Leo sighed. “You make it sound like the easiest thing in the world to change their opinion.”
“I do not imagine it will be easy,” Mrs. Gunderson said. “However, nothing will change unless you try. Her Grace would not have wanted you to continue like this. She would want you to visit the village and learn the needs of your people.”
Leo felt a pang in his chest. No, Lydia would not want him to live like this. Mrs. Gunderson was entirely correct, which made the situation even worse. “I shall find an occasion to visit the village,” he said. “It may take some time.”
Mrs. Gunderson did not look as though she believed him. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. For a heartbeat, they merely stared silently at one another, engaged in a silent battle of wills, waiting to see who would relent first. Then, Mrs. Gunderson smiled, and Leo felt a tightness curl in his chest. This did not bode well for him.
“I have thought of the perfect occasion,” she said.
“Have you?”
Mrs. Gunderson nodded. “The village’s Harvest Dance is a few weeks away.”
Leo furrowed his brow. He and Lydia had attended the Harvest Dance once. It had been an enjoyable event, joyful and enthusiastic. The Harvest Dance was quite different from the usual subdued events that the ton favored.
“And what?” Leo asked. “My presence would only ruin the festivities. I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Gunderson, but I am quite certain that the villagers would not appreciate my presence at such a joyous celebration.”
Mrs. Gunderson pressed her lips into a thin line, her expression conveying her great disappointment in him. Leo felt vaguely like a boy again, caught engaging in some mischief that he should not have. Usually, that mischief involved Lydia, and before her, the odd barmaid or lady of the night.
“I shall consider it,” he said, making an effort to sound appropriately conciliatory. “You are right, as always.”
“I am pleased to hear you finally admit that. Now that I have said my piece, I shall resume my work for the day.”
After Mrs. Gunderson took her leave, Leo let himself slump once more against the cushions of the settee. His first instinctive thought was to do nothing. The villagers thought him a murderer. Why would hewantto become acquainted with such people, especially in any intimate way?
Even if all of Mrs. Gunderson’s reasons made sense, their potential benefit did not seem to be worth enduring all the gossiping and cruel glares that would surely follow him. It did not seem worth the potential rejections or worse, the fearful compliance.
Still, there was one advantage to attending the Harvest Dance. Villagers usually wore costumes to it, masks included. If he wore a mask, they might not realize who he was. He could invent some story for himself, claim to be a nobleman who was simply passing through the village on his way to Edinburgh.
It seemed like the best compromise between Mrs. Gunderson’s desire for him to acquaint himself with the needs of the villagers and his own desire to remain unknown to them. Leo sighed.
Her Grace would not have wanted you to continue like this.Mrs. Gunderson’s words whirled around in his head, like autumn leaves caught in a breeze.
He would do this because it would please Mrs. Gunderson. He would do this for Lydia. And in the meantime, Leo would burn for the touch of a beautiful woman.
Chapter 4
Violet adjusted the lace mask over her face. It was a dainty creation, made from the trim of an old dress that had belonged to her grandmother. Violet’s gown—a pale yellow garment—was likewise her grandmother’s. Once, the garment with its large skirts had been the height of fashion.
Violet had modified it, making the white into that pale yellow with her marigold blossoms. She had altered the bodice, so it fit her figure better and had brought the neckline more in line with modern fashion. Violet had intended to resemble Queen Mab, the fairy queen of autumn.
With her auburn hair carefully pinned up and decorated with a few buttercups and leaves, she felt as though she had been fairly successful in her goal. Violet turned before the cracked, dusty looking glass and watched as her skirts whirled about her.
“You look beautiful!” Liza exclaimed, her face appearing beside Violet’s own. “Perhaps you will even find your own Prince Charming tonight!”
They were in Liza’s bedroom. Liza’s own “Prince Charming,” Captain John, waited for them in the billiards room, where he was being entertained by Liza’s father.
Liza herself was as lovely as ever, clad in a pale blue gown made to resemble that of a medieval maiden decorated with tiny, embroidered flowers. Her mask was blue with flowers, too. While Violet had decided to dress in an autumnal costume, Liza had taken inspiration from the conclusion of summer and from a tapestry she’d once seen in London.
“We shall see,” Violet replied, taking handfuls of her skirts and twirling them around her.
Shedidfeel like a heroine in a romance novel or a fairy tale, like Cinderella, about to meet her prince. It would be a wondrous night indeed…if she found her prince. Perhaps there would be some young man in the village who would find himself enchanted by her. Shedidlook lovelier than usual, and there was something about the night air which made her feel as if anything in the world was possible.
Violet imagined the mysterious man sweeping her onto the back of a horse and riding away with her into the night. He would take her some place that was wonderful—a castle, maybe—and once there, they would lose themselves in their shared passion. Violet forced down the lump that rose in her throat. It was improper for a young woman to desire such sordid things, much less to reflect on them repeatedly, but still, she did.
“Come on,” Liza said. “Maybe my father will be willing to relinquish my betrothed now, so you can meet him.”
“That would be a treat. I have wanted to make Captain John’s acquaintance since you first spoke of him!”
