The Violet Hour (3 page)

Two beds, a table and chairs, and a threadbare rug before a tiny hearth. I care not. It is all mine and I’ve earned it—with my own hands, by my music. My index digit smarts as if in agreement. It has been perpetually and troublingly sore for a fortnight.

The music, according to my father, was my most precious commodity. Well, that and my chastity. I was but three when I could first play…and he wasted no time dragging me across the whole of Europe, exploiting me in each and every ballroom across the land.

I shake my head. The future of an entire estate, riding on the slim shoulders of a gangly seven-year-old.

My hands shake and Sarah grasps them hard, squeezing my fingers.

We sink onto the bed’s edge, both our chest’s heaving. “I…just needed to be more than something to wed. Or somebody’s little music box. I…can think. Better than many men.”

Sarah nods furiously. “I understand. You were drowning, milady.”

The sides of my mouth twitch and curl up a fraction. “Yes, I was. I could not marry him.”

Sarah’s eyebrows pull together, and I know by the repulsed curling of her lip she recalls my would-be fiancé.

Fat, rich, and cruel Lord Lumberton. Thrice my age and desperate to produce an heir.

My father had no care where I landed, so long as my alliance brought more coin or more prestige to the House of Manners.

My finger, which had long given me trouble from hours of playing, had been the turning point for my father.

He decided my dowry would out-pay what he feared might be the end of my musical career.

My index finger was currently bent, the tip touching my palm. No matter how I tried, I could not straighten it, unless I flicked it up with my other hand.

I did so, and Sarah flinched.

Any semblance of kindness that had lived in Estate Manners had died with my mother. Whose loveless marriage had been arranged. As mine was to be.

I shake my head, needing to explain. “I couldn’t have him marry me off. And share mother’s fate. At the end…she was so despondent.”

“Worried for you, Allegra. And you alone. Not even about herself. Down to the end.”

I frown, an edge of anger stealing into my voice, “In the end, she did think of herself.”

Sarah shakes her head. “I still do not believe that, Milady.”

Thomas, my elder brother, took after my father.

Cruel and handsome and ruthless. Leaving mother and I to try and carve out our own slice of happiness amidst their endless demands of propriety.

My mother died on a visit to Charleston; and even after two years, the place refused to vacate my mind.

So, whilst on our next musical tour of these United States, I fled; escaped his societal halter.

On our last penny, we saw the sign tacked on the pub, as if Providence had seen our plight.

‘New Orchestra forming. Musicians apply at Charleston’s Fancy.’

“It’s an adventure here, Allegra. This…Charleston. New ideas, new opportunities. Why, I may no longer be in service.”

I smile wider. “No. We shall find you employment of your choosing. One that pleases you.”

“Pleases
me
…” she murmurs in awe.

A harsh rap on the bungalow door startles us both to standing.

I open it to see Silas. He grants me a smile which does not reach his eyes. That smile is familiar; it’s merely plastered on a new face.

“A word, Miss Teagarden.”

I step outside, shutting the door on Sarah’s pinched face.

The amusement park has wakened; ladies and gentlemen in a sparkling array of colors shuffle in two directions, as if they were its colorful arms, stretching before the morning chaos.

Hands erect white tents in preparation for tonight’s society ball. I spy a throng of workers buzzing over the outside of the massive guest house, stringing garlands of flowers like busy human bees.

It is breathtaking. A white, blossoming heaven on earth.

The rich flock to dance, dine, socialize and drink in all the amusements
Charleston’s Fancy
offered.

The smell of gardenia, magnolia and honeysuckle waft down into the main thoroughfare where we mere mortals, reside.

I blink, refocusing on Silas’s impatient face.

I clear my throat. “Yes, Mr. Boone?”

“The orchestra practices at one sharp.” He boldly fingers one of my ringlets, placing it behind my shoulder.

I shiver, fighting the hitch in my chest.

Do not bolt. Steady. He is your vile ticket to freedom.

A young girl skips down the thoroughfare, barely keeping her eyes in their sockets. Her gaze oo’d and aww’d without a whispered sound at the park’s untold delights.

Her nanny shoo’s her forward, lugging her cello.

Silas raises an eyebrow. “One of yours, I suppose?”

I beam. I cannot help it. “Yes, lessons, you know. I’ll be sure to be done by one. Sharp.”

He nods. “Good. You have quite an ear, Allegra, and I’ve heard a rumor you compose as well.”

A hot blush warms my cheeks. “Yes.”

“Bring one to me.”

“I shall, Mr. Boone, thank you.”

“Silas. Do call me Silas.”

Silas turns and walks toward the main house without another word. His white walking stick swinging jauntily at his side.

I bend and pat the top of Esmeralda’s head. “Ready, my dove?”

Behind me, murmurs rise to fevered whispers. I glance back and my heart plummets to my knees, turning them to water.

My eyes meet Sarah’s and I give her a nod. She shuffles forward, motioning for them to enter.

“Come in, Essie and Miss Parker. How’s your practicing?”

I quietly shut the door and stare, mesmerized. It is the beautiful man from the hillside. The fireworks genius…the dark-haired witch?

He stands before Silas, gesturing wildly, his face taut with rage.

His blue eyes pinch and he spits, “It is far too dangerous. You are begging for trouble. You cannot light it all.”

Silas stands straighter. He is slightly taller than the man, but his head cocks as if he is unsure.

I bite my lip. Prior to this moment,
unsure
is the least likely word I would ever pair with Silas Boone. But this man…challenges him.

Indeed, Silas is the second most arrogant man I’ve ever encountered.

“
You
manage to find a way. Out there, in the middle of nowhere. How is that possible, LeFroy?”

Lefroy. I turn it over in my mouth, permitting the sound of it to linger on my tongue.

LeFroy presses his lips together. “I have explained that, as best I can. I cannot abide by your use of the arc lamps.”

“I have never seen them, anywhere. And I being the first to possess them, will be an instant draw to the well-heeled. They are always panting after the latest invention.”

LeFroy’s eyes narrow, “There is a reason you have never seen them prior.. I tell you, complications will ensue from their use.”

“I care not for the complications, only the coin this will bring. Work your magic. I want this place glowing with light. Can’t have the rich breaking their necks, can we?”

Chills spread over my neck. Silas…is dangerous. My instincts crawl, urging me to flee.

But what choice do I have?

None.

Mr. LeFroy inhales deep breaths, biting his lip as Silas stalks away.

His eyes suddenly flick to me as if feeling my stare.

I freeze; caught eavesdropping. “H-hello.” I raise my hand in a feeble, awkward greeting.

He inclines his head, ever so slightly and turns, stomping in Silas’s footsteps toward the guest house. His deep brown hair blows in the morning air as he breaks into a canter.

My heart beats against my chest, well into the next hour, and throughout Essie’s scales, recalling every mannerism on his face.

Witch or no, Mr. LeFroy has wholly enchanted me.

Chapter Three

The heat is unrelenting, but a cool breeze blows in from the sea, billowing the white tent like a fore gleam of fall. I sit in my orchestra chair, my cello propped between my thighs, staring out across the white-tipped waves.

A sigh slips from my lips.
I could stay here forever. I intend to.

I hear the young boy coming before I actually see him. His left club-foot drags behind him, making a loud scraping sound on the hardwood orchestra floor.

Eyes, blue and bright as the heavens, meet mine. “Good day, Ms. Teagarden. I-I was wondering…” The boy is about ten, and his eyes drop to regard his nervously-shuffling feet.

“Yes?”

His earnest eyes rise and plead. “I wish to learn to play. I. I haven’t the money for lessons, though. Might I work in exchange, to learn?”

The boy’s shirt is far too large; his scuffed boots have passed the day for mending and now beg replacement. I wish for my father’s fortune, to help him. I swallow, clearing the lump in my throat.

“Of course. I must first consider your assignment. Come back in a few days’ time?”

The boy beams and I see hope spark in his eyes. “Thank you so much, Miss Teagarden. They were right. You really are an angel.”

My cheeks heat and feel a stare burning the side of my face; like I am the insect and Lefroy’s gaze the magnifying glass.

Mr. LeFroy is checking the newly erected arc lamps. He strides across the lawn and my heart leaps.

A very large hot air balloon darts playfully overhead; its festive red and white stripes like a massive, floating lollipop in the sky. I have never seen one so close and my heart beats like a little girl at the fair for the first time.

I forget myself and my manners and dash after Mr. LeFroy, skidding to a stop by his side.

His thick hands yank the rope and check the tether. He jerks, apparently just registering my presence.

“Where on earth did it come from? How do you keep it aloft?”

Suddenly LeFroy’s eyes narrow and see nothing but me. They smolder and burn, hotter than the Carolina sun.

“Are you always so curious, Miss…?”

“Teagarden. Yes. How else does one learn?’

He hesitates; raising one dark eyebrow, then gives a reluctant smile. “Indeed.”

My heart stutters like the words that are now stuck between my mind and mouth.

His gaze lingers…curiously flicking from my eyes to my hair and back.

I pat my head. “Something amiss?”

“No, mam.”

He starts to walk away, toward the gazebo. “These lamps? I’ve never seen them before? Where on earth did you get them?”

“Where on earth indeed,” he mutters, still walking away.

I suddenly do not wish him to leave. I fight convention’s reins, straining against my neck, and force myself not to follow him.

“You did not tell me how it keeps aloft,” I blurt, too loud and much too forward.

He turns to face me, still walking backwards. “Curious interests for a female. But if you must know it is a mixture of dilute sulfuric acid and metal fillings. It creates Hydrogen.”

I cock my head, trying to make sense of it.

He laughs at my expression and turns again to go, walking briskly. An irrational panic grips my chest and I once again blurt—“What was Silas on about? Where and
how
does one make light from nothing?” Like a schoolgirl, unable to halter her tongue.

LeFroy whirls, his tanned face draining of color; anger screwing up his mouth. I have apparently finally exhausted his patience.

He stalks back and leans in to whisper in my ear, “Miss Teagarden. Are you familiar with the phrase,
curiosity killed the cat
?”

Anger suffuses my face, deepening my blush. But my eyes meet his without a blink. “Have
you
ever heard, curiosity is lying in wait for every secret?”

LeFroy’s face changes instantly: his mouth trembles, like a dam holding back his amusement. I hold my breath, unsure.

Suddenly he throws his head back as a deep throaty chuckle spills forth. Gooseflesh erupts from my chest to my toes with the strange, musical sound of it—a forte of breath and laughter. A strange burning sensation erupts on my chest.

He shakes his head slowly, biting the side of his mouth, his eyes intensely regarding me.

“Ralph Waldo Emerson.”

My eyebrows rise. “I confess myself shocked. You are a scholar, Mr. LeFroy? A chemist
and
a poet.”

“Hardly.” He gestures to his work clothes. “Don’t judge the man by his fashion.” He smirks. “Or lack thereof.”

“Squabbling, children?” Jonesy arrives, his violin case in hand, and to my surprise, Sarah bustles close behind. She stands next to him, a whole head taller.

They both seem entirely too pleased for the prospects of such a gruelingly hot work-day.

“I see you’ve already met Mr. LeFroy,” Jonesy prompts as I am apparently struck dumb.