The Countess Conspiracy (29 page)

Violet sat in her seat and blinked. Lily insinuated herself on the sofa next to her, so close that their skirts touched. She reached out and took Violet’s hand.

“Violet, dear,” Lily said, “I am in the direst of straits. You know Amanda no longer listens to me. We’ve spent the last days screaming at one another—
screaming,
I tell you! She was such a good child until this last year. I don’t know what happened. Tell me you’ll talk to her.”

Lily looked so innocent, so sweet. Violet almost wanted to agree. To avoid the reason she’d come in the first place. But…well…

“It’s that horrid book,” Lily confided. “I didn’t get it from her soon enough. She doesn’t just want to refuse the earl who is planning to offer for her; she wants to not marry at all.”

She could keep quiet. But whether Lily loved Violet or merely found her sister conveniently useful, Violet loved her sister. And sisters did not surprise one another with shocking public announcements.

“I didn’t come here to talk about Amanda,” Violet said.

Lily blinked and looked taken aback. “Well.” Her lips pursed. “Maybe not. But I’m sure that whatever brought you here can be set aside momentarily, while I—”

“It can’t,” Violet interrupted. “I’m about to plunge the family into the most intense scandal you can possibly imagine.”

Lily blanched and pulled back. “Malheur,” she breathed. She wrung her hands together. “Oh, God, I knew this would happen. I should have been more outspoken.” She let go of Violet’s hand. “He seduced you. You’ve been caught
in flagrante delicto.”

Violet swallowed. “That would be commonplace. This is worse.” Her heart was beginning to beat faster.

Lily’s eyes widened. “How could there be anything
worse?”

Violet swallowed. “You know the work he has done on the inheritance of traits?”

Her sister’s lip curled. “I try not to know anything about it. What has that to do with anything?”

“It’s not his,” Violet said.

Lily frowned and shifted in her seat.

“It’s not his work,” Violet repeated. “It’s mostly mine. And I’m finally going to claim it publicly.” She released those words and held her breath.

Maybe she’d hoped that Lily’s eyes would soften. That she’d let out a little squeal of delight. That she’d clasp Violet to her and say, “Oh, dear Violet, how clever you have been.”

She’d secretly hoped that Lily would pull her close. She’d hoped that so deeply that even she hadn’t known how much she wanted it—not until that moment, when the cold fingers of disappointment closed around her heart.

Because Lily did none of those things. Instead, she stared at Violet as if she’d announced that she was publishing a book on the cooking of babies.

“Ha, ha,” her sister finally said mirthlessly. “Ha. What a fine joke that is, Violet darling. I almost believed you.”

Violet felt very far away—as if she were watching some strange woman sitting with her sister on a sofa. This was happening to someone else. Someone else was feeling her heart squeezed by a vise. Some other person—not her.

“I am not joking.”

This was met with silence. Her sister turned away from her, stood, and then paced to the window. “You’re joking,” Lily said more decisively. “I don’t care what you are thinking right now; you have to be joking. Think about what it will mean to me, to my children. We’ll hardly be received by anyone. Amanda will already have the most horrific reputation as a jilt; this, why, this will make our family a laughingstock. I know you, Violet. You would never do anything so selfish.”

“Selfish?” Violet asked. “Selfish?”

“Yes,
selfish.
You never think of anyone but yourself—what will please you, what will bring you a moment’s pleasure. You never think of how what you do will affect
me.”

Violet had a curious feeling—as if the world were being stripped of all that was important. It wasn’t some other woman sitting on the sofa, no matter how it felt. It wasn’t happening to some strange person. It was happening to
Violet.

“Listen to you,” Violet said. “Calling me selfish as if I never deserve to have anything for myself.” She stood. “But I’m not just doing it for me. I’m doing it for every wife who has disappeared behind her husband. I’m doing it for Amanda, who doesn’t want to marry and has never been told what else she might do.”

Lily’s eyes widened and she took a step forward. “
You’re
the one who gave her that book.”

“You told me to talk to her,” Violet snapped. “I did.”

“You put this notion in her head—the idea that she could walk away from a perfectly good marriage.
You
did it.”

“She had that idea on her own, I’m afraid.” Violet shrugged. “If it were really a good marriage for her, why would she want to walk away?”

“Well, she won’t have a choice!” Lily snarled. “She said she wanted an education, of all things. She won’t have that from us, that’s for certain. Not while she lives in my house. Not with my money. There, now—how do you feel about that, Violet? Do you feel you’re doing the best thing for her now?”

“If you won’t have her, she can come to
my
house,” Violet snapped, “and have her tutelage with
my
money. I am not going to encourage her to shrink into nothing because your nerves cannot handle the possibility of your daughter being more. I am certainly not going to push myself into a little box for your pleasure.”

“If you won’t think of me, think of my children,” Lily said. “Shunned—ostracized—mocked! Even you would not be so hard-hearted as to wish that fate on them.”

Selfish
again.

“If you could not be received in polite society without cutting off your foot,” Violet said, “how long would it take you to chop it off? Would you call me selfish if I harbored Amanda and kept her safe from such a barbaric act?”

Lily frowned. “This is different.”

“Yes,” Violet said. “It’s very different. If what I have to say is of no lasting moment, everyone will forget in a year. And if it isn’t—well, your children will have a famous aunt. Give me the cut direct and do your best to restore yourself to society’s good graces. Your children can decide for themselves which way they will fall.”

Maybe she hoped that even now, Lily would protest. That she’d say she loved Violet, that she could never cut ties with her.

Instead, Lily shook her head. “If that’s the way it must be.”

Not one word of support. Not one word of love. Not even a hint of regret. There was no indication that Violet mattered to her sister at all.

“Lily,” Violet tried one last time. “Think of what this means to me. For the better part of a decade, I’ve choked back the truth. I’ve hid what I could do, what I’ve thought, who I am. I’m the world’s foremost expert on the science of inheritance. Don’t you feel even a little…?” She trailed off.

Proud?

“Disgusted?” Lily finished. She tossed her head. “I’m trying not to think of what you must have done, the thoughts that must have passed through your head. I’m trying not to think of how much you have been hiding from me this entire time. But yes, Violet. I
am
disgusted.”

T
HE LIST OF TASKS TO BE DONE
was slowly shrinking, but Violet felt no more at ease.

“I can only imagine,” Violet said that evening, “what will happen when I tell my mother.”

They were in London, in the small gardener’s shed that Sebastian used as an office. He’d greeted her with an embrace and a kiss, but even though they were alone, he had not tried to seduce her into more yet.

It was baffling. He acted as if nothing had happened, as if they were still only friends.

Friends who kissed.

“I’ve always had Lily,” Violet said. “Every time I felt miserable, I could go to her and she’d have something for me to do. I find it difficult to imagine a world without her.”

“Maybe she’ll come around,” Sebastian said.

Violet shook her head. It wouldn’t be the same, even if she did. She’d always wondered if Lily cared about Violet beyond her own convenience. Now Violet knew she didn’t.

She was seated on the sofa, all too aware that the comfortable cushions could so easily fit two. That it wasn’t so different from a bed. He came and sat beside her, and then, when she cautiously leaned against him, he drew her to him. He enfolded her in the warmth of his arms, their bodies nestling together, fitting against each other. It felt odd to be held by him, the two of them drawn together in the little office. They hadn’t been alone together since yesterday, when they’d kissed in Cambridge.

And now…

Her skin prickled in anticipation; her stomach knotted in dread. As much as she wanted his comfort, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen.

“You really think your mother will be worse?” he asked.

Violet shivered. “Lily cries and complains, but she’s all words. Mother? Well, she’ll nod and smile, and then she’ll find some way to sabotage the whole affair. I already know what she thinks of me. Mother is a doer, not a talker.”

He leaned down until she could feel his breath against her neck. “Yes,” he said, “but Lily’s peculiar reaction…that’s Lily.”

Violet started to turn toward him.

“And no,” he said, “I won’t say anything more because she’s your sister and I’m not an idiot. But…” He paused. “No. Not saying that, either. I’m still not an idiot.”

Violet smiled despite herself. “It’s hard for her. She has eleven children. She has to think of them first.”

“Mmm.”

“She’s never done well with dark secrets,” Violet said. “When our father passed away, she managed to convince herself the circumstances were quite different than they actually were.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s a lot to put on her,” Violet continued. “After all she went through with Father, to ask her to accept this?”

He turned her around to face him, leaning in so that his nose brushed hers. “Violet,” he said softly, “there is a massive difference between a man committing suicide and a woman discovering the secret of all biological life. Both cause upheaval, but one is a cause for mourning; the other is a reason to celebrate.”

“But—I’m still breaking an inviolate social rule.”

“Which one?” Sebastian asked with interest.

“The one that says that women should not think of certain things, should not discuss them in public.” She swallowed.

“Ah, the rule that says that women aren’t allowed to be intelligent.” He brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Burn that one to the ground, Violet, and dance on the ashes. And damn anyone who tells you it’s
selfish
to do so.”

She couldn’t help herself. She smiled at him. His hands slid down her shoulders, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake.

“Burn it all, sweetheart.”

She was being seduced—thoroughly seduced. His fingers curled around her ribs, bringing her close to him. Her heart pounded; her hands prickled.

“And what do you think?” she whispered.

“I’ll douse the lot in paraffin oil.” His breath was warm against her lips; his hands hot, resting against her hips. “I’d tell you to fetch a match, but you have always had your own spark.”

Violet’s entire being lit up, canting toward him. She yearned to touch him back, to run her hands through the dark curls of his hair. Her body wanted his, wanted him with the quiet, seductive beat of her pulse, the liquid heat that began to gather as he stroked her side.

But she remembered these stages all too well. She knew what it meant to be cajoled. And she couldn’t stop that jolt of fear running through her, that flesh-deep memory of what followed passion.

She let out a shaky breath and caught his hand in hers. “Sebastian.” She let out a breath. “I can’t do this.”

He froze, his hands stilling on her.

“Do what?”

“Be…seduced.” She gulped in a breath. “Particularly by so effective a rake as yourself.”

“A rake.” He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “You say that as if
rake
was an identifiable species.”

“I know a rake when he kisses me,” she said darkly.

He took his hand from hers and set it deliberately on her hip; his fingers warmed her skin beneath her gown. “It’s not that easy.” His thumb started a little caressing motion, a tiny circle that distracted her. “You have to consider rake phylogeny.”

“Rake
phylogeny?”
Violet narrowed her eyes at him. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to distract me with science.”

“Of course I am.” He winked at her. “And it’s going to work.”

“You’re trying to distract me with
falsified
science,” Violet accused. “Raking is a learned behavioral trait, not a species designation.”

“Hear me out for now. The thing is, I think you have me confused with
rakus indifferentus:
the rake whose goal is to plunder as many women as he can, indifferent to everything except whether the hole he utilizes is tight and wet. This sort of rake cares nothing about risk. Pregnancy is irrelevant; the woman’s feelings or reputation—indeed, her consent—is of no concern to him. If he can get between her legs, he will.”

“I am making a list of all the things that are wrong with your species classification.”