Wedding Violet (Fair Cyprians of London 4)

“Visiting her grandmother,” he added, with only a split second required fo

r inspiration.

“Goodness, yes; the tyrannical Miss Lilywhite of Ruislip, though that’s a bit of a distance, is it not? And why did you not accompany her?”

With raised eyebrows, she went on, “Your aunt was telling me all about the woman, and she sounds grim. Does she not approve of you?” Mabel untied her bonnet and began smoothing her hair as only a very close friend would do in company. “That wind made quite a tangle of it when it blew my bonnet right off my head. Would you please see what you can do to set things straight at the back?”

Obediently, Max rose and went to stand behind the sofa where Mabel sat so he could render the assistance she requested. It was not a surprising thing to be asked in view of their familiarity over so many years, yet he’d never run his hands through her hair.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Goodness, Max; it should be perfectly obvious. Just tidy what needs tidying. Violet is no doubt going to ask you to do this a thousand times, so I suppose you can take directions from me so you won’t be such a disappointment.” She twisted her head to look impishly up at him. “Sweet and pliant that I am, let this be a reminder of how lucky you are that between us, we’ve finally got your future on the right path.” She sighed and stared ahead while Max tucked some errant strands into her coiffure, and she chattered on. “Now we just have to find a husband for me.”

Max grunted. He wasn’t attending to her last phrase, but rather the words that should have been prophetic regarding his future with Violet.

“I am so glad you found her, Max, even if it was in a shop.”

In the midst of repositioning a hairpin, Max blinked as her words entered his consciousness. He’d been too busy imagining it was Violet’s lustrous dark locks he was smoothing and fashioning.

“A shop.” How he wished it had been a shop. Longing speared him. If Violet were sitting in front of him right now, he’d be burying his face in her hair, unable to resist the temptation of allowing them to roam more adventurously. Maybe they’d find themselves in bed, though at this hour with the servants about it was more likely he’d take her on a jaunt somewhere she’d enjoy. He’d have liked to have shown her his London.

“You’re lucky times have changed, even in a few short years, Max. Of course, your grandfather lives in the past. He’ll still be furious when he learns the truth, but the fact is that it is less uncommon for a shop girl to marry someone like you—especially if she’s very beautiful, like Violet, of course. Peers are even marrying actresses these days. Well, Violet’s grandmother is perfectly respectable, so it’s not like she won’t be received.”

Max stilled, the truth warring within him. He’d not expected Mabel to be so open-minded. He exhaled. No, she still could not be trusted with the facts. And besides, Violet’s grandmother might be a figment of Violet’s imagination. He wasn’t sure how much pure truth she’d told him. He certainly believed the terrible story of her parents’ murder, but what grandmother of any social credibility would do what Miss Lilywhite’s had apparently done? While he wanted to believe Violet with all his heart, in every respect, he had to cling to this one doubt as exoneration for him leaving her.

And leave her, he must. He was desperate to flee England with its stifling constraints and forge a different life from the one his grandfather had carved out for him.

Of course, if he had been looking for a wife, he would have contemplated Violet. Despite everything.

But he wasn’t, and he needed to pile up the excuses as to why his original course was still the best and only course for him to follow.

“So, when are you expecting Violet? This evening I’d imagine if you are to board tomorrow. I must say, it is taking a risk, but then Violet strikes me as a girl who’s not averse to a bit of adventure and risk-taking. Not like me at all.” Mabel sounded quite sanguine. Max decided it was safer to remain standing behind her so she couldn’t see his face.

Mabel sighed happily. “Oh Max, she is just perfect for you. She is so striking in looks, and bold and brave, which is just what you need. And she’s kind, too. Your aunt simply adores her. I do hope I’ll see her before the two of you set sail.”

Max reached round to hand Mabel her bonnet. “Sadly, you won’t, as I’m heading up to Ruislip this evening to bring Violet back,” he said. “She’s not expecting me to come, but that’ll make her smile, eh?”

Mabel agreed, but the smile that came to Max’s mind was Violet’s.

And that was the reason he had to leave London. Otherwise, the memory of Violet’s smile would drive him mad and he’d go and visit her.

And, at this very moment, almost, she was setting herself up as Lord Bainbridge’s mistress. Probably packing up her worldly possessions just as he was.

Mabel glanced at the dark clouds through the window.

“Surely Violet is halfway home already? Ruislip is a goodly distance.”

“I’ll ride,” Max said. “If I leave now, I’ll get there before dark and we can take the carriage back together in time to embark.”

There was a certain catharsis in action. Not that Max knew, exactly, where he’d go. Certainly not to Ruislip.

“Sorry Mabel, but I must leave now. Do make yourself at home for as long as you like. And give Aunt Euphemia my regards when she’s back from Cornwall. I promise I shall write to you both.”

Half an hour later and he was nearly on his way. Mabel was horrified to see that he was dressed in riding attire when she insisted on farewelling him on the top step.

His horse had been brought round; the eager white mare flicking its ears in the drizzle as she stamped her hooves and snorted in the frosty air. He’d miss the old girl, but there would be compensations in that magical land across the sea.

For a moment, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine the grassy African veldt that had beckoned so powerfully only weeks ago. When that didn’t materialise, he conjured up the sparking gold and diamonds that might be the result of a lucky strike in the diggings—once he got there.