedom does feel wonderful.’ He reached out and caught the hair before it blew back again, tucking it gently inside her bonnet. ‘Especially your first taste of it. You can walk barefoot on the beach as much as you want from now on.’
She held her breath as his fingers skimmed across her cheek. Brown eyes smiled down into hers, softer and gentler than she’d ever imagined they could be, reminding her of how little she knew about him, this man she was going to spend the rest of her life with. Was she doing the right thing in agreeing to marry him?
‘Violet?’ He put a finger beneath her chin, tipping it upwards. ‘What is it?’
‘Everything’s just happening so fast.’
‘Our wedding, yes.
As for our marriage, we have another seven years to get to know each other. Think of it as a long engagement.’
She pressed her lips together. He was trying to make her feel better. Surely his words ought to make her feel better, but they didn’t. She was going to be married and yet not married. To a man who wasn’t the marrying kind, who’d told her that she was the last woman he would ever have chosen. If she married him, then she’d be making the same bargain his mother had done, a marriage based on money, not love. Could she be content in a loveless marriage, too? Would it be enough? In all honesty, she didn’t know, but she was running out of time to decide.
‘How long do we have?’
‘Until the fateful hour?’ He pulled out a fob watch. ‘Half an hour. Time enough to collect your maid of honour.’