Page 78 of Hearts of Locke Hill

Her flush of anger and embarrassment was overruled by curiosity. “Did you respond?”

“I did.”

She waited, noting the familiar darker striations of green against the field of moss in his eyes. She folded her arms to keep from getting lost in their depths. She drew in an impatient breath. “And?”

He turned back to the window, touching his finger to the glass to trace the path of a singular raindrop. “I told her that if I wrote to you, if I visited, if I imagined you in my classes and my studies, that I would likely one day speak to your father.” He dropped his hand. “I would likely offer for you.”

Violet froze, her heart a thunder of beating.

His gaze was still directed at the glass. “I would wish to make you awife.” He turned to her, but she could only stare at his collar. “And that would be a very real betrayal to my friend.”

Oh.

Violet’s next words came out in a shaky whisper. “What did Mama think of that?”

She noted a lift of irony in his expression.

“Your mama has a deep and abiding respect for your wishes.”

Seconds ticked by, and Violet could not speak, had no response. In a few select words, Cyril had sent her head, her stomach, her heart to tumbling.

He checked his pocket watch and put it away. “It’s time to meet with Lord Buckley and his daughter.”

She nodded, numbly straightening her shoulders as he held out his arm toward the office door.

“After you.”

Y

Roland Felton, Lord Buckley stood as Violet and Cyril entered the drawing room. The man was younger than Cy had anticipated. Alice Felton sat on the settee her father had just vacated, a miniature of the golden-haired man now reaching with a light touch on Violet’s arm. He bestowed a brief peck on her cheek.

Cy bristled.

“My dear Miss Whittemore. It has been a long time,” he said with an easy smile and clear admiration for the woman standing in front of him. He might have been the sort of man who would wield his natural charms on any woman, but a profundity about him gave him a more genuine air. Cy suppressed the urge to pull Violet back a step. In his experience, sincerity charmed a woman faster than charm itself. Especially this woman.

With space between them once more, Violet curtsied. “Lord Buckley,” she said, her voice rich and pleasing now after being stilted and shaken only moments ago. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. May I introduce my colleague, Mr. Burke?”

She stood aside and Cy gave a brisk bow. “My lord.”

“Mr. Burke. I was told you were a co-headmaster of sorts.” Lord Buckley flickered a glance at Violet but refocused on Cy. “I know your father. Good man. I hope his health returns very soon.”

Word of his family’s plight had reached far in a short time. “Thank you, my lord. We are hopeful.”

Lord Buckley made a quarter turn to his daughter, who stood and stepped forward. “This is my Alice.” He smiled. “She isquiteinterested in your school.”

Violet curtsied. “Miss Alice. How wonderful to meet you. I’m Miss Whittemore.”

Cy stepped forward with a bow. “Welcome, Miss Alice. We thought we might begin with tea, then a tour. We shall do our best to answer any questions you or your father might have along the way. What do you say to that?”

Tea service arrived.

Miss Alice smiled at her father. “I say let’s begin.”

The tour might have been more pleasant had Lord Buckley not offered Violet his arm for the duration, had he not been in thrall of her answers to his questions, had he not made her laugh, and had he not bent and kissed her hand at the conclusion of their time together, followed by a request to call on Violet later in the week. Indeed, the only pleasant part of the interview had been Miss Alice’s quick observations and obvious wish to attend Locke Hill—a wish her doting father would likely grant.

As they watched the Felton motorcar depart, Violet sighed. “That went well.”

“Yes,” he said. “You almost had Lord Buckley enrolling for the term himself.”