Why was that? Suddenly, he desperately wanted to know. But those questions too required patience and trust to be earned. Maybe in a few weeks. After all, they were going to be working on the concert together. He had all the time he needed to learn everything there was to know about Violet Huntingdon-Cross, and her family.
‘Honestly, Violet, I think I’d pass out on you tonight even if it was an offer.’ He gave her a friendly smile to show it was a joke, that he didn’t mean any offence. But, as her gaze met his, even his exhausted body had a moment where it wished that wasn’t the case. That maybe, just maybe, this beautiful, confusing woman might actually make that offer to him.
Which was clearly ridiculous. They had nothing in common. She’d never understand him or his life, and he’d long since grown out of sleeping with any beautiful woman who offered. He liked his sexual encounters to mean something these days. Maybe not true love and forever, but a meaningful connection at least.
He couldn’t really imagine any connection between him and the self-absorbed daughter of a celebrity. Still, he felt a little relief as the colour in her cheeks faded and she gave a quick nod.
‘Come on then. Your bedroom’s this way.’ Violet started off towards the main staircase.
Tom bit his tongue to stop himself asking where hers was as he followed.
* * *
Violet woke up exhausted. Maybe it was all the excitement and chaos of the day and weeks before, but even once the big vow renewal was over and Rose was safely off on honeymoon she couldn’t relax enough to sleep—despite the fact it had been gone four by the time she’d made it to bed. Eventually, after an hour of fitful tossing and turning, she’d given up and turned on her bedside light to read for a while.
She’d woken up four hours later, with the light still on and her face smooshed against her book. Not the perfect start to the day.
Scrubbing a hand across her face to try and persuade her eyes to stay open, she glanced at the clock. Nine thirty a.m. Chances were, the rest of the household would be sleeping in until well after lunch, but there was a nervous energy running through Violet’s veins that she knew from experience wouldn’t let her go back to sleep.
A shower, her most comfortable jeans and a T-shirt in her favourite shade of lavender-blue made her feel a little more human. She scraped her hair back into a clip to dry naturally, slathered on what claimed to be a rejuvenating moisturiser and headed downstairs in search of coffee.
‘Coffee will make all things better,’ she murmured as she switched on the espresso machine. The lie was a soothing one, at least. How could one poor drink be expected to deal with all the worries that had piled on in the last twenty-four hours?
‘Think it can even help your poor old dad?’ Rick leant against the door frame from the hall, his weathered face looking a little grey under his summer tan. ‘I think I’m getting too old for the partying lark, honey.’
‘Never.’ Violet grabbed another espresso cup from the shelf. ‘You’ll still be rocking with a walking stick when the rest of us have grown old and boring.’
Except she didn’t even need to age to grow old and boring; she was already there, wasn’t she? Her entire existence already fitted within the grounds of Huntingdon Hall. Or it had. Maybe the Benefit Concert would be her chance to spread her wings.
‘Only if I have my girls there to help hold me up,’ Rick said, settling himself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. ‘Wouldn’t be any fun without you all.’
‘Mum sleeping in?’ Violet handed her dad his coffee, then sat down to blow across the surface of her own cup.
‘She says she needs her beauty sleep.’ Rick laughed. ‘Course, we all know she’s plenty beautiful without it.’
‘I didn’t expect anyone else to be up for hours,’ Violet said.
‘I’ve got a shift down at the centre this morning,’ Rick said. ‘No one else could cover, so...’ He shrugged.
Violet gave him a sympathetic smile. While everyone knew that Rick and Sherry supported all sorts of charities publicly, very few people were aware of all the private time they put in. Her dad did a lot of work for Alzheimer’s charities, as well as helping out at a local drug rehabilitation centre, while her mum put in time on a children’s helpline, amongst other things. Would they share that side of themselves with Tom? Violet had no idea.
‘I’ll be back to give Tom his first interview this afternoon, though,’ Rick said, suggesting that he might. Violet was glad; more people should know about all the good they did. ‘And what are you up to today?’
Violet sipped her coffee. ‘I was planning on raiding Rose’s files to get an idea of what I’ve let myself in for with this Benefit Concert.’
Rick’s face turned serious. ‘Now, honey, you know you don’t have to take that on. It’s not too late to change your mind.’
‘Don’t think I can do it, huh?’ Violet said, eyebrows raised.
‘Violet, I truly believe you could do anything in the world you dreamt of, if you decided to. It just comes down to if you really want to.’
Violet bit her lip. Dad thought she could do it. He had faith in her. And maybe, just maybe, he knew something she didn’t. At the very least, she wanted the chance to prove him right.
‘I want to do it,’ she said, ignoring the way her whole body felt as if it might start trembling any second. This was her chance—her golden opportunity to do that something more she’d been wishing for. ‘It’s important to me, and I think it’s time.’ Time to stop hiding behind the walls of Huntingdon Hall at last. Time to start living in the real world again, even if it was still filled with monsters.
The smile that split Rick’s craggy face was reward enough for her decision. ‘I think you might be right, honey,’ he said, and pressed a kiss to her hand across the table. ‘I think it’s time the whole world got used to seeing the real Violet Huntingdon-Cross for once.’
Violet smiled back through her nerves. Wouldn’t that be something?
CHAPTER SIX
HUNTINGDON HALL WAS ridiculously large, Tom decided, after getting lost on the way to the kitchen for the third time. Tastefully redecorated, with none of the attempts to recreate the Regency or whatever that he’d half expected from the almost aristocracy. But then, this family were unusual in almost every other way, why not this one too?
There were so many contradictions for him to uncover, but that was half the fun.
Contradiction one. Sherry had inherited this hall from her blue blood family—but had obviously renovated it entirely using her husband’s money—or her own, Tom sup
posed. She had enjoyed a very lucrative modelling career, after all. Anyway, the point was, while the outside of Huntingdon Hall still looked like something from a period novel, the inside was entirely modern.
As Tom made his way down a corridor that looked almost exactly like the one he’d just explored, Violet’s directions from the night before seemed even more ridiculous. Just follow the walls, she’d said. Eventually all of them lead back to the main staircase. Follow the walls? What kind of advice was that? Especially since it appeared he’d been following the walls in the wrong direction for the last five minutes. Why wasn’t there a helpful servant around here somewhere?
Of course that led him to contradiction two. In a house this size, with a family this rich, he’d have expected dozens of flunkies running around doing things for them. But he’d seen nobody. Oh, he was sure there was a housekeeper somewhere, and he highly doubted that Sherry did her own cleaning, but apart from that? Everything seemed to be kept in the family. Rose took care of the band’s PR and everything else that needed organising, it seemed.
At least until she ran away on her honeymoon and Violet stepped in, rather than hire someone else.
Violet was, without a doubt, most definitely contradiction number three.
Tom turned another corner, dutifully following the wall and, finally, stumbled across the staircase. At last, his path towards coffee and maybe even breakfast was clear.
He hopped down the stairs in double time, smiling as he heard voices coming from what he hoped would prove to be the kitchen. Part of him was surprised not to be the first up—it had been a ridiculously late night, but even with his exhaustion level he’d found it impossible to sleep past ten. Too many years of risking missing the tour bus or a flight somewhere had left him a very light sleeper.
‘Good morning.’ Both Rick and Violet looked up at his words, and Tom got the unerring feeling that he’d interrupted something.
‘Ah! Our guest awakes.’ Rick moved towards the coffee pot. ‘Strong and black? Or do you drink what can only be described as “warm milk with a coffee scent” like my daughter?’