The Scandalous Suffragette Read online

  It was in her lips.

  Adam groaned aloud.

  That kiss. She’d stunned him with it. He’d found himself unable to pull away from her, even though his gentlemanly reaction had been to do so. He’d kissed women before, but the kiss he’d shared with Violet had been different.

  She was extraordinary.

  Their conversation had been extraordinary.

  It had been, without doubt, a most extraordinary kiss.

  After leaving the Coombes’ home, still astounded by the morning’s events, he’d gone straight to The Times office and had managed, through some miracle of fate and timing, to get the announcement into the next day’s paper.

  He stopped short on the pavement. His proposal had seemed a sensible solution to both their problems. Yet an unexpected dimension had emerged between them. That kiss, for a start. He hadn’t expected it from her, nor had he expected his own response.

  It was not what he sought, or anticipated. The idea to propose marriage had come to him instinctively, but upon reflection, a marriage of convenience would suit him very well. After witnessing the emotional scenes that had been such a feature of his parents’ marriage, especially following his father’s drinking and gambling bouts, he sought an unemotional and straightforward life. He was guided by principle, by duty. It was surely a better, higher course.

  The fact that their marriage would begin as a platonic one, and remain in name only for some time, was a further convenience. It would enable him to ensure unnecessary emotions were not stoked up. Violet Coombes understood duty as well as he did. He would make certain, from now on, that their marriage was civil and friendly, but no more than that. Emotional entanglements and, God forbid, emotional scenes must be avoided at all costs.

  Adam firmed his jaw. They’d been honest with each other. There had been no pretence, no playing at courtship. Simply two people, treating each other as equals, looking for a way to solve their predicaments.

  He took the marble steps two at a time and threw open the front door.

  ‘Adam?’ A querulous voice came from the drawing room to his left.

  He lifted off his top hat and left it on the stand in the hall.

  In the drawing room his mama was seated by the fire, even though the day was warm. She’d become frailer, of late.

  Jane gave him a wink. She was seated by the window, looking out into the street. Next to her was Arabella, her hands occupied with a book. She was always buried in a book, but her education had been patchy, mostly at home. Perhaps Arabella would have enjoyed going away to school, or to Oxford, as he had done.

  Adam lifted the corner of his mouth. Violet Coombes had begun to convert him already.

  ‘You’re terribly late,’ his mama reproved. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Making an announcement at The Times,’ he said.

  ‘An announcement! What can you mean, Adam? Not more bad news, I hope,’ said his mother faintly. ‘I simply can’t take any more.’

  It had taken a toll on his mother, all the anxiety, no matter how much Adam had tried to protect her.

  ‘On the contrary,’ he reassured her rapidly. ‘I have good news.’

  Arabella looked up slightly from her book.

  ‘Oh, I do like good news. What is it?’ Jane asked eagerly.

  He took the advertisement copy from his coat pocket and read aloud.

  ‘“The engagement is announced between Adam, eldest son of the late Mr Edmund Beaufort, Esquire, and Mrs Beaufort of Beauley Manor, Kent, and Violet, only daughter of Mr and Mrs Reginald Coombes of Manchester.”’

  * * *

  Violet hurried into her bedroom and closed the door. Leaning against it, she took a deep breath. Then another.

  She stripped off the coat of her velvet riding habit, her fingers fumbling at the buttons, and hurried to the jug and basin. Leaning over, she lifted the jug and splashed cold water on her face.

  When she glanced into the looking glass above, she saw her cheeks were hot and pink. Her lips, too, were pinker than usual, where his mouth had pressed against hers. The swirling sensation came over her again as she remembered the searching hardness of his kiss.

  She reached once more for the pitcher of cold water. Both the pitcher and bowl were decorated in a blue and white pattern. At the bottom of the bowl was a landscape of a lake. A small sailboat floated on the painted lake. She stared at it.

  The boat seemed to be setting sail across the water.

  So was she.

  She must avert the scandal that threatened her family. She had to seize the opportunity to make amends.

  Violet ran a fingertip over her lips. So many emotions swirled inside her. Relief. Trepidation. And the sensation of his kiss, still on her lips.

  She could only hope she had made the right decision.

  In one month, she would marry Adam Beaufort.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘So let me think ’tis well for thee and me...’

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson: ‘Love and Duty’ (1842)

  ‘Violet. Are you sure?’

  Violet smiled at her mama, peeping around the bedroom door. ‘I’m quite sure, Mama. There’s no need for more flowers in my bouquet.’

  Mrs Coombes entered the bedroom, bringing a waft of rose scent in her wake. ‘There have been so many things to think of and I do want everything to be perfect for you.’

  Almost tripping over the long train of her dress, Violet hurried from where she had been seated in front of the dressing table over to her mother and kissed her cheek. ‘Everything is perfect. No daughter could ask for more. Thank you so much for all you have done.’

  Her mama brushed away a tear. ‘I’ve been preparing for this day since you first arrived in the world. This is the most important day of your life. If only we’d had more time for all the wedding arrangements.’

  Violet looked in the mirror at her white-satin gown. The long train, flounced with lace, could be looped at the side and later removed, so the dress could continue to be worn. Some women used their wedding dresses as court dresses for at least a year, the seamstress had told her. The sleeves were puffed and ruched with ribbons, as were the low décolletage and ruffled bodice. Down the centre of the bodice were pearl buttons, with more at the back to hold the dress securely in place. The silk sash was embroidered with pearls and tiny violets with green leaves that she had sewed herself. She’d given up embroidering her banners, but she’d managed to have the colours of the suffragettes—purple for loyalty and dignity, white for purity and green for hope—represented in her gown. One of the editors of her favourite women’s magazine, Votes for Women, had devised the colour scheme and now it was everywhere. She was proud to wear the colours. Even if she hadn’t promised her father not to make any more protests, there had in any case been no opportunity to continue any other work for suffrage before the wedding, with the countless fittings for her bridal gown and trousseau, and the seemingly endless wedding preparations. Nor had she wanted to upset her parents, who were still sensitive to any scandal that might be caused if Violet continued her passion for the Cause.

  Not for long. She smiled inwardly. As a married woman, she wouldn’t have to hide her passion for women’s suffrage any longer. She could stand up for her beliefs. She could attend meetings and rallies. She would speak out for what she believed in, at last.

  As soon as she married Adam Beaufort.

  Her stomach lurched.

  Adam. That’s what she called him now and, most of the time, she thought of him by that name, too. But they’d only seen each other at a few social occasions, parties and entertainments, before her parents had rushed her back to Manchester to prepare for the wedding. As Adam had predicted, the scandal over her banners had been averted by the announcement of her engagement. Even so, her papa had deemed it wise to leave London. The banns had been read in both their parish chu
rches and no objection had been raised to their match, even if, as Violet suspected, more than a few eyebrows had been raised in society circles.

  Mrs Coombes smoothed out the veil that lay on the bed. It was so enormous it formed a lacy coverlet that almost completely swathed the eiderdown beneath. Next to it lay a lace shawl and a pair of satin gloves that glistened like vanilla ice cream. The left glove had a removable left ring finger, so that a wedding ring could be placed upon it.

  Violet rubbed her bare finger. Adam had presented her with no engagement ring, but she hadn’t expected it, she told herself quickly. Theirs was to be a marriage of convenience, after all.

  ‘If only we’d had more time for all the arrangements,’ her mother continued to mourn.

  ‘I never wanted a big, fashionable wedding,’ Violet replied. ‘It’s better this way.’

  The morning wedding at St George’s Church in Hanover Square would be followed by a luncheon reception at one of the smartest hotels in London. The Beaufort connections had smoothed the way for the wedding to be held at such a fashionable church, to her parents’ delight, and her papa had offered to put on an enormous affair afterwards. Fortunately, there hadn’t been time for the guest list to grow too big. The thought had made Violet shudder. She had no desire to be a society spectacle.

  ‘Marry in May, rue the day,’ Mrs Coombes recited worriedly.

  ‘Oh, Mama.’ Violet suppressed a surge of apprehension with a laugh. ‘That’s just an old superstition.’

  ‘You could have been a June bride, with lovely roses, if only you had waited a few more weeks.’

  ‘The violets are still out in May and I couldn’t get married without violets,’ she told her mama, with a hug.

  She’d wanted to wear violets in her hair, too, in a simple crown, but her father had bought her a diamond tiara and presented it to her with such pride that of course she couldn’t refuse to wear it.

  Moving back to the dressing table, she dabbed some Parma violet cologne behind her ears. The scent of it reminded her of Adam.

  ‘You taste like violets,’ he’d said, after she kissed him.

  She touched her lips. It had become a habit with her. They still seemed to tingle.

  That one kiss had been the only intimacy between them, apart from when he’d held her in his arms and swept her around the ballroom in that wonderful waltz. How long ago that night at the ball seemed. They’d barely been alone together again.

  ‘Oh, dear.’

  Violet turned to her mama. She was gazing into the mirror, tugging at the puffed sleeves of her pale pink silk and lace gown. The sleeves were heavily ruched and ribboned in the latest style.

  Violet smiled. ‘You couldn’t look finer, Mama, if we’d had a year to prepare for my wedding, rather than a month.’

  Mrs Coombes moved her hand to the diamond necklace that encircled her throat. ‘Oh, Violet, do you truly think so? I know there was all that trouble with those banners and your father was very upset, more upset than I have ever seen him, and then he had one of his terrible turns, but we are so proud of you. I do so want you to be proud of us.’

  Violet’s eyes welled. ‘I’m proud of you both, Mama.’

  ‘I’m rather afraid of the Beauforts,’ Mrs Coombes confessed. ‘They are practically royalty.’

  ‘Why, there’s no need to be afraid of them,’ Violet said staunchly. She had met her future family in-laws for tea and cucumber sandwiches, before the Coombes had gone back to Manchester. The Beaufort women were somewhat daunting, but Violet had refused to be intimidated. Mrs Beaufort was very grand, but it was clear she loved her son. Adam’s elder sister, Arabella, had been rather standoffish, but his younger sister, Jane, seemed lively and great fun.

  Mrs Coombes tugged at her puffed sleeves again. ‘I wonder what Mrs Beaufort will wear to the wedding. Will she wear black, even to a wedding, as she is recently a widow? Is it a year since her husband died? Is the family still in mourning? Ought I to be wearing pink? Oh, dear, I didn’t think of that. Oh, dear!’

  Violet laughed. ‘The Beauforts must take the Coombes as we are. For better or worse.’

  Mr Coombes popped his head around the door. ‘Might I come in?’

  ‘Of course, Papa.’

  Smartly dressed in a dark frock coat that strained around his belly, her papa embraced her before reaching for his checked handkerchief. He blotted his eyes. ‘Well, now. Well.’

  Mrs Coombes beamed. ‘Doesn’t Violet look beautiful?’

  ‘The most beautiful bride in England.’

  Violet hugged him. It gave her joy to see him happy and well again. He’d not had another turn for a month, ever since she’d told them she would marry Adam Beaufort.

  ‘Do be careful of your wedding dress!’ exclaimed Mrs Coombes.

  ‘My dress will survive. Thank you, Papa.’

  ‘It’s true,’ he said stoutly. ‘The most beautiful bride and the best daughter.’ Her father pulled back and looked at her. ‘Now. This is the last time I’ll ask you. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this marriage?’

  Violet took a deep breath. She had gone over her decision countless times, tossing and turning on her pillow before she went to sleep. Always, the answer was the same.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Mr Coombes. ‘Let’s show London society how it’s done!’

  Violet gave him another hug. She loved him so much, but she couldn’t deny there was a new constraint between them, ever since the matter of the banners. He’d apologised again for what he’d said, but they couldn’t be unsaid, those words. He had wanted a boy. He’d have preferred a son to follow him into the business. No matter how much Violet tried, she would never be who he truly wanted her to be.

  She sighed inwardly. It had grown harder, not easier, to live with that truth. It was a relief to have said goodbye to their big house in Manchester. Violet had never imagined she would feel that way about her childhood home.

  ‘Violet.’ Her mama popped back again after her parents had left the room. ‘This note came for you. A nice young lady dropped it in earlier, but she wouldn’t stay, or tell me her name.’

  Perplexed, Violet took the envelope. It was a pale lilac colour.

  ‘There’s something else.’ Her mother hesitated.

  ‘What is it, Mama?’

  ‘There are matters between a married man and a woman that I feel I ought to mention.’ Mrs Coombes turned as pink as her dress. ‘Certain matters, regarding your wedding night.’

  Violet patted her hand. ‘It’s quite all right, Mama. I’m going into this marriage with my eyes open.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘I am,’ Violet said firmly. How astounded her mama would be if she learned of their marriage agreement.

  After her mother left the room, Violet picked up the lilac envelope and slit it open with a nail file. Inside was a single sheet of paper, again in the same shade. Curious, she began to read.

  Comradess!

  Greetings! We understand you are one of the valiant who support Women’s Suffrage. We send you this invitation to join our special group of suffragettes committed to the noble Cause and to changing the wicked laws that constrain women from freedom in this land.

  Our group is made up of a membership committed to militant action. Our campaigns are dangerous, but vital. We will do all that can be done to win the vote, with no regard for any penalty, in the name of womankind. No longer will we be angels in the house. We will be devils in the street.

  The membership of our group is strictly top secret. Although we know your name, we will not disclose it to any other member of the group and nor will you learn ours. We correspond only by mail, giving instructions for our next action.

  We warn you, some of these actions are against the laws of England. But we consider no law is law to us if we, as women, cannot vote for ou
r lawmakers.

  Reveal the contents of this letter to no one. If you wish to join our comrade sisterhood reply to this letter at the address below. All you need to do is state that your vote is YES.

  If you join, you will hear from us soon. If you do not, you will never hear from us again.

  Votes for Women!

  A Piccadilly address was printed at the bottom of the sheet of paper.

  Violet sank on to the stool of her dressing table. Her bridal reflection stared back at her.

  From today, she would be a married woman. A free woman.

  Under their terms, Adam had agreed she could pursue her passion for the Cause. They hadn’t discussed militant action, it was true, but they had shaken hands on their agreement.

  Violet bit her lip. Their agreement meant that, at last, she would be able to be open about her suffragette activities. It had been such a relief. No more hiding.

  What did the letter say? She scanned it again.

  Some of these actions are against the laws of England.

  If she joined, she would be honour-bound not to reveal such law-breaking actions. It could risk the group’s safety. She understood that. Not all her suffragette activities would need to be kept secret, of course, only those connected with the militant membership. Yet she would be forced to begin her marriage to Adam with a deception.

  Perturbed, Violet went to the window and stared out into the plane trees that lined the square. She loathed the idea of having to lie to Adam. He had been honest with her and she had been frank with him. Being otherwise went against her nature. She prized plain speaking, she had told him so. But how could she turn down such an opportunity to further the Cause?

  Violet returned to the dressing table, her satin train swishing over the carpet. Ignoring her pang of disquiet, she retrieved a fountain pen. Her blue-leather writing case had been packed in the large trunks that had already been sent to Beauley Manor, but there was still some writing paper in a dressing-table drawer, with her name and address embossed on it.