Gothic Love Stories (Books 3-5) Boxed Set by Erica Ridley

Author:Erica Ridley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Erica Ridley

CHAPTER 20

The following evening, Violet rejoined Cook, Mrs. Tumsen and Mr. Roper for another night of card-playing. Although the trio was full of good humor—Mrs. Tumsen was in particularly rare form, since she had spent the afternoon “visiting Ginny”—Violet’s heart was not in the game. Long before midnight, she excused herself and rose to leave. She was almost to the door when the sound of a scraping chair gave her pause.

“Wait, dear, I nearly forgot!” Mrs. Tumsen called out. She fished a small parcel from inside a cloak pocket and hurried to Violet’s side.

As she pressed a small stack of twine-bound missives into Violet’s palm, Mrs. Tumsen’s bloodshot eyes were oddly serious. “It’s yer... correspondence, miss. Also something else in there ye really oughta see.” Her voice dropped, and her next whiskey-spiced words were faint against Violet’s ear. “I can mind a secret if ye need me to, dear. All of us can.”

Frowning, Violet gave her a quick nod and escaped from the room with her heart beating unaccountably fast. Had Mrs. Tumsen read her petitions? There was nothing to be learned except that she was in the market for a barrister, which Violet had already confided in order to obtain the list of directions in the first place. She had been purposefully vague. So what on earth was Mrs. Tumsen referring to? Had it just been the whiskey talking?

Violet was concentrating so closely on picking apart the knot binding the folded missives together that she nearly bowled over Mr. Waldegrave as he emerged from the catacomb tunnels.

“My apologies,” she stammered in embarrassment. “I didn’t see you there. I was just... How is Lily?”

“Asleep, thankfully. Gave me plenty of time to study this delightful little read.” He indicated a heavy tome trapped beneath his arm. “And you? How was your evening?”

She tightened her grip on the small stack of folded parchment. “Lovely, thank you.”

“It’s actually good that we ran into each other. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Have you?” she asked doubtfully.

“I—” He stared at her for a moment then let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I deserved that, I suppose. You’re right. I have been distant. Not because I wish to avoid you, understand. Quite the opposite. But I’m trying very hard to be a good... employer.”

“I know.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “That is who you are. You strive to be a good employer, a good man, a good father—”

“Precisely,” he interrupted vaguely, as if he hadn’t been attending her words. “Which is what I wished to discuss. Do you recall me mentioning having invited the greatest minds in Britain to convene here at Waldegrave Abbey to pursue a cure for acute sunsickness?”

“Oh.” She forced a smile. “Of course.”

What had she expected? That he desired her presence for something other than the improvement of his daughter’s environs?

Even if he were not trying so desperately to be a good man and a good father and a good employer, the chasm between them was more than mere class differences.

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