Her Best Worst Mistake (2 page)

“
There. All done.”

Martin’s gaze flicked to the rear view mirror for the
first time since she’d started changing. She felt his censure as he
took in her new outfit, but he didn’t say a word.

“
Won’t you be cold?” Elizabeth asked
worriedly.

“
Not once I start
dancing.”

Elizabeth had twisted to face her and her eyes became
wistful for a few seconds. “Remember that party we had just before
we graduated? I could barely walk the next day I danced so
much.”

“
I remember, party animal. The
miracle is that you do.”

The car slowed to a halt. Violet glanced out and saw
the familiar red, white and blue sign of the Tube station.

“
Can I leave my dress with you, E?”
she asked as she reached for the door handle.

“
Sure. I can drop it by the boutique
on Monday if you like.”

“
There’s no rush. But if you do come
over, we can have lunch and discuss your hen’s night. We need to
decide how many strippers to hire.”

In her peripheral vision she saw Martin roll his
eyes. Hiding a smile, she slid from the car, slipping into her coat
again.

“
Thanks for the lift,
Martin.”

“
A pleasure, as always, Violet,” he
lied.

She laughed as she shut the door. The moment she
stepped to the curb he was gone, the car powering into the cold
night. She stared after them for a moment.

He hadn’t looked once, even though there’d been
moments there when she’d been almost naked.

Mr. Honorable to the end.

She turned toward the station, annoyed with herself.
It wasn’t as though she’d wanted him to look. He was Elizabeth’s
fiancé, for God’s sake.

And yet....

There was something
so...
controlled
about him. From the moment she’d first met him she’d felt it—a
sort of determination to prove he was worthy. Or something like
that.

Suddenly it struck her that in many ways he was the
male version of Elizabeth, who was also a master of the art of self
control and people pleasing. Two peas in a perfect, tidy little
pod.

Two people playing a part that
ought to come naturally but doesn’t. Two people who don’t really
know each other. Not in the ways that count.

Maybe that was why she was disappointed Martin hadn’t
so much as batted an eyelid as she’d stripped in the back of his
car—it would have at least made him human. Would have given her
hope that underneath all that old-before-his-time fuddy-duddiness
was a real person with flaws and faults and feelings.

She descended below street level, her high heels
clattering against the stone steps. The smell of urine hit her as
she made her way through the tiled tunnel. A train was pulling up
to the platform as she arrived and she stepped straight into it.
The carriage was barely a quarter full and she found a seat by
herself and crossed her legs, adjusting her long coat so her legs
were protected from the cold. The announcer told everyone to “mind
the gap” before the train pulled away. Violet stared out the
window, thinking about Elizabeth and Martin and their upcoming
wedding.

It was a mistake, of course. Even though she was
thirty years old, Elizabeth had barely lived. She needed a man who
would challenge and stretch and inspire her, not someone who wanted
to wrap her in cotton wool and admire her from a distance.

As for Martin, she had no idea what he needed—apart
from a ton of TNT jammed up his tightly clenched backside.

She stirred, looking away from the darkness outside
the train. She hated to see her friend settle. Hated watching her
be buried beneath obligation and expectation. Orphaned at a young
age, Elizabeth had spent her life pleasing her elderly
grandparents—her payment of sorts for their kindness in taking her
in. From where Violet sat, Elizabeth was living the life they
wanted for her, not the one she might choose for herself, should
she ever have the option.

And foolish E is going along for
the ride. All the way down the aisle
.

For a moment Violet was filled with an ineffable
sadness. Standing by and watching Elizabeth make such a huge
mistake was going to be one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
But she would do it, because she loved E more than anything, and E
was convinced that Martin would make her happy.

Violet hoped like hell that her friend had the right
of it.

And if she was wrong... Well, Violet would be there
to help her pick up the pieces, as Elizabeth had done for her many,
many times in the past.

Martin tugged his tie loose as he pulled away from
the curb. If he glanced in the rear view mirror, he could watch
Violet grow smaller and smaller until she disappeared altogether
into the distance.

He didn’t. He didn’t want to dwell on her, he was
simply glad she was gone.

Like a burr under his skin, she’d irritated him all
night with her too loud laugh and her bold red hair and look-at-me
dress. For the life of him he couldn’t understand what Elizabeth
saw in the woman.

“
Thanks for doing that,” Elizabeth
said quietly.

He glanced at her as he stopped for a red light. As
usual, she looked graceful and poised. “She’s your friend.”

“
She is. But I know you rub each
other the wrong way.”

He didn’t respond. What could he say, after all? He’d
long since reconciled himself to tolerating Violet for Elizabeth’s
sake.

“
She hates those fundraisers. I
think it reminds her of her family too much. Her step-mother was
always entertaining.”

Again, he didn’t say anything as he turned into his
street and then again into the mews behind the converted Victorian
mansion that housed his apartment. He’d picked up enough hints from
Elizabeth over the years to understand that Violet’s childhood had
not been a happy one. Neither had his, but he didn’t use it as an
excuse to be outrageous and self-indulgent at every turn.

“
Did you change your mind about
going to the bar?” Elizabeth asked as he pulled into his allocated
parking spot.

“
I thought we could walk. It’s just
around the corner.”

“
Oh. Good idea.”

He helped her out of the car, sliding his arm around
her shoulders as they walked.

“
You know, it’s exactly eight weeks
to the big day now,” he said as they left the mews and entered the
street.

There was a small pause before Elizabeth
responded.

“
It is, isn’t it? It’s all gone so
quickly. Amazing, really. When you proposed, I thought six months
was plenty of time to plan a wedding. Shows what I
knew.”

Beneath his arm, her shoulders were stiff with
tension. She’d been tense a lot lately. A little distant, too. It
had been nearly three weeks since she’d stayed a night at his
place—not an ice-age, but a sign, if a person was looking for it,
that all was not as it should be. Especially with a wedding on the
horizon.

“
Everything is going okay? There’s
nothing more I can do?” he asked.

It wasn’t what he wanted to ask, but Elizabeth was
hard to pin down sometimes. She tended to keep things to herself
and puzzle them out on her own. Since it was something he did
himself, he could hardly criticize her for it—but that didn’t stop
him from being frustrated when she kept him at arm’s length.

“
Everything is pretty much taken
care of. Violet has been a rock. I don’t know what I would have
done if she hadn’t kept pointing me in the right
direction.”

He was aware that Violet had put herself at
Elizabeth’s disposal in the lead up to the wedding. He couldn’t
fault Violet for that—she’d been incredibly generous with her time
and energy.

One point in her favor.

“
It looks a little crowded,”
Elizabeth said as they approached the bar.

She shot him a doubtful look. She knew he wasn’t
overly fond of noisy bars and clubs. On the other hand, this had
been Elizabeth’s suggestion, and Violet’s words were still ringing
in his ears.

You should sneak out of here, too, and take E
somewhere fun. Reward her for being such a stoic.

He didn’t like the idea that Elizabeth had simply
been enduring the fundraiser and not enjoying herself. True, he
hadn’t been having a ball himself, but that was beside the
point.

“
I’m sure we can negotiate ourselves
a corner somewhere,” he said.

Elizabeth smiled and he knew he’d said the right
thing. He held the door open and they walked into a dim space with
a low ceiling. As luck would have it, two women were vacating
stools at the bar as he and Elizabeth wove their way through the
crowd and they were able to secure seats immediately.

“
Perfect,” Elizabeth said, glancing
around with bright, interested eyes.

“
Champagne? Brandy?” he
asked.

“
I’ll have a Frangelico on the
rocks, please.” She swiveled in her seat and stood. “I won’t be a
moment.”

She headed for the restrooms. Martin caught the
bartender’s eye and ordered a Scotch for himself and Elizabeth’s
Frangelico. He settled into his seat, glancing around the bar with
the mildest of curiosity. He knew without asking that he had
nothing in common with these people. Almost to a person they were
under thirty, fashionably dressed and out for a good time. They’d
probably never gone hungry in their lives. Certainly they’d never
had to work two jobs to put themselves through University. Like
Violet, they probably took all of life’s gifts for granted.

He frowned, irritated with himself for thinking about
her again. He was fully aware that she enjoyed provoking him—hence
the strip routine in the back of his car. He refused to spare her
another moment’s thought, since it seemed to him that that was what
she wanted—any and all attention she could garner for herself.
Everyone’s eyes on her. Why else would she wear such short skirts
and such high heels? Why else would she have gone to a party
tonight in a tiny black top made of silk so sheer that anyone could
see at a glance that her small, rounded breasts were unhindered by
a bra, her nipples clearly outlined by the soft fabric?

He reached for his drink and glanced over his
shoulder toward the restrooms, willing Elizabeth to return. His
shoulders dropped with relief as she exited the door marked with a
silhouette of a woman. She met his eyes across the bar and the
tight, irritated feeling in his gut and chest eased. He could
tolerate a million Violets if it meant having Elizabeth in his
life.

She was the important thing. Nothing else.

Chapter Two

As it turned out, Violet didn’t get a chance to catch
up with Elizabeth on Monday, but on Tuesday her friend dropped by
Violet’s Notting Hill boutique, Violet Femmes, in the early
afternoon. Violet had just received a shipment of silk scarves from
Cambodia and Elizabeth helped her unpack, press and price the stock
before setting up a display.

Elizabeth was distracted and quiet the entire two
hours, but Violet knew her well enough not to push her to
talk—she’d learned early in their friendship that Elizabeth would
either volunteer what was on her mind all on her own or it would
forever remain a secret. She gave her friend an extra long hug
before she left, however. So E knew she was there for her if she
needed her.

It was past six and she’d shut the doors and was
tidying the shop in preparation for the next day’s trade when
someone hammered on the glass panel of the front door. Wary, Violet
turned off the vacuum cleaner and moved around a display so that
she had a clear view. Elizabeth stood there, her face pale and
streaked with tears.

Alarmed, Violet strode to the front door.

“
E. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” She
drew her friend in out of the icy November night.

“
I didn’t know
where else to come. I was so angry, Vi. I
am
so angry. And just...I don’t
know...sad and surprised and hurt...”

For the first time Violet registered that Elizabeth
was towing a small wheeled suitcase.

Oh boy.

If Elizabeth had left her grandparent’s home,
something big had happened.

“
What’s going on?” she asked
again.

“
When I got home
from seeing you this afternoon the mail was on the hall table. One
of the letters was my birth certificate. I had to order a copy for
the wedding license.” Elizabeth clutched at Violet’s arm, her
expression urgent. “He’s not dead, Vi. My father’s not dead. They
lied to me. John Mason was my
step
father, not my biological father.
All these years... My real father’s name is Sam Blackwell. And
according to my grandfather he’s still alive.”

Violet blinked, trying to take it all in. Elizabeth’s
parents had died in a light plane accident when Elizabeth was just
six years old. “So your mother was married to someone else before
she married John Mason?”

“
No. Not married.
I don’t know what happened, but she and this Sam person definitely
weren’t married. But he’s still my father, Vi. And they lied to me
and let me believe my parents were dead. And Martin
knew
. My grandfather told
him when we got engaged and he’s known all this time and he didn’t
say anything to me. He told me that it didn’t change anything. Can
you believe that?”

Elizabeth’s blue eyes were bright with anger. Violet
slid an arm around her shoulders.