Page 82 of My Darling Mr. Darling
“Oh, Vi.” His hand cupped the back of her head, mussing her carefully pinned curls. “I promise you, you’re the only one who thinks that. Do you know how much you did for those women? How much they admire you for it?”
“Admire?” She choked on the word, a derisive laugh clawing at her throat. “Iran—I ran, and I didn’t even try to help them. I just—Ileftthem!” It hurt simply to say it aloud, as if some secret, shameful portion of her heart had burst open, leaving her broken and bleeding. Every word revealed the guilt she had so carefully concealed, forced to the back of her mind to make it bearable. How very weak she had been, how shallow her will, how she had allowed fear to rule her life…how she had allowed it to ruin the lives of others.
“What could you have done? By your own admission, you could barely save yourself.” John crooned the words, and his voice was so sincere that she could almost—almost—believe him. “Vi, you were never at fault, and I can promise you that no one blames you. These woman—they have been waiting to meet you again. To thank you for all you did for them.” He drew away far enough for a breath, his palm settling between her shoulder blades, and she relished the steadying pressure of it. “Now, will you come with me and meet them?”
She felt her fingers tighten around his desperately. “John, I’m so frightened,” she whispered, and for once it didn’t feel like weakness to admit it. As if she could lay the weight of that statement across his strong shoulders and let him carry the burden of it for her.
For all that her fingers had to be crushing his, he squeezed back. “I’ll be with you. Come,” he said. “Come meet them, your friends. They’ve always been that, Vi, even when you didn’t know it.”
Even if a not-insignificant part of her wished only to run away, a greater part of her trusted in John’s judgment—and held on to the frantic hope that he wasright, that she had judged herself too harshly. That perhaps the burden of guilt that she had shouldered so long might at last be shed. And so she allowed him to lead her to the upstairs sitting room that Serena had designated for her classes.
She heard the sounds of clinking china as they approached, muted laughter spilling out of the open door. John preceded her, rapping on the door jamb to catch the attention of the room that was filled with women—Serena, the duchess, and a few other ladies, whose idle conversation ceased the minute John led her across the threshold. For a moment she could say nothing at all, as if her tight throat refused the passage of words. But John squeezed her hand, and the tension that had gathered in her shoulders eased fractionally, the lump in her throat easing.
“Violet!” Serena said with a warm smile, rising from her seat. “You’ve arrived at last. Here, I want you to meet—”
“Violet.” It came first as a whisper from one woman—Cecily, Violet remembered—her hand pressed to her chest. And then, “Violet!” as another woman rose to her feet—Julia this time, her blond curls bobbing. Samantha rose next, her lips rounded in surprised delight. Tears glinted on her lashes, shining in her honey-brown eyes. For a long moment, no one moved, no one spoke—and then John squeezed Violet’s hand, and he gave a soft nudge to the small of her back.
Violet cleared her throat, and managed to eke out a tinny, “Good afternoon.”
In the space between one heartbeat and the next, she was surrounded.
“Violet, how lovely it is to see you again—”
“I never had the opportunity to thank you—”
“We were all worried so when you disappeared—”
A bubble of emotion swelled up inside of her and burst, spreading the warmth of joy, of relief, to the farthest corners of her heart. These earnest faces surrounding her—none of them had ever resented her. They had borne her no ill will whatsoever. The only person who had ever blamed her for her absence had been herself.
And now, thanks to John, she could finally let it go. She squeezed his hand one more time and released it, and she fancied she heard his sigh of relief as he stepped toward the side of the room, no longer suffocated by the flock of women.
“Julia,” she heard herself say, “You look so lovely in pink. Cecily, it has been so long. Samantha—my goodness, you’ve grown so tall and elegant I hardly recognized you!”
“Ladies, please,” Serena interjected, clapping her hands once to secure their attention. “Let’s allow Violet a bit of breathing room, shall we? We can continue this conversation over tea; we’ve still an hour or so before the gentlemen’s class arrives. Plenty of time to catch up.” She waved one hand to indicate the vacant sofas arrayed in a square formation. “My apologies, Your Grace,” she said to the duchess. “They’re not usually quite so excitable.”
“Under the circumstances,” the duchess said magnanimously, “allowances can be made.”
Cecily threaded her arm through Violet’s as she turned toward the sofa. “You must sit near me,” she pleaded. “And tell useverything. I was always so grateful to you for rescuing me—but you rescued all of us in the end.”
Violet’s bottom hit the sofa cushion with a muffledthumpas her legs wobbled beneath her. “But I didn’t,” she said. “I didn’t—it was John who rescued you.”
“Oh, Violet.” This, from Samantha, who pulled a sympathetic face. “It wasbecauseyou left that Mr. Darling turned the whole school inside out. If you hadn’t—if you hadstayedthere—why, it might be running still.” She reached out to lay her hand over Violet’s. “You saved so many of us. So many more than you know.” A little flutter of laughter escaped her. “How fortunate you are to have a husband who cares so much for you.”
And Violet’s gaze flitted to John, who gave her a small nod of encouragement on his way out the door, content that she could manage her own reunion.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes. I am.”
∞∞∞
“I swear, Grey, if Simmons winks at my wifeone more time—”
Grey chuckled over his glass of champagne. “You’ll do nothing,” he predicted. “Because you wouldn’t dare cause a scene. Not when it would cast a pall over the evening—which has gonesplendidlyso far, by the way—and ruin what Mouse and Violet have worked so hard for these long months.” He took a sip, and offered, “I doubt she’s even noticed Simmons’ attempts to attract her attention, besides.”
And John had to concede that Grey’s assessment was no doubt correct; Violet had had very little attention to spare for Mr. Simmons, given that her time between sets of music was occupied almost exclusively by the cluster of ladies who surrounded her.
Like a veil had been lifted from her, Violet glowed.Glowed, as if some internal light shined from her, and it drew people to her like moths to a flame. For once, she did not shy away from the attention—instead she was open, lively, animated. Comfortable at last in her own skin.
“The eveningisgoing well,” John acknowledged, as he caught sight of Alex wending his way around the outskirts of the room, having conducted his latest dance partner to the refreshment table. “I’m not certain how, exactly, she managed to do it, but Violet has made passable gentlemen of them, and Serena—” Well, Serena had helped a number of fragile, wounded women bloom. Violet included.