Broom with a View (16 page)

Chapter 15: Two Kisses That Are Worlds Apart

“Engaged?” Mrs. Popplewell said. This was the third time she had said the word as she sat there, teapot in hand poised to serve, and Violet wasn’t sure how to break her mother out of the little loop in which she had somehow become stuck. The girl wondered if, like a gramophone playing the same snatch of melody over and over again, her mother just needed a small nudge to jolt her forwards so she could proceed with the rest of the tune.

“It’s all my fault,” Vera said, clucking away as she helped herself to the selection of tea sandwiches that had been set out. “I tried to watch her. I warned her
, and I did my best to be vigilant. But those Mortals are so clever and underhanded. I swear you’d think they were relations of the Devil himself.”

“Did he trick you?” Mrs. Popplewell persisted in not serving the tea. “Did he pressure you in some way?”

“The magic of threes,” Vera said, touching the side of her nose with a significant glance at Mrs. Popplewell.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Violet said, finally relieving her mother of the teapot and taking the duties of serving upon herself. “Mr. Wilberforce is a perfectly nice man with a perfectly nice mother. It is true that they are Mortals. I’m afraid that can’t be helped. But is it really fair for us to hold that against them?”

“Is it their fortune?” Mrs. Popplewell asked, her hand still in the air, fingers curled, as if she was still supporting the teapot. “Because you’ll be coming into your own money soon. It may not be as large a fortune as theirs, but you will never want for comforts.”

“No, it’s not the money,” Violet insisted. “It’s just…”
She floundered for the right words.

“It’s just the magic of threes,” Miss Tartlette felt the need to mention again. “Mortal magic. You never think it’s real until you feel
the shackles.”

“It’s not Mortal magic,” Violet insisted, almost stamping her foot with vexation. “It’s that Cyril is a very nice man and I am… Well, I find myself…” He brain wanted to say, “And I find myself in love with him,” but the rest of her body refused. “I find myself quite fond of him,” was all she could manage.

“Fond?” Sonny said with an incredulous laugh from where he lounged in a chair. “Is that all you have to say of a man with whom you’ve pledged to spend the rest of your life?” A subtle throat clearing from his mother caused the young man to amend. “I mean, at least the next fifty years or so.”

“That’s true,” said their mother. “Have you taken into consideration that humans don’t age at all well
? He’ll be headed to the grave well before you’ve found your first gray hair.”

Violet gave her mother a penetrating look. “Is that something that would prevent you from forming an alliance with a human?” she asked.

“Well, never mind about that,” Mrs. Popplewell said, her cheeks a bit red as she readjusted the sandwiches that Vera had disturbed. “If you’re determined to have him, then I suppose we’ll grow to love him.”

“Or at least become fond of him,” Sonny chimed in.

“That’s enough out of you,” Mrs. Popplewell said, taking a playful swipe at her boy. “Are you going to find something to do now that you’re home or just lounge around the house like a useless little beastie?”

“Is that how you treat the return of a conquering hero?” Sonny wanted to know. “I risk life and limb out in the dreadful wilds of practically the netherworld and my return doesn’t even warrant a party?”

“Oh yes,” exclaimed his mother. She turned to look at her darling girl. “I suppose we’ll need to throw you an engagement party right away. Is that a Mortal thing as well, or will your Mr. Wilberforce look at us like we’ve been pixilated?”

“I’m not sure,” Violet said, wondering if Cyril would even be aware of a pixie if he was about to trod on one. “I can ask him, but I’m sure a party wouldn’t be unwelcome. I mean, everyone enjoys a party.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“I can’t for the life of me fathom why people are always so eager to throw a party over every little thing,” Cyril said, cleaning his glasses.

“I thought you’d be glad for an engagement party,” Violet said, feeling a little sting of hurt. “People are naturally curious to meet you
, and it’s a chance to meet all our neighbours and friends.”

“I feel rather like the prize pig at the fair,” her fiancé said, fitting his spectacles back on their perch. “What a squalid bunch of
neighbours you have at your disposal. I can’t imagine how you turned out so splendidly with this selection of humanity all around you, setting an example.”

“Be kind, Cyril. Someone might hear you
.” Violet tried to chastise him, but with a gentle hand. She had always found her neighbours perfectly acceptable and couldn’t understand why he viewed them differently.

“I wouldn’t mind a jot if they did,” Cyril insisted. “A good setdown might brighten their manners.”

“I think their manners are perfectly fine,” the girl protested.

“Of course you do, my pet,” he said. Cyril was trying out this nickname for Miss Popplewell. The girl hoped he would move on to something else very soon. “I know you haven’t had the opportunity to mix in the same circles as I did when I was growing up. When we go to London, you’ll see what I mean. Town is where you find
the true cosmopolitans of England.”

Violet gave a small frown, not sure what to think of the engagement party that she had found perfectly lovely only a few minutes earlier. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said in a slightly sullen voice.

“Well, take this fellow, for example,” Cyril said, not at all being subtle about pointing out a gentleman in the crowd.

“Mr. Wainbright?” Violet questioned, a bit puzzled. “What’s wrong with him? He’s a very close friend of my mother’s.”

“Friend of your mother’s,” Cyril sputtered. “I’m sure your mother is much too gentile of a woman to take any truck with him.”

“He is a very respectable man,” Violet insisted, feeling a bit defensive on her mother’s behalf. Mrs.
Popplewell and the gentleman in question were, after all, quite close.

If Violet was honest, Mr. Wainbright was a bit red in the face
, and he did have the habit of wearing brightly colored plaid waistcoats, but he was about the most pleasant Mortal you could find in all of Surrey. At least, that was Violet’s opinion. He was quite wealthy, too, if that mattered for anything. He held sizeable properties all over the county.

Cyril was not through dissecting the good Mr. Wainbright. “Who is he to flaunt his properties for the whole engagement party to hear? This isn’t the classified page in the Post, after all. I found his asking around if anyone knew of a suitable tenant for one of his squalid little cottages quite vulgar.”

“It’s just that he’d rather have people with whom he has a connection,” Violet tried to explain. “That makes things so much nicer for the neighbourhood when everyone gets on, don’t you think?”

“I think he’s too tight to take out a proper ad,” Cyril grumbled.

“Oh, you put me in mind of a wonderful idea,” Violet said, visibly brightening. “I know just the tenants who should have Mr. Wainbright’s most comfortable cottage.”

“Who?” asked Cyril, frowning.

“No one you know,” his fiancée assured him. “Just some charming elderly sisters I met at the Pensione Belladonna. I had a letter from them last week saying they are looking to return to England and to keep my eyes and ears open if I should discover a place in Surrey that’s not too dear.”

“Not one of your Crafter friends, I hope,” the young man said with a bit of a sneer. He was determined to quickly wean Violet from having too many connections in the magical community once they were married.

But Violet hadn’t heard him; she was too busy hurrying over to the genial Mr. Wainbright, who was having his usual jolly time teasing Violet’s mother. “Mr. Wainbright,” she called to him.

“There you are, my lass. We’ve been looking for you,” he said. “Is that young man monopolizing all your time already? None to spare for the old folks?”

Violet knew this was Mr. Wainbright’s way and that he didn’t mean anything by it, so she just ignored his teasing and proceeded with, “I was thinking about that cottage you said you had ready to let. I think I know the perfect tenants, if you’ll give me time to write to them.”

The old gentleman looked interested. “Who are these fine people of whom you think so highly?”

“They are the Misses Fate, three sisters. They were at the pensione we stayed at in X, and we’ve struck up a correspondence. Charming ladies, and I’m sure they’d give you no trouble at all as tenants,” the girl replied.

“Charming as in how you might use the word or charming as in the traditional English use of it?” Mr. Wainbright wanted to know.

“Both,” Violet said with a bit of a furrowed brow. “Does it matter?”

“Not at all,” he said with a wink at her mother. “I have quite a penchant for both kinds of charms.” It was not every Mortal who was as open minded and welcoming of the Crafter community as Mr. Wainbright. He had no scruples about renting to any type of human being just as long as they came with a glowing reference. “Why don’t you write to your dear friends and see if they might be interested. I’m not at all opposed to more charming women in the
neighbourhood.”

In the meantime, Mr. Wilberforce had sauntered over to where Sonny was enjoying a pile of grapes. Cyril saw no reason to distance Violet from her closest relations. Sonny had, after all, been in the war, even if it was only as a lowly supply clerk.

“Hello, Sonny. How goes it?” Cyril asked, attempting his rendition of a man-of-the-world swagger.

“All right,” was Sonny’s reply as he popped another grape in his mouth.

“Enjoying the party?” Cyril added without really caring to hear the answer. “But of course you are. I suppose you’re quite pleased that your sister is marrying such a sophisticated cosmopolitan.”

With a slight snort of derision
, Sonny stated, “I don’t see that a sophisticated cosmopolitan has any great advantages as a husband over a decent country Warlock.”

Cyril drew himself up to his full height. “Well, I assure you that there are many advantages
, and your sister is well aware of them.”

“I do hope so,” Sonny said
with another small snort. “I’ll have to ask her to tell me some time.”

Cyril turned away from the other man, his nose firmly out of joint. It was obvious that, despite his military service, Sonny was just a country bumpkin with no true appreciation of the finer things
—just a boy in the body of a man. The fellow couldn’t understand the nature of true romance. Cyril’s mind wandered to a small interlude between Violet and himself earlier that day. His fiancée had been in the garden gathering flowers for the party’s centerpieces. Observing that there was no one else around, Cyril had stalwartly stepped forwards and bestowed her with a gentle kiss that caused her to blush most prettily.

While Cyril strolled around the garden, ignoring everyone who showed him a friendly face, Violet was talking to a few of her girlfriends as they admired a large diamond and sapphire ring that her fiancé had given her the previous day as a token of his affection.

“How does it feel to be engaged?” Lacey Squires asked. She’d always wanted a beau, and to be engaged at just sixteen sounded terribly romantic.

“I’m not sure,” Violet replied. “I haven’t thought about it much,” she admitted.

“Haven’t thought about it much?” Pippa Monday was incredulous.

“It all just happened rather fast,” Violet said in a small voice. “I’m still getting used to the whole idea.”

“Has he kissed you yet?” Lacey wanted to know, eyes wide and glowing with the anticipation of a little vicarious romance.

“No
t really,” Violet confessed. When she saw her friends’ disappointed faces, she added, “Well, he kind of kissed me this morning while I was out gathering flowers.” She hadn’t mentioned it initially because she didn’t really count Cyril’s awkward little lunge as much of a kiss. It was more like an uncomfortable rap on the mouth from some very dry lips. And, of course, Cyril's glasses had tumbled from their roost again. They’d both bent to catch them causing them to bump heads and Violet to bite her tongue. She had told him she was all right, but it had hurt quite a bit, and she’d had to blink away the stinging tears that had gathered in her eyes. Thinking about the encounter made Violet a little peevish. She really wanted to try some kind of affixing spell to keep Mr. Wilberforce’s spectacles firmly in place. But that could go wrong in so many different ways. And even if she executed the spell correctly and Cyril did not notice, Violet was quite sure his mother would.

Miss Popplewell had only been kissed twice in her life
, and she couldn’t help but compare the two. She had received Cyril’s kiss as an unwanted annoyance as she was trying to get some work done. She’d wished at the time, if he was feeling amorous, that he would at least give her some advanced notice. It was quite alarming to have him darting forwards and pecking at her. Then there was Sebastian, the somber young vampire, and his all-encompassing embrace. There was a whole lifetime in that one brief moment. Violet had thought about it more often than she liked to admit. She could remember feeling his firm, strong body pressed against hers, asking, “Does this kiss redeem the world?”