The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(12)

And that was the end of his virtues. Violet waited, but nothing more was forthcoming.

“Didn’t Grandmama teach you anything?” Violet finally asked. “If you want someone to think you’re excited about the match, you need to have better praise for your prospective husband than ‘not old’ and ‘reasonably good-looking.’ I suggest ‘kind’ or ‘romantic.’”

Amanda’s lips twitched, but she didn’t lose that look of false starry-eyed innocence. “Right. I’ll try again. He’s my age. He’s handsome, kind, and dreadfully romantic. You know all the advantages that will inure to me once I become a countess.”

Violet tasted a hint of vinegar on her tongue. “I do.”

“Once I marry him, I’ll come to love him. Won’t I?”

Violet knew what her niece wanted her to say. Yes, you will. Of course you will. Maybe she’d accept a more cautious, it’s likely.

“I did,” she finally said. “And my husband loved me. You’re a caring person, Amanda. The first few months of a marriage are intimate. It brings people together, even if they were not quite there when they first married.”

Amanda nodded slowly, contemplating this.

It was what came after those first months that really mattered.

“I know people who entered a marriage without love and found it nonetheless,” Violet said. “I know people who married for love and hated each other at the end of the year. And I had a friend who did not love her husband when she married him, convinced herself that she did as the first months passed, and…”

“And what?” Amanda asked.

“And then she realized she was wrong,” Violet finished stiffly. “If you have an ounce of independence in you, a husband will chafe. He’ll give you rules, and you’ll be expected to follow them. If he wishes, he can control your friends, your idle pursuits, your leisure activities. Some husbands want to mold you into another person, and it doesn’t matter if you’re made of marble instead of clay—he’ll push and push at you nonetheless, and unless you break for him, he’ll make you feel that you’re the lowest, most selfish person in the world.”

Amanda’s hand rose to her lips. “Is that what happened to you?”

“Nonsense,” Violet said brusquely. “I told you already. I’m talking about a friend.”

Amanda swallowed. “But you didn’t break, Aunt Violet. Look at you.”

Violet looked upward. “We are not talking about me.”

“Oh, very well. Your friend didn’t break, did she?”

Violet sat very straight and made herself look her niece in the eye. “She was not made of the kind of material that would break. But even if one doesn’t crack in two, apply enough pressure and everyone starts to wear away at the edges. Like crumbs from a scone. We’re all friable matter.”

Amanda took this in silence. “I’m made of breakable material,” she finally said. “I would break. I’m already breaking. All I have to hear is Mama asking me what’s wrong with him, and when I have no answer—when I say he’s a perfectly nice fellow, but I don’t wish to marry him, then—”

The door opened, and Violet’s sister swept in.

When they were younger, people used to say that Violet and Lily looked exactly alike—that they were twins despite the two years between them. All those people had been idiots. Lily was obviously much prettier. Her hair was a glossy, waving brown, her cheeks round and dimpled. She was always smiling, always a delight. She saw Violet now and her face lit. She sailed across the room, and before Violet could say anything, took hold of Violet’s wrists, hauling her to her feet.

“Violet,” she said. “I am so glad to see you.”

Almost no one in the world embraced Violet. But Lily did—grabbing her up in a hug so fierce that Violet almost staggered back. It felt lovely. And yet when she raised her hand an inch to pat her sister on the back in return, she felt so dreadfully foolish that she let her fingers hang in midair before slowly—slowly—letting them fall.

Lily pulled back. “Violet,” she said, “I have missed you so. You are the only person—literally the only person in the world—who can understand what is happening at this very moment. I need your advice, your help.”

“I see,” Violet said. Thank God. Lily always needed Violet, and Violet adored her for it. Lily had everything a proper woman should want: a husband who adored her, a life filled with the things she most wanted, and heaps upon heaps of children. And still she needed Violet. It made Violet feel almost lovable.

“Yes,” her sister said, playfully wagging her finger at her, “you do see. You always have. Ever since you were born, you’ve known precisely what I needed. It’s uncanny.”

Violet let that pass without comment.

“You see, it’s—” Lily stopped mid-word and turned around. “Amanda Louise Ellisford, what in heaven’s name are you doing in the parlor?”

Amanda’s eyes widened in lovely, perfect innocence. “Why, I was just keeping Aunt Violet company until you arrived, that’s all. I’m just being sociable.”

Her mother was not fooled by her nonchalant tone any more than Violet had been. One hand went to her hip. “Did you think your Aunt Violet would offer you sympathy and kind words?”