"I'm so glad to see the two of you this way," Isidore said from the back seat of the car. He squeezed Martha's hand.
Rosamund twisted her head to look at where he sat behind her. "We have you and Martha to thank for it." She reached up and rubbed her fingers along the nape of Marmaduke's neck as he drove. "Isn't that right, my devil?"
Marmaduke chuckled, leaning back slightly into Rosamund's touch and flicking his eyes briefly to her, then to the Levinsons in the mirror. "That's right." He watched the road again, following closely behind the car in which Robert, Cora, and Patrick rode. They were taking Patrick into Ripon for the day, until they would need to have him back to dress for dinner – for the party.
Shifting closer to Isidore on the seat, Martha glanced at him, then to Rosamund. "Well, it wouldn't have mattered if no one had wanted to talk about it."
"So, it's Marmaduke's doing, is it?" Rosamund smiled at him, continuing to trace small circles into his neck. "If he was ever going to go against my wishes, I'm happy that it was concerning this, and in the way he did." She winked back at Martha.
"We are too," Martha said. She waited a moment, then put forth a tentative question. "Are you going to tell your family?"
Marmaduke and Rosamund shared a glance between them, her fingers stilling momentarily upon his nape. "We thought we would tomorrow," she said softly, her eyes meeting Martha's. "We were ready to tell them today, but, well, we didn't want to put a damper on Papa's birthday."
Isidore nodded. "That seems reasonable."
"Although, his spirits seem to be dampened already, don't they? I wonder what's the matter with him. He's been like that for a couple days now." Marmaduke drew his brows together in confusion and shook his head.
Now it was Martha and Isidore's turn to share a look. They'd been surprised to see Patrick come down to breakfast with such a sour expression and to wait in vain for Violet to show up at all. With a sigh, Isidore replied, "If I had to guess, I'd say he's disappointed that Violet didn't come with us."
"Well, it is a shame she had to stay behind. I think Cora would have stayed in her place, but you know how Violet is with these things." Marmaduke shrugged.
"Yes, I think we do." Martha pressed Isidore's hand. "We'll just have to try to cheer him as best we can. Won't we?"
"That's right, Martha. And hope that this party is worth all this misunderstanding."
Rosamund glanced back at them curiously, but said nothing.
Cora turned toward Patrick, concern writ upon her visage. "Papa, are you alright?"
"Yes, Cora. I'm fine." Patrick sat up straighter and tried to smile. But he saw in the rearview mirror that it came out as a pained grimace. This made him frown.
"I'm sorry, Papa, but you don't really look fine."
Robert flicked his eyes between the two of them, alternating that with his attention to the road. He'd attributed his father's strange mood yesterday to lack of good sleep, but he wasn't so sure he could do that today.
Patrick knew that they all had brought him into town to help him celebrate his birthday, to give him a good day, a nice time. And he wanted to honor that by being in a better mood – or at least trying to be. Taking a deep breath, he attempted a smaller smile, one that he noted looked far less like a grimace. "I'm just concerned about getting older. That's all, Cora. I'll be okay," he muttered.
"Well, as long as that's all it is. And don't worry. You're still young." She grinned at him.
Her soft smile calmed some of the turmoil in his mind, and he managed a genuine smile in return. Patrick knew he had to push away his conversation with Violet that morning, all the heartache he'd been feeling and walking on eggshells they'd been doing. Before he did, though, an image of her face flashed in front of him. For all her imperviousness and her insistence on remaining at the house, when he'd told her to find him another room, she'd looked almost… hurt. Hurt and saddened.
But that hadn't seemed to change her mind.
So Patrick gathered all those thoughts together and swept them as far back as he could push them, determined to have a nice birthday outing with his family.
It was a nice day, for the most part, if Patrick was honest. However, he couldn't deny that he'd missed Violet terribly. She should have been there, should have been part of his day.
Well, at least in some respect, she'd be part of his evening. But when he arrived at their bedroom just as the dressing gong sounded, she wasn't there. He sighed deeply and surveyed the room. None of his things appeared to be missing. He couldn't decide whether this was a hopeful sign or not. He closed the door and walked over to the wardrobe, where Violet had left his tuxedo out for him.
So it was to be that kind of night. A fancy dinner, best behavior, buttoned up all the way kind of night.
Patrick shook his head, sighed a bit, and undressed, wondering when Violet would be coming in to get changed for dinner.
She never showed up. Patrick smoothed his tux and patted his hair down in the mirror, peeking around the bathroom door. But no Violet. He frowned, believing she must be avoiding him. And it hurt. Even though he realized he probably brought it upon himself, going as far as he did that morning, awash in his own pain and anger at her.
And now it seemed she couldn't even be in the same room with him.
Glancing at the clock, he decided he'd waited for her long enough. It was clear she wasn't coming up, and he didn't want her yelling at him for being late to his own birthday dinner. Then a horrible thought gripped him: what if she wasn't at his birthday dinner?
He didn't even attempt to keep the frown from his face as he descended the stairs, his stomach tightly knotted. Then he noticed that everything was strangely quiet. He knew he had to be the last one downstairs, and by now he'd normally be hearing voices from the drawing room – especially since Martha was among their number. Furrowing his brow, he approached the doorway.
"SURPRISE!" came a collective shout when he got to the drawing room. "Happy birthday, Patrick!"
Patrick grinned, both taken aback and pleased to see all their family and friends gathered in the drawing room. He found himself enveloped in a flurry of handshakes and hugs, claps on the back and warm greetings.
But the company still excluded one person, and his heart fell.
After most of the party had gotten to greet him personally – which took quite a while – Patrick's family and the Levinsons surrounded him again. "Were you surprised, Papa?" Cora asked, her face bright.
"Yes, Cora. Very." He smiled at her, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He kept glancing about, thinking Violet would walk in at any moment. He knew exactly who was behind the party – so why wasn't she here?
"Pat? Are you alright?" Isidore's eyes fastened upon his friend's face in some concern, although he had a pretty good idea what was wrong.
"Where is Violet? Normally she'd be in the middle of this circus, making sure everything runs smoothly. So, where is she?" It came out more forcefully than he'd intended, his upset over her absence boiling over into his tone.
Martha and Patrick exchanged glances as the children looked around as well. They'd seen her slip out of the room just after she'd gotten everyone settled.
"Papa, she was here before you walked in," Robert replied, his eyebrows meeting upon his forehead in bewilderment.
Patrick watched servers mill about with trays of champagne glasses. "Isn't there any bloody Scotch in here?" he mumbled. "I'm going to get a real drink. I'll be back." He walked off in the direction of the library.
"Papa –" Rosamund turned as if to follow her father.
Isidore put up a hand. "I think we should let him go. He's upset."
"But, Issi, that's why I want to go after him." Rosamund's concern made her voice rise in pitch.
"Well, I won't stop you, but I still think he just needs to be alone a while." Isidore shrugged.
Rosamund sighed and took a glass from the tray of a passing server. She trusted Isidore. "No, I'll stay. But if he takes too long, I think I'll have to go find him. This is his party."
When Patrick entered the library, he stopped short, his breath catching in his throat. Violet had been turning from the liquor cabinet, a drink in her hand. He thought he might be dreaming.
Violet was a vision in white, breathtaking and almost luminous in the light flickering from the fireplace. The dress reminded him a bit of Marilyn Monroe, dipping down low in the front, revealing more cleavage than Violet generally cared to show. Wide straps adorned with glittering clasps held up the bodice, and, to Patrick's astonishment, his wife had chosen to go braless. He knew this because the dress hugged every curve of bosom, waist, and hip, curves he knew better than he knew his own body. With an effort, he dragged his eyes downward to where the skirt of the dress ended above the knee, exposing smooth, toned, porcelain legs. Patrick had always admired his wife's legs, and she didn't often show them off this way.
The dress might have reminded him of Marilyn Monroe, but the only woman he thought of right then was Violet. He lifted his eyes to hers and exhaled finally.
"I didn't know whether you would want me to be there with the others," Violet said. Was there uncertainty in her eyes as well as her words? "After this morning – I didn't want to ruin the moment of surprise for you." She shook her head, long, auburn tresses moving in soft waves over her shoulders.
Patrick reached behind him and closed the door, then took a few steps into the room. "But it was ruined. Because you weren't there." He kept his eyes locked on hers, searching them.
"I'm sorry then. I didn't want to ruin any of it for you." She held out the Scotch. "I made this for myself, but I think perhaps that's why you came in here. Am I right?"
"Yes." He nodded and crossed the distance between them, taking the glass from her hand. Before he could say anything, she turned away to prepare another. If Patrick didn't know her better, he would think she was nervous. "You look beautiful, Violet. Gorgeous, in fact," he said softly.
"Thank you," she replied, pouring whiskey over the ice in the glass. "It's for you. It's all for you, you know." She swallowed hard, fumbling with the soda syphon.
Patrick put a hand over hers, stilling it. "Let me do that. I don't want you to end up with soda on your dress."
Violet nodded and stepped back, watching him finish her drink. She lowered her lashes as he handed it to her, unsure what to say.
"You stayed behind today to put all this in motion." He had a sip of his drink, observing her, not knowing what to think anymore. Everything was a jumble.
Lifting her eyes, she nodded again. "Yes. Patrick, I'm sorry," she repeated. "You have no idea how much I wanted to go with all of you today. When you looked at me the way you did – my heart broke. Especially because –" She paused, taking a drink before going on. "Especially because of how things have been between us the past couple of days. I chose to stay; I almost didn't. Maybe that was wrong. Maybe I should have left Cora here to do all this, but I – I wanted it perfect for you. We've been planning for so long and…"
Patrick listened to her near rambling, saw how she'd bent her head down again, one hand gesturing and her lashes fluttering as she blinked fiercely, and realized that she was nervous. The thought knocked him for a loop. And he looked upon her face with tenderness, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"…didn't get you another room," she continued, "and I didn't move your things because I don't want you to go. I've been wanting to make everything up to you, hoping you'll forgive me. Maybe I was wrong not to go today – it certainly felt wrong as the day went on – and I know I was wrong to accuse you of having a crush on Martha Levinson, but I couldn't help being jealous, even though I know it was partly my fault, and–"
"Violet," Patrick interrupted, near laughter at her being as close to babbling as he'd ever heard her. He put his drink down next to him and slid his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head up toward him.
"Hmmm?" she asked, averting her eyes, afraid of what she might see in his.
"Stop talking," he whispered. "Stop talking and kiss me."
Violet fixed astonished eyes on his face. "What?"
"Kiss me. Please." He took another step closer, raising his other arm to brush his fingers through her hair, the faint scent of lavender and honeysuckle rising between them.
A blush came to her cheeks, and the blue of her eyes intensified with a radiant light. She smiled and set her own glass down, then pressed her palms to his chest and her lips to his. Patrick's hand fell away from her chin and slid over her shoulder and down to her lower back as he deepened the kiss, pulling her flush to his body.
When she drew her head away for breath, Violet ran her fingers along the waistcoat of his tux and asked, "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"
"Of course I forgive you," he replied. "I hope you'll forgive me too."
"There's nothing to forgive, Patrick."
He continued to weave his fingers through her hair, having almost forgotten how silky it was. "Yes, there is. I must have made you feel so insecure, Violet. I simply didn't think that, because you're always so strong. So much stronger than I am. I honestly don't know what happened, but I do know we should have addressed it sooner."
"Well, we're addressing it now." She smiled at him and touched his face gently.
Patrick bent his head and rested his forehead on hers. "Kiss me again, Violet."
Obediently, Violet kissed him, teasing his bottom lip with her tongue, and pressing against him with an increasing hunger. She gasped as his hand wandered to her behind, rubbing it through the dress, then sighed into his mouth. Patrick's other hand glided down, over her throat, her collar bone, tracing over her cleavage and making her shiver.
"Don't stop," she whispered against his lips, snaking a hand beneath his waistcoat and grazing her fingertips over a nipple through his dress shirt.
He let out a throaty groan, mimicking her actions by cupping her breast and flicking his thumb over the peak.
"Oh God." Violet gasped again as he began nipping at her throat, her breathing becoming heavier and her thoughts hazy.
Then, as she continued to circle her fingers over his nipple, she felt a tell-tale hardness upon her hip.
She withdrew her fingers from his waistcoat and murmured, "Patrick, stop."
"What?" he stilled his hands and lifted his head to look at her, disappointed, but not surprised. Not far down the hallway, a party was going on – for him – and they were in the middle of the library.
But, instead of moving away, Violet kissed him again. "Lean back against the liquor cabinet," she said, her hands in his hair and her breath hot on his ear.
When he didn't move, Violet pushed a hand against his shoulder and pressed her hip into his, guiding him to turn and lean back. She leaned up and captured his lips between hers, her hands meandering down his shirt and to his trousers. Breaking the kiss, she affixed her eyes on his with a wicked expression, her fingers unfastening his trouser buttons.
"Violet? Darling, what are you doing?" He licked his lips as he watched her bend her head and suckle on his neck above his collar. He closed his eyes when she unzipped his trousers and fondled his arousal through his boxers.
She didn't answer him for a few moments, and Patrick couldn't seem to form words. He hung onto her, running his hands up and down her back and letting out a low moan with every new sensation she caused.
Eventually, she drew her head back, a hand still caressing him through his shorts, and whispered, "I'm giving you one of your birthday gifts." Pressing another kiss just under his ear, she took a step back and knelt down in front of him.
Patrick's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Violet, I – um – you – what…?" he stuttered, watching in disbelief as she pulled down both his trousers and boxers.
"Just be still, Patrick," she said, looking up at him with that same wicked grin, her fingers wrapping around him to begin stroking his length.
"Oh sweet heaven," was all he could sigh out as she put her lips around him. He knew now why she'd wanted him to lean back against the cabinet. He hung onto the edges for dear life, his head lolling back as his eyes closed. Violet had never done this before – not this particular thing, certainly, and not even anything outside of their bedroom. The titillation not only of what she was doing, but where…. He had to concentrate very much not to lose complete control of himself right then.
Violet reached one hand around and kneaded his bottom, listening to the noises of enjoyment she elicited from him. Although very nervous, hoping that she was doing this correctly (although becoming more confident from his acute reactions), hoping no one would decide to find the guest of honor or the hostess and walk in on them, she couldn't help feeling a sense of satisfaction. She loved him so much, and she loved making him feel so much pleasure.
Studying the sex manual had indeed been time well spent.
Rosamund glanced at the clock again. It had been over half an hour. She stamped her foot impatiently and turned to Isidore. "I have to go find him and bring him back. He can't spend his whole birthday party sulking in the library, drinking Scotch. Please, can I go now, Issi?"
Isidore sighed and nodded, in agreement with her when he, too, discerned how late it was getting. "You might find your mother too, after you send him back here. It's a wonder she's not shown up yet."
Practically running from the room, ignoring Robert's chuckle at her impatience, Rosamund went down the hallway and toward the library. The closed door barely gave her pause. If her father meant to become drunk, he probably didn't want any of the guests finding him that way. She opened the door quietly, not wanting to startle him.
She didn't count on being the one startled.
Rosamund's hand flew to her mouth, and she blinked hard at the sight that met her eyes. Her mother – her mother – kneeling down in front of her father, who was grasping the sides of the liquor cabinet, his eyes tightly shut. From the sounds that came from that quarter, it was quite obvious to Rosamund what they were doing.
Carefully backing out and closing the door silently – for she certainly did not want to see her papa's face at getting caught by his daughter – Rosamund stood there a moment, her heart pounding. Then she shook herself all over, squeezing her eyes shut.
That was really not what you wanted to see your parents doing.
She went back to the drawing room at a much slower pace, a trifle dazed. Once she rejoined her family, she grabbed another glass of champagne, and, ignoring their queries and bewildered looks, she downed the whole glass in one, then reached for another. Marmaduke snatched it from her, concerned.
"Hey, hey! Steady now, Rosamund! What's this about? Did you find Patrick?"
Rosamund blushed. "Oh, I found him alright. Mama too." She cocked her head at Isidore. "Is there a way to wash something from your mind? You know? Just whitewash something right out? Or a way to unsee something? Can you hypnotize me or something?"
Martha suddenly began to laugh.
"What's so funny, Martha?" Robert asked, glancing at his wife, more perplexed than when Rosamund had entered the room.
Isidore rolled his eyes, but started to chuckle as well.
"Mother, why are you laughing like that?" Cora asked. "Daddy?"
But Martha shook her head, holding her side, where she'd developed a stitch. She laughed so hard she could barely breathe now, much less answer.
"Your mother thinks she knows why Rosamund seems so, er, traumatized?" He lifted his brows at Rosamund in a questioning look.
Rosamund nodded, snatching back her glass from Marmaduke while he was preoccupied with Martha's reaction. "Just, no one go to the library. And certainly don't let any of the guests near there," she said before tilting the second glass down her throat.
A blush crept up Cora's throat as it dawned on her what they meant. The realization hit Marmaduke at almost the same time. They exchanged looks and nods, Cora starting to giggle. "I could be angry, I know – the way Violet acted last night about finding us in the library, but I just can't be. It's too amusing."
Robert stared at his wife a moment, then his face cleared when she gave him a certain look. "Oh," he said. Then, "Oh!" He blinked fiercely for a few moments, then shook himself just as Rosamund had in the hallway. "I did not want that picture in my head."
"Try actually seeing it," Rosamund grumbled.
"No, thank you." Robert shivered again and wrapped his arm tighter about Cora's waist.
Standing on wobbly legs, Violet straightened her dress and had a long drink of her watered-down Scotch. She grinned at her husband, who leaned heavily against the liquor cabinet and stared at her in wonder and amazement. Standing in front of him once more, Violet gave him a long, tender kiss, then bent down to retrieve his boxers from around his ankles.
"Where – what – how?" was all Patrick could manage to get out as she pulled up his shorts.
Violet put the boxers in place with a cheeky snap of the elastic waistband, then caressed his face and smiled. "Martha gave me a book for Christmas. I've been reading it. I thought it could help us if we learned some new things." She kissed his jawline. "I don't want to become boring, Patrick."
Patrick lifted a hand from where he still gripped the cabinet behind him and grazed her cheek with a tender look. "I told you, Violet. You're not boring. You've never bored me."
She took her hand away and pulled his trousers up, her head bent to the task. "Then why haven't we been together in so long?"
Watching her tuck his shirt carefully into the trousers, Patrick sighed. "I don't know. Honestly, I don't know what happened."
Violet nodded silently, intent upon buttoning, zipping, and then straightening his clothes.
"Look at me, Violet," he intoned softly.
She rested her hands on his waist and lifted her head, her eyes on his. "Now you know why I wanted to apologize to you." He wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer. "And I am sorry, for letting things get so far out of hand. For making you feel like I didn't want you anymore. Because I do. I love you, Violet."
Smiling up into his face now, Violet whispered, "I love you too."
Patrick waggled his eyebrows. "I think I can tell – after that."
Swatting him on the arm, Violet tried to look scandalized. "Stop that!"
Hugging her tighter, he grinned. "Whatever possessed you to do that? I mean, that particular thing? And here, in the library? Not that I'm complaining at all."
Her face softened, and she slid her hands up to repose on his chest once more. "I wanted to try to make up for all the hurt I've caused you lately. I wanted to give you pleasure. And I didn't want to wait until later." She bent her head to his ear and whispered, "Besides, you have no idea what sorts of fantasies I've been having about you lately."
"I think I can guess at least one of them." He turned his head and kissed her flushed cheek. Patrick inhaled the scent of her hair, happy to have her in his arms. "And perhaps we could explore your other fantasies after the party. I mean, we still haven't technically been together yet. And, my God, am I looking forward to it."
Violet chuckled, her chest vibrating pleasantly against his. "So am I." She touched his face again, gazing at him. "You just reminded me that we have a drawing room full of people, probably wondering where we've disappeared to."
"Trust there to be an event exactly when I most want to throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs and have you all to myself." He bent his head down to kiss her sweetly, then followed her with his eyes as she began to move away, clasping his hand in hers. "Especially when you're wearing something like that."
Tugging on his hand, she threw a saucy look over her shoulder at him. "I told you, tonight is all about you, birthday boy," she said, her voice incredibly suggestive.
Patrick let out a moan of longing. "Quit that, Violet, or I will have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs."
"What makes you think I'm not trying to convince you to do just that? You've put that in my head now, and it's vying with all my other fantasies for top billing."
They walked leisurely together toward the door, Patrick just behind Violet so he could fully appreciate the sway of her hips and the beautiful curves of her calves. "Because you planned this for so long, as you said, and there's a roomful of guests awaiting us."
"Yes, I know. But now it's all I'm going to think about all evening. It's going to be most difficult to concentrate. I could be very put out with you, you know."
"Ha! You're going to have difficulty concentrating? I have no idea how I'm going to make it through the evening with all these images in my head and the memory of you, er, doing what you just did, and seeing you walk around in this dress."
"Well, you'll have to try, won't you?" She stopped them near the drawing room and kissed him on the cheek. "It's almost time for dinner, so you'll have to mingle as much as you can before then. Maybe they'll think we've been in there the whole time."
"Ha!" he snorted again.
But he couldn't stop grinning.
Patrick and Violet spoke with guests, separately and together, unable to stop glancing at one another. They wandered around the room until the butler announced dinner, when Patrick sought Violet out and took her arm to lead her into the dining room.
Once everyone had taken their seats, he leaned over as the salads were being served and whispered very quietly to his wife, "Have you noticed our family staring at us oddly?"
"No, I can't say I have. But I can't stop staring at you." She smiled at him and draped her serviette over her lap.
He chuckled and shook his head. "Violet, I'm serious. Watch them through dinner. Rosamund and Martha are being particularly odd."
A crease appeared between her brows as she reached for her wine glass. "Of course, Patrick. I'll watch them."
As dinner progressed, Violet divided her attention between Patrick, the dinner companion on her other side, and observing their family. She had to admit that her husband had a point. Rosamund kept rubbing her eyes when she would glance over at one or another of them. Violet made a mental note to speak to Rosamund about that; she was going to give herself dark circles at that rate, and it wasn't doing any favors for her make-up. Cora kept looking as if she would spontaneously burst into giggles. Robert shook his head over and over. Marmaduke seemed the least affected, giving his shoulders a shrug every now and then. Martha and Isidore shared conspiratorial grins, both of them glancing over at Violet or Patrick, Isidore's face all happiness and perhaps relief, Martha's full of mischief.
During the last course, Violet's cautious discernment of anything received a check. Patrick's head was turned toward his own dinner companion, an old friend of his from university. But his hand… well, his hand had found Violet's thigh underneath the table and her serviette – and her dress. The number of people at dinner had made it expedient that the chairs all be very close together, making it very simple for Patrick to accomplish this. His fingertips grazed along her outer thigh a few times, drawing up her skirt along with them. Then he leaned slightly closer to her, all the while continuing his conversation with his mate, his fingers travelling along her inner thigh now. Violet nearly choked on her food as his fingers trailed ever higher. She took a long sip of wine and closed her eyes briefly, attempting to compose herself while hiding behind the excuse of swallowing the bite of food wrong. She believed she managed to keep her face impassive, even as Patrick's fingers now stroked along between the apex of her thighs through her panties.
She knew her face must be flushed, and she kept one hand under the table to make it look as if she merely held Patrick's hand upon her lap beneath the tablecloth. Violet had stopped eating, her full concentration being on looking as if nothing at all was going on. In fact, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning, and held on to Patrick's wrist with a vise-like grip to stop herself from squirming.
Eventually, she had to close her eyes, but before she did, she caught a glimpse of Martha's face. The woman beamed at Violet. Oh God, Violet panicked. She knows. But her thoughts couldn't go any farther; instead she turned them toward keeping her breath and countenance under control, and pressed Patrick's fingers hard against her as she endeavored not to cry out her release. Slackening her grasp on Patrick's wrist, she attempted to calm down while he caressed her gently. Then he unexpectedly turned to her, a smile wreathing his lips, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He gave her one last pat and drew her skirt down in a fluid motion.
It was her turn to look at him in slight awe.
Bending down as if she'd dropped her napkin on the floor, he straightened it for her on her lap, grinning. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked, nodding toward her plate.
But Violet knew the question didn't refer to the meal. "Quite satisfactory, yes, if a bit unexpected." She'd finally properly caught her breath.
"I agree. I'm very much looking forward to dessert though."
The twinkle in Patrick's eye was unmistakable. Violet nodded her assent, then picked up her water glass, glancing at Martha again, who grinned like the Cheshire Cat.