CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Why are you hiding out here?” Connor walked into her office, a look of concern on his face.
Her fingers brushed away the wayward tear clinging to her cheek. Vi hoped the redness had faded from her eyes. “I have nowhere else to go.” Her sigh sounded overdramatic, even to her own ears. “How did the meeting go?”
“Efficient change of subject. You are lucky I cannot help but indulge you at every turn.” Connor bowed and his hair flopped in front of his eyes. “The meeting did not go well, I fear.”
Another setback. “But Lord Haversham wrote that it was imperative to meet with them posthaste,” she mused. She’d been hopeful that these men would turn into clients—preferably, clients with deep pockets.
“I’m sorry.”
The look of pity on his face made her sick to her stomach. It was truly over.
Connor had always been supportive and understanding. Along with Ruby, he knew all her secrets… and stuck with her still. Over the years, she’d wondered what it would be like to marry him—to let him take care of her. Would he be a good, fair husband and father? She dismissed the thought. One day he would make an excellent husband, but not her husband. It had nothing to do with his advanced age, for his youthful rugged handsomeness had only matured since they’d met, lending him a distinguished look. Her father had hinted the union would please him.
Was it time for her to think about what would please others, instead of herself? She feared that time had arrived, yet she could not justify settling—not that attaching herself permanently to Connor would be settling. It was only, she’d never anticipated marrying anyone. While she kept her regret hidden, deep inside that spot where she kept things she couldn’t change, it clawed at her every so often. While she would have no family of her own, she did have her father, Ruby, her staff and her horses who all depended on her. She told herself that their companionship and love was no different than that of a husband and children.
She didn’t let herself dwell on the eventuality of her father’s passing, or the transfer of the estate and title to his cousin. The thought that she’d be forced to sell her ranch and live off the generosity of a relative who was more stranger than family, was also something she kept tucked safely deep within.
Yes, regret was not something she had time for.
“If it pleases you, I will feed the stock before I retire for the day.” Connor’s words shook her from her reverie.
“A few more things before you go.” Vi squared her shoulders. She’d more important things to worry over. “Were you able to deliver the envelope?”
Connor dipped his head. “Yes. I handed it to Hutton as you asked.”
“Thank you. I understand the area is not the most affluent part of London and at times unsafe—”
“No need to explain yourself.” Connor waved a hand in dismissal.
“Well, thank you all the same. Now, tell me more about the meeting.”
Connor sat in the blue gilded chair in front of Vi’s desk. “There was something off about the men. While they listened intently to what we had to offer, they seemed uncomfortable and nervous—”
“Nervous how?” Vi asked.
“A bit uncomfortable. I may be making this something it is not, but they glanced quite frequently at Lord Haversham for what seemed like approval before speaking. It was odd for men of the ton.”
It was out of character for any man, at least in her experience.
“I was unable to arrangement any further meeting.”
“You did what you could.” Vi stood to signal the end of their conversation before asking nonchalantly, “Did Br—Lord Haversham inquire as to my well-being?” She had thought of nothing else the two days Connor had been away. She hoped Brock had inquired, as much as she dreaded the possibility that he would.
Connor eyed her suspiciously and turned his head in thought. “I do not remember him mentioning Lady Posey.”
“Well, that is as it should be,” she said to cover her interest. “It would not do to have London abuzz with fresh gossip. People may wonder about who indeed owns Foldger’s Foals.” Now that things were over, it would be ironic for word to spread.
“Indeed, it would not.” Connor’s chair creaked as he stood and moved to the door. “I will eat and return in the morning. Please do not stress over much.”
The door clicked shut behind him and Vi gazed out the window at his retreating form. She’d never wanted to put herself in such a position again; the lying was a trait she’d abhorred in her younger self. It was hard to convince one’s self that one had changed with all the deceit swarming around.
Mere moments after Connor had disappeared from view, her office door burst open. Vi’s stomach jumped to her throat in surprise when Ruby rushed in, breathing hard.
“Vi! There you are.” Ruby bent at the waist and placed her hands on her knees.
“Here I am. Whatever is the matter?” Vi’s hands went naturally to her hips in Ruby’s usual pose.
“It is your father—”
“What about him?” Her voice broke slightly on the last word.
“He is at the estate and wishes to see you immediately.” Ruby swallowed large gulps of air as her breathing calmed.
“It cannot be so important that they sent you rushing over here.”
“But it is…they carried him into the house from the carriage. Lady Darlingiver will not stop her pacing.” Ruby straightened, her hands wringing with her own worry. “She says he fainted at a ball last evening.”
Vi sprung into action, blowing out the numerous candles lighting the room, and grabbed her shawl from the hook behind her desk. “Let us be off.”
Ruby grasped her skirt, lifted it nearly to her calf and dashed out the door, Vi close behind. They navigated around the many puddles in the stable yard and made their way to the path that led to her father’s estate.
Her father was not a young man. He had shared his concerns about his health and Vi’s unmarried status many times over the last few years. In fact, she could remember twice in as many months.
They flew through the gate separating the properties and moved quickly up the steps and into the foyer, the butler pulling the door wide for them to enter.
“Where is he?” Vi’s voice echoed in the cavernous room, bounced off the walls.
“This way, Lady Viola. He is resting in the parlor.” Smith, the butler, attempted to lead the way, but Vi found herself with zero patience. Walking in a ladylike manner was out of the question.
The skirts of her dress brushed against the man when she slipped past him. The familiar hall of the house rushed past as she hurried out of the foyer, down the hall, and finally into the parlor.
“Father—”
“Lady Viola, do quiet down!” Lady Darlingiver’s voice cut Vi off. “He is resting. The journey here was an arduous one.” The woman huffed where she sat on a chair pulled up close to the lounge her father reclined upon. Her veiny hand grasped Lord Liperton’s limp fingers.
The strong, rotund figure that had been her father just a fortnight before had been replaced by a frail, sallow-complexioned man she hardly recognized. “Whatever happened?”
“We attended the Everheart’s ball last night—their youngest daughter was introduced to society—and your father was discussing politics with several gentlemen.” The dowager’s voice rose as her story progressed. “I left him for only a few moments when a servant rushed to alert me that Lippy, I mean your father, had fainted dead away.” The woman released her father’s hand to push a lock of hair from his closed eyes.
“I sent for his doctor as soon as we arrived at his townhouse. Doctor Durpentire gave him approval to travel here.”
The name struck Vi as oddly familiar.
Vi pulled up her own chair and sat next to the woman she’d spent more time in argument with than civil conversation over the last ten years. “Why did you bring him here? He must need rest. You could have sent for me.”
“I did not bring him he
re to you.” The woman’s face clouded in confusion. “We traveled here because we are now away from the prying eyes of society. If we had remained in town, I would not have been able to stay and attend to him—it is just not done.”
This was the Lady Darlingiver with whom Viola was familiar.
Vi pasted a smile on her face. “I do so much appreciate you caring for my father while he is in town. If you had not attended the ball with him last evening, I fear what could have happened to him.” If the woman detected Vi’s sarcasm, she did not let on or take the bait.
“I cannot agree with you more, my dear.” The dowager released her father’s pale hand again and took hold of Vi’s as if to soothe her.
Since the opportunity arose, Vi grasped her father’s hand with her free one and gently squeezed.
“Viola? Is that you?” her father mumbled. His head lolled to the side and his eyes parted slightly.
Vi pulled her hand from Lady Darlingiver’s clammy clutch and stroked the side of her father’s face. “I’m here, father.”
“You came?” A hint of surprise could be heard in his voice. “You finally came to London.” His eyes sprang open and he pushed the cloth that covered him away.
“No, Lippy. I brought you to Foldger’s Hall.” The dowager moved in closer.
Her father pushed himself into a sitting position. “Will you both give me a bit of air? It is quite stuffy in here without the pair of you leaning over me as if I am on my death bed.”
Both women sat back in their seats to give him room. Viola feared another fainting spell.
“Why are you both staring at me thus?”
“What happened last night?” Viola asked. Concern laced her voice.
Lord Liperton looked about the room, but focused on nothing. “Ummm, well . . .”
“You were at the Everheart’s ball,” Viola prompted.
“Oh, the last I remember Lord Hucklestone was droning on and on about—”
“Go on. Tell her what the gossip rags are saying.” It was Lady Darlingiver’s turn to prod her father on.
Her father captured her gaze and refused to let her look away. A new sadness filled his eyes. “All of London knows, Viola. All we have done to hide your activities the last several years was for naught.”
A chill crept down Viola’s spine. He could not mean what she thought he meant. Her activities over the last several years . . . All of London knows . . . for naught. The words flew through her mind. For a moment, it seemed as though she was in danger of fainting.
“It is true,” Lady Darlingiver said. “They know your father funded Foldger’s Foals and that you have been running the ranch since your exile from society.”
Her mouth gaping, she turned to her father. “Is this true?”
“I am afraid so.”
“But it is much worse than that. The gossipmongers have moved on to your father now.”
“What negative thing can they possibly say about my father? He is a pillar of London society.” Vi’s outrage overtook her and she stood from her seat. “What do they say?”
“Dear, that is not impor—”
“It most certainly is important,” the dowager spoke up. “They say your father should have hired you out as a governess.”
“Evienne.” The warning in her father’s voice was something Vi hadn’t heard since she was a young child caught stealing the pies cooling in the kitchen.
“It is only fair the child knows what is being said about her—and you as well,” she countered. “They say you are unfit to be a governess due to the likelihood that your charges would fall in love with you. They fear an epidemic of deaths in local school rooms.”
“That was unnecessary.” Her father’s sallow skin turned a deep crimson.
“Well, that is what they wrote. I believe the article was even accompanied by a sketch—”
“Leave us!” Lord Liperton shouted, turning from his long-time love.
She huffed and hefted herself from her seat. “I will see to your supper.”
The door closed more loudly than necessary, belying the woman’s ire.
“Who have you confided in, Viola?” he asked. “Have you corresponded with anyone from London? An old friend, perhaps?”
Viola shook her head in denial. “No., I promised I would not seek out anyone from my previous life. I have not even left the property in over five years.” The thought of her father being ridiculed for her bad behavior wounded her heart.
“I hired Miss Ruby as your companion and you agreed—”
“I told you I have not contacted anyone. No letters . . .” Her voice faltered at the mention of letters. She’d received correspondence from London—but it was impossible that Brock knew her true identity.
“Viola?” he asked.
“It is just . . . I had an unexpected client a few weeks ago.” She agonized over how much to disclose. Surely she would not discuss their kiss . . . or the many hours she’d spent daydreaming about that kiss; the feel of his arms as Brock held her.
No, that moment she would keep private. She was resigned to the reality that she may never share a heated moment with any other man.
His gaze penetrated Vi’s. “Who came here?” he asked.
If she told him the truth, would he be able to help her?
“I cannot assist you, child, if I am unaware of the full potential for damage.” Her father’s encouraging words shored up her courage to speak.
“Lord Haversham—”
“The Lord Haversham? Viola!” her father’s voice thundered.
The door to the room opened and Smith poked his head in. “Are you in need of something, my lord?”
“I am not! My daughter, on the other hand, is in need of some common sense.”
Vi turned pleading eyes on the butler, urging him to depart and forget her father’s cruel words.
With a small nod, Smith retreated from the room.
“He recognized you, and now he seeks to ruin our family more than you already have.”
“But he did not recognize me—”
He held up his hand. “I assure you, no man can forget the woman responsible for his brothers’ deaths.”