Portraits of a Wallflower

(Part 1 – Violet’s Story)

By

AnneM

Spring 1820

Most people assume that the girls sitting along the walls during balls, cotillions, and assemblies are to be pitied and looked down upon with no small amount of sympathy. Surely, they are sad creatures with uninteresting pasts, who have present lives of little consequence, and who will have bleak futures with no husband, children or homes of their own, merely because they do not dance.

In the eyes of Violet Starling that made most people idiots.

She supposed most of these idiots would consider her and her three friends ‘wallflowers’ although she hated that word with a fierce passion. And while it was true that none of them danced (or flirted, or even generally turned the heads of many young men) at any of the above-mentioned activities that did not make any of them ‘less’ than other women, did it?

Likewise, Violet often wondered what made a woman a wallflower. Was it merely because a woman was not asked to dance by a man? Could such a simple definition truly define such vastly complex and different, interesting young women? Truly, she and her friends were all ‘wallflowers’ for very dissimilar reasons, although the outcome was immeasurably the same… that being that no one, save for a few of Violet’s brothers or their friends, ever danced with Violet, or her friends, Charlotte, Rose, or Marybeth.

Charlotte was the least likely ‘wallflower’ by looks alone of their little group. She was a true beauty, although she was the oldest of the lot. Dark black curls, deep cerulean blue eyes, porcelain complexion, even Violet’s oldest brother once said that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Still, by most standards, at six and twenty, she was firmly on the shelf. That alone didn’t make her a wallflower. Something almost sinister, and sad, made poor Charlotte Harmon a wallflower.

Her tale will come later.

Rose Westlake wasn’t a conventional wallflower either. The main thing that kept this fiery redhead’s back against the wall (and her seat glued to a chair) was her loud and quarrelsome opinion on every subject from parcel to sundry. Many called her a hoyden, a harridan; some even called her a harpy. The thing was – she didn’t care – for she was the apple of her father’s eye, and if she knew she was right (and she thought she was always right) no one could ever tell her otherwise. If that meant she was doomed to spend every dance up against a wall while girls who weren’t as pretty as she was danced, so be it.

Then there was Marybeth. Quiet, shy, and unassuming, that was sweet Marybeth. She too was pretty, perhaps even beautiful, but like her three friends, she spent every single dance up against the wall in a chair, feigning indifference, even though her heart was breaking at the thought of being asked to dance just one time. She would never be a wallflower if it weren’t for one tiny little problem: her leg. She was lame.

But, this chapter of the story belongs to Violet, and Violet knew exactly why she was a wallflower. It wasn’t because she was too tall. It wasn’t because she was fat. It wasn’t because she had a bad disposition and a temper to match it, like Rose. It wasn’t as if she had an unfortunate set of circumstances, like Charlotte. And it wasn’t because she had an accident when she was twelve years old that made her lame, like Marybeth.

No, her problem was a bit more complex, and yet a bit easier to understand. For one thing, she had all these meddling brothers… four of them to be exact: three older and one younger. That was only one of her problems. Her other problem was that she had a weak heart and she was probably going to die young, just like her mother and her two sisters, Carolyn and Diana.

Her mother, Felicia, was the prettiest woman in all North Cumberland, at least that was what her father, the Earl of Umbridge, supposedly said when he first set eyes on her when he was eighteen and she a girl of sixteen. He apparently told his brother that he was going to marry her, and three months later, he did just that. Their life together was idyllic. She gave him two sons in a row, Adam and Bradford (an heir and a spare, thank you very much) and then two beautiful daughters, Carolyn and Diana, born only eleven months apart.

Only two years would pass before another son and another daughter, Ethan and Violet were born. Violet always wondered why she wasn’t christened with an ‘F’ name, since her parents were apparently on an alphabet craze, but supposedly, her mother and father couldn’t agree on a female ‘F’ name they liked. Her mother liked ‘Fiona’ and her father liked ‘Frances’. If she had been a boy, she would also have been ‘Francis’. Nevertheless, to keep from fighting with his wife, the earl named his youngest daughter Violet.

When baby Violet was five months old, her mother and two sisters caught scarlet fever. Five-year-old Carolyn died three weeks after catching the illness. Four-year-old Diana died three whole months later. The countess survived but with a weak heart. Still, she forged onward, did her wifely duties, and bore him one more child, Violet’s younger brother Gideon.

Gideon came too early, the stress of it was all too much on her mother’s heart, which was weakened by the scarlet fever she suffered years before, and she died. Violet was only five years old when her mother died. She couldn’t look back at her sad childhood and say that it influenced her much, because frankly, she didn’t remember her sisters, and she hardly recalled much about her mother except for the way she laughed and her bright blue eyes. Besides, her father and her brothers made her feel loved and cherished every day of her life.

She never wanted for anything. She was given every sort of music lesson, riding lesson, DANCING lessons, a girl would ever want. She was happy, vivacious, and she honestly smiled all the time, because every day was full of happiness and laughter. She had dark, blonde hair, green eyes, and she was constantly told what a beauty she was. Everyone told her that someday she would turn men’s heads. Someday, she would break men’s hearts. Someday, when she turned fifteen and had her ‘come out’, she would burn as the brightest star the ‘Ton’ had ever seen. Every man would bow down before her, ask her to dance, and then ask for her hand.

However, that never happened, because nothing’s ever quite as it seems. Instead, when she was fifteen and three quarters, only three months before her ‘come out ball’, she caught the very same illness that killed her two young sisters, and that ultimately weakened her mother’s heart, also killing her.

This meant that from age fifteen to her current age of twenty-two, she lived life in a glass shell, a bubble, too delicate for mere mortals to touch or hold, on the verge of breaking, close to shattering, too fragile and frail. After having lost all of their female relatives to the same illness, her father and brothers lived with the constant fear that she too might die or that her ‘weak heart’ might give out at any moment, so she wasn’t allow to do anything strenuous any longer. That meant she couldn’t ride horses, go on picnics, go on walks, or even talk to young men.

She especially could not dance.

Still, just because she had a weak heart didn’t mean her heart couldn’t break.

(More about Violet to come!)

Part II

Reed Oliver, also known as Viscount Stroller, or ‘Stroll’ to his friends, walked into the over-heated assembly hall with his friend, Preston Jayne, the Duke of Ellington, and almost turned around and walked out of the assembly before he stepped all the way over the threshold.

“Oh no you don’t, old fellow,” Preston said with that glee in his eye that only a duke could pull off with flare. He pushed on his back, forcing him back into the room. “If I have to be here, you have to be here.”

“Why do you have to be here?” Reed asked, pulling on the cuff of his left sleeve, and then on his left glove.

“Told Adam Starling I’d come, didn’t I, just as you told his brother Bradford you’d come. We said we’d come to this little dance tonight, to kick off the weeklong hunt they’re holding at their house. I believe I’ve already explained that to you as well,” the other man commented. “I really don’t know what your aversion is to these things, Stroll. For goodness sakes, it’s a small country-dance, not a Ton ball. There’ll be no one of importance here.”

Reed huffed loudly, even as he was pushed from behind by some young buck that was eager to take the dance floor for some country-dance. “There may be no one of importance here, but that doesn’t mean the marriage-minded mama’s won’t take one look at the only two eligible aristocrats in the room and start playing match makers before the evening’s up.”

Preston patted his oldest friend on the arm. “You’re a cynic, my dear old man. First, we aren’t the only two aristocrats, for my best mate Starling will inherit his father’s Earldom someday. Furthermore, I’m sure there are some lowly baronets and barons in the room, and a few land gentry.” He laughed. “And if I can lower myself to be here, you can. I’m a duke; you only hold a Viscounty, and a new one at that. You’d think you were a marquess or something.”

“Very funny, Ellington, but mark my words,” the dark haired man said to his fair haired friend, “the first woman to dance with me will dream of marriage some day, I know it. I know it as well as I know my own name.”

“The answer’s clear then, old man,” the duke concluded, nodding his head toward a footman to signal he needed a glass of claret.

Reed turned his head to wait for the other man’s reply. “What is that?”

“Play wallflower tonight and don’t dance. That way you won’t be caught up in the parson’s mousetrap, will you? Now, I shall go find one of our Starling friends and let them know we’ve arrived, and then I believe I shall dance.”

Reed frowned as he watched one of his oldest friends walk with confidence across the crowded assembly hall. Preston always did have the confidence of ten men. It must have come from inheriting the Dukedom at age ten. Reed, who only inherited his title two years ago, and from his cousin, still felt like lowly Reed Oliver, instead of Viscount Stroller, or Stroll as so many of his friends now called him.

Brought up by his aunt and uncle after his parents died when he was seven, Reed was always made to feel as if he was a burden, that he was not wanted, and that he did not belong. His cousin, their beloved son, the former viscount, was a cruel and mean child who made Reed’s life a living hell from the time Reed’s parents died until Reed was sent to Eton.

At that time, he became friends with Preston, and the Starling brothers. Something about an orphan making friends with a duke (as Preston already was) and a future earl (Adam Starling, a year older than them) made his cousin, a future lowly viscount, treat him somewhat better while they were away at school.

Then his cousin contracted a wasting disease two years ago, making him the viscount, and now his aunt and her daughters were suddenly dependent upon him, and wasn’t that a fine ‘how do you do’? Of course, his aunt’s fervent wish was that he might marry one of her daughters. However, one looked like a cow, and the other acted like a banshee, so Reed had no expectations on that front.

He had no expectations to marry, ever. Even though Reed’s mother and father had a happy marriage, it was Reed’s understanding that their ‘happiness’ was the reason for their deaths. He heard his aunt and uncle discuss it shortly after they died, and apparently, his mother died in childbirth, giving birth to a stillborn girl. Reed’s father, so lost at the thought of living without his beloved wife, took his own life as a result. When Reed discovered this, he began to hate his father for not giving two figs for living FOR his seven-year-old son, and for  loving his wife so much that he followed her to her death.

Sometimes, Reed wished he had died when his twin sister Rebecca died. They were both five when they got the measles, however he lived and she did not, which meant that she died before his mother and father died.

Such was his life. He didn’t care any longer. He wasn’t ruled by such useless emotions such as love, want, and need, and he never would be. He'd never be weak like his father… to love a woman more than he loved himself, or give his life merely because of the love (or loss) of a woman. To fathom loving someone that much made his skin crawl. Bah!

Reed would never give in to such a wasted sentiment such as love. He would never marry. He felt he owed nothing to the Viscounty, so it could die along with him.

It wasn’t as if he had a better example of a happy marriage to uphold with his aunt and uncle’s marriage. He remembered the terrible fights they had when he lived in their house. If the only examples of marriage he had were ones of either fighting and dying, then he could resoundingly say that no, marriage wasn’t for him.

Which led him to his aversion with dancing. Dancing led to romance, which led to courtship, which led to marriage.

Hence, he would take Preston's mocking words to heart, play 'wallflower' for the night by finding a place next to the wall, hide for a few hours, and then cry off with a fake headache before he retired for the evening. That sounded like a solid plan to him.


“Who is that man over there, hiding behind the large potted plant?” Marybeth asked Rose.

Rose moved around in her seat to get a better look. “You mean the handsome, dark haired man who is trying, in vain, to look like a tree?”

“Does he have dark hair? I can’t see him well enough to tell,” Marybeth returned.

“Ladies, please do not stare at the men in the plants,” Charlotte chimed in, placing her glass of Madeira on the windowsill behind them.

Ignoring her, Rose stood up to get a better look at the man, so she could better describe him. “Yes, dark hair, handsome, as previously described. Well formed, too. I believe he came in the room with that dashing duke fellow, the friend of Adam's.”

Marybeth grabbed a handful of her friend’s skirts and pulled her back down in her seat. "Ellington is here? Oh, do sit down, Rose, before someone see's you."

Batting at her friend’s hands, Rose said, “I was only trying to get a better look, so I could tell the colour of his hair. Don't fear, you silly thing. The duke isn't near him now. He didn't see me.” She laughed at her friend because she knew Marybeth secretly had feelings for the duke, although he failed to notice her time and time again.

Violet, who seemed uninterested in the conversation, said, “If he came in with Ellington, he's probably one of Adam and Bradford’s friends come down from London. They’ve organized a hunt for this week.”

Charlotte turned in her seat slightly, cerulean-blue eyes blazing, her dark hair bouncing on her shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell us? You know we’re all staying at your house this week!”

“I know you are.” Violet looked at Charlotte, truly shocked. “What does that have to do with anything, and why would I tell you about the hunt they have planned?” Then, she smiled and said, “By the by, there is to be a ball at the end of the hunt, and of course, you’re all invited to that as well, not that it matters that much, as my aunt is doing all the preparations. I’d love to help plan, but I can’t lift a finger because of my delicate health.” She ‘faked coughed’ politely in her hand, and then said, “I’m ill, you know. Weak heart.”

Rose laughed again. “If you’re ill, I’m a horse’s arse.”

“Rose!” Marybeth abolished.

“Well, we all know that Violet isn’t ill! She’s perfectly well! When she’s with us she climbs hills, and takes long walks, and….”

Charlotte interrupted, as only Charlotte could. As the eldest of their small group, she often acted as unofficial group ‘mother’ to this group of ‘motherless’ girls. “Rose, what we do when we are together as a group isn’t to be discussed, even amongst ourselves, not when there’s a chance that someone else might hear, dearest.”

“Quite right, I’m sorry, Violet,” Rose said with a smile toward Violet. “I’ll never let on that you aren’t dying an early death.”

“And you should have told us that there were to be other people staying at the estate this week, because perhaps some of us would have politely refused your invitation if we had known,” Charlotte explained.

However, Violet was no longer listening. She was staring out at the crowd and her foot was tapping along in time to the music. The dancers were doing her favourite quadrille to her favourite song. It was one in which she could do perfectly well when she danced it in her room by herself among all the imaginary suitors of her daydreams, or when she and her friends did it in the forest behind her house when they knew no one else was watching. Here in this teeming assembly hall, with her family and half the villiage present, she could do little more than tap her toe and look wistfully out at the crowd.

“Hiding in the ferns?” Adam Starling asked Reed, Viscount Stroller, causing him to jump.

Reed turned to face the future Earl of Umbridge and declared, “Not at all, Starling. I’m waiting here for your brother. I happen to like him better than I like you, you know. Is he here yet?”

“Somewhere amongst the crowd. I believe he may be dancing, actually,” Adam said, pointing toward the middle of the room with his head.

Reed followed the older man’s gaze and indeed, he saw the laughing face of his dearest friend in the world, Bradford Starling, on the arm of a beautiful young woman. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

“I’m on guard duty,” Adam declared. Then he pointed toward four young ladies on the other side of the room. Reed hadn’t seen them until now.

Following Adam’s watchful eye, he looked at the four and said, “Guard duty? I’m afraid that you’ve lost me once again, Adam, as you so often do.” Reed had to admit that he didn’t really like Adam Starling as much as he like Bradford or his younger brothers Ethan and Gideon. That was how it always was – he was best mates with Bradford – while Preston was best mates with his older brother, Adam. Adam was too serious by half, even a bit odd, which made it even odder still that he and the often-playful Preston, who was never serious, were the best of mates.

Adam explained, “My father’s taken ill, hence the reason he’s not here tonight, which means one of us have to stand guard over Violet at all times. Usually he’s the one that’s on constant duty.”

“Violet?” Reed tried to recall whom Violet was. “Your sister?” He looked back over at the young women in question: two blondes, a redhead and a dark-haired beauty. “Which is your sister?”

“The blonde on the end.” Adam leaned against the wall. “My brothers and I take turns you see, and since they’re all busy dancing, it’s my turn to sit this one out. For goodness sakes, and duty calls! You’d think the young bucks here would know better by now. Excuse me, Stroller, I must intervene.” Adam pushed himself away from the wall toward a young man who was leaning down toward the woman in question. Apparently, the man must have asked the girl to dance, and likewise, the staid Adam Starling must have answered for his young sister and told the buck a resounding ‘no’.

Reed almost felt sorry for the poor girl. She was very pretty, in a country sort of way. Bright eyes, pretty, dark-blonde hair, round face, a slight blush to her cheeks. She looked like she had a body made to be worshipped, not that Reed was noticing these things. Why were her brothers so against her dancing? Similarly, why were the other three girls who were sitting around her, not dancing? The three other ladies weren’t typical wallflowers. Each one was lovely, in her own right.

Preston suddenly perched beside him with a smile in his grey eyes. “Ah, you’ve noticed the North Cumberland wallflowers, have you?”

“The what?” Reed asked, confusion marking his dark features.

Preston continued to smile, but he no longer seemed amused. “It’s a sad tale; actually, do you have a moment.”

“Please, do I look as if I’m going to dance?” Reed asked his friend.

“Then take a walk outside with me, and I’ll explain,” the duke announced.

They walked down a long hallway and then down a set of stairs to a small courtyard at the back of the assembly hall. Preston took out a rolled cheroot, offered one to Reed, who declined, and said, “It’s a private joke between a few of us. We call that group the North Cumberland wallflowers, but I don’t believe any of them are wallflowers by choice, only by happenstance.”

“Just tell me about Starling’s sister,” Reed heard himself asking, finding that he could barely find the time to worry about the other three.

Preston snubbed his cheroot out on the stone walkway with his shiny Hessian boot. “Excellent, yes, good, you only want to know about Lady Violet,” he said, confusing Reed a bit, then he continued. “Bradford and his brothers guard their sister like good little soldiers, never allowing her to dance, except perhaps once in a very small while, and then only with one of them, and even then, only part of a dance, and never one that’s lively or gay.”

“Why?” Reed sat down and waited for his friend’s reply.

“They’ve never told any of us why,” Preston answered, coming to sit next to him. He looked up at the starless sky. “But you know me, I’m a duke. If I want to know something, I find it out.”

Reed laughed at that. “And what did you find out, Ellington?”

He looked right in to his friend’s eyes and said, “It’s a sad, cautionary tale. You see, the girl’s mother and sisters all contracted Scarlet Fever years and years ago, leaving them with weak hearts. The sisters died as mere girls, the mother died in childbirth with Gideon. It left the father a heartbroken, sad man, and the brothers all overly protective of the poor little sister who was left behind. Then, in a cruel twist of fate, Lady Violet contracted the very same illness on the cusp of her coming out... the same illness that took her mother and sister’s life years before.”

Reed felt as if all of the air was being pushed out of his lungs. Lightheaded, hot and overwhelmed, he looked helplessly at his friend, waiting for him to finish his story.

He did.

“The girl was left with a heart ailment. Any sort of physical activity and she could die, just like her mother and sisters before her. It's said that the Earl of Umbridge never recovered from the loss of his wife or young daughters, and if his daughter Violet died it would completely be his undoing, or in other words, it would be the nail in his coffin."

Reed couldn't respond, he couldn't do anything but think of his father, and how he hadn't wanted to continued living without his wife and daughters, and finally he thought he might understand why. If Reed was in love with someone like this Violet and she was taken away from him, what would he do?

Unware of his friend's quiet musings, Preston forged on by concluding, "Still, I suppose it's better for the poor girl to spend her life tapping her foot in time to the music next to the wall, instead of cold and buried, dead in the ground. Living half a life is better than living no life at all. Sad isn’t it?” He turned to Reed and waited for a reply.

Reed thought of his own mother and sisters, cold in the ground, dead now for years, and then of the beautiful young girl tapping her foot in time to the music. He excused himself and walked away.

Preston Jayne, the Duke of Ellington said, “Was it something I said?”