The Countess Conspiracy

If there was a more baffling change of subject, Violet didn’t know it. “Shipping?”

“Yes. You know. Ships. Floating things that displace water and carry cargo? Using the method of least squares, I’ve begun to—”

“Method of least what?” Violet’s reluctant amusement washed away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She could have kicked him. The Countess of Cambury didn’t know anything about numerical methods. She wasn’t supposed to know maths at all. If he didn’t want to talk to her about science when they were alone, he damned well wasn’t going to broach the subject in public.

“Never mind,” Sebastian said with a sigh. “Just some figures. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Indeed. Save your mathematics about boats for your friends, Mr. Malheur. I’m busy.”

He frowned, opened his mouth, and then shut it again.

Amanda frowned. “I can’t tell if you two are fighting with each other, or if this is your normal mode of conversing.”

“It’s normal,” Violet replied.

But as she spoke, Sebastian said, “We’re fighting.”

An awkward moment passed. He met her eyes.

“We’re not fighting,” Violet contradicted mulishly. “We’re having a minor diplomatic discussion over…nomenclature.”

He took off his hat and rubbed his hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that she found irksome and adorable all at once. She refused to think him adorable.

“Look, Violet,” he said. “I know that there are…reasons why we might be uncomfortable with one another at the present. But we must try to be civil. Oliver’s getting married in a few days. We’ll have to see each other. Truce for now?”

Oliver’s wedding. They’d be together for hours. He’d have all that time to cajole her back into their easy friendship. Look what he’d managed with five minutes of non-elephant-related conversation. Violet looked away. “That won’t pose a problem,” she said tonelessly.

Sebastian knew her better than anyone else. At those words, he gasped and took a step forward. “You’re not thinking of staying away?” His voice dropped dangerously low.

“Why? Oliver isn’t my childhood friend.” She felt a fat lump in her throat as she spoke. “He’s yours. Very well. You get him.”

“Jane is your friend, in case you’ve forgotten, and as for Oliver—”

“Miss Jane Fairfield,” Violet snapped, “only thinks I’d make a good friend because she is known for her poor taste.”

The instant the words were out of her mouth, Violet knew she’d said a terrible thing. She stopped. Swallowed. Put her hands over her mouth and let out a breath.

God, she was a hateful woman. A hateful, horrible, selfish woman. She liked Jane. It was just… She was feeling so snappish. What else could anyone expect? Her world was falling to pieces, and she had to pretend that it didn’t even belong to her.

“Damn it, Violet,” Sebastian growled.

“Don’t curse in front of the child.”

“Damn it,” he repeated. “We would miss you. I’ll miss you.”

She looked up at that, her heart in her throat. And that’s when she noticed what she hadn’t seen before—the dark circles under his eyes, the too-pale look to his face. She’d been so wrapped up in her own hurt that she’d failed to see his.

“You are fighting,” Amanda remarked at her side.

It had never occurred to Violet that he might miss her, too. Her heart skipped one beat, then another. As if he were her lover, not just the man she’d conspired with for the last five years. They’d never touched—not more than the accidental brush of an elbow, and even that she’d tried to avoid. But in their own way, they had been closer than lovers, more intimate than friends. She’d shied away from that, too, but she still missed him. She missed him dreadfully.

She couldn’t admit it without choking on her words, and betraying how much she did actually care.

“Very well,” she muttered. “I’ll go.”

But she wasn’t fooling anyone present. Sebastian smiled in relief and Amanda let out a breath.

“Brilliant,” her niece said. “Now kiss and make up.”

Violet jerked back. Her niece hadn’t meant it like that. She hadn’t been talking about a lover’s kiss, but a kiss of friendship. Still, the word made her think of Sebastian’s lips, his smile. The smell of him in the air, so indescribable, so unlike anyone else. He smelled like comfort. She could sit next to him and breathe him in.

There were some boundaries that one dared not cross, and thinking about kissing one’s best friend was one of them.

Sebastian shrugged and his nose wrinkled.

“Not that,” Violet said.

He spoke at the same time she did. “How about we just make up?”

And then—because they were talking atop each other again, knowing precisely what the other was thinking, Violet found herself smothering a smile.

She’d been awful. He deserved more than her grumpiest sentiments. She didn’t know how to navigate this new phase of their friendship…but she would never forgive herself if she didn’t make the attempt. She let out a long breath.

“We must be off.” She glanced at Sebastian. “I don’t have time for you any longer.”

“Aunt Violet!” Amanda protested, as Violet took her wrist and led her away. “How rude! What would people think of you, if they heard that? Even if he is a rake.”

Violet didn’t care what Amanda thought. After all, it was her parting sentence that had put that brilliant smile on Sebastian’s face. He knew what she meant.

There was, after all, no point to using a code if everyone understood it.

VIOLET SAT IN HER MOTHER’S AIRY BACK PARLOR, perched on the edge of her seat, wishing she were anywhere else.

She’d come here immediately after she’d returned her niece to her sister, after she’d seen Sebastian. Her mother was worried about some kind of scandal. If her mother knew what Violet had been doing over the last five years, this was not going to be a pretty conversation. If she didn’t, that meant her mother had some other worry on her mind. Still, she’d promised Lily, and once she’d made that promise, there was no point delaying the visit.

Her mother sat across from her. Her needles clicked at a furious pace; her eyes were trained on the sky-blue wool that flew through her fingers.