Page 86 of Hearts of Locke Hill

She sighed and rounded her eyes in his direction. “Promise?” she asked tartly.

He grinned and she breathed a laugh.

“Very well,” she said. “He and I were thrown together quite often when we were children. You might say we grew up together. We did not get on well, except for the times we did.” She paused, lost in a blur of memories. “But then he went to school, and I became … me.” She gestured to herself in a queenly manner. “And now we find ourselves thrown together once more, on either side of a competition I created and he wanted nothing to do with.” She shrugged as if that in anyway summed up the complexity of their relationship.

He nodded. “That clarifies things a bit. Except for the part where you say you became”—he gestured to her person in the same queenly manor—“you.”

“What do you mean?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Miss Whittemore, you’vealwaysbeen you.” He leaned toward her. “And I mean that in the best way, my friend.”

The endearment warmed her more than it should have, and she blinked tears back. “Flirt,” she said, and they both laughed. He offered her a handkerchief, and she righted herself. She frowned. “If memory serves, you’re a year younger than Mr. Burke, correct?”

His brow lifted. “Cyril? Yes. His brother Oscar is a year younger than I am, and then George.” He closed his eyes as if pained. “And don’t ask me the order of the rest of them. I’ve never been able to keep it straight.”

“Ruby is next.”

His eyes snapped open. “What was that?”

“Ruby is next. Of course you remember that.”

He blinked. “Of course. But, to be honest, I have a difficult time lumping her in with the rest of them.”

“Then, perhaps you shouldn’t ‘lump her in.’ She’s in the very center, like a mast to their ship. A capstone to their archway. Polaris to their constellations. S—”

He held up a hand. “Yes, yes, I take your meaning. Stem to their petals and so forth.”

Violet stifled a laugh, and it came out a grunted snort. “How very delicate of you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.”

Her laughter continued. Then she laughed at the absurdity of her laughing. Her laughter grew until she shook her head, and Andrew’s expression changed from one who was delighted to cause laughter to one who was concerned and perhaps should call for help.

Tears formed and her chest heaved. “Oh dear,” she whispered, and too late to do anything about it, she began to cry.

“Oh dear.” Andrew stood abruptly and strode across the room, then returned with a glass of water.

Handkerchief already in hand, Violet attempted to compose herself. She took the proffered glass and sipped, hiccupping and sniffling and being very careful not to choke.

“Andrew! What have you done to her?”

Violet glanced up as Lydia rushed forward, followed by Spencer.

“I’ve done nothing,” Andrew exclaimed. “She—”

“He’s done nothing, I-I assure you,” Violet said in his defense.

“Then, whatever is the matter?” Lydia smoothed Violet’s hair and took the handkerchief over, dabbing at her cheeks. Lydia’sdark brows furrowed, and she spun to her brother. “What did you say to her?”

Andrew spread his hands wide. “We were having a discussion—she was laughing only a moment ago.” He looked to Violet in a silent plea. Violet stared back, her mind spinning.

“Honestly, Andrew, you can be so insensitive—”

“I’m in love with him,” Violet blurted.

Lydia and Spencer spun in her direction. “What?” they said in unison.

Violet kept her gaze locked with Andrew’s. “I’m in love with him.” She lifted a shoulder.