This is a one-off based upon one of my favorite lines delivered by the Dowager Duchess. Comments and reviews are always fun to read, they inspire. Enjoy!
1914
Teatime in the drawing room Downton Abbey
"Oh Granny women do have opinions and ideas of their own, we're gaining our right to vote and who knows what else," Sybil apprised Violet of the sea-change about to overtake and unsettle staid British mores.
Violet turned her head to glance out of the window at the late spring shower. She contemplated what her spirited young granddaughter had just uttered.
Infamous amongst family and friends for her implacable resolve and sharp tongue, Violet always wondered what her life would have been like if she had followed the inclinations of her intellect, rather than succumb to the expectations of her family?
Violet once did have opinions of her own you know.
1875
Early evening, the ballroom at Hawthorne House, London
"Violet, let's take a look at you," requested her Aunt Evelyn's dearest friend Lady Warren.
Violet stood up and spun around gracefully in her silk confection that terraced down her slender figure in peach colored ruffles and bows. Lady Warren raised her lorgnettes to scrutinize the young lady as if she were a prized peacock in the royal aviary.
"My dear Evelyn, with her perfect complexion and wearing that extraordinary dress she's by far the most stunning girl in attendance. She'll no doubt have a husband before the ball has ended."
"Violet, I know you are often lost in thought but remember do not furrow your brow. And hold your head high—be poised," Evelyn coached her niece.
"Perhaps I should simply lather my body with honey. That would certainly attract more drones would it not?" Violet sarcastically replied her aunt and Lady Warren's assessment of her desirability on the marriage market.
Violet was annoyed by the close inspection of her person and wished instead to be hard at work at her writing desk penning the next chapter for her heroine Carolyn Nesbitt. She cared little about her appearance. She thought her skin was far too pale and enjoyed being in the sun reading or walking around the garden. Her hair was a mass of red curls that she found took too much time to tame into the latest style. And all this talk about waistlines in her opinion seemed a futile since one's girth inevitably expanded as one aged. She neither comprehended nor had the patience for all the fuss.
"There is a fine line between wit and worry my dear," Lady Warren upbraided Violet. "Your niece has quite a sharp tongue, she would due well to withhold her opinions," she advised her friend Evelyn.
"Am I not entitled to have opinions?" Violet asked the two older women.
"No quite frankly you are not. Not until you are married, then your husband will tell you what your opinions are," Lady Warren dismissed the young woman's naïveté.
"Don't mind her, she fancies herself a novelist. But I assure you it's merely a passing whim. She'll soon be too busy with a husband, children, and a household to run to give much thought to that impractical vocation."
"Why can't I become a novelist? If the Bronte sisters could do it why shouldn't I?" Violet inquired with a tone of superiority in her voice.
"Because you are the daughter of a baronet and will do well by focusing your energies in securing a suitable husband," Evelyn reminded her willful niece whom she had taken under her roof to improve her chances of marrying up the social ladder, rather than downward to middle-class obscurity.
"But I don't want a husband, I want to write. What about Marian Lewes she's a widely read and respected author?" Violet retorted her aunt's attempt to refocus her niece to the task at hand.
"Respected author! Her nom de plume was that of man," her aunt said exasperated at her niece's evocation of that scandalous woman. She looked around to see if anyone was privy to this conversation. "Mrs. Lewes, Mr. Eliot or whatever she's calling herself has taken up with a married man. No one would ever accept her in decent society, certainly no one here in London. A novelist! Don't be silly my dear. You are to be a wife that is the end of it. Now excuse me I must talk to Lady Marlborough," Evelyn then stood up and walked over to converse with a group of other women convened near the entrance to the room.
The candlelight refracted by the gargantuan crystal chandelier lent an ephemeral glow to pale green hue and glint of gold leaf that highlighted the room's decor. The well-dressed men and women around her began to scurry about as the melody of a waltz was heard. Dance partners sashayed into position on the ballroom's floor. But amidst the flurry of activity Violet's thoughts drifted elsewhere.
She scoffed at her aunt's dismissal of her beloved writers—the Brontes, Austen, and Eliot. Their novels filled her bookshelf and her imagination. She found their stories about women in a modernizing world an inspiration. Violet was a voracious reader not only of novels, but also of history and philosophy. Her intellectual prowess had duly impressed her tutors and governesses, who believed she could very well go onto university. But as a girl she was of course discouraged from pursuing that track. So instead she poured all of her energies into crafting fictional versions of the life she wished to lead. Like that of the vivacious and determined Carolyn Nesbitt, outcast daughter of the Duke of Warwick who found herself in love with Guy…"Violet, Violet" a voice interrupted her reverie.
"What am I going to do with you, your mind is always drifting off to one your trivial stories," her Aunt came sat back down beside her. "I've just heard that Patrick Crawley the oldest son of the Earl of Grantham is going to be here. Landing a future earl would be such a coup, don't you think?"
Landing a future earl. One would suppose from her aunt's statement that finding a husband was tantamount to some imperial conquest. Perhaps she should rally the brigades and ready for maneuver, Violet pondered. "Yes Aunt Evelyn, whatever you think is best," Violet responded, deciding to not say what she really thought this time.
Evelyn again left her side to retrieve more reconnaissance on the young men in their midst. Violet surveyed the ballroom. There were many suitors in search of a wife in attendance mostly the third or fourth son of landed gentry. Nice enough for a dance or two but not enticing enough to distract her from her current ambitions. With that last thought, her eyes lighted upon a very handsome young man who had entered the ballroom, one whom she had not seen before amongst her Aunt's acquaintances. He was average in height with curly light brown hair and dressed in the finest evening attire. She could tell from afar his manners were impeccable and that he came from great wealth. But there was something else about him that sparked her interest—she realized that it was precisely how she had imagined Guy Percy, the gallant lover of Lady Nesbitt the protagonist of her latest story. But who was he?
Violet sat pleasantly on the side watching the couples swirl about. She had committed to only three dances that evening and had refused her aunt's pleas to make herself visible and available. She preferred to observe from the sidelines, absorbing the details of the social behavior of her class to incorporate into her stories. It was her aunt's voice that interrupted her inspection of the crowd, "Mr. Crawley, might I introduce to you my niece: Lady Violet Manners."
Violet was caught off guard. "Yes, who? Oh, Mr. Crawley it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said as she bowed her head of red curls.
"I am pleased to meet you Lady Violet. Your aunt and her friend Lady Warren speak highly of your many talents."
"I am sure they've exaggerated my modest accomplishments. You must know that London is not my original home, I am in truth a country girl from a small village in Derbyshire," she replied
"No I assure you they have not overstated your many stellar attributes," he said earnestly while taking in her beauty. "Lady Violet, if you are not otherwise engaged might have the next dance?"
She looked up and indeed, he cut a quite striking figure from across the room, but upon closer inspection he also possessed the most beautiful deep blue eyes and soothing tone of voice. "I'd be delighted," she smiled warmly. He then bowed and walked to other side of the room where the three daughters of Lord Dorset pounced upon the desirable young bachelor.
"Mr. Crawley is clearly enamored with you. I can sense these things instantly," Evelyn leaned in to jubilantly tell her niece. "You see Violet, finding a husband can be great fun."
Violet wouldn't go so far as to assume that she was the object of anyone's affection upon first encounter, although Patrick Crawley, first son of the Earl of Grantham, had certainly piqued her curiosity.
And soon enough the next dance was about to begin. Patrick came over and offered his hand to Violet. He led her to the dance floor just the music began. With her arm laid gently upon his shoulder and his hand around her waist, the couple began to turn around the room 1-2-3 glide, 1-2-3 glide. For Violet it seemed so effortless with her new partner.
"Lady Violet I find it curious you call yourself a country girl, you have the refinement of a cultured lady of London," he complimented his partner.
"Mr. Crawley, while part of my youth has been spent with my aunt in London, my sensibilities find their roots in my small village. But I suspect a worldly young man such as yourself know little of rural life?" she replied as Patrick turned her to the right.
"Quite the contrary, I grew up in Yorkshire. Downton Abbey my ancestral home is near a village probably not that dissimilar from yours. So you see I too am a country lad who has found his way to the big city," he confessed.
Violet's heart stirred by his sincere effort to identify with her experiences and his kindness instantly put her at ease.
"You dance very well Mr. Crawley," she started another topic of conversation, 1-2-3-glide.
"Why thank you Lady Violet," he replied then offered, "the waltz as you know is something you must work at in order to perfect its inner logics—somewhat like mastering arithmetic or reading Latin," he replied in jest.
"I agree I much preferred Latin over learning Greek, which was not one of my best subjects mind you," she informed her partner as they whirled 1-2-3.
"You know both Greek and Latin? Your aunt and her friend certainly underplayed your talents. But of course it is not enough to have a good mind," he commented.
"The main thing is to use it well," she delighted in finishing his quote.
"So you've read Descartes?" he glided 1-2-3.
"But of course. Should only men be rational beings?" Violet asked of her partner with an undertone of consternation in her voice.
"I believe that women should have an education comparable to men," he responded as he turned her to the left.
"Then why is it that there no women at university?" she prodded Patrick.
"Because no women are allowed," he said assuming he was stating the obvious.
"But Mr. Crawley, if no women are allowed at university, then how are we to have an education comparable to men?" Violet inferred as she turned to right.
"Touché, I cannot argue with your sound deduction," he conceded as he looked down at his beguiling partner with a wide smile on his face.
The last notes of the waltz concluded and the two dancers clapped.
"I'm delighted you yield to my point," she complimented, pleased by her victory.
Patrick bowed and Violet curtsied. He offered his arm to escort her off the dance floor.
He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "well read and possessing her own opinions, Lady Violet I don't think I have ever met a woman quite like you."
Violet smiled as she recalled the evening that she met her future husband Patrick Crawley. While she may have abandoned her dream to become a novelist, she remembered fondly that she had instead followed her heart and had no regrets at that choice.
"I'm almost certain that soon women will vote and we'll be able to do whatever we choose," Sybil eagerly informed her grandmother. "Granny, when you were my age what did you want to do with your life?"
Still somewhat distracted Violet replied, "Yes, Sybil you are quite right women should be entitled to their own opinions and whatever else they wished to do."
Violet again turned her gaze out of the window to observe the rain as it petered out to a trickle and wondered what ever happened to Lady Carolyn Nesbitt, outcast daughter of the Duke of Warwick?
Love to hear your thoughts and angles on Violet's backstory. Curious how such a fierce personality would have fared in Victorian England? It also helps that Dame Maggie Smith is pitch perfect in the role.