How to Be a Proper Lady: A Falcon Club Novel (23 page)

Viola cracked a laugh. Then she remembered her state of undress when Jin had visited her cabin seeking the sextant, and her amusement disintegrated.

“Forgive me, sister.” Serena came to her and touched her on the cheek, a gesture of feminine intimacy their mother used to make that Viola had never forgotten. “I haven’t any notion of how you have been living. I fear I will be very stupid about it all.” Little creases appeared between her brows, her gaze traveling over Viola’s face. “Jinan says you have been at sea for some time.”

Viola put her palm up to her face. “I am very brown, I know.”

“No. I mean to say, you are not brown. But your skin always glowed so beautifully like this when we were girls.”

“So did yours.”

“Not like yours. You were so full of life. Are you still full of life after all these years?”

Viola blinked. “I—I expect so.”

Serena grasped her hands, but Viola could not withhold it any longer.

“Ser, why didn’t you reply to my letters?”

Her sister’s eyes went wide. “What letters?”

“The letters I wrote in those first years.”

She shook her golden head. “There were no letters. I received nothing.”

Viola’s stomach lurched. “No letters?”

Serena gripped her fingers tighter. “You wrote to me?” she whispered.

Viola’s throat seemed filled with pitch. “She must not have mailed them.”

“She?”

“My aunt. I lived with her and her children. I took care of them.” She fought for breath, but Serena cradled her hands to her cheek.

“Vi,” she whispered, “tell me everything. From the beginning.”

S
he began with Fionn, comparing her story to Serena’s. Her father had learned the truth of it; everyone thought her dead except Serena, the dreaming girl prone to invent stories of fairies and knights in shining armor and to whom no one listened. But their mother waited on the cliff side all night in the rain. A fortnight later, without ever mentioning Fionn, she died of fever taken that night.

Serena told her of the baron’s second wife, now gone, and the daughters she had left behind—sixteen-year-old Diantha and little Faith—who still lived at Glenhaven Hall. Charity, the eldest of Serena’s stepsisters, had married, and Serena’s stepbrother, Sir Tracy Lucas, held an estate in Essex. Clearly Serena cherished her three stepsiblings and her half sister Faith, but as she related her tale she grasped Viola’s hands even tighter.

In turn, Viola narrated her story, including Aidan’s part in it. In the safety of her sister’s affectionate interest she again felt the comfort of his affection that had borne her through the worst times when Fionn fell ill and slowly slipped away.

“You care very much for Mr. Castle, don’t you?” Serena asked softly.

“I do.” For she did. It was silly to cast away their past together in blame or disappointment when she had never really pressed him to wed. Instead she had pursued her life aboard ship single-mindedly.

“Where is he now?”

“Didn’t Mr. Seton tell you?”

“I have barely seen him to tell me anything.”

“Mr. Castle traveled with us from the West Indies to Exmouth. He has gone to Dorset to be reunited with his family after many years. He said he wished to make a visit here, if you wouldn’t mind it.”

Serena set down her teacup and grasped Viola’s hand. “Of course I won’t.” She squeezed her fingers. “Vi, what do you say to delaying meeting our father and stepsisters for several days while you and I have a holiday here together? Before Alex returns. Only the two of us.”

“What of Mr. Yale and Mr. Seton?”

“Mr. Yale will be perfectly happy entertaining himself, and Jinan will likely be leaving tomorrow anyway. He never remains long here, or anywhere I daresay.” She smiled conspiratorially. “We shall have the house nearly to ourselves.”

Viola’s belly felt hollow. But the warmth in her sister’s gaze filled some of the emptiness.

“That sounds wonderful.”

S
he slept that night on the divan. There was nothing to be done about it; the bed was simply too large, too soft, and too motionless, and she could not get comfortable. To spare her sister’s feelings, in the morning she mussed up the bed linens, and while her maid fussed with her hair she sat on the laced-scalloped pillow to make it appear used. Jane’s lips remained pursed throughout.

“I have a sore . . . back,” Viola mumbled.

“Of course, miss.” Jane twitched a few more strands of hair into place.

“Ouch!”

“You don’t think Her Ladyship fidgets about while her maid is fixing her hair, do you?”

Viola glared into the mirror. “Aren’t you supposed to be a servant?
My
servant? Did you speak like this to Mr. Seton when he hired you? Did he get references?”

“No and yes, miss.” Her lips looked as small and wrinkly as a raisin.

When Jane completed her ministrations Viola peered at her reflection and nearly laughed. Or wept.

Scrunching up her nose, she snatched out every pin from the tidy coiffure, took up the brush, and tore through her hair. When the mass of waves was once more thoroughly distressed, she bound it in a queue, poked her nose in the air, and passed Jane by to march from her chamber and descend to the breakfast parlor.

She got lost. Along the way three different footmen had to give her directions. She finally arrived a bit dizzy and without any idea of how she had gotten there. But it was a very pretty chamber. Two footmen flanked it and glimmers of sunlight twinkled in through the tall windows.

“Good morning, Miss Carlyle.” Mr. Yale set down his newspaper and rose from the table to bow.

Standing by the window, Jin turned to her and nodded in greeting.

A cloud took up residence in Viola’s head. He did not bow
now
when they were in an earl’s house, but he had
aboard ship
? He was a detestable tease, and simply seeing him again after weeks of his absence was like being marooned upon an island, then slaking her thirst on fresh water.

His gaze flickered along her shirt, waistcoat, and breeches, and a ghost of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. She got weak all over. On the outside, except for the weapons sash she’d packed away, she still looked like a sailor. But inside she felt like one of those French cream puffs Serena had pressed on her after dinner the night before. And, oh, God, it felt
good
to be a cream puff. For so long she had toughened her insides to iron, but she had never truly liked it. It was not in her nature.

It was in her nature, however unfortunately, to fall in love with men who did not love her. He must go away. He simply must. Then she might enjoy this sojourn among the lives of the rich and powerful much better.

“I thought you would have left by now.”

He lifted a brow. “I intend to shortly. I hoped I might take breakfast first.”

She felt shaky. Foolish foolish foolish. “Where are you going?”

Mr. Yale chuckled. “That is rather like asking a shark what he plans to eat for dinner. Mr. Seton ever goes where he will, Miss Carlyle, and none of us is ever the wiser for it. Isn’t that right, my friend?”

Jin moved to the sideboard and took up a cup. “Hoping to track my movements, Yale?” He poured a cup of coffee. “I imagined you finished with that sort of thing.”

“Old habit.” Mr. Yale waved it off. He drew out a chair for her. “May I command one of these fine fellows to make you a selection of delicacies, Miss Carlyle?” He gestured to the footmen.

Viola’s stomach was in knots and a little queasy from all the cream puffs the night before. Rich, sticky cream puffs that could not possibly be good for a stomach accustomed to hardtack and weevil-infested biscuits.

“Tea.” She sat, aware that all four men were watching her. She cleared her throat. “How do you come to know one another, then?”

“An old friend introduced us,” Mr. Yale replied.

“Who?” She stood up to take the teacup and saucer from the footman. Their hands collided, tea sloshed, and her cuff and his white glove turned brown. “Oh! I’m sorry!” She snatched up a napkin and dabbed at his hand.

“It’s nothing, miss,” he mumbled, his cheeks fiery red.

“Oh. I should not have— But I’m so sorry.”

The servant bowed and retired from the room. Mr. Yale moved to the sideboard and poured from the teapot. “Viscount Gray made us known to one another. A serious, responsible fellow, but a good sort nevertheless. And as he allowed me the acquaintance of our seafaring friend here, he has indirectly given me yours, for which I can only be grateful.” He placed a steaming cup beside her, smiling kindly.

“I can’t imagine your flattery is sincere, Mr. Yale,” she mumbled.

“Perfectly sincere, Miss Carlyle,” he rejoined. “It is not every day a man has the good fortune to admire a lovely lady who has done something useful with her life. Your delightful conversation about your ship yesterday positively sped the journey along.”

“Thank you.” She flickered a glance at Jin. He seemed to be staring into his cup. “I must admit I am not even certain of what we conversed, although I liked that story you told about how Lord Savege’s sister met her husband while trapped at an inn in a snowstorm. But . . . I was tired, I suppose.” Rather distracted, thinking of the man riding behind the carriage and how she might purge her heart of him.

“Ah, yes. We did take the journey at an unusually speedy clip. Our mutual friend here is a punishing fellow, with very little regard for the wishes of anybody else, let alone a lady.” Mr. Yale spoke in his perpetually amused tone. “Beastly, s’truth.”

She met his gaze and something other than sardonic teasing colored it. Then, with clear intention, he slipped it across the chamber to Jin.

“There you are!” Serena swept into the parlor wearing a wide smile and a gown of sea blue muslin trimmed in lace. She grasped Viola’s hand and peered at her damp sleeve. “What have you been doing, Mr. Yale? Throwing tea at my sister? You knave.”

“I like the medieval ring of that.” He grinned, narrowing his gray eyes. “Miss Carlyle, if I claim the role of knave, would you consider playing the part of the damsel in distress? You might reform me, you know, and then your sister will look upon me with greater mercy.”

She wished she could smile, but it would not come. “Mr. Yale did not spill the tea, Ser. I did, of course.”

“It doesn’t matter in the least who did it, but you mustn’t be made to wear it for a moment longer. Come, darling.” She drew Viola from her chair. “You will change, then we will take our breakfast on the terrace. It has the view of the sea and the breeze is lovely this morning so we shan’t be overly warm.” She tucked Viola’s damp arm against her side. “Jinan, Mr. Button tells me you have ordered your horse brought around already. Must you leave so soon? At least remain until Alex returns from London.”

Jin bowed. “I regret, my lady, that I have business to attend to in town.”

Viola’s heart clenched. He sounded so
English
. And so strangely formal.

“Always business,” Mr. Yale murmured, “despite vows and pronouncements.”

“I beg your pardon, Yale. I do not recall making any pronouncements.”

“You noticeably fail to include ‘vows’ in that denial.”

“That I do. But you are no doubt boring the ladies with this line of speech. Lady Savege, if you please, convey to your husband that I shall return when I am able, and look forward to it.”

“Excellent.” Serena squeezed Viola’s hand. “Shall we go then?”

Viola nodded. He was looking directly at her. That he said he would return meant little; he could intend a sennight’s absence or a year’s.

This was good-bye.

She made her tongue form words. “Have a safe journey,” she only managed.

He bowed now, but said nothing, his bearing quite still. Tears gathered thick at the back of her throat. She dragged her gaze away and went with Serena.

“Ser,” she said when they were ascending the steps to the upper story. “I would like a new gown. Perhaps a few gowns. Is there a shop nearby at which I might purchase some?”

“But of course. Whatever you wish. But I won’t hear of you going to a shop. We will have the modiste in from Avesbury. She makes the loveliest frocks in Devonshire. It will be great fun dressing you up as I used to do when we were children. You never did care much what clothing you wore so long as you could run about comfortably in it.”

Viola took a deep breath. “And I should like you to teach me how to be a proper lady.”

Serena’s brow knotted. “But, Vi, you already are a—”

“No, I am obviously not. If I ever even learned the things a lady must know I have forgotten all of it.” She set her shoulders. “But I should like to learn how to be one and try it out before I decide whether it will suit me.”

“Whether it will suit you?” Serena’s voice hitched. “Are you planning to return to America then? Soon?”

Viola grabbed both her hands. “No. No. I don’t know for certain. Really. Though I do
wish
to remain here with you. But, you see I have left my entire life behind, my ship and crewmen and— But never mind that. Ser, you must teach me to be a lady. I promise I will be an apt pupil.” As she had learned to hoist a sail and rig a boat, she would learn this. Fifteen years ago throwing herself into mastering sea craft had been the only way she’d borne the loss of her family and life at Glenhaven Hall and the knowledge of her mother’s death.