Haunting Violet
Page 19

That was my first mistake.
The second was that when she surreptitiously reached back and yanked on my elbow, I let out a most unbecoming yelp, like a monkey tumbling from a tree.
And third, I dropped my plate.
Or rather, I threw it.
It sailed out of my hand and I could only watch in horror as it proceeded to make its descent. Jam-covered toast turned over once, twice … and landed on Xavier’s shoulder with a most undignified splat. The eggs rained onto the floor and the bacon slid across the pristine white tablecloth, leaving grease stains like skating grooves on an icy pond. There was a shocked silence before the ladies all gasped in unison, as if they’d just been thrown underwater. Mother sent me a glare, and Tabitha’s laughter trilled out, delicate as a mockingbird’s song.
“I’m—” My voice was more of a croak. Why did Tabitha get to sound like a songbird while I imitated a toad? And was it entirely too late to crawl back into bed and refuse to come out?
“I’m terribly sorry,” I finally managed to say as Xavier stood to wipe at his sticky shoulder with a napkin. Tabitha rose as well and all but purred.
“Oh, how dreadfully clumsy,” she said. “I would be simply mortified. I would just die.” She smiled at Xavier. “Let me help you with that.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again before fleeing the room. I stopped in the empty hallway, pressing my back to the silk-papered wall. Embarrassed, I closed my eyes. At least the pounding in my head had been reduced to a dull ache.
I wish Elizabeth had been there; it might have seemed a little funnier then. I’d probably laugh about it later. I’d laugh harder if I’d managed to smear jam in Tabitha’s ringlets. That, at least, would have been amusing and worth the mortification. When the same event involved the handsome young man who was tentatively courting you, it rather lost some of its humor. I’d never seen Mother’s eyes go so round. Lady Ashford’s forkful of jellied fruit had landed on her plate with a plop, and Frederic’s tea had shot straight out of his nose.
It took me a moment to realize I was giggling. I pressed my fist to my mouth but the giggles wouldn’t be stifled. Tears sprung to my eyes as I struggled to catch my breath. If there was a slight hysterical tint to my laughter, I decided not to notice. Laughing was still preferable to the panic, holding it at bay like an angry dog on a chain.
“Miss Willoughby.”
I was still chortling like a deranged goose. My eyes flew open.
“Miss Willoughby, are you quite well?”
I just laughed harder when I realized it was Lord Jasper himself standing there in front of me, with his white hair and his polished boots. He was smiling quizzically.
“I’m so sorry,” I squeaked. “I ruined your … tablecloth … and …” I kept having to pause, trying to breathe properly. “And … Mr. Trethewey’s … frock coat!”
For some reason it made me laugh even harder. Lord Jasper chuckled as I fought to regain my hopelessly lost demeanor. I wiped at my eyes.
“It can all be cleaned, I assure you,” he said. “And I’m delighted, I must say, to see you haven’t succumbed to a fit of the vapors and taken to your bed as many a young ninny has.”
“Thank you.” I’d always liked Lord Jasper. I liked him even more now. “I must have … tripped.”
“Hmmm.”
“I’m very clumsy,” I assured him cheerfully. That, at least, was the truth.
“You needn’t protect Miss Wentworth,” he said dryly. “I saw the remarkable angle her elbow took as she jostled you.” He arched his brow, motioning for me to walk with him. The thump of his silver-tipped cane was soothing. “She’s had rather a hard time of it.”
I remembered Rowena, her bloated face and the lilies in her hair. It was my turn to make a noncommittal noise. “Mm-hmm.”
“Do be patient with her.” He turned a corner and stopped a few doors down the hall. “I thought you might enjoy the library.”
I couldn’t stop the appreciative gasp. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves, crammed with books of all sizes. He smiled indulgently.
“I knew I sensed in you a fellow bibliophile.”
“Mother doesn’t like me to read as much as I do,” I remarked with a sigh.
He winked. “Then we shan’t tell her, shall we? It will be our secret. Feel free to borrow any of these volumes during your stay at Rosefield.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. A rope of diamonds would have been less precious to me. And then, even though it was dreadfully improper, I stood on the tip of my toes and pressed a light kiss on his weathered cheek. He patted my shoulder gruffly.
I made a slow circle, drinking it all in. The hearth was deep, bracketed with two wide green leather chairs. I could have sworn I saw the shape of a woman, heard the rustle of cloth, the clink of a teacup. I could smell flowers, lemon.
“That was your wife’s favorite chair,” I said softly. “She drank lavender tea and read in it almost every night.”
I didn’t know what made me say it. I cringed when his gaze went heavy and intense. There was sorrow there, and speculation.
“She did,” he confirmed.
I blushed. I felt like a fool, more so than at breakfast. “I shouldn’t have—” I didn’t want him to think I was like my mother.
“What else do you see, child?”