Observations of a Wallflower
Journal Entry of December 5, 1816
Society can be odd and those within the ton do not always behave as expected.
For example, Lady Violet Claxton spent more time in the gardens admiring flowers, plants, and bushes than she did inside any ballroom, and I left London wondering why she preferred roses over bachelors. Though perhaps it’s because she’s grows bored with tedious conversation, as her intelligence is beyond most, she’s pragmatic, and lacks patience when time is wasted. Therefore, a London Season must be trying indeed for someone such as she.
Then there was Lord Emory Talbot, Viscount Ferrard, who behaved exactly as one would imagine of a rake. Though he is expected to marry and produce an heir and a spare, Ferrard showed no interest in any lady or miss for longer than an evening. Further, I have it on good authority that he fears any form of commitment, which may explain why he’s not even kept a mistress or settled on a wife. However, rumors have recently reached me that he may no longer have the option of waiting. The details have not been shared, but I’m certain they are drastic as I’m to understand that he is to attend a house party where Lady Violet is in residence. And, I have also learned from the most trusted authority that Ferrard never attends house parties.
I cannot begin to imagine how the two might get on when they do finally meet. Will he show interest for no more than a night or will she spend all her time in the gardens avoiding all guests? Regardless of any interaction the two may share, I’m certain nothing will come from their association as I can’t think of two less likely candidates to enter into a courtship.
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“Measles!” Mrs. Harley exclaimed from the front parlor.
Lady Violet Claxton grasped the railing of the stairs as alarm rushed through her being. It was a common disease, that she well knew, but it could also be deadly—a harsh reality that she had become painfully aware of as a child, and why she suffered such an irrational response at the mere pronouncement of the disease.
“Yes,” a deep voice answered. “Did he have the rash before he left your home yesterday?”
Was that Dr. Talbot?
Violet tilted an ear toward the door as she slid one slippered foot onto the next step, quietly and slowly edging her way to the landing, thankful that the stairs were thickly carpeted so that none could hear her approach.
“He had the sniffles, if I recall,” Mrs. Harley answered. “And a slight cough. Mrs. Buckley sent him to his bed following the Christmas festivities and when his duties were complete.”
Mrs. Buckley was the housekeeper and diligent in her duties, even though the Harleys had few servants, as this was a modest household. Well, it was modest compared to Violet’s home, Forester Hall, a sprawling manor that had been the estate belonging to the Duke of Arscott for nearly two centuries.
“Is anyone else within your household ill?” Dr. Talbot asked.
