‘Indeed, sir?’
Lance clenched his jaw, stifling an oath at the sound of her father’s voice behind him. So much for behaving himself. Somehow he’d managed to cause a scene and insult one of his father’s oldest friends into the bargain. Not that he felt particularly sorry. On the contrary, now that he’d started a scandal, he saw little point in stopping.
He turned around, looking the older man square in the eye. ‘If you’ve told your daughter that no man would want to marry her for herself then, yes, sir, you’re a liar.’
‘What I say to my daughter is no business of yours.’ Harper’s beady eyes narrowed malevolently. ‘And I’ll thank you to keep your distance in future. She won’t be dancing with a reprobate like you again.’
‘Better a reprobate than a liar.’
‘Captain Amberton!’ Miss Harper pushed herself between them, though her tiny height did nothing to obstruct either one of their views. ‘You’ve no right to insult my father!’
‘I do when he insults you.’
‘I’ve only told her the truth.’ Harper jutted his chin out as if daring him to take a swing at it. ‘Or are you saying that you’d marry her without my money?’
‘What?’ He said the word at the same moment she did, though it was impossible to tell which of them sounded the most horrified.
‘I asked if you’d marry her for herself? Since you take such a keen interest.’
Lance dropped his gaze to her face, but she was already looking away, arms folded around her waist as if she were trying to make herself look as small and unobtrusive as possible. Would he marry her? No. Of course not. He had absolutely no intention of shackling himself to any woman, no matter how attractive or intriguing he found her, though he could hardly say so without causing her further embarrassment. Better that than an engagement, however...
‘I’m about to return to my regiment, sir.’ He gave the first excuse that came into his head. ‘I’ve no provision for a wife.’
‘Ha!’ Harper’s face contorted with a look of malicious glee. ‘I thought not.’
Somehow Lance resisted the urge to grab the older man by the lapels and throw him headfirst through the nearest window. What on earth was the matter with him? Every eye in the room was turned towards them, every ear honed to hear every word—even the orchestra had stopped playing to listen—and yet Harper seemed so determined to win their argument that he had no qualms about humiliating his daughter in public. Just how much of a monster was he?
‘What’s going on?’ His father burst upon them suddenly, trailing a defeated-looking Arthur behind him. ‘Lance, I told you to behave yourself.’
‘I was behaving myself.’
He ran a hand through his hair, torn between exasperation and dull fury. How exactly had he found himself in this position, between two livid fathers, a silent brother and a tiny kitten of a woman who looked as though she wished the ground would open up and swallow her? Why the hell was he the one defending her?
‘He called me a liar.’ Harper’s tone was indignant.
‘And you called me a reprobate.’ Lance shot him a savage look. ‘I believe that makes us even.’
‘Apologise!’ His father’s voice was a hiss, bristling with rage. ‘Apologise to our guest right now.’
‘Don’t you want to hear my side of the story?’
‘Your side of the story is always the same. He called you a reprobate because that’s what you are. Now apologise or get out of my house this instant!’
‘Stop!’ It was Miss Harper who interrupted this time. ‘Please stop. It was all my fault. I overreacted, I’m sure.’
‘I doubt that, my dear.’ His father didn’t even bother to look at her. ‘You mustn’t distress yourself.’
‘But you mustn’t do this! Not because of me. It’s too awful.’
‘It’s no more than he deserves. This is the last straw, Lance.’
‘For you, too, Father.’ He didn’t wait another moment, turning his back and cutting a swathe through the dancers as he stormed towards the door. ‘Don’t expect me to set foot in this house ever again!’
‘Good!’ His father’s voice reverberated around the ballroom. ‘Because I wouldn’t let you in! You’re no son of mine any more!’
Lance stopped in the doorway, opening his mouth to hurl one final parting shot, then closing it again as he caught sight of his brother. Arthur was standing off to one side, a picture of such abject misery that he was half tempted to march back across the room and drag him away with him, too. But he was going back to his regiment and Arthur...well, Arthur was going to marry Violet Harper.
He took one last look at her face, at her big blue eyes made even bigger with shock. She was right about one thing. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t been so damned oversensitive, then he wouldn’t have had to run after her to apologise, wouldn’t have run into her father or stood up for her either, not that she’d thanked him for that! His lip curled contemptuously. From now on, he’d stick with the Cordelia Braithwaites of the world. Women like Violet Harper were more trouble than they were worth.
He turned away, mentally consigning his father, Harper and the whole room, Arthur excepted, to the deepest, darkest region of Hades. As for Violet Harper, future sister-in-law or not, he earnestly hoped he never set eyes on her again.
March 1867—five years later
The snow started to fall around midday.
Violet tugged at the hood of her thin grey, woefully inadequate cloak and tipped her head back, sticking her tongue out to catch a flake on its tip. It melted at once, sending an icy trickle sliding down the back of her throat. Snow. She’d never been out in it before, had only ever watched it fall through a windowpane, and the new experience was invigorating.
Nothing, not even bad weather, could dampen her spirits today. She ought to be frightened, sitting in the back of a rickety old cart rattling its way high over the moors, running away from her home, her few friends and everything else she’d ever known, but instead she felt exhilarated. Even the barren heather-and-gorse-filled wilderness didn’t intimidate her this morning, as it always had from a distance. Today it looked free and unconfined and alive, the way that she finally felt inside. In the space of a few hours, she’d travelled further than she ever had in the whole of her twenty-three years previously, not just in distance, but in herself, too. At long last, she’d taken charge of her own future, refusing to be the old, shrinking Violet any longer. For the first time in her life, she felt proud of herself.
Not a bad accomplishment for her wedding day.
‘The mine’s just over that ridge!’ the driver’s boy called back to her. ‘Don’t worry about the weather, miss. We’ve ridden through worse.’
She gave him a dazzling smile and settled back against the crates bearing supplies up to the miners at Rosedale. The driver had promised to take her on to Helmsley afterwards, though she could only imagine what he and his boy must be thinking of her. Her friend Ianthe had vouched for them, both for their characters as well as their ability to keep a secret, but they must surely still be wondering why a lone gentlewoman would arrange to meet them at dawn on the outskirts of Whitby as if she were fleeing the clutches of some evil tyrant.
Which in one sense, she supposed, she was.
She’d been planning her escape for the past week, almost from the moment Mr Rowlinson had taken her aside after her father’s funeral, saying he