Wedding Violet (Fair Cyprians of London 4)
Violet smiled. So, Aunt Euphemia knew there’d been more than one.
“I have indeed. And I’ve found an aunt—someone who is far dearer to me than my own remaining relative—who has accepted my past, too.” She kissed the old lady’s cheek. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
“Just what I like to see! Happy families in the African bush.” Max’s tone was carefree as he emerged from the nearby tent having just put on the phonograph. A few crackling sounds of a waltz were making themselves heard above the twilight calls of the birds and the distant trumpeting of a herd of elephants. Brahms. Violet recognised the painfully beautiful strains of music.
“Dance with me, my love.” He drew Violet into his arms, calling for Emily to finish braiding her hair for dinner as she was needed for an impromptu dance party. “You can partner your old aunt, Emily m’dear. She’s looking chirpier than I’ve seen her in a long time.” He nuzzled Violet’s ear, sighing in pleasure as he held her close. “You did right in insisting she join us. I wasn’t sure her health or her sensibilities were up to it.”
Violet wrapped her arms about his neck and melted against the man who’d given her so much and accepted so much. In the three months they’d been exploring South Africa, moving north to the hotter, sandier regions, she’d never felt more unencumbered. She’d left the burden of her past in a more rigid society where she’d not have been accepted, she knew.
But out here, beneath this endless sky that was preparing its final show of beauty before darkness fell, she felt the greatest affinity with her new surroundings.
“I don’t think you need to worry on either account. Your aunt’s sensibilities are no more or less finely tuned than yours or mine, Max. And she’s happy now. Like she’s not been in a long time.”
Max smiled and kissed her gently on the lips before he tilted his head. For a moment, they both gazed about them in silent wonder—at the camel thorn trees silhouetted against the fast gathering dusk; the pinks and purples of the sunset almost swallowed up by darkness, and at their comfortably furnished tents just beyond a blazing campfire.
Max held her tighter. He gazed into her face; his expression serious. “The first night I met you, Violet, I said I was sailing away from England to find freedom. I thought freedom was leaving behind what had become detestable to me. But I was wrong.” He cupped her face, not caring that Emily and his aunt were so close. “Freedom was finding you, Violet. And being allowed to enjoy you in a place where there was no judgement. A place like this.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands then touched his lips to hers. “Look at the beauty of that sunset; all golden and violet. Magnificent and beautiful. Like you. I love you, Violet,” he said simply. “I love you for everything that has made you who you are. And I love you for making me realise the kind of man I want to be. Principled and proud of doing what’s right. Not an orphan with an exacting grandfather whose rule I must escape but a family man who relishes his unexpected responsibilities.” He returned Aunt Euphemia’s smile as he moved Violet languidly round the termite mound that punctuated their dance floor, while Brahms’ Waltz in A-Flat floated on the breeze.
Violet swallowed past the lump in her throat, her eyelashes damp as he went on, “Responsibilities that include an aunt in her twilight years who surely isn’t too old to find herself a diamond magnate or an elephant hunter. Because we are never too old to find love and love can surprise us when we least expect it. And my greatly-adored young sister-in-law who has learnt to shoot a target at 100 yards, and who promises to break as many hearts as there are stars up there.”
A few yards away Emily and Aunt Euphemia were giggling at their attempts to coordinate their dance steps. They looked so carefree and happy that Violet was almost overwhelmed by love for them.
“You were so keen to set off with just yourself yet suddenly you were responsible for three women, Max. And you’ve taken it in such good heart, like the decent, noble, responsible man you are.” Violet raised herself on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. Warmth spread from her toes and up through her heart and shoulders like liquid honey as Max held her and the achingly poignant sounds of the familiar waltz enveloped them.
“If this is responsibility, my sweet Violet,” he murmured, stroking her cheek, “then let me be shackled by it for the rest of my life.”
The End