Lady Violet Cunningham

Lady Violet paced her parlor, taking occasional sips from her glass of Irish whiskey. It had been six months since that chit of a niece had left Port Royal. Escaping to sea in that heathenish ship of hers. Well, Violet thought, she was sure to come back, as that Frenchman she had taken up with was still in town. It gave Violet a headache to think how hard she had worked to convince the girl to go back to England, where a very advantageous marriage awaited her. Ungrateful gutter snipe! Her husband, Albert, entered the room. "My dear Violet, are you still fretting over that niece of yours?" She turned her wrath on him. "Of course I'm still fretting! The stupid creature has no idea what she has brushed aside." "Oh, I think she does." Albert replied, pouring whiskey from the decanter. "It's why she left." "Bah! She may think she has outwitted me, but she is sorely mistaken." "You're going to give yourself a fever, wife. Let it go. You cannot force a woman of her nature to do something she doesn't choose to do." Lady Violet stopped pacing and shot her husband a furious look. "Well, I can see I can expect no help from you!" Albert settled into a cushioned chair. "You expect correctly. I am not going to get myself into a pucker over this affair. I have better things to occupy my time. Besides, you're only angry because you lost the battle." "Well," Lady Violet said, "I may have lost this battle, but I intend to win the war. And make no mistake, Albert, war it is!"

Once the members of the debacle had left her parlor, Lady Violet turned on her husband. "You! You were about as helpful as a member of Parliment! And if that were not bad enough, you as good as threatened Devareax with your knowledge of his business. What the devil did that accomplish, other than to anger him more. Honestly, this whole evening has been a complete and utter disaster." Albert gulped down the remains in his brandy glass. "My dear wife, if you had let the chit alone, and given up on this futile quest to return her to the busom of her family—a family which don't want her—then none of this would have happened in the first place. Do not, I beg you, attempt to turn the blaime onto me." Lady Violet filled her glass with whiskey and ignored the brandy. "That woman, if she return to England and marries Seymour, could align us with the crown. Think what advantages that would gain us." "Gawd, woman, is that the nugget at the center of this pit? I am a Duke. You are a Duchess. What closer alignment with the crown do you need?" She fluffed like a riled hen. "The manor house of Thornbures is destitute. Rudd was left with nothing but debts when his father and older brother died. Do you intend to sink money of your own to bring it back from decrepitude? I dare say not. Seymour money could. Unless you prefer to see a prime piece of property cut up and dispersed among a pack of squabbling minor relatives?" Albert shook his head. "No, the property is too valuable to allow that. But...tell me truly, wife, do you honestly think you can get that chit to agree with your little plan, or that Seymour would have her, once he finds out what she has become? No, he won't. He'd only hold the family up to ridicule, and cast her aside. You would gain nothing." She took a large swallow of whiskey, carefully set the expensive glass on a table, then she faced her husband of some thirty years. "Well, can you come up with a better way of gaining over fifty thousand pounds?"

Lady Violet stood in the middle of her empty parlor. Albert leaned against the fireplace mantle, a glass of brandy cradled in his hand. The quiet after the storm was deafening. Yet Lady Violet's mind still raged. She was not used to losing a battle, and there could be no doubt that she had lost this one. "Have a whiskey, Violet, and forget the chit. You did your best." Albert poured her a glass and held it out. She took it, and downed the contents in one gulp. "It's rediculous, Albert. She has no intention of becoming Devareaux's wife. As soon as she's well, she be back with that revolting rabble of a crew, and gone. The whole idea is a travesty. It is not the life for a woman of her quality." Albert, who tended to be more pragmatic than his volatile wife, replied, "Let it go, Violet. Let her go. She has chosen her own destruction, and there is nothing you can do to stop her. Besides, considering what her life has been these past ten years, she is no longer a woman of quality, and no decent man would have her. Write to her brother and tell him the truth of things." Violet poured herself another whiskey. "Oh, I'll write to her brother. But rather than forsake her to a life of further ruin, I will not give up." She turned to her husband, and her voice softened. "If I can not save her, she will die. Either by shot, blade, brutal hand, or hung by the neck, she will die. Do I abandon her to that?" Albert put an arm about his wife's shoulders. "She is already beyond saving, Violet." She shrugged his arm off. "I refuse to believe that. I refuse to allow her to end up in an unmarked grave, or her body tossed into the ocean." Her chin came up, and fire danced in her eyes. "Do you understand? I refuse."

Taking in the volatile scene, Lady Violet, in danger of having her parlor not only shot up, but stained with blood, decided to take matters into her own hands. "Oh for God's sake." Striding purposely across the room, and shoving her way past the Frenchman with the sword, she stood in front of Devareax and reaching out a hand, slapped her unconcious niece across the check. "Wake up, you chit. You created this fiasco, now you must deal with it." Then she turned to the big Moor. "Put that pistol down at once, I say." Then she glared at all the men present. "Put every weapon away this instant. I am a Dutchess, and I will NOT have my parlor shot up by a bunch of ruffians." Albert held up his brandy glass, in salute to his wife. "Here, here. Well said, my dear."

At that precise moment, chaos erupted. To Lady Violet's fury, the sailors from her neice's ship burst into the parlor, the great Moor leading them. The look on his face would have frightened the most stalwart soldier. Devareaux had turned to catch her fainting niece, and his companion, placing himself between Sebastian and the sailors, had pulled a sword. Albert, still in night robe, bellowed at one and all to "leave the premises at once." After the sailors, the Devareaux party rushed in, to the defence of their master. Poor Preston, pushed aside in the melee, slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to his heart, his jaw dropped in fright. The big Moor glared at the swordsman, standing between him, Devareaux, and her neice, who was limp as a fish. Then looking past him, demanded of Sebastian in a menacing voice, "Give her to me." Past all patience, and wishing her neice to the devil, Lady Violet shouted most unbecomingly, "Oh for God's sake, give the chit to him, and let's end this debacle before my parlor is destroyed."

Violet turned flashing grey eyes on Sebastian. Her voice fairly shook with anger. "I don't know what charade you are playing at, sir, but I tell you, it won't work. As depraved a woman as my nice is, I will not allow her to marry into a family of gypsies, no matter how wealthy they appear to be." Her neice rose unsdeadily. "That's enough. I am tired of being bargained for like some nag at a horse market. You forget, Violet, that I am of age. I can choose my own husband, assuming I want one. And quite frankly, Sebastian suites me rather nicely." She gave him a sweet smile. "As he knows only too well." "Please," Albert inturupted, "Let's not dwell on your sordid relationship. Besides, I know fairly well what generates the wealth of the Devareaux's, and I decline to be associated with it, by marriage or any other means." Violet gave Sebastian a look of triumph. "You see. It is of no use. Your bribery attempt has failed. In which case, I feel we have nothing more to disuss."

Lady Violet felt that the whole scene was decending into high farce. She knew the marriage proposal was a sham, and couldn't understand why Devareaux felt he needed to go to such an extream. As for her niece... "Alexandra Charlotte Louis Worthylake, I order you to return to your room at once!" The woman stood her ground, eyes blazing. "And I ordered you to never call me that again! I see you're just as good at taking orders as I am." "This rediculous, charade of a meeting is over," Lord Albert said. "You make take your offerings, sir, and return them to a place of safe-keeping. The chit isn't worth a brass farthing." The niece in question walked to the brandy tray, filled Lady Violet's goblet, took it and retreated to a nearby chair. She took a sip of the liquor, then smiled at the assembled group. "It's so difficult listening through a door. Pray tell me, what, exactly, did my lover offer for me besides that rediculously huge finger adornment?" "Nothing that I am going to accept," Lady Violet stormed.

"Change her manner?" Lord Albert gasped. "You could as easily change the course of the sun. Really, man, it is too preposterous." Lady Violet, no longer amused, slammed her glass back on the tray, nearly shattering the fragile thing. "It's a trick, Albert, devised between the two of them for just such a situation as this. As soon as she is off our property, he'll let her go back to her ship. I'm sorry, Monsieur Devareaux, but I have plans for my niece, and a life in Port Royal, as your wife or otherwise, is not a part of them."

Lady Violet nearly dropped her glass. She wasn't sure what she had expected from this interview, but an offer of marriage for her neice had certainly not been drempt of, nor was it welcome. "Forgive me, monsieur, but, why do you wish to marry my niece? We are all adults here, so I may speak frankly. You know of her dubious lifestyle, for she has lain in your bed, but do you really wish to take such a woman to wife? It seems hardly creditable." Lord Albert, his jaw dropped, sputtered, "Are you out of your mind! The woman is a hoiden, as Violet has so often said. She'd run off to sea again as soon as your back was turned. Really, sir, it defies reason."

"You are too gracious with your gift, and we are all attention, Monsieur," Lady Violet purred. Albert waited with narrowed eyes, and sipped his brandy.

It was all Lady Violet could do to keep from bursting out laughing. Oh, you're good, she thought, you're very good. "I do believe you're right, Monsieur, however, I much prefer a good Irish whiskey." Albert huffed. "Did you come here, sir, to discuss the merits of my brandy? If it will speed this interview along, I will send a bottle home with you, although, I'm sure it no doubt pales in comparison to what is in your own cellar." Violet allowed Albert to ruffle the Frenchman's feathers. It was a useful tactic, on occation, and she knew Albert was doing it on purpose — testing the waters, sort to speak. By the flashing of his dark eyes, she knew the man by the door was becoming angry. So, she thought, the tactics were working on at least that one. "Albert, please, these men are our guests. Let's be civil, shall we?" She turned toward the one called Sebastian. "Let me refill your glass."

Scotts are alway so peevish, don't you find? It must be running around in those short little skirts, with their poor knobby knees exposed and freezing in the cold. And I blush to admit it, but I have been told that most of them wear no small clothes under them either. How distressing that must be on a blustery day. Not to mention the shock of a rain soaked garden bench. Poor dears.

Lady Violet thought she had heard the best of chivalric small talk at court, but this young Frenchman and his blandishments made her smile with admiration. "My, how polite you are, Monsieur Devareaux. Yes, it is a pity that we have never met before, but then, Lord Albert and myself don't spend much time at Trade Winds, preferring to leave the running of the plantation in the hands of our most capable manager." Preston entered the room with a tray on which were four glasses and a decanter of brandy. "May I offer you refreshment, sirs?" Lady Violet said. Albert, not waiting for his guests, poured himself a glassful, and obviously tired of the small talk, remarked, "Can we get to the issue at hand? What is it that you wish to tell us?"

Albert looked to his wife, at the guest, then back to his wife. "Drat, Violet, who is the man and what is he talking about?" Violet smiled, and replied, "We have never been introduced, but I believe he is my niece's paramour. Why, it was only just tonight that she described him to me as 'Young, gallant, lively, alert, agile, bold, adventurous, hight-handed and a touch arogant'. What do you think, dear? Shall we invite him in?" Despite what most people thought on their first aquaintance, Albert was not a stupid man. He peered at the newcomer again, and a cord was suddenly struck. "Why, you're one of the Devareaux's are you not?" At the mention of thier illusive, mysterious neighbors, Violet's smile got wider. "That settles it then. Do come in, sir. We can retire to the parlor and you can tell us what brings you to our door at so late an hour. I'm sure it will be most...facinating." She stepped back, as did Lord Albert. Preston quickly pocketed the coins the man had given him, then bowed formally. "I will bring refreshments, your ladyship, and alert Timmon to fetch the stable boy to care for the gentlemen's horses." Albert, heading toward a set of double doors, remarked, "Well, come in then, but as this is such an informal meeting, I refuse to put that blasted wig back on." Lady Violet rolled her eyes. "Really, Albert, I seriously doubt that your wig, or lack thereof, is of any interest to them whatsoever." She turned to Devereaux, and gestured toward the double doors. "That way, sir, if you please."