Page 80 of How to Start a Scandal

‘She wasn’t always so difficult.’ Her father sank into the dainty seat. ‘Before any of your siblings were born, we had a child—a little girl. She did not live past the age of three. Your mother blamed herself. Once your eldest sister was born, your mother became obsessed with ensuring everything was perfect when it came to her children.’

Violet pressed her lips together. She hadn’t known about a sister who had died, nor her mother’s reaction to it. The anger in her heart softened with sympathy.

‘Everyone gave way to her,’ her father continued. ‘Until you. You’ve always been a free spirit, my Violet.’ His eyes crinkled with affection. ‘I dare say you nearly gave her an apoplexy on more than one occasion. The more you defied her as a child, the more she tried to control you.’ Lines showed on his face as he frowned. ‘I should have spoken up before, prevented her from...’ He spread his hands. ‘From taking your light. I thought love might bring it back. I see now that is not the case. Forgive me, Violet.’

She shook her head. ‘You’ve nothing to apologise for.’

‘Your tear-stained face would suggest otherwise.’ Her father pushed up from his chair. ‘I’m afraid I’ve made quite the mess of things. But if you do not wish to marry, then I will not force you. Nor will I force you into the country. You may choose what it is you wish to do.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you know what that might be?’

The thought of going to the country for ever did not hold appeal, but neither did regressing to a muted life once more. Nor would she continue her efforts in writing the Lady Observer. Not after realising the hurt she’d most likely caused.

Marriage. To Seth. For a whisper of a moment, that had held considerable appeal. Until she recalled how terribly he’d rejected her.

What would Lottie say in this moment?

But even the woman’s wise words fell silent in Violet’s mind.

Violet shook her head miserably. ‘No. I don’t know what I would like to do.’

‘You have some time.’ Lord Hollingston went to her and pressed a kiss on the top of her head as he’d done when she was a girl. ‘But a decision will need to be made.’

Yes, it would. And not a single one promised to make her happy.

Her father cleared his throat. ‘If I may make a suggestion...’

She looked up at him.

‘Lord Dalton appears to a man of conviction.’ Lord Hollingston puffed his chest out as he presented his endorsement. ‘And he seems to care for you a great deal.’

Violet choked down a sob. Even if Seth truly did care for her a great deal, it clearly wasn’t enough.

Hollingston House’s butler was rather cross with Seth. Wilson wouldn’t outwardly say it, of course, but then, he didn’t need to. It was evident in the flush about his face that made the wisps of snow-white hair stand out like tufts of cotton.

‘My lord, I’m afraid Lady Violet is not accepting callers.’ Wilson’s tone had lost its sympathy.

‘Go to her again,’ Seth replied. ‘Tell her I refuse to leave Hollingston House until I’ve spoken with her.

‘My lord, I’ve gone to her three times already—’

‘A fourth time, then,’ Seth countered. ‘And a fifth and a sixth. However many it bloody well takes.’

Wilson bowed, most likely to cover a grimace. ‘As you wish, my lord.’

This time the butler did not come down for a longer stretch of time and Seth dared to hope. Perhaps that meant Violet had changed her mind, that she would indeed come down.

His realisation at White’s, and even his irritated conversation with Rawley, had sparked an understanding in him. Seth had lowered Violet’s confidence that night of her debut—he’d left her at the mercy of William as surely as he’d abandoned his own family in their greatest time of need after William’s death. Hell, even in handling him when he became so ill.

As he was making reparations to his own family, so, too, did he need to make them to Violet. And that included putting William from his mind to be with her.

If it wasn’t too late, that is.

He stared at the closed double doors of the drawing room. Would she give him the chance?

He didn’t deserve it. Even Seth knew that. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t hope.

After an interminable stretch of what felt like an eternity, the double doors opened. But it was not Wilson who walked through—it was Violet.

She wore a different muslin gown, this one with yellow ribbons that were as sun-coloured as the room he was in. Her hair had been neatly styled from the knot it’d been in earlier that day. She lifted her head, appearing entirely put together and nonplussed.