"Sir," I said quickly, my stomach twisting on the word home. "I invited my cousin, Violet, to explore our town. I am sorry for the short notice."
"I heard so much about this place and I felt I had to come," Violet said, playing her part like the actress she was. She curtseyed prettily.
"Cousin Violet," George murmured. "Enchanted, my darling," he said, bowing slightly at her.
The three of us walked into the parlor. I could smel a roast being prepared in the kitchen, and I loved how familiar and simple my surroundings seemed. Luke and Oliver were on the floor, playing a game of dominos, Emma was rocking a dol in her arms, and Gertrude was working on her needlepoint, an exquisitely crafted flower scene. Nothing had changed here, and yet, for me, everything had.
"How was London?" George boomed, catching my eye as he crossed over to the drink cart in the corner and poured a dark amber liquid into two glasses.
"It was fine," I said shortly. "Loud."
"I can imagine. And where did you stay? With your relations, the - "
"Burnses," Violet said quickly. "I'm Violet Burns." I watched her. Were her eyes too bright, her face too pale? I couldn't tel .
"He wasn't too much trouble, was he?" George teased.
I grimaced internal y. They had no idea that trouble fol owed me everywhere. "No, he was lovely," Violet said final y, as if she'd been coached.
A fond smile crossed George's face. "Our Stefan has that effect on people. And I'm so happy you have relations nearby. A man shouldn't have to fend for himself in the world," he said, catching my eye as he raised his glass in the air. "To family," he said, tipping it toward me.
"To family," I murmured, nursing my own drink. A silence fel in the room and I was al too relieved when Mrs. Duckworth came into the parlor to announce that the roast was ready.
Violet licked her lips as she stood up and smoothed her skirts. She'd been doing it obsessively, and my heart went out to her. I knew that she was experiencing her first pangs of real, soul-crushing hunger that couldn't be quenched with any mortal meal.
"Violet, darling, sit here," Gertrude said, guiding Violet to a seat next to her at the large cherrywood table. "You look half-starved, which is understandable. I'm sure the food they serve on those trains is appal ing!" She clucked sympathetical y.
"I'm sorry," Violet said distantly. "I don't feel very wel ."
"Wel , have a bite to eat, and then if you need to have a lie down, go ahead and do it. A good meal, some country air, and you'l be good as new," Gertrude said in her loving, maternal way.
We settled, and I watched as Mrs. Duckworth cut the roast. A trickle of blood oozed from the meat with each cut, and I saw Violet lean forward, her blue eyes shining.
"Here you go, dear," Mrs. Duckworth said, putting two slices on her plate. Without waiting for the rest of the family to be served, or helping herself to the potatoes, beans, and rol s set in heaping bowls on the table, Violet dug in. She barely used her utensils as she shoveled the meat into her mouth.
"You must have been hungry," Gertrude tril ed as she stood up to help Luke cut his meat. Luke, perhaps taking a cue from Violet, was forgoing his knife in favor of stabbing his slice of meat with his fork.
"I don't know what came over me," Violet said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. Her gaze was stil on the meat. A silence hung in the room.
"Just the brisk country air," Gertrude repeated, an edge to her voice. I knew that the Abbotts could sense something was wrong, but they couldn't put their fingers on it. I desperately wanted them to like her, and for Violet to find the same type of peace on the farm that I'd found. But of course, Violet felt confused and famished. Damon or not, maybe it would have been better if she'd died surrounded by the marquee lights of the West End.
"Have you always lived in London, dear?" Gertrude asked, obviously giving Violet the benefit of the doubt.
"I'm original y from Ireland," Violet said, her mouth ful of food. Luke and Oliver were watching her with fascination.
"Ireland." George cleared his throat. "I thought your relations were from Italy, Stefan."
"They were on my father's side. There's some Irish blood on my mother's side," I lied. If Damon could reinvent himself as a count or a duke, I could invent some Irish relatives.
"Ah," George said, slicing into his own meat. "Wel , in any case, it's lovely to have you here, Violet. Consider our house your house."
"You're too kind," Violet murmured, her eyes frantical y darting around the table, desperately looking for something to satiate her hunger. Even though there was nothing that could.
Just then, Emma pul ed timidly on the sleeve of Violet's dress.
Violet glanced down, her wary expression changing into a wide smile. "Why, hel o there, little dear," Violet said gently.
"Hi," Emma said, immediately putting her thumb in her mouth and looking away.
"Now, Emma, can you properly introduce yourself to Miss Violet?"
I watched Emma nervously. I was stil wary of the way Oliver had stared at Violet. Was something apparent about Violet to the children that wasn't to their parents?
"I'm Emma," she said solemnly, before sticking her thumb back in her mouth.
Violet smiled, suddenly looking much stronger than she had before.
"Hel o, Emma. I'm Violet. And you're very pretty. When I first saw you, do you know what I thought?"
"No." Emma shook her head.
"I thought, that girl must be a fairy princess. There's no way she could be a human. She's far too lovely. Are you a princess?" Violet asked.