Condemned & Admired Page 10

  “Wait here,” he said, hastening on when she opened her mouth to protest. “I’ll go downstairs, wake Lawrence–”

  “Lawrence?”

  “Yes, the butler,” Oliver explained, slightly annoyed that he had to explain himself. He had never had to before. Perhaps to his father. But that man never had any interest in him beyond his role as the future marquess. No one ever questioned him. But neither did anyone ever walk through life with him. He had always been alone in his endeavours.

  Perhaps this was not so bad after all.

  “I’ll have the carriage readied and–”

  “We’ll be faster on horseback,” Violet objected, bobbing her head up and down as her feet carried her back and forth over the rug. Apparently, reaching Rosewood Manor had eliminated all the patience he had seen in her before.

  “We’re exhausted,” Oliver reasoned, trying to hold her gaze before she could turn away. “When was the last time you slept?” Her lips thinned, but she did not object. “At least, in the carriage we can close our eyes. Or do you want to head to bed the moment we reach London?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing? I know very well that I’m not being completely…reasonable now, and I do appreciate you keeping your wits about you. Still, I object to being manipulated, is that understood?”

  Suppressing a grin, Oliver nodded. “The carriage then?”

  Rolling her eyes at him, Violet nodded. “Yes, if you insist.”

  “I’m afraid I must, my lady,” he told her with a wink of his eye, then rushed out the door before she could throw something at his head.

  As expected, Lawrence was only mildly surprised to find Oliver had arrived at Rosewood Manor in the middle of the night. Despite his age, the old butler was up and about quickly, having the carriage readied and provisions packed for their journey to London. He bowed formally to Violet as Oliver escorted her down the stairs and into the carriage.

  Oliver would have loved to see the old man’s face when he told her that Violet was his wife. However, at present, discretion seemed the better option. He would make that announcement once they arrived in London.

  As the carriage rumbled down the drive, Oliver glanced across the seat at Violet. Looking out the back window, she gazed at the distant sea barely visible in the moon’s dim light as they proceeded inland. “Do you never spend much time on land?”

  Sighing, she abandoned her post and settled into her seat. “Here and there. But only in France. Only with my family.”

  Oliver nodded, noting the sadness and apprehension that clung to her eyes. “Now, you’re among strangers in a country you left behind long ago. It must be disconcerting.”

  Meeting his gaze, she nodded. “It feels very strange. Almost like a dream. As though it could not possibly be real.”

  Oliver grinned. “That’s how I felt on board your father’s ship. A part of me kept wondering if I were only dreaming.”

  She watched him with interest. “If you had, would you have been disappointed?”

  “Very!” Oliver laughed. “As I’ve told you nothing interesting ever happens in my life.” He sighed. “Quite unlike yours, I presume.”

  Chapter Sixteen – An Informative Carriage Ride

  Watching Oliver carefully, Violette wondered about the kind of man he was. Sometimes he seemed sincere, earnest in the way he expressed himself and even a bit melancholic. However, at other times, he appeared as though he was unable to take anything seriously, as though life was nothing but a big fair, and he was only looking for a good time.

  “Can you dance?”

  Snapping out of her musings, Violette looked up. “What?”

  “Do you know how to dance?” he asked again.

  Violette shook her head, wondering why he wanted to know. “Why do you ask?”

  “That won’t do,” he observed, the corners of his lips twitching. “But don’t worry. I’ll teach you.”

  Violette scoffed, shaking her head at him. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

  “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.”

  “What do you do all day?” she asked, wondering about the life of a marquess’s son. “Besides dressing well, attending balls, and…feeling bored.”

  Oliver shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “I try to do what is expected of me, but I seem to have trouble complying. What is expected of me is against my own nature.” He shook his head. “This is not the life I would have chosen.”

  “So you’ve said,” Violette replied, unable to picture the life he so despised. “But what do you do all day?”

  Holding her gaze, he inhaled a slow breath as though needing time to choose his words. “I’m not certain what it is that bothers me, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to enjoy pastimes such as politics, horse racing, gambling and such. I find it dull, and I cannot even tell you why.” He sighed, “My father particularly objects to me spending my time in the taverns by the docks, speaking to sailors and hearing of their adventures–”

  “–wishing you could join them on their next journey?” she asked, an understanding smile on her lips.

  Oliver nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Perhaps the sea is calling to you,” she whispered. “For me, it is…everything. And yet, I cannot help but wonder if it is truly the sea, life at sea, being on a ship that I hold so dear? Or if it is the freedom that life brings? The endless possibilities?” She looked at him. “What is it that you dream of?”

  Sighing, he smiled at her. “Of what you just said,” he whispered, awe in his voice. “That is exactly it. That is…I wish…” Shaking his head, he broke off.

  “Then why don’t you?” she dared him, knowing that it was not easy to break free of a life that held one trapped. Still, it was well worth it.

  “I told you,” he said, all joy gone from his face. “I have responsibilities that–”

  “Excuses,” Violette interrupted him. Leaning forward, she met his gaze. “Are you truly helping me out of boredom? Or because you think that this is the answer to your prayers? This is a chance for you to get a taste of the life you long for without risking ruining the one you cannot seem to say farewell to.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back. “Didn’t you tell me that your father disapproves of everything you do? Well, the way you speak of him, of your life, I would have thought you delighted in disappointing him. Why would it bother you to be ransomed back to him? You didn’t have to help me. You could have simply waited to be returned home. Why didn’t you?” Staring across the small distance in-between them, Violette wondered how clever it was to antagonise him. If she pushed him too hard, he might turn from her. Still, after everything he had done for her, she hated the thought of him returning to his old life after this was over and continuing as miserable as he was now. If she could help him make a better choice, was she not obligated to do so?

  “Because…,” he began, swallowing hard, then closing his eyes, pain resting on his features. “Because he’s all I have. Because I do not enjoy having the only family member left to me look at me and see merely a disappointment. I guess a part of me is still hoping that one day, he will look at me and see…me…and that that will be enough. That I don’t have to be more than I am.” Sadness rested in his eyes, and Violette was touched that he would reveal his innermost thoughts to her so openly.

  “Do you truly think that will ever happen?” she asked, knowing that freedom could rarely be gained without facing pain and disappointment.

  Oliver sighed, “No, I do not.”

  “Then accept that,” Violette said. “Make your peace with it and reclaim your life.”

  Oliver scoffed, “That’s easy for you to say. You have a family. A family who would do anything for you. A mother who risked everything to see you safe. A father who would march into England without hesitation to protect you should the need arise…and you’re not even his own blood. Then there’s your cousin…Your brothers and sisters…You…You have a family. You�
��re not alone.”

  “Neither are you,” Violette whispered, compassion in her voice now that she saw the fear of loneliness in his eyes. “Yes, my father loves me even though I’m not truly…his. Not in that way. But that’s how family works. Your father may be your only remaining blood relative, but I’m certain you have others who are family. People you care about. People you would risk everything for. People who feel the same way about you.”

  He sat quietly for a moment, his chest rising and falling as his gaze became distant. Then he blinked, and his blue eyes found hers once more. “I have…friends I’ve known since childhood,” he whispered. “Frederick…he…he’s like a brother to me.”

  Smiling, Violette nodded. “See? You’re not alone.”

  “His life is so different from mine now,” Oliver continued as though she had not spoken. “He’s married now. A father. We rarely speak. Not the way we used to.”

  “People drift apart sometimes, but they also find their way back to each other.” In the dark, Violette could almost pretend she was speaking to an old friend. Could she have been this open and direct in the light of day? When one look at him would have reminded her of the fact that they had only known each other for a few days?

  “Charlotte,” he whispered and then closed his eyes, guilt and regret warring on his face. “I was so wrapped up in my own…misery that I didn’t see hers. I did not see that she needed help. Not until it was too late.” He swallowed. “I failed her. She went through hell…all by herself, all alone, with no one there to protect her. And yet, she made it through…but at a terrible cost.”

  “Where is she now?” Violette asked quietly, shocked by the harsh truth that rested behind those simple words.

  The ghost of a smile tugged on Oliver’s mouth. “She’s married now. She’s…happy. I hope. I think.” He sighed, “Everyone seems to be getting married these days.” For a moment, he held her gaze, a question resting in his own. “You feel loyal to her, your sister, do you not?”

  Violette nodded.

  “And you would do anything to save her? Even though you’ve never even met? Even though she is not your blood?”

  Again, Violette nodded, seeing in the way he looked at her that his questions were not about her, but about him instead. Step by step, he seemed to be working his way to a new understanding of what family meant, of what it could mean, should mean. Of the possibilities. Not the restrictions.

  For a long moment, Oliver remained quiet, his gaze distant, his mind focused inward.

  Violette watched him, wondering about the life he had led, knowing from the few words he had spoken that there was a lot more than mere boredom in his past. Unable to help herself, she asked, “Did you speak to her, Charlotte, after she…?”

  He blinked, and his eyes focused on her. Then he nodded. “I thought her dead, but then Frederick called on me. He told me…an unbelievable tale and said that she needed our help.”

  “And you helped her,” Violette said without hesitation. “You were there for her.”

  Oliver nodded. “Yes, but I–”

  “We all make mistakes sometimes,” she cut him off. “We all have our own misery, and sometimes we’re not very observant when it comes to the pain of others. It happens. But when she needed you and asked for your help, you did not turn her away, did you?”

  “Of course not,” he huffed, shooting up in his seat, the mere thought of it agitating every nerve in his body. “I could never have. I…She’s…”

  “She’s your friend,” Violette finished for him. “She’s family. You might be estranged, but she’s family. As you are for her.”

  “How can you be certain?” Oliver asked, a deep frown on his face. “You don’t even know her.”

  Violette shrugged. “I simply do. How someone becomes family does not matter. All that matters is whether or not they are, and if they are, you do what you can to protect them…no matter the distance or risk or likelihood of success.” Smiling, she held his gaze. “And you forgive them.”

  Oliver drew in a stuttering breath, and she could see how much his past still haunted him. But she could also see that there was hope now. The way his lips twitched as though he wished to smile but did not quite dare, yet, told her that he was beginning to heal. To see that one mistake did not make him a dishonourable man.

  It simply made him human.

  “Whatever you need me to do to save her,” Oliver whispered into the dimness, his eyes aglow with a new inner light, “all you need to do is ask.” Swallowing, he nodded to her. “I will do everything in my power to help you. You have my word.”

  Returning his smile, Violette felt her own body relax as the tension of the past few hours began to dissipate. Although her rational mind still insisted that he could be lying to her, Violette could not help but feel safe with him.

  For a reason she could not name, she had come to trust him.

  Perhaps it had been his honesty, the way he had openly shared his darkest side with her. His fears and doubts. It made him vulnerable.

  Thus, evening the ground between them.

  Equals.

  Chapter Seventeen – A House, but Not a Home

  When the carriage drew to a halt, Oliver’s head snapped up and his eyes flew open. Yawning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his gaze travelling to the woman seated across from him.

  Violet’s chest rose and fell evenly, her head resting against the wall, her eyes closed in deep slumber.

  Peering out the window, Oliver found they had stopped at an inn, a single light burning by the front door, barely illuminating an old sign slightly swaying in the soft breeze. After one last glance at his sleeping wife, Oliver stepped outside to stretch his legs. His muscles ached, but also rejoiced at being able to move after being confined for so long.

  “I’ll arrange for fresh horses, my lord,” his coachman said and disappeared into the inn.

  Oliver walked around the yard, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms and legs, his gaze drifting over the dark world around him.

  In a strange way, it was as though he was seeing everything for the first time. Everything took on a new meaning. Nothing remained the same. Oliver wondered if it was truly the world that had changed or if it was him instead.

  This last week had turned his life upside down, and he could not deny that for the first time in as long as he could remember, something other than dread lived in his heart. Unbidden, his gaze returned to the carriage and the sleeping woman inside.

  What a woman! He thought, remembering the honest words she had shared with him. Listening to her, life seemed simple.

  Realise who you love and protect them!

  Realise what you want and go get it!

  Realise who you are and stay true to yourself!

  Was it truly that simple? Oliver shook his head, knowing that his life had always given him a headache. After all, he and his father generally did not agree…on anything. What would he say if–when! –he learnt that Oliver had married a woman not of their station–at least as far as he knew?

  Picturing his father’s face, Oliver sighed. He would disapprove. More than that. He would be furious. He would call Oliver a fool; Violet a harlot. He’d say she was not worthy of him, of their family.

  “He could not be more wrong,” Oliver whispered, breathing in the cold night air. Deep down, he knew that she was the one of the infallible character possessing endless loyalty and daunting courage. And it was he who needed to prove himself worthy of her.

  Not the other way around.

  Suddenly, Oliver felt unable to stay even a few paces away from her any longer. With quick steps, he returned to the carriage.

  A soft smile tugged on his lips as he saw her curled up on her seat, eyes closed, sleeping peacefully.

  Marvelling at that, Oliver sank into the seat next to her, remembering his own fitful slumber. How could she sleep thus with all that hung in the balance? What was her secret? Was she truly at peace? With herself? With the life she ha
d chosen? Were there no doubts in her?

  Resting his head against the wall, Oliver closed his eyes. Dimly, he heard voices and approaching footsteps. A horse whinnied; a dog barked. Then the world was lost to him, and he fell into another fitful dream.

  Once again, he was on the merchant ship. Only this time the privateer did not come for them. Instead, it turned and sailed away. Standing at the bow, Oliver looked across the vast ocean, barely able to see Violet standing at the stern of her father’s ship. He reached out his hands and called her name, but at the same time, he knew he would never reach her.

  ‘Jump!’ she called before the privateer vanished from sight, and he was left staring down at the black sea below, its waves churning angrily as he failed to act.

  As his mind slowly returned from the depth of sleep, Oliver realised that the sounds he heard were not those of the rolling sea, but rather of wheels on cobblestone. Blinking, he opened his eyes and flinched at the bright sun light streaming through the windows. A groan escaped his lips as he tried to shield his eyes with his hands.

  Or rather hand.

  Because the other one was tightly wrapped around Violet’s shoulders, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes were still closed, and her breathing spoke of a light sleep.

  Taken aback, Oliver stared down at her, feeling her warmth against his body and the softness of her skin under the tips of his fingers. Gently, he brushed his knuckles over her cheek.

  Stirring, she snuggled deeper into his embrace, and Oliver could not help the pleased smile that broke out on his face. He tightened his hold on her, wishing this moment could last forever, knowing that it would be short-lived.

  Slowly, her breathing changed, and he knew that she was on the verge of consciousness. He sighed and allowed himself one last moment of weakness. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  Instantly, her eyes flew open and she shot upright, tension holding her body rigid and confusion clouding her face. She blinked, and before Oliver could even open his mouth to speak, she bent down, her hand reaching for something near her ankle.