Chapter 4: Theme and Variations

They were not long at Kalworth Hall when luncheon was announced. Violet was led by a maid into “the small parlor.” There were Lord Richard, an old woman, and a young one.

“Aunt,” Lord Richard said, “may I present Miss Violet Worden? Miss Worden, Deborah, Dowager Countess Minton, Lady Deborah Minton, her grand daughter and named for her.”

“Milady.” She made a curtsey to the older woman, who nodded graciously. A governess does not curtsey to her charge, and she had not yet refused the position.

They were four at luncheon, quite unbalanced. Lord Richard and Lady Deborah conducted the conversation from two ends of a table which -- if much shorter than the table at the end of which she had eaten (and drunk) dinner the night before -- was awkwardly long for that purpose. The question of her being a governess to the girl did not arise, and neither did the issue of how she could return to London. She followed her father’s old stricture of keeping silence in the presence of her elders and betters.

At the end of the meal, Milady (aunt) -- as Violet had taken to think of her -- got up with more than the formal assistance fro the footman. Then she led the gentlewomen out into a large drawing room and eased herself into an armchair.

“Miss Worden,” she asked, “have you seen the gardens yet?”

“No, Milady.”

“Why do you not allow Deborah to show them to you?” They both had been dismissed quite politely, and she followed the younger Deborah out.

With a little encouragement, the young woman was quite happy to speak about herself. Violet got the impression that she was entering into an exciting new phase of her life, and she was socially obligated to never talk about herself.

“It is so kind of Lord Richard to invite us here, Grandmother and me,” she said. “Mother needs a little time alone. She misses Father so much. I do, as well, of course, and so does Grandmother. He was her son, after all. But we have had our mourning. Mother has had her year, but she needs more. Then, too, Grandmother has been gracious, but Dower House is set up for one Dowager Countess, and there are two you know, Grandmother and Mother. It is awkward.”

She clearly felt no need of a governess, which was no sign that she needed none. On the other hand, when she and her Grandmother had come here, they had left Mamselle in the dower house. Violet discovered that they had arrived after she had received Lord Richard’s letter. His excuse for needing her presence looked more and more dishonest, as did he.

When they returned, Deborah returned to her grandmother, and Violet asked a maid whether they had a harpsichord. The maid led her to the music room.

Playing without being invited to play was presumptuous, but she was willing -- no anxious -- to be presumptuous. She had asked to leave, and Lord Richard had ignored her request. She was quite ready to be thrown out so long as she could be driven to the nearest coaching inn.

The harpsichord was a grand one, with two keyboards and sets of strings. It was elaborately decorated, and the decorations involved a great deal of gold leaf. When she tried a few notes, she decided the instrument had been used to please the eyes rather than the ears. It sounded as though it had not been tuned in years.

The bench contained music and a tuning hammer, but no pitch pipe. Well, she would depend on her ear. She tuned the upper set of strings to the key of C. Then, consulting the selection of music in the bench, she tuned the lower set to A-sharp. She arranged the music so that she could alternate between the keys and began to play.

Lord Richard entered the room while she was playing the second piece. She ignored him; if he objected to her actions, she had greater reason to object to his. Instead, he sat.

He rose when the younger Deborah entered, and again a few minutes later when the older one did. She was happy to see them, not believing that Lord Richard would misbehave in front of his relatives.

When the second piece ended, Lord Richard applauded loudly. His relatives began to follow suit, but Violet swept the music from the rack to the played stack, and the next piece from the other stack to the rack. She began playing at once on the upper keyboard. The applause faded away.

Few of the pieces she had selected were really familiar. Had she expected the audience, she would not have selected them. During one very familiar piece, she could free one part of her mind. She determined her behavior towards the company. The ladies were innocent, and she might have to ask the dowager countess for protection. Lord Richard, whom she had thought to fear no man, seemed to be respectful to this woman. She would be polite to the ladies. She would not speak to the lord except for answers to direct questions, and those curt.

During the last piece, a servant showed in a man younger than Lord Richard. He seemed to know the company, and bowed without speaking. When she was concluding the piece, Lord Richard led him over. He put one knee on the stack of not-played-yet music, so that she could not start another song.

“Milord,” he said, “the lovely source of the lovely music is Miss Violet Worden. Miss Worden, this is Lord John Dalton.” She got up to make her curtsey. This lord, too, she would treat with courtesy.

“Charmed,” said Lord John.

Violet went over to the dowager countess. “Milady,” she said, “I apologize for not greeting you when you entered.”

“Not at all. The concert was lovely.”

Lord John was talking to the younger Deborah. If his statement at being charmed by Violet was formal politeness, his being charmed by the girl was clear. Violet took a chair that did not obscure the grandmother’s line of sight to the couple. Lord John and the younger Lady Deborah were not touching, but they only had eyes for each other.

“She did not have her Season because she was mourning George, her father, last year. She will have her Season come fall. I think she could do very well, do you not?” her grandmother asked.

“She is a quite lovely girl.”

“And the daughter of an earl. You would think she could do better than the heir of a baron. I am not certain that she wants to do better than that heir of a baron.”

“Well, he looks to be a proper young gentleman, and gracious.” Unlike some earls she could mention if she were not speaking to his aunt. “You say that he is the heir.” The wives of heirs have a far more settled future than the wives of second sons.

Lord Richard, apparently deciding that there were two conversations in which he would have no welcome, left the music room. Perhaps because her attention was on the couple, the dowager described the relationships of each of them to Lord Richard.

She was sister to Lord Richard’s mother’s mother. Lord John’s maternal grandfather was brother to Lord Richard’s paternal grandmother.

When it was time to dress for dinner, the dowager asked where Violet’s room was. Violet admitted that she did not know, and the dowager asked the nearest footman. He helped the dowager up the stairs to the first floor, and then escorted Violet up the next flight.

When she got to the room, Violet was only slightly surprised to see Dorcas waiting for her. She owned only one gown suitable for dinner with the peerage, and that had been old when Lady Montraven had given it to her years before. It did require a corset, though. Her new room had only one door, and Dorcas dressed her there. Dorcas had put the clothes away, and took them out as she needed them. She clearly did not think that Violet needed to know where they were.

The door to her room had a keyhole, but there was no key in it. She asked Dorcas to find the key as she went out, but without much hope.

They were unbalanced at dinner, and she was very conscious that she could have dined elsewhere. They ate in the same room as they had for luncheon and she had Lord John on her right. She drew him out, ignoring her host. She asked a footman for a glass of water. She was going to be very careful of how much wine she drank this night.

Lord John spoke with her, but watched the girl across the table. She spared not a glance at the head of the table, but could not avoid being conscious of Lord Richard’s massive presence.

When the gentlewomen had withdrawn, the conversation was necessarily three way.

“Lady Deborah,” she began one sentence to the girl.

“Look,” Deborah replied, “this is an awkwardness we have experienced before. Miss Worden, may I call you ‘Violet’?”

“Certainly.” After all, she was not going to be the young woman’s governess, and they were near enough in ages.

“Then I am ‘Deborah,’ and she is ‘Lady Deborah’.”

A moment after the gentlemen came in, she went up to her room. Dorcas, for once, was not there. She pulled the bell pull, and Dorcas appeared soon enough.

She had been unable to locate the key, but she was quite good at preparing Violet for bed, down to braiding her hair for the night. Violet kept her hair short enough so that was unnecessary, but she enjoyed the service.

She sent Dorcas away with the candle, but Lord Richard was carrying his own when he came in her door.

“I am not speaking to you,” she said. He had not seemed to notice in the previous hours.

“You just did.” He put the candle down on the night stand, and leaned over her face. When she turned her face away, he kissed her ear. Even that was arousing.

“You are infuriating!”

“Yes,” he said. “You, on the other hand, are arousing.” Well, he was arousing. Indeed, when he kissed down her neck, she felt the flames begin.

She turned her head back around, “Don’t!” He kissed her mouth. Although she could taste a bitterness that must have been the cigars, this kiss was more arousing yet. He kept his tongue to himself. Perhaps he guessed that she would bite it when she got a chance. Even though the room was warm, she could feel her nipples firm.

A minute later, he could feel that, as well, for his hand was under the covers and was holding her breast through the night rail. She screamed, but his mouth on hers absorbed the sound. She pushed his arm, but she could have pushed the headboard to more effect.

The heat built, and she felt herself surrendering. He stroked her, and she writhed in the -- so unwelcome but so glorious -- passion. He released her, and she relaxed.

A moment later, he lifted her legs with one arm and swept her nightgown up with the other. He pulled the sheets down to her waist, and her breasts were exposed.

“I shall scream,” she said.

“Much too early.” Then his mouth descended to her breast. He licked and sucked on the nipple, and she did not have breath to scream.

The fire built and built. Still growing, it moved down her body from her breast to the depths of her belly. She writhed more, but she could not escape the fire.

He changed to her left breast and cupped her between her legs. The feeling, which should have been mortification, was somehow both comfort and excitement.

He stroked her, and she stiffened. Her center, quite against her will, rose to press into his hand. She writhed more. Then she stiffened more, and felt as though she were on the edge of some precipice. He left her breast and kissed her mouth.

The fire rushed through her. shaking and twisting her as it went. She realized that she had screamed, but the sound was lost in his mouth. After an eon or an instant, she collapsed.

“I love you,” he said. “I had to hurt you last night, but I swore I would let you heal for one more night.” He pulled down the night rail in front and the blankets up to her neck. “Shall I take the candle?” When she made no answer, he did.

She should have been unable to sleep, but instants later, she felt sleep billowing up over her.

When she rang in the morning, Dorcas brought her a pot of tea, a cup and a bowl of sugar. When she had downed her tea, Violet felt healthy. Physically, she was better than she had been -- not only the previous morning -- but for most of her previous life. Mentally and spiritually, of course, she was still confused.

“It is a wet morning, miss, and it looks to be a cold day. Would you like the green wool dress?” It was the best dress she had ever had made for her, and inappropriate for traveling. Well, she doubted that she would escape this day. If she did, she would have to pack and she could change then.

“Certainly.”

When everybody was leaving the breakfast room, the Dowager asked, “Have you shown Lord John the library, Richard?” And the men went off towards the library. “Dear,” she said at the door to the drawing room, “I might like my gray shawl later today if it gets warm. Would you go up and bring it down to me now? Ring Catherine if you cannot find it.”

Now looking for a shawl was servant work, and the time to fetch it was when the house had warmed up enough to change to it. Still, Deborah went towards the stairs in cheerful obedience.

“Now,” she said when she had settled into a chair, “Miss Worden, I hate to impose, but I am an old woman. Obviously, the two should never be left alone together. Would you mind very much playing the role of chaperone when I cannot?”

“I would be happy.” She liked the woman, liked both Deborahs, and she might need to ask the favor of a ride in their coach to the nearest coaching inn if she had no other escape.

At luncheon and again at dinner, there were water glasses at every place. She risked one look at her host at dinner, and he was smiling with false benignity towards her.

Her room, despite the chill of the day, seemed warm. The fire had more logs than she had ever seen in her room, even in January. After Dorcas had tucked her in for the night and gone, she shifted a heavy chair in front of the door.

When the door opened, it shoved the chair a little way. A hand slipped in and lifted the chair. Lord Richard was wearing a dressing gown. He put the chair back where it had been.

“I heard that you wanted the key,” he said. He turned back to the door and locked it. She did not tell him that she had wanted the key to lock him out. He knew that, and she was still not speaking to him.

He set the candle down on the night stand. Then he swept blankets and sheet off her.

“Do not!” She grabbed for the covers, but they were on the floor.

“See? You are quite capable of speech,” he said.

“And are you capable of decency?”

“I do not know. I have never made the effort. Do you wish to wrestle me? The prize is a kiss.”

“I do not value the prize.” Besides, her wrestling him would be ludicrous.

When he knelt on the side of the bed, she turned her head away. As he had the night before, he kissed her ear and then her neck. She tried to push him away, useless as she knew that to be.

“I thought that you had refused the wrestle,” he said. He spread her arms wide holding her by the wrists. He kissed not her mouth but her breasts through the night rail. Soon, her twisting was not conscious resistance but her body’s response to the kisses.

Seeming able to tell the difference, he let go of her arms to lift her body. She beat on his shoulders, but he did not respond. When she was back on the mattress, the night rail was shoved up under her arms. He cupped her intimately again, and she slammed her legs closed. Unfortunately, his hand was trapped where he wanted it to be.

She certainly did not want it there, but her body seemed to.

As he sucked her nipples and stroked her with the one finger which was not quite trapped, the heat built.

“Come for me, darling Violet. I need to see you come.” ‘Come’? she was right there. But the fire grew hotter, and blazed through her entire body.

“Yes,” he said when she had shaken the fire out of her and collapsed, “I love you. I love seeing that. But I hurt you the other night, did I not?” She nodded weakly. “I never want to hurt you again. I should kiss away that hurt.”

It seemed to her that he had kissed her fairly often. As exciting as his kisses were, they had not lessened that hurt, which had eased away the next day.

But he was between her legs and throwing off his dressing gown. He wore no night shirt beneath it, and his entire body was revealed. That body was huge, muscular, and hairy.

The part at his groin was large even in proportion. She started to fight again to protect herself against it, but he was bending so his mouth was going to her groin.