Linda Castle by Territorial Bride

credit, the smile never slipped.
    “Oh, you are charming…in an untouched fashion.” Violet inclined her head. The gaslight turned the strands of her hair to ribbons of gold. The crowd around them began to drift away. Evidently they had grown bored withthe inane conversation. Now Brooks could drop his facade.
    “When did you return, Violet?” he asked.
    “Me? Oh, I have been back for ages now. I have been sitting at home pining away for you.” She leaned close enough that he could smell her expensive French perfume. “You never even wrote.”
    Missy blinked back her surprise and tried not to feel what she was feeling. It was silly, but for some strange reason she felt…hurt to see the woman so intimate with Brooks.
    “I saw no reason to write,” Brooks said as he turned and looked at Violet. “When I left you were busy chasing a title.”
    “It was all a great misunderstanding, darling.”
    Darling. The word hung like a sword.
    “A misunderstanding?” The tone of Brooks’s voice was deadly. “It was a damn lot more than that.”
    “Nonsense.” Violet removed her hand from his arm and tugged off her elegant, elbow-length glove. “It was nothing to me and I can prove it.” She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. Gaslight and candlelight glinted off a huge stone. “I am still wearing your engagement ring. I think that says it all.”
    For the next few days Missy moped around Ellen’s house, reading the latest Godey’s magazine and practicing at solitaire, which Ellen taught her…trying to forget the scene at the brownstone. Then one day during breakfast Ellen surprised her.
    “I think it is time we answered a few of these invitations.”
    Missy looked up and blinked. She was still numb all over, except for the unaccountable pain in her heart.
    Why should I care if Brooks is engaged?
    She had asked herself the question a hundred times and more, but she never came up with an answer that suited. It could be that she had harbored some silly girlish fantasy about him. Or it could be that it was just such a shock. After all, he had never mentioned the golden beauty who wore his ring. It might be all of those reasons…or none of them.
    “Did you hear me, Missy?” Ellen frowned and pointed to a pile of calling cards and small white envelopes. “Gregory Whitemarten was here again this morning, and Charles Rutheford.”
    “I don’t want to see anybody,” Missy said glumly.
    “No, you’d rather sit at home and let him win.”
    Missy’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
    “Cousin Brooks is having his cake and eating it, too, if you ask me.” Ellen plunked two cubes of sugar into her tea and stirred it savagely. “He’s got Violet Ashland hanging all over him, telling anyone who will listen that they will be married, and you are sitting at home pining away.”
    “I am not pining.” Missy blinked at the harsh words. “What a silly notion.”
    “Prove it,” Ellen challenged with a toss of her yellow curls. “If you aren’t smitten with my cousin and you are not pining, then pick one of these invitations.”
    “Right now. I won’t believe another word you say unless you prove it.”
    Missy narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. She shoved the stack of cards and envelopes around on the table while she glared at Ellen. “I can’t believe you would get such a dunderheaded idea, Ellen.” When she coulddelay no more, she closed her eyes and picked up a slip of paper.
    “Let me read it,” Ellen said as Missy stared at it blankly.
    After glancing at it, Ellen swallowed hard, but then she inhaled deeply and looked Missy straight in the eye. “It is from Cyril Dover.”
    “Which one was he?” Missy’s irritation had momentarily banished her misery over Brooks.
    “He was the tall slim man with the blue eyes—the one who brought the bouquet of roses the morning after Aunt Patricia’s party.”
    “Oh, him.” Missy sighed. “I guess he is as good as any of them to prove to you