Warm Toes, Happy Heart
Violet Fisher curled into a snug ball under her quilts and yawned. As much as she wished to stay here in the warmth of her bed, there was a day to greet, and she had to admit that her toes would be much warmer by the fire than here.
She climbed out from her cozy nest of bedding, pulled back the thick curtains that hung around her bed and, reluctantly placing her stockinged feet on the floor, scampered as quickly as might be done from the bed to behind the screen that stood near the fireplace. She sighed contentedly as the heat from the fire wrapped itself around her.
“You’ll need three petticoats today, miss,” Molly said as she joined her mistress behind the screen. “It’s a right cold one this morning, but you’ll barely feel it after I’ve helped you dress.”
Molly was Violet’s lady maid and rather proud of her position and performed it with the utmost care. Every piece of Violet’s clothing was as well-presented as it could possibly be, and Violet never needed to fear that she would be ill-prepared to face whatever weather might face her as she went about her day.
“You take very prodigious good care of me, Molly.”
“Is there any other way to carry out one’s service?” The maid who was nearly Violet’s mother’s age shook her head at the thought as she helped Violet into the first of her layers of petticoats.
“I suppose there is not. I am just very grateful to you for your care.” And she was. Violet did not take such care for granted. She had not always had it. She and her mother had been each other’s maids for a time after Violet’s father died and before her mother had remarried.
“I am happy to provide it, miss. I dare say you’ll have a sitting room full of callers again today.”
It was true. She had attended a ball last evening and had danced nearly every set. Therefore, she expected several gentlemen to pay her a call today.
“But it will be empty until after I return from shopping.”
“Oh, indeed. But you will be the light of the room when you come back.”
“I think you think far too highly of me, Molly.”
“Pah!” Molly waved her words away. “What will you buy today when you visit the shops?”
Delight bubbled up inside Violet at the thought of her intended purchase. “It is a secret, but I am too excited over it to not share it with someone.”
“I always keep your secrets, miss. Not a soul knows of the young man you fancy save for me and you and whichever friends you have told." Molly smiled as she helped fasten the bib of Violet’s dress. “I count your speaking to me a privilege, and it’s one I’d not like to lose.” She stopped her work and looked at Violet in concern. “You do not look happy to have Mr. Harris mentioned. Has he done something?”
It was what he had not done that was the issue. “He refused to dance with me.” Not to her directly, but the results were the same.
“Refused?” her maid cried in surprise.
“Yes, refused.” And her pride still stung both over what she had heard him say and his departure which had followed it.
“Then, he is not worthy of you.” Molly held her by the shoulders. “My Miss Violet deserves only the best of men. You will make sure you find such a gentleman, will you not?”
“Of course.” At least, she would try to. “I thought I had.” And yet, it appeared she had not.
Mr. Harris had seemed like such a good choice. He had called on her many times. They had gone for drives and attended the theatre. His manners were polite and charming. His smile was infectious, and his fortune was nearly as handsome as his person. Added to that, he had danced with her at every ball. Until last night.
She was not sure who Emily was, but she had never once, before last night, suspected that Mr. Harris had divided affections or was playing with her heart. Even now the thought made her heart pinch.
“I am sorry that your young man has not proven to be what you thought. You’ll need this.” Molly handed Violet her favourite shawl. “I wish you great success in securing whatever it is that you wish to purchase today.”
“Oh! I have not told you.” In her melancholy, Violet had forgotten about the secret gift she planned to procure today. “Last evening, when I was walking the perimeter of the ballroom with Miss Lane, I noticed that her gloves were beginning to look rather well-worn, and I know she does not have any of her allowance left to purchase new ones, nor is her mother or father able to spend the sum needed to do it. It is not just she who is having a season this year.”
“Yes, I do know. Three out at once would be trying to anyone’s finances.”
“Indeed! The Lanes are not poor as one would think of poorness, but they are not as affluent as some. Their estate is modest at best.”
“Are you going to buy her a new pair of gloves then?”
“I am.” The anticipation of her covert mission tingled its way up Violet’s spine and down her arms with a little shiver. She lowered her voice. Not because anyone other than Molly would hear her as no one was in the room with them, but because whispering made the relation of the details of her secret so much more delicious. “I will address them to her from a dear friend, and only you and I will know that it was me.”
“Unless you tell her.” Molly gave Violet a pointed look as she folded Violet’s night clothes.
“Well, yes, unless or until I tell her.” Violet was not very good at keeping secrets from her dear friends such as Jessica was. “But that shall not be until I see her wearing them or if she refuses to wear them for fear of them being from some gentleman and it being improper to do.”
Molly chuckled. “You do like your schemes.”
“I do, but they are only schemes of the best sort.” A delightful scheme always add a bit of brightness to an otherwise grey January day.
“As they should be.”
Molly stood, looking like she was ready to leave Violet for the day. Violet knew she had many other duties to do, and to keep her here just to talk about a secret gift was not very considerate.
“Thank you, Molly. I feel well-turned out and quite toasty.” The comment brought a pleased smile to the maid’s lips.
“Thomas’ll have the warmer in the carriage for you. I’ll see to it that it is done.” Molly dipped a small curtsey and hurried from the room.
~*~
Violet clutched her package close to her heart as she hurried from the shop to her carriage. Her mission had, to this point, been a success, though it had almost not been. There had been two lovely pairs of gloves that looked just perfect for Jessica. Had it not been for her mother’s opinion, Violet might have either purchased both or none at all. As it was, she felt confident that the pair of gloves she carried was the right choice.
“Miss Fisher, Mrs. Cross.” Mr. Harris tipped his hat and stepped to the side to allow them to pass.
“Mr. Harris,” Violet’s mother replied with a nod.
Violet said nothing, nor did she acknowledge the greeting with so much as a smile.
“My dear,” her mother whispered, “I thought we wished to encourage Mr. Harris?”
“I do not know why you would think that,” Violet replied sharply.
“Violet.” Her mother’s tone was scolding. “I am neither blind nor stupid. You have eagerly looked for him at every event and have been far more welcoming to him when he calls than to anyone else. I know young love when I see it.”
Violet sighed. “Forgive me, Mother. I did not mean to be short with you.”
Her mother climbed into the carriage ahead of her and waited until Violet was inside and taking her seat before she continued the conversation.
“It might be easier for me to pardon your rudeness if I understood the source.” This was accompanied by a pointed look.
There was little to be done but to confess the whole tale. Violet knew that look. Anything less than abject honesty would not be met with anything pleasant.
“He left me standing last night.”
“He sent a message that he had to depart unexpectedly.”
“To go see someone named Emily.” Violet rolled her eyes heavenward and attempted to imagine that she was speaking of someone other than herself so that her words would not sting so much.
“How do you know this?”
“I heard him talking to Mr. Palmer. A footman delivered a message to him, which he read and then, told Mr. Palmer to deliver his regrets to me at missing our dance. Mr. Palmer asked why he would leave before the one dance he had come to the ball to have.”
“Oh! That is exciting that you were his reason for attending, is it not?”
Violet shook her head. “Perhaps it might have been if I had not heard his reply.”
“What did he say?”
Violet looked at her hands. “He said he was certain that Emily would not be happy to be kept waiting, even for such a lovely reason as a dance with Miss Fisher.”
Her mother placed her hands on top of the ones at which Violet was looking. “Do you know who Emily is?”
Violet’s shoulders lifted and lowered. “No.”
“But you assume it is a lover of some sort?”
Again, Violet shrugged.
“Then you are being foolish and very unjust.”
That pulled Violet’s attention from her hands to her mother’s face. “I do not see how.”
“You are allowing jealousy to rule your head. Who is Emily? You do not know. It could be his mother’s Pomeranian.” Her mother’s eyes were twinkling. “Imagine how embarrassed you will be to discover you have just snubbed a perfectly good match because you were jealous of his mother’s dog.”
“Mama! Do be serious. It might just as easily be his mistress or a long-lost friend who he once proposed to but refused him.”
“And you say I need to be serious,” her mother replied with a shake of her head. “Listen to yourself. Neither one of us can say with any certainty who Emily is.”
As much as she did not want to admit that what her mother said was true, it was true.
“Do you truly love him so much that the mere thought of another attachment of his heart would cause you, my normally loving and nearly always kind daughter, to be as cold as a winter wind?”
Violet pressed her trembling lips together and nodded.
“Then, we must hope that in spite of your behaviour, Mr. Harris comes to call so that we can find out who Emily is.”
“Oh, I cannot ask him! Then, he will know I was listening to his conversation with Mr. Palmer.”
Her mother smoothed the skirt of her long pelisse. “There is no other option. It will be done, or you will be punished both for eavesdropping and for speaking rudely to me.”
Violet swallowed. The mortification of asking Mr. Harris was likely the best option. Mama was known for being rather crafty in designing discipline that was not easily forgotten. The last time that Violet had been rude, she had been required to work in the kitchen for a fortnight. She truly did not want to have to do that again! Therefore, she simply smiled tightly and said what was expected. “Yes, Mama.”
~*~
“Miss Fisher, Mrs. Cross.” Mr. Harris bowed his greeting as he entered the sitting room.
The moment which Violet had been dreading for the past hour and a half had come.
“I am surprised that I am the only one here,” he said as he took as seat next to Violet.
“Mother and I were only home to you.”
“Yes,” her mother added, “I thought it best that my daughter correct her less-than-polite behaviour before she was allowed to enter polite society again.” This was accompanied by a pointed look to said daughter.
Her rudeness to her mother had been forgiven. Her snub to Mr. Harris had not been. That had been deemed worthy of a lesson. Her eavesdropping would be addressed when she had to inquire who Emily was. Oh, the day had started so well! But at present, she would have rather woken with a sore throat and been required to remain in bed even if her toes grew cold lying there.
“I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” Violet gave Mr. Harris a small smile.
“I did wonder about that. Did Mr. Palmer give you my message about my not being available to dance with you as promised?” His head was tipped, and his brow was furrowed over a soft, understanding look of concern. His was such a gentle soul, which, last evening, was a fact that had made is supposed duplicity harder to bear.
“He did, but…” Violet looked at her mother who gave her an encouraging nod. “I overheard you talking to Mr. Palmer last night.”
Mr. Harris’s eyes grew wide. “You did?”
Violet nodded and then took a deep breath. “Who is Emily?” It seemed best to just get to the point of the whole interview and have her heart broken in one fell swoop.
“Emily?” His eyes had not grown any less wide. “Emily,” he repeated before beginning to chuckle. “Emily is my brother John’s wife.”
“Oh.” It was literally the only word that came to Violet’s mind at such a revelation.
“She had just arrived in town last evening you see, without my brother knowing, and, well, she has planned a surprise – other than her early arrival – for my brother’s birthday, which is tomorrow. She insisted that I come get it from her before John came home from wherever it was that he was last night. It was some political thing.” Mr. Harris waved that bit of detail away and relaxed into his chair.
“Emily lacks patience at the best of times, but since she is with child, she is more easily agitated – not that she is a harridan or anything. Actually, she is quite sweet, which is why I feel quite dreadful whenever I have to make her wait when she is feeling pressured about something such as keeping a gift concealed.”
“Could it not have been delivered to your home by a servant?” Violet’s mother asked.
“It could have been, but Emily is with child.” He punctuated the comment with a smile. “I expect to be an uncle before spring has truly begun.”
“Ah,” Mrs. Cross said, “some of us ladies do get particular when we are nearing the time of our confinement.”
Mr. Harris nodded before looking at Violet. “Am I to understand that you thought I deserted you for another?”
Violet closed her eyes and nodded. “I am truly mortified to have been so petty. I am not usually such a person.”
“I have never known you to be,” he assured her.
She blew out a breath. “I would understand if you no longer wished to call on me.”
“Do you think I am so easily put off as that?” he asked in surprise. “Unless, of course, that is what you want.” He sat forward in his chair, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. “Have I misunderstood our relationship? I thought we were getting on well. That we were friends and likely quite a bit more than that. Have I been operating on faulty information?”
“No! Oh, no!” Violet cried. “I do not want you to stop calling on me, but I jumped to such a horrible conclusion about you – it is as if I forgot completely who you have always been. That you are kind and considerate, that you are gentle and good – all the things that I find so dear about you. I do not know why I immediately distrusted you.” She groaned at how absolutely wretched those words sounded.
“I was jealous. That is the ugly truth. I was jealous because…” she again looked at her mother who replied as she had the last time – with an encouraging nod – before mumbling something about seeing if the tea was ready and leaving the room.
Violet drew a deep breath and plunged forward with her confession. “I was jealous because I love you. I do not want anyone else to call on me. Ever. Only you.” Her heart raced and heat flushed her face, her ears, her neck, and the rest of her person.
Mr. Harris only smiled, and happiness shone in his eyes. “Then, we wish for the same thing, my dear. Emily was sorry to hear I had missed my dance with you, and she asked me to bring you to my brother’s birthday dinner if you are allowed and not already promised to go elsewhere tomorrow.”
He was not turning her away for her poor behaviour! Instead, he was actually inviting her to a family gathering. Perhaps this day would end as pleasantly as it began. Molly would be pleased to hear that Mr. Harris was indeed the sort of fellow Violet had thought he was.
“Oh, I am certain I could rearrange things if necessary. I would like very much to meet Emily, but please, could you not tell her that I was jealous of her?”
Mr. Harris held out his hand to Violet. “I will keep your secret for as long as you wish me to keep it, but there is one thing more that I want to ask you.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I would very much like to introduce you to my family not just as the lady who I love, but also as my future bride.”
Violet gasped. The day had moved from pleasant to outstandingly fantastic! “Truly?”
He nodded. “Will you marry me?”
“Oh, oh, yes! Yes! I will. Most happily I will.” Happy seemed such a small word for the wonderful feeling she felt at this moment.
“Violet,” he continued as he stood and drew her to her feet, “may I kiss you before I go speak to your step-father?”
“I would like nothing better,” she said though the admission once again caused her face to flush.
“Then, we are once again of the same mind,” he said, and with that, he lowered his lips to hers and sealed their promise with a kiss that burned low and slow like a fire, which was ready to burst into a roaring blaze as soon as a log was added to it, and warmed Violet from her lips down to the tips of her toes.
_____
Image attribution: Arthur Thiele, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
|