Page 15 of My Darling Mr. Darling
Violet pursed her lips, lifting her chin. “Your posture is deplorable. Back straight, if you please, with the soles of your shoes upon the floor.” His grin faded as he realized that she did not intend to allow him to continue as he had been. Slowly he adjusted himself in his chair, and if his posture was not quiteperfect, it was still a vast improvement.
“Good,” she said, and proceeded with a vague gesture to the plate balanced on his knee. “You’ve hoarded the biscuits,” she said, “leaving too few for the other gentlemen present.Don’t,” she snapped when, sullenly, he made to replace the biscuits upon the tray. “That would be an evenworsebreach of etiquette.” For the first time since these men had arrived, she felt in control. She had wrested it back, made them sit up and take notice. She held their attention as if it were clutched in her fist, and that conferred no small amount of power.
“Have you a valet?” she asked of Mr. Mitchell at last.
He frowned. “Of course not. What would I do with—”
“What every other man of good breeding does with one.Getone, Mr. Mitchell, because if you turn up here tomorrow as unkempt as you have today, you will not be admitted.”
Her ire settled on Mr. Mitchell like a shroud, and to her delight and satisfaction, he was the first to flinch. The stiff, hostile atmosphere lifted at last, and without any additional power plays from Mr. Mitchell, who seemed to have learned the lesson that Violet would not be bullied or condescended to.
And when at last Davis cleared his throat—the signal that time as winding to a close—Violet found that she had very much enjoyed playing her part. Commandeering the attention of the gentlemen assembled within the drawing room was the closest thing to powerful she had felt in years.
∞∞∞
“Someone broke into my house a few nights ago,” John said, as the gargantuan butler’s fierce stare bored holes into his back. The other gentlemen—the odious Mr. Mitchell included—had vacated the premises already, but he had hung back, lingering over the last of his tea, though it had long since grown cold.
“How unfortunate,” Violet said, her voice even and guileless. “Though I cannot guess why you would be telling me this. I would suggest you take your concerns to the proper authorities instead.”
Little liar. But still he could admire the smooth, indifferent cadence of her voice. It was an art she had perfected; lying. He did not hold it against her. She had had to do a great deal of it by sheer necessity. What justice was there in condemning an action undertaken for survival, when he had forced her into it?
She had comported herself well today. Had he not known better, he would have thought she had had years and years of experience taking reluctant students in hand, parceling out praise and admonishment in turn as necessary. Most of them—especially the youngest two, Simmons and Collins—had wanted to please her. Except for Mitchell, who had tried to make himself detestable and succeeded admirably, the rest of them had hung on her every word, seeking the praise she doled out so sparingly.
Hehad hung on her every word, for all the good it had done him. She’d paid him no attention at all, except to chide him for his interference. But if disapproval was all he would get from her, even that could be wrought to his advantage.
“Hmm,” he said. “It’s the damnedest thing. My butler—Wentworth, if you recall him—swore he had seen a ghost.”
Her back stiffened, and one of those little curls that she had so carefully pinned into a neat bun tore itself free to dangle near her ear. “Language, Mr. Darling,” she chided.
He coughed into his hand. “From what I have heard from Grey, there’s very little I could say with which you aren’t already familiar.” She was scowling again, those perfect cupid’s bow lips turned down in disapproval. “He mentioned something about an embroidery project, I believe.”
“It is the height of hypocrisy to censure Mr. Mitchell for his language only to then disregard any circumspection in your own,” she announced.
“Hmm,” he said again, watching her brows wing up, reflecting her agitation.
She pressed her lips together—opened them—closed them again—and at last said, “Sir, far be it from me to suggest you have overstayed your welcome...”
John canted his head to the right, ignoring the stalwart butler who had encroached upon his space; a threatening presence at his back meant to urge him toward the door. But he said nothing.
At last, Violet ground out between clenched teeth, “But you have overstayed your welcome.” Those stormy-sea eyes cast tempests at him, as if she thought she could drown him with only a well-chosen look.
“Ah,” he said. “Until tomorrow, then. At a quarter of one,” he specified, and watched a guilty little flush gild her cheeks. And then, as he stepped over the threshold, he paused long enough to say, “I can’t be certain what my little housebreaker might have been seeking, of course—but I suspect something of note might be found in the top leftmost drawer of the desk in my office.”
And he had perhaps half a second to see the surprise that flitted across her face, before Davis slammed the door in his.
Chapter Six
“I’ll never get it,” Violet grumbled as she worked the tools in the lock on her bedroom door as Serena stood nearby, quietly sipping a glass of the fine French brandy she so favored. Meanwhile, Violet had lost the feeling in her legs and was swiftly going cross-eyed as she concentrated on the lock. “I can’t even recall which ones I’ve already tested. Are you certain I’m doing this correctly? I feel so foolish—”
“Patience,” Serena interjected sweetly, and an infuriating smile—a smirk, really—played about her mouth. “I’ve tried it already, so I know you can do it, too.”
Violet snorted. Patience had never been a virtue which she had cultivated with any degree of regularity. “I don’t see why you had to take my key,” she groused. “Iwouldlike to go to sleep at some point, you know—”
“Patience,” Serena repeated. “‘Necessity is the mother of invention,’” she quoted. “Sometimes desperation can drive us to greater heights than we might have achieved otherwise.”
“But I’m notinventing,” Violet retorted. “I’m simply trying to getin.” With a muted sound of disgust, she extracted the queer-looking tool from the lock and tossed it to the floor beside the others. Serena had tried to explain to her how these implements worked, but Violet knew that her eyes had glazed over as Serena had spoken ofwardsand opined onfeeling out the lock.
Serena gave a soft laugh, hiding her smile behind her glass. “At least you’ve got the benefit of sight,” she said. “Grey made me do it blindfolded.”