Whatever Happened to Violet Grosvenor?

Twelve years ago -

Midsummer, and the doors to the Manor Varana stood open in an attempt to keep it cool. The marble pillars at either side of the arched glass surrounding the heavy, lacquered oak double doors suffered under the glare of the sun.

The Lady Varana had been greeted that morning with several letters laid on the silver tray in the foyer, one gloved hand descending to lift the first wax sealed envelope to unearth the correspondence. Indulged in reading, she missed the sound of shoes on the gravel of the courtyard, and found herself surprised by a woman in mauve. Flying up the steps and into the corridor, the blonde woman promptly took the letter from her, tossed it negligently into the tray, and pulled her towards her significantly shorter person for a smouldering, drawn out kiss.

“Eave!” she exclaimed, a trifle breathlessly, once she deigned to let her go. “My darling Eave, I heard he’d gone this morning, and I simply couldn’t get here fast enough. I’ve missed you.”

Mereavus’ all-but-black eyes observed the woman hanging from her, hands settled lightly on her hips. “You have?” she answered in a particularly neutral tone, one brow curving upwards.

“Of course I have!” the blonde reinforced, the thumbs of her lavender felt gloves shifting over the taller woman’s lower cheeks. “It’s been months. Didn’t you think to write?”

That brow remained up, and the maroon set of felt fingers rose to carefully disentangle the arms from her shoulders gently. “Write to you? Of course I thought to write to you, but not whilst Remus is home, dear. That’s awfully impolite.”

The blonde reluctantly lowered her arms, a light furrow touching her brows and an almost befuddled expression crossing otherwise lush, alluring features. “Impolite?” she laughed lightly, lifting the backs of her fingertips to Mereavus’ chin. “What are manners to us? He knows.”

“Do you expect me to flaunt you to him?” she enquired, her own hand straying to brush a coil of blonde back behind one ear. “Really, Violet, that would be abominable of me.”

Violet stared at her a moment, her hand lowering from her face. “Sometimes you’re very cold, Eave,” she stated, her expression folding into a displeased pout. “You neglect to notice I have feelings at all.”

Mereavus shook her head some at the accusation, her palms rising to the underside of the blonde’s jaw and her digits splaying over her paler skin. “Now, darling, let’s not get pouty,” she answered, dropping a very gentle kiss to her lower lip. “Of course I notice. You know I notice everything.”

Violet accepted the kiss, but pouted regardless. “You’ve not noticed how close I am to the Damiens girl,” she accused. “You’ve seen us together countless times now, and not a word! You must know!”

“Of course I know,” Mereavus answered, smoothing the backs of her fingertips over her cheekbone. “I could tell you precisely when you last saw her, and precisely which wall she had you up against. But I don’t, darling – what business is it of mine who else you’re seeing?”

Violet’s eyes narrowed, and she turned her head away from those cradling hands. “I wanted you to notice,” she sighed, descending into a sulky expression. “You were supposed to be angry with me.”

Mereavus lowered her hands, turning back to the silver tray and lifting her discarded letter. “Jealous, you mean,” she corrected. “What right would I, of all people, have to throw a tantrum because you have another fancy? I, who bedded my husband goodbye this morning? Really, Violet. I’m happy if you’re seeing someone else, it evens the field.”

Violet turned her head back to gawp at her as though she’d just slapped her, blue eyes widening. “You bedded him?”

Mereavus didn’t look up from her letter, though she did offer a light, bell-like laugh in response. “Twice,” she answered. “I’d have thought that to be the least scandalous of my exploits, and to say the least the most obvious. Why so flustered, Violet? You knew I was married when you met me, I’m constantly introduced as ‘Mrs.’, no matter how much I hate it.”

“You are so cruel,” the blonde woman accused, her jaw clenching once in anger. “If you notice my feelings, as you claim, then you’re heartless to walk all over them.”

“With my shameless public affair with my husband – yes, I’m quite sure that shocks and appals you, darling. I told you in the beginning not to consider me yours, or you mine. I told you I’d not fall in love with you. I told you there wouldn’t be some grand elopement after a few years. I’m neither heartless or cruel, simply realistic.” Mereavus refolded the letter carefully, and then turned to look more directly at Violet, poised shoulders lifting slowly in a delicate shrug.

Violet glared at her, arms folding underneath her bodice as she drew herself up in an attempt to look at least remotely threatening. “I am going to go to the Church,” she stated. “And tell them what you are, you and that pig of a husband. A polygamist mess of sapphism and boy-loving. They’ll burn you and give him the horn-and-poker.”

Mereavus very calmly leaned one hip against the table, fingertips going to balance themselves gently on the polished surface. “You don’t mean that, Violet, darling,” she answered. “You’re baiting me. And it won’t work. I won’t become your possession. I belong to no one.”

“I will!” the blonde reinforced, lowering her arms and clenching her fists at either side of herself, stamping her foot once at the end of her miniature tirade. “Don’t you test me! I will tell them of your parties, and your dark alcoves. I’ll tell them that you moan like a whore when a woman has you. I will!”

“Woman, your decorum!” Mereavus snapped, looking her up and down incredulously. “Your pique loses sight of your manners, and if you continue to act in such a tawdry fashion, I will have you removed.”

Violet continued to glare at her, hesitating a moment before letting her fists melt back into a more relaxed posture. She looked down shortly after, much like a chastised child. “Tell me you don’t love me,” she murmured. “And I’ll go.”

Mereavus’ hip left the tableside, fingertips going to the frail patch of skin beneath Violet’s chin to lift it. Blues met browns, and the taller woman stated, “I do love you, Violet. But I will never be in love with you.”

Violet snapped her face away from that hand, turning to leave with uptight little steps towards the open door. “I hate you,” she hissed. “I will always hate you!”

And, she did as she’d said she would, and crossed the gravel. A moment later, the looming figure of the very pale-haired and ox-built Arthur Cordle loomed over his mahogany topped employer. They turned their heads to look at one another.

“It’s a shame she chose this way, my Lady,” he commented, glancing at the ever-smaller figure storming away from the manor.

“Very sad,” she agreed.

He looked back to her, and raised both brows. She gave it a moment, and then nodded once to him, before turning to her next letter, and beginning to open it.




Violet was never seen again. Rumour has it, she eloped with Trefa Damiens, and is hiding in a port town to the north. This has neither been confirmed or denied.