Page 26 of My Darling Mr. Darling
Miss Sarah Earnshaw
Though her real name had been written above—and in larger script than the rest—it was no small shock to see so many of her aliases written out there. So she knew, then, from whom the letter had come. Because while many people had knownoneof her aliases, there was only one other person in the whole of England who knewallof them. She’d never quite worked outhowhe had discovered them, but that had never seemed quite as important as evading him had been.
She had slipped the very tip of her fingernail beneath the edge of the scarlet wax seal before she was even aware of it, but she paused there, considering. The storm swirling around her heart rumbled in peevish irritation. The storm swirling outside the house chose to make itself known then in a single crack of thunder, which was followed by the echoing patter of rain upon the roof. Down in the garden below, roses bobbed their heads with the lash of the rain, looking like chastened children. Tiny rivulets of water slipped down the windowpanes, and Violet’s breath fogged the window.
Notquitepeace, but something close enough. The storm inside receded, soothed by the flash of lightning, the rumble of thunder that rolled over the roof.
Really, what did it matter? It was only a letter. If asked, she could simply deny that she had read it. She had spent so much of her life lying—how heavily could one more weigh upon a soul already overburdened?
The wax peeled away, and Violet unfolded the note, smoothing out the paper in her hands.
Dear Vi,
She rolled her eyes and found herself almost annoyed that she could not take him to task in person for the appalling diminutive.
Apologies, I feel, are better made in person, and so I shall waste neither the space nor your time presently.
Violet snorted. How convenient for him!
You gave Wentworth the devil of a fright some nights past. He was convinced he’d seen a ghost. Perhaps you would be kind enough to pay him a call and assure him that you have yet to depart from the world. You need not await an invitation; the house is more yours than mine.
Violet chewed her lip, uncertain. She had grown up surrounded by the same people who yet worked within her father’s house—Mr. Darling’s house—and of course she had missed them. But who could say whether the offer was in earnest? Perhaps he simply wished to remove her from the security of Serena’s townhouse into a more controlled location.
I am given to understand that flowers are a customary gift, but alas, I do not know your preference. Roses, I think, are too clichéd. Likewise, violets seemed a predictable, tiresome choice. I hope you will enjoy these instead.
Yours,
John
As if on cue, Violet heard Davis’ steps upon the stairs. Likely he’d had to fetch a vase for the flowers and trim the stems to fit. She averted her gaze to stare out into the dark sky, lest she appear somehoweagerto see the flowers that her unwanted husband had sent. It wouldn’t do to give Davis the wrong impression.
As Davis stepped into the room, Violet sniffed, swiped her sleeve across her nose, and folded the letter to tuck it into her pocket. Her eyes had begun to sting and water, which was curious, because she wasn’t feeling even the least bit sentimental.
A horrifying thought arose.
Oh,no.No, it couldn't be.
“Here you are, miss,” Davis said. “Bit of an odd choice, but charming, I think.” He thrust the bouquet toward her.
Daisies. Dozensof them, bobbing their innocent white heads at her. How such an unassuming, modest little flower could contain such treachery, she did not know.
She clapped her hands over her nose and mouth. “Take them away,” she mumbled through her fingers. “Right now.”
Davis’ bushy brows descended over his eyes in confusion. “Beg pardon, miss?”
She lowered her fingers, drew a breath to repeat her request—and sneezed violently.
And sneezed again.
Andkeptsneezing.
Chapter Ten
When John arrived at the gentlemen’s club that he, Alex, and Grey patronized, he was not surprised to find Alex already waiting, sitting in a cozy corner that lent itself to privacy. Hewassurprised to find Grey seated with him, given that Grey had expressed to the both of them that, since he and Serena were yet newly married, he expected to find himself at home with his wife a great deal.
The pair of them seemed to be snickering, as if they had just shared a good joke, and they were none too quiet about it. Another patron—an older gentleman with jowls that would have rivaled a basset hound’s—muttered something unflattering beneath his breath, and then sent a disapproving glance over the top of his newspaper. Predictably, as soon as he realized he’d directed that disapproval toward the Duke of Davenport and the Marquess of Granbury, he slipped back behind his newspaper once more and sought to make himself invisible.
Which was not to say that either Alex or Grey had paid the man the least bit of attention. In fact, they did not even notice John’s approach until he had arrived at the side of the table, where the last chair remained free.