Page 83 of Hearts of Locke Hill

His gaze narrowed with a sense of foreboding.

Her expression became one of sly petulance. “And some might agree that you’ve compromised me.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight. “I have done no such thing.”

She lifted a shoulder and blinked her wide eyes. “It was enough.”

He stepped forward and pointed to the ancient stone floor. “This isnotthe Middle Ages.”

She leaned forward, a menacing sparkle in her eye. “Tell that to my father. Headoresthe Middle Ages.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Her hands hit her hips. “Try me.”

He felt his face grow red, and his words gathered in a jumble in his chest until he threw them out. “It would be lowering!” He shook with the need to get through to her. “You would be ruined! I will not do that to you!”

“Well. Far be it from a woman to have a choice in the matter.”

He threw his arm out toward the school in the distance. “You would throw away everything, again, just to prove a woman has achoice?” He spun, his hand to his forehead, and began to pace, muttering to himself. “She doesn’t want to be a wife; now she’s open to the idea. She wants to break the shackles of history, nowconsiders marriage by entrapment? She wants to be in charge, but heaven forbid she is warned against doing something that would lose her the position like that—” He snapped his fingers crisply.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, now shadowing his steps like a pacing cat. “Two can play at that game. You tell me I am capable, yet it is only when you say so in front of myfatherthat he even thinks to consider it. You tell me I can’t marry a lordandrun the school, and then you tell me I can’t choose a working man and remain a lady of high standing.” She pressed her hands to her middle as if pained. “To the world, I am a … a flying fish. But instead of acknowledging that I’m an excellent flying fish, they see me in the air and censure me for not keeping to the water.” Her eyes grew shiny. “Perhaps I’m just a drowning bird, desperate to dry her feathers.” She stepped toward him, her finger stabbing his chest, and he stepped back, startled by the force. “You can’t tell me what to do, and you can’t tell me what I want.”

They both ceased and stood, breathing together, eyes wide.

She was no fish, he thought. She was a lioness.

Finally, with a shake of his head, he opened his hands at his sides. “What is it you want?”

After a few more breaths, she stepped back, assuming her natural, regal posture. “I … I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d be allowed to voice it if I did.”

He stepped to the tower entrance, then turned, his chest tight with frustration. The words ground themselves out. “I know that feeling well.” He nodded. “Good day, Violet.”

Chapter 21

18 and nearly 15

Violet stood outside the Burke music room, violin and bow in hand, heart beating fast as the voices beyond the heavy closed door increased in volume. She couldn’t make out the words but was certain the quarrel was between their violin teacher, Mr. Worthing, and Cyril. That Mr. Worthing was quarreling was not a shock. That Cyril Burke was quarrelingwas, and that his voice was raised was astonishing. As an instructor, Mr. Worthing embraced a ruthless and demanding stance. Praise was hard-earned, and even after years of instruction, Violet had seldom felt that she had pleased him in her performance. He seemed to favor Cyril, but Cyril was the better player, not in skill—Violet believed them evenly matched in that—but simply in that Cyril had been playing longer.

But Violet was catching up to him, and they both knew it. Just last week she had played a Handel sonata so well it rivaled Cyril’s performance of the same song only last year. She knew he knew it too. Their current project was a rigorous duet, and they were supposed to have had their third rehearsal today. They’d played duets before, but it was usually Cyril playing down to Violet’s level. This time, it was a challenge for both of them.

Violet rather enjoyed that.

The shouting abruptly stopped, and after a moment, Violet reached for the door handle. But the handle turned from the opposite side and was pulled away from her as the door opened.

Cyril stood, red-faced, obviously upset, and startled to see her. “Violet.” With a quick glance in Mr. Worthing’s direction, he corrected his address. “Miss Whittemore.” He moved to pass her but paused, his gaze at her shoulder. “Forgive me. I shall see you tomorrow at fencing.”

“But what about—”

His jaw tightened. “I’m sure Mr. Worthing will be happy to explain.” He strode off and left Violet without any chance of repartee.

Turning back to the room, Violet squared her shoulders and entered. Mr. Worthing, with his pomaded red hair and extra-high starched collar, seemed none too pleased to see her.

“Miss Whittemore, you’re late.”

“I wasn’t, sir. In fact, I wasn’t certain I would be welcome during the … discussion you were having with Mr. Burke …” Her words faded as she realized she might not be bettering the situation she found herself in. “I’m here to play, sir.” She lifted her violin and gave him her best fake smile. “Will we be working on my part alone, then?” She glanced over her shoulder and then back. “I see Mr. Burke has been excused.”

Mr. Worthing moved quickly to his case and clicked it open. “Mr. Burke will not be returning.” He riffled through a stack of sheet music.