An Heiress for All Seasons (The Debutante Files #1.5)(2)

“Indeed? Then how do you come to be in England, on the marriage mart, touted as one of the wealthiest heiresses of the Season?”

“Oh, Aurelia,” Lady Peregrine collapsed back on the settee. “Must you say these things?”

Mama still sat there, unspeaking, her mouth agape.

“How does anything come to be?” Violet fluttered a hand in the air philosophically. “A good many things happen without planning or consent. I wager no one consulted you before dubbing you a termagant.”

Silence descended on the room. Only the clock on the marbled mantle could be heard issuing its barest ticks. Mama’s eyes were enormous in her face. That wide-eyed stare darted toward the door as though anticipating they would soon be booted through it.

Then, all at once, Aurelia arched her neck and laughed. “Oh, she would be a brilliant match for Will.”

Lady Peregrine released a sigh and nodded. “I thought as much.”

Mama grinned like a madwoman. “Indeed! You think so? Truly?”

“Oh, indeed.” Aurelia nodded, her dark chestnut curls bouncing.

Violet sipped from her cup, muttering in a low breath, “Is everyone in this room stark raving mad with the exception of myself?”

Apparently her words did not go completely unheard. Aurelia only laughed harder. “Oh, I cannot wait for Will to meet you. Remember to be yourself.”

Could I be anyone else?

Shaking her head, she resisted arguing that it would not matter. They would not be a brilliant match. She would not live in England. She would not marry some stuffy nobleman who thought he was better than everyone else simply because he was born with a title. She was going back to America. Back to her Mr. Weston.



The rest of the day passed in a blur. They were shown to their rooms and permitted to rest before dinner. Violet allowed her maid, Josie, to dress her in a gown Mama selected. An elaborate deep gold confection that Mama swore made her hair appear more blond than brown. She stared at herself in the mirror, not seeing that it made much difference. Everything about Violet was just in between. Hair in between brown and blond. Eyes not quite green or brown. Just a muddy hazel. Not quite tall nor short. Neither beautiful nor ugly. Just in between.

Before venturing down to dinner, Violet stood before the double doors of her bedchamber and admired the landscape. The moon was bright tonight and seemed to reflect light off the pristine white landscape. She had a perfect view of the stables and itched to go down and examine the horseflesh. Lady Peregrine mentioned they possessed a vast stable. Perhaps in the morning, she could beg a tour.

Another sigh escaped her lips. The house really was lovely. As was Lady Peregrine. Even Aurelia had turned out to be quite friendly. It would not be so bad a place to spend the holiday, she decided. She merely had to keep the earl at arm’s distance and in no way encourage him. Hopefully, he would not be so desperate for her dowry that he proposed on the first night. That would make for an awkward visit. She could visualize him so well in her mind. Like so many noblemen she had met upon arriving in England. Pasty-white and soft all over. Palms that perspired when they danced and breath that reeked of garlic. She winced. Perhaps this would be an unbearable holiday after all.



To her relief, the earl did not make an appearance at dinner. Lady Peregrine could not hide her consternation. Even Aurelia looked annoyed.

“I was hoping to witness his reaction upon meeting you,” Aurelia grumbled as they walked together down the corridor on the way to their bedchambers. “It would have been entertaining to say the least.”

“I doubt it would have been very diverting. I’m really not that interesting.”

Aurelia arched an eyebrow somewhat skeptically, stopping before Violet’s door. “We shall see. Good night, Violet.” She pressed a kiss to her cheek unexpectedly.

“Oh. Good night.” She watched the girl move down the corridor and disappear inside her chamber before stepping inside her own room. Her maid soon arrived to help her undress for the night.

Alone in the vastness of her lavish chamber, she laced her fingers over her stomach and stared up into the dark. She wondered how many people over the centuries had slept in this room, in this very bed. Now she was here. An American whose ancestors could very well have been serfs on this grand estate.

And Mama expected her to marry this earl? Some pompous lordling who hadn’t even seen fit to make an appearance yet. A wave of homesickness washed over. She missed the simple life she had left behind. Reading aloud after dinner to her Papa before the fire. And Mr. Weston with his kind, warm eyes. Always so kind. So respectful. She had to beg him for their first kiss, and even after that he still insisted on addressing her as Miss Howard. When Papa declined his suit and Mama announced their trip he had vowed to wait for her. To be faithful to her for all of his days even if that meant standing by as she married another man.

She sat up in the dark with an angry huff, flinging the counterpane back on the bed. She would not marry another man. She’d return home and eventually Papa and Mama would see just how perfect she and Mr. Weston were for each other. They’d relent. They had to.

Rising to her feet, she strode to the window again and stared out at the night, at the dark shape of the stable. A light glowed from within. Stable hands, no doubt.

Making up her mind, she fetched her boots and slipped them on. Finding her heaviest cloak, she put it on as well, burying herself in its ermine-trimmed folds. Pulling the hood over her unbound hair, she slipped from her chamber. The castle was as silent as a tomb. A doorman slept in a chair near the door, snoring softly, oblivious to her departure.