Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 16
“Do you think I will see my mother while in town?”
Vi sensed the first note of apprehension in Ruby’s voice. “I would assume so, since Lady Darlingiver and your mother are bosom friends.” She eyed her friend. Was that nervousness she saw? “Your mother will be quite happy to see you, I am sure.” Viola dropped her head to concentrate on the letter she’d been writing before Ruby had charged in.
“Oh, I am sure she will be. How are your letters coming along?”
Viola had set about writing her clients to inform them of the closing of Foldger’s Foals. It was proving to be a more arduous task then she had anticipated. She’d completed a total of fifty-three letters with only one more to write, but she found herself stuck. Unable to finish it.
Ruby stood and peeked at the letter Vi was struggling with. “Ah. Lord Haversham.”
“Yes, Lord Haversham.” Vi’s cheeks heated.
“Why is his letter any more difficult to write than the rest?” Ruby asked.
“I fear the next time we meet will be under different circumstances.”
“That cannot be helped. Also, there is no guarantee we will cross his path in London.”
“My hope is that he is at this country seat, but I fear my luck has not run on the positive side as of late,” Viola said. She dipped her quill in the ink pot. Despite everything, she did hope to see Brock again, although she could not tell Ruby that.
“Your father is quite happy with your agreement to accompany him to town,” Ruby said, changing the subject. “He appears years younger, and fully recovered.”
“I do not doubt his exuberance at my agreement.” She set the quill down and looked up at her friend. “You do believe that I did not intend to cause my father embarrassment?” It was important to her that Ruby knew her interactions with Brock had not been a ploy to tarnish her father or their family name further. Perhaps in her youth, she would have instigated such a ruse to garner attention, but that had been long ago.
“Of course, Vi. Anyone who cannot see the changes you have made to yourself and your life is as blind as a newt.”
Viola could not help but laugh. “A newt? Surely you mean a bat.”
“No, I mean a newt. Which is a blind salamander. They live in the New World, do you not know?” Ruby looked at Vi as if she was an uneducated street child.
“I do so enjoy random trivia. I do not know a thing about blind salamanders.” Vi again picked up her quill, determined to finish the final letter and return to the estate to organize the servants in preparation for their departure to London. “As much as I enjoy—”
Ruby held up her hand. “You have work to attend to. I will leave you now and see you at supper.”
She returned her attention to the letter as her friend silently closed the door behind her.
Why was this letter so difficult to write? To answer that question, she would likely need to delve more deeply into her feelings for Brock . . . and to do that, she must admit she had feelings for him that extended beyond mere physical attraction.
The idea of crafting the letter she dreamed of writing passed through her mind. She dipped her quill and wrote: Dearest Brock, I have missed you during your absence. Meet me in London in a fortnight. Lovingly yours, Viola. Yes, she signed the letter Viola. Alas, this was all only a fantasy. He did not know her given name, and if he did he would do anything not to meet her in London.
The parchment crumbled easily in her hands. Idiot, she thought. No man, least of all Brock, would ever endeavor to seek out her attention. Was that what truly frightened her? The thought of being shunned to her face? She had fled London in the wake of the duel and at Lady Darlingiver’s insistence, before meeting any member of the ton. Sarah and the housekeeper had packed her belongings, dresses and hair ribbons never worn, and she had fled before tea.
What a stupid girl she had been . . . and possibly still was.
Vi smoothed her hands across a fresh sheet of paper, quill at the ready. It was time to put words on the paper, not those she wished to say, but something to end their interactions and not prompt him to seek further correspondence.
Dipping her quill in the ink once more, she began.
Lord Haversham,
It is regretfully that I write to inform you of the closing of Foldger’s Foals. Thank you for your recent business transaction. I sincerely hope your stables are a success of the first water.
Fondly,
Lady Posey Hale
Fondly—where had that come from? She quickly sprinkled sand over the wet ink and returned her quill to its holder. It was done, and there was naught she could do but re-write the letter. She blew the excess sand from the parchment, folded the letter and inserted it into the waiting envelope.
Taking out another clean, smooth sheet, Vi again began to write. She wrote of her regrets—not only her girlhood mistakes, the tragedy of her first season, but also all she knew that would never be hers. The words flowed across the page, filled with sorrow, sadness, and sacrifice.
These words were not meant to soothe her—no, she wrote these for Brock.
For his family, who no longer lived.
For his future children, who would never know their uncles or grandfather.
She wrote of her foolishness, her pride, her vanity.
But mostly, the page held the apology she feared she’d never be able to give him. She would, if she could, go back to that day and change everything. In her heart, she wished she could go back even further, long before her first season.
Next, she wrote of Brock’s brothers; how vibrantly alive they had been, how much they’d loved both Brock and their father, how earnestly they had vied for her attention. To say all that, she would also need to admit her need for attention, her lack of caring, and her selfishness. She confessed it all, her hand scribbling furiously to take hold of every sin and commit it to paper before her nerve expired.
Vi stilled her writing. Her whole being ached to write of her life now. The good she was doing, the lives she had saved, the wrongs she spent every waking hour attempting to right. But there was no room for rationalization or justification of her failings—especially to herself. She had destroyed Brock’s family then, and continued her deceitful path by lying to him now.
No, she could not change the past—and neither would her words, written upon a useless piece of paper. She set her quill aside and read through her unaddressed confessions once more before ripping the paper in two, as if destroying the evidence of her past would somehow fix everything. How she wished anything in life was that simple.
She finished the original note with three simple words, ‘I am sorry,’ written with a heavy heart. But those words could never convey all she wanted Brock Haversham to know.
She sighed and pushed her chair back, grabbed the stack of letters, and stood. Extinguishing the candles as she went, Vi left the office for the last time. She could not bring herself to look over her shoulder as she traversed the empty stable yard and moved down the path to her father’s estate. Her future, whether good or bad, was here.
Chapter 21
“How long do you plan to make your father wait?” Ruby asked.
“I’ve no idea what you are referring to.” Had she been that easy to read? Viola had thought she’d been extremely subtle in delaying their departure for London.
“Truly? First, you insisted your father rest for a few days before our journey.” Ruby held up her fingers to check off Vi’s transgressions. “Next, you insist on seeing the sale of Foldger’s Foals through. And lastly, you demanded his barouche be brought from London to transport us.”
Vi avoided eye contact with her friend. “I only thought the journey would be made more comfortable for him in the barouche.” Maybe her actions had been a bit obvious, at least to Ruby, who had spent so many years with only Vi as a companion.
Ruby sighed.
Viola had no other choice but to meet her gaze.
“Your petty behavior may fool your father, but not I,” she scolded. “How dare you jeopardize all your hard work? Is this the impression you seek to make once we arrive in London? Still the selfish, self-absorbed debutante who caused the deaths of two young men?”
The comment stung and Vi wanted to scream that that was not what she wanted.
“You must make a decision, because once we arrive it is not only your reputation—or what is left of it—in jeopardy, but mine. If you are not going to be the person I know you to be, I will cry off and return to my own home.” The conviction in Ruby’s voice scared Vi. “Tell me you will take this seriously and give yourself a fair chance at a better future.”
“And if I do choose to be the old Lady Viola—is it your intention to abandon me?” She knew she was being unfair. Ruby didn’t deserve such an ultimatum, especially from Viola.
Ruby grimaced, her expression pained.
“Ruby, I did not—”
She waved her hand, cutting short Vi’s words. “Do not apologize for a question you are not sorry for asking.” Hard eyes met Vi’s and she continued. “Be advised that I could have forsaken you long ago. When I learned of your misdeeds, I could have written my mother and begged off from Foldger’s Hall, but I did not.”
Viola brushed away the tear that streaked down her cheek.
“I recognized the kindred spirit in you, so I stayed. It turned out to be the best decision my mother ever made on my behalf.” Ruby’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, mirroring Vi’s own.
“What shall I do now?” Vi asked. “My father must think the worst of me.”
Ruby shook her head. “No, he too has seen your transformation. It is Lady Darlingiver who has her concerns. And rightly so, I might add.”
The skepticism the woman held about Vi’s ability to win over the ton once more was no secret. “I care not what she thinks of me—or what the ton thinks of me, for that matter.”
“While I do not believe you in the slightest, I do have—”
The door to the morning room opened and the butler bowed low, first to Vi and then to Ruby. “Lady Viola, the post has arrived.” On his silver platter were several envelopes.
She took the offering and thanked him.
“Is there anything else, my lady?” he asked before he departed.
“No, thank you.” Vi flipped though the letters. Several were addressed to Foldger’s Foals, and were likely notes of condolence posted from former customers throughout England. The last was marked with a London address. One she remembered seeing once before.
“This one is from Brock.” Her words escaped on a sigh.
Ruby sat up excitedly, their earlier conversation forgotten. “Do open it.” She fairly bounced in her seat.
Vi slid her finger under the embossed wax seal. With a small tug, the H-shaped seal cracked and the envelope fell open, revealing a neatly folded letter. The parchment felt crisp and fresh in her hand as she unfolded it.
“Do get on with it.” Ruby scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned precariously close to Vi.
The letter held the usual condolences and good tidings for her future, nothing more.
“I am unsure what I expected…”
Ruby seized the letter from her hand. “Well, this states his regret that Foldger’s Foals is closing, but just a moment…” She leaned past Vi and grabbed the discarded envelope on the table. “We may be in trouble.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
Ruby held up the confiscated envelope
Viola gasped.
Ruby nodded.
They certainly were in trouble.
The envelope had been addressed to none other than Lady Viola Oberbrook.
“Do you think he…?” Viola stopped. Certainly Brock would not have gone to the gossipmongers with her secret…would he? It was true, she did not know him or what he was capable of, but he should certainly hate her. He had every right to curse her name venomously to any person who would listen. Viola stood, the post slipping from her lap unnoticed. “Ruby, prepare yourself. We leave for London first thing on the morrow.”
Her friend only raised an eyebrow.
“His letter is addressed from London. If we hurry, we can waylay him while he is still in town.” The wheels were turning in her head. “He will definitely not expect me to travel to London.”
“You cannot be thinking he is responsible.”
She hadn’t the faintest idea what to think. “Do you have a better explanation?” When Ruby didn’t respond, Vi continued. “There is no one else. We were very careful. Do you not see the coincidence that Brock shows up here unannounced, and then all of London is abuzz?” Viola’s hands rested on her hips, her stance wide as if ready for a confrontation.
“Your father will be in high spirits with this change in plans.” Ruby handed the letter back. “I will ready my things.”
Vi pulled the bell cord to summon the housekeeper after Ruby closed the door.
If they hurried, Lord Haversham would not have departed town. She counted on his assumption that she would keep herself hidden away in the country, fearful of traveling to London to confront him.
While she waited, her thoughts ran to their second meeting, when he had come to collect his stock. Had he known then? Had he lured her into kissing him?
And what about that night—in the rain. Surely he knew, yet he said nothing once again. But damn him for saving her from further harm. That night had run through her mind a thousand times since. She’d argued with her father and in her haste had fled the house in nothing more than her cloak for protection. The wind and rain had seemingly come from nowhere, taking her by surprise. Or had she been so distracted, heavy-hearted, that she’d failed to notice?
If she had stayed, engaged Brock in conversation, would he have told her all? Scolded her not only for her reckless behavior that night but also for her misconduct in her youth?
Did he seek to further embarrass her? How dare he! If she was her seventeen-year-old self, she just might have challenged him to a duel to defend her father’s name. Fortunately for him, she had grown up and did not have a violent tendency.
“Lady Viola?”
Viola looked up to see Mrs. Dale standing in the open doorway. “Oh, pardon my distraction. Can you inform my father that tomorrow morning will be perfect for our journey to London?”
The housekeeper immediately dropped into a curtsey. “Of course.”
If he thought she would cower in the country while society talked ill of her family, Lord Haversham had another thing coming. And if he entertained the idea that she was the same girl who’d turned coat and fled all those years ago, he would be shocked to find out the extent of her transformation.
Brock hadn’t visited his family’s burial plot since his return, and now he remembered why. The area had been overgrown the night he’d stopped, before he’d fled his father’s home to make his way as a soldier. Times had not changed: The small fenced area was even now so overgrown by wild grass and summer flowers that he had to pull it out by the handful to see his family’s final resting spots.
Resting side by side, his parents’ joint headstone read simply, “Here lies the 5th Lord and Lady Haversham. May their eternal splendor be ever restful and serene.”
He hadn’t the faintest idea who had crafted the inscription.
And a part of him wondered what his would say. Possibly, something as asinine and useless as his parents? ‘Here lies Brock, the 6th Lord Haversham, who passed devoid of an heir.’
Or would someone see fit to capture him as he was this day, ‘Here Lies Brock, the 6th Lord Haversham, an idiot who almost fell in love with his enemy. And then treated her poorly as only a coward would do.’
Either way, he had accomplished little of note in his time back. There would be nothing for future generations to look back proudly on. He had not respected his father as a good son would have. He had not honored the memory of his mother by carrying on the family name. Instead, he had coveted his family’s adversary, still longed to hold her again. He’d also alienated his only living relative to the degree that neither could stomach the other.
Brock had returned home with grand plans to right the wrong of his past, to renew and renovate his family home, and to seek justice for his family. But all he’d done thus far was botch everything he touched.
“I thought I would find you here.”
Brock turned from his parents’ headstone to find Harold, who was on horseback outside the black wrought-iron fence that enclosed his family’s burial plot. “My apologies, I did not hear you ride up.”
“I highly doubt you would have heard a herd of wild stallions pass by.” Harold tied his reins around his saddle horn and dismounted. His booted feet hit the ground solidly. “You left hours ago and I became worried.”
Brock realized in that moment he was not completely alone in his endeavors. Harold, as his friend, could always be counted on. They were closer than brothers. Much as Rodney and he should be, but it was a compatible relationship that Brock and his cousin had never attained.
“I have been overly concerned with the stables and have neglected my family,” Brock confessed. “I must send someone round to repair the fencing and clear the weeds.”
Harold walked through the gate and stood beside Brock. “You’ve had much on your mind, my friend.”
Both of their gazes returned to the stones before them.
“Excuses, always excuses.”
“You are too hard on yourself.”
Brock looked to Harold. “There is no one else to be hard on. I have failed so many of my obligations.”
Harold raised his hand and set it on Brock’s shoulder, reassuringly. “There is time, Brock. You only returned recently. No one would expect you to attain your life’s goals in a month’s time.”
“Sometimes, I wonder if ten years’ time would be suitable for the task,” Brock sighed. “I wonder if all the effort is even worth it. People have very high expectations.”
