An Heiress for All Seasons (6 page)

The silence of the empty bedchamber swallowed her as she sat alone at the dressing table, her mother’s words reverberating inside her.

H
er name was Felicity Little and she was the only child to one of Britain’s largest and most profitable sugar importers. Violet and Miss Little were perhaps of similar wealth—but there the similarity ended. She was tiny with curling, golden hair and enormous china-blue eyes. Her laughter was infectious. Tinkling and occurring with steady frequency, she laughed gaily and talked with confidence and wit. Even Aurelia seemed to like her. Everyone nodded, smiling as she regaled them with a humorous tale of her recent visit to the Spain and how she had ridden a goat up a mountain pass.

Violet wanted to stab the girl’s perfect eyes out.

A totally unprecedented sentiment. Such acrimony wasn’t like her and it shamed her. She didn’t want the earl. She had told him so in no mincing terms. She had confessed as much to her mother. So why did she sit so miserably as the earl hung on Miss Little’s every word? Poking at a bit of potato on her plate, she watched the two of them from across the table with narrowed eyes, her fear quickly dissipating that Merlton would catch her staring. No chance of that. His eyes were only on Miss Little.

Contrary man! He was exactly as she thought. A money-grubbing fortune hunter. She had proven too elusive so he had moved on to the next available heiress. She should be relieved, not angry, to be right in her estimation of him.

Upon finishing dinner, they rose to move to the drawing room. Apparently, Miss Little was an accomplished vocalist. She had agreed to perform Christmas carols for them.

Violet’s eyes suddenly burned as the earl offered Miss Little his arm and led her from the dining room.

“Miss Howard, are you coming?” Viscount Camden gently touched her arm, his eyes kind as they studied her.

Blinking once, she forced a smile up at him and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Shall we?” He offered her his arm. Accepting it, she fixed the smile on her face and allowed him to lead her forward.

M
iss Howard—
Violet
—excused herself early from the drawing room as Miss Little finished singing “Good King Wenceslas,” complaining of an aching head.

Will watched her intently as she moved across the room, studying her pale face and listening as she made her excuses to both their mothers. Aching head, his arse. She was fleeing him. Again. As she had been doing from the very beginning. He released a pent-up breath.

He tracked her as she slipped from the room, silent as a wraith as Miss Little launched into another carol.

“What are you doing?”

At the mild question, he turned to face Max beside him. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been chasing after Miss Howard since you first clapped eyes on her.” He nodded to where Violet had departed. “I thought for certain you were on the verge of declaring yourself, and now you’re suddenly panting after this little Nightingale here.” He nodded toward Miss Little and then chuckled. “Little Nightingale.”

Rolling his eyes at the jest, Will shrugged, not caring to discuss matters of the heart in the midst of his family’s drawing room. He hadn’t given up on Violet. On the contrary, he had simply decided to give her some space for a day or two, and let her consider the loss of his attention. He was wagering that she would miss said attention—that she would miss
him
—and come to her senses. And perhaps paying attention to Miss Little would make her realize that all the sooner.

“You’re no longer interested in Miss Howard, is that it?” Max rubbed his chin thoughtfully, apparently unwilling to drop the subject. “Good to know. This house party is getting a little tedious. I confess she appeals to me . . . and there is a good deal of mistletoe about. I wouldn’t mind some diversion. A man could lose himself in her eyes. And that voice. . . .”

“Max,” he growled, but his friend continued as though he hadn’t heard him.

“You know me. I like a female with some curves. Something to hang on to as you plow—”

The rest of Max’s words were lost. Will’s fist shot out to connect with Max’s runaway mouth. The two crashed from their chairs to the floor. The ladies cried out, jumping to their feet. Dec and Mr. Little quickly wedged themselves between him and Max.

Will strained to break free, swiping his arm for one more blow.

“Will, what’s gotten into you, man?” Dec shook him, and it was only then that he realized Max wasn’t struggling for another go at him.

No. Max was grinning, his white teeth a blinding flash in his face as he tentatively touched his bottom lip where a cut bled profusely. “Just as I thought,” he announced.

Will stared, gaping at his friend, realizing that Max had been toying with him, knowing how he would react.

Dec stepped back, watching him carefully should he need to restrain him again. Max marched forward and clapped Will on the shoulder, whispering for his ears alone. “Whatever game you’re playing, you’re going to lose. You’re going to lose
her
.”

Something heavy sank in his chest at Max’s words. Nodding and realizing he’d made a colossal mistake that just might cost him the only woman he had ever wanted beyond the span of one night, he faced everyone. “My apologies. Just a quarrel among friends.”

“William?” His mother asked, her eyes clouded with worry.

“We’re well now, Mother,” he assured her even though the last thing he felt was
well
.

Was it possible to feel this way for a woman in so short a span of time? So desperate and heartsick at the thought of losing her.

It could happen, he realized. She could walk out of his life as easily as she had entered it. He swallowed against the sudden thickness in his throat. She could return to America and her Mr. Weston without a backward glance.

Max clapped him on the shoulder, addressing his mother. “Nothing to fear, my lady. We’re still the best of friends.”

She nodded, a wobbly smile gracing her lips.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Will motioned to his mussed clothing as though it was something he cared about and must attend to.

Striding from the room, he took the stairs two at a time, intent on one goal. One female. As long as she was still here, there was a chance—and that’s all he needed to fight.

O
nce inside her bedchamber, Violet turned in a small circling, feeling suddenly as if she were suffocating. She told herself that she would be gone from this place in a few more days. And yet a few days seemed much too far away. She needed space. Distance. Air to breathe. Tired of being cooped up, she marched toward her armoire and began riffling for her warmest clothes. Garbed appropriately for the elements, she slipped from the room and took the servants’ stairs out of the house. She tromped through the snow to the stables.

The stable lad tried to stop her, but she ignored him as she saddled her own mount, a gentle mare named Daisy. The only thing she could see was Merlton’s face in her mind, watching raptly as Miss Little shared her goat-riding anecdote. If Violet had told such a vapid story would he listen with even a fraction of such interest? Blast the man! Why must she care one way or another?

She was tempted to take Devil for no other reason than irking the earl—assuming he ever peeled himself from Miss Little’s side to notice she had left the room—but she knew that might be pushing the stable lad beyond his limit.

“I won’t go far,” she assured him. “And it’s not yet full dark.”

He gestured helplessly. “Miss, the snow. . . .”

“It has stopped.”

“Aye, but it could begin again. I feel it in my bones. My bones always know.” He bobbed his head insistently. “And you could lose your way out there in all that. The landmarks are—”

“I’ve spent a good amount of time over the last week walking the estate. I am quite familiar with the lay of the land.” She had to leave. She had to get away. She didn’t care if it was bitter cold. She couldn’t stand another minute in that house whilst Merlton courted another heiress. Would he use the same words? Would he tell her just how
good
they could be together?
Blast!
Fire scraped the back of her neck and crept over her ears.

“Allow me to saddle up my mount and accompany you.”

Using the block, she mounted Daisy with sure movements, relishing the feel of a horse beneath her. She missed this. This was familiar. Safe. An earl with silvery blue eyes and a devil’s tongue was not. She looked down at the stable lad. “That’s not necessary. I’m an accomplished rider. I will be back shortly.” She just needed a little air. Space and distance. Another moment beneath that roof walls while the earl courted his new heiress and she might go mad.

He twisted his cap in his hands, still looking uncertain and she smiled down at him with the same smile she bestowed on Papa when she wanted to win her way. It rarely failed her.

He relented, although still looking unhappy. “Please don’t be long, Miss.”

“I promise. I’ll be back soon.” Nodding, she lifted her scarf high against her throat and dug in her heels.

She rode out from the stables, determined that a brisk ride would help her forget. At least for a little while she could forget herself. And the earl who filled too much of her thoughts.

“W
hat do you mean she left?” Will waved a hand toward the partially open doors through which he had just passed. It had begun to snow again, and a screen of white fell at a sharp angle outside the stables.

After searching the house for Violet and finding no sign of her, he had decided to check the stables, recalling the first night he met her. He knew how much she enjoyed the horses. She was bold enough to brave the cold and visit Devil again. It would be like her not to shy away from the bitter weather. Or a stallion that bites. The girl was fearless. Or at least she put up a brave front. It’s what drew him to her—her flashing eyes and bold words. And made him want to wring her neck.

“I tried to tell her. . . .”

Will did not stand around to listen further. He made short work of mounting Devil, a dark fury brewing inside him. The reckless fool. What did she think she was doing?

“Inform His Grace and Lord Camden I’ve gone after Miss Howard,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Not a word to my mother. She will only worry. Banbury will do what he deems best.”

He guided Devil from his stall. Tom hastened to pull the door wider for him.

“Careful, my lord. Visibility is right poor in this weather.”

Precisely why Violet had no business riding out into it. He nodded curtly. He wasn’t worried for himself. Blinded by snow or not, he could find his way home.

“Let no one set out after me, Tom. I know this countryside better than anyone else.”

Tom nodded.

He only knew one thing. He would not return empty handed. He’d find Violet or die trying.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

C
ontrary to what she promised the stable lad, Violet wasn’t finding her way back home any time soon. She accepted this grim fact not half an hour after she departed the stables. It had started to snow again, and by the time she turned back, it was already too late. The sky opened up and unleashed itself.

Everything was doused in white, the snow falling in an opaque curtain, obscuring her vision.

She forced herself to breathe in the bitter, frozen-wet wind, pushing down the panic that threatened to smother her as she scanned the horizon.

Everything looked the same. The snow-draped landscape. The fir trees shrouded in white. The path was gone, eaten up in swirls of wind and writhing snow flurries.

Burrowing into her thick garments, she told herself that she would be well. That this situation was not as desperate as her mind screamed.

Trusting Daisy to have a better sense of where shelter could be, she loosened her grip on the reins and gave the mare its lead, telling herself to have faith in the animal’s instincts since hers had so clearly failed her.

Trust in Daisy . . . in God’s plan. She blinked, trying to shake off the clumps of white clinging to her lashes as she squinted ahead.

Keep moving. Don’t stop
.

As long as she kept moving, Daisy would find the house, they would reach civilization eventually. She convinced herself of this, filling her mind with encouraging words, telling herself she had not sentenced herself to death. She would not die. She still had so much to live for. So much to experience.

The earl’s face—
Will
—flashed across her mind and for the first time, she did not push the image away. She let him fill her thoughts. She let the rush of his memory give her strength and fill her with a longing ache.

Out of the swirl of wind and snow, a dark blur appeared on the landscape, coming into sharper focus the closer she advanced. Her heart jumped alive, thumping hard against her ribcage. It wasn’t Merlton Hall, but it was shelter.

It was life.

W
ill scoured the countryside, his shouts gobbled up in the wind and snow, but there was no sight of Violet. He fed the weak hope that she had returned home. That even now she was warming herself by the fire in his drawing room with his mother and sister and Rosalie fussing over her. Still, he pushed on, unwilling to put his faith in that slim shred of hope. There was more countryside he had yet to cover. Until he did, until he’d satisfied himself that he had looked everywhere, he would not return.

The familiar crofter’s cottage loomed ahead. The Jacobsons had vacated the cottage last spring, hoping to find work in the city. Another failure, he had deemed, on his part to properly care for all his tenants.

It occurred to him that if he had happened upon the cottage, Violet might have done so, too. She might have taken shelter within. It was the sensible thing to do. Riding out on the brink of a snowstorm hadn’t been sensible at all, but he wouldn’t put it past her to have a moment of good sense. Perhaps her need for self-preservation had kicked in at last.