mother, who was still wringing her hands. She looked about to cry.
‘Sit down, Mama,’ Violet said gently.
Mrs Coombes picked up her fan. ‘Oh, dear. Oh, Reginald.’
‘I’m quite well, Adeline,’ Mr Coombes said stoutly. ‘Do as Violet says.’
Violet tucked her mother beneath a silk shawl. Going back to her papa, she took his wrist, counted and waited. His pulse was faster than usual, but it wasn’t as bad as some of his turns had been in the past, as far as she could make out.
She straightened her back and glanced at Adam Beaufort. His expression was inscrutable. He was a man who controlled his emotions. He’d moved out of her way as she helped her mother and father. Now he stood by the fireplace, a tall but surprisingly comforting presence.
He stayed calm in a crisis. That was it. She’d witnessed it before, when he’d caught her under his balcony. She liked that about him.
‘Would you care for a whisky?’ she asked him.
In an unhurried movement, he took out a pocket watch. ‘It’s rather early in the day for spirits.’
‘But in the circumstances...’ Violet prompted.
His mouth cornered into a smile. ‘Indeed.’
She poured a large measure into the cut-crystal glass. ‘Water?’
He inclined his dark head.
‘Don’t drown it as you did mine, Violet,’ said Mr Coombes from the wing chair.
‘You ought not to be having whisky at all, Papa,’ she retorted, pleased that he appeared to be rallying. But her hand shook as she poured some water into Adam Beaufort’s glass, spilling it on to the drinks tray. Her papa had been so angry. He’d never said such things to her before.
She blotted the spilt water. Crossing the room, she gave Adam Beaufort his glass of whisky.
His fingers grazed hers as he took it. They were warm and dry. ‘Thank you.’
His touch seemed to stay on her skin, steadying her as she returned to the tray and poured herself a generous finger of whisky. She threw it back, straight, letting the fire scorch the back of her throat, only to find Adam Beaufort surveying her over the rim of his glass.
The heavy crystal clanked as she replaced it on the silver tray. Young ladies were not supposed to drink spirits, let alone before luncheon. Yet another rule for women that did not apply to men. How it irked her.
Heading over to her father’s chair, she took away his empty glass. The colour had returned to his cheeks, she noted with relief. He always recovered quickly from his turns, as he called them, but she was sure they were becoming more frequent.
‘How are you feeling now, Papa?’ she asked.
He patted her hand. His anger seemed to have abated. ‘No harm done.’
‘Would you like some more water?’
‘Not unless you are going to give it a bit more colour this time.’
‘Certainly not,’ she retorted.
Mr Coombes gave a slight guffaw and clambered to his feet. He puffed out his chest, but stayed upright.
‘Won’t you rest a little longer, Reginald?’ Mrs Coombes pleaded from the sofa.
‘I’m quite well now, Adeline. No need to fret.’ Mr Coombes took one step forward, one step back across the carpet, as if testing his strength.
Violet and her mama exchanged worried glances. Her papa loathed a fuss to be made about his health, but his turns terrified all of them.
A pang of pain clutched deep in her own chest. For her parents’ sake, she had to stop the scandal.
‘Now then.’ Her papa’s voice lacked its usual ring as he stopped on the carpet and studied Adam Beaufort. ‘Let’s get down to business. Are you serious in proposing marriage to my daughter?’
Adam drained his whisky glass. ‘Quite so, sir.’
Mr Coombes tucked his hands into the lapels of his checked waistcoat. His elbows jutted out. ‘You think a marriage announcement could halt this suffragette business. Is that it?’
‘I believe it would stop the scandalmongers if attention was diverted towards an engagement,’ Adam replied. ‘The Beaufort name will halt adverse gossip. We’re an old family. Well connected.’
‘At court!’ Mrs Coombes put in from the sofa, still fanning herself rapidly. ‘To royalty!’
Adam smiled at Violet’s mother, not appearing to mind her mentioning it. ‘There are a few overlapping branches in the family tree.’
He turned back to Mr Coombes. ‘If we act in time, I hope we can ensure your commercial dealings are not adversely affected.’
‘Do you believe the reputation of my company might be damaged by this stunt of Violet’s?’ Mr Coombes demanded.
‘Surely not!’ Violet put in.
‘I’m afraid so, Miss Coombes.’ Adam spoke quietly, but his tone was firm.
Mr Coombes looked suddenly deflated. ‘I agree. Customers can take such things very badly.’
‘My being a suffragette won’t stop people eating Coombes Chocolates,’ Violet said, incredulous.
‘You have insulted the Crown. Fortunes have been lost for less.’ Adam gave her a direct look that reminded her of their discussion the night before. He knew about such matters, she recalled with a sinking heart.
‘What of the Royal Warrant?’ From the sofa her mother’s voice was hushed.
Her father shook his head. ‘No chance of a Royal Warrant now. No chance at all.’
Violet clutched her corset. The painful pang in her chest moved to squeeze her stomach, as if she’d eaten too many sweets at the factory. She’d done so once, as a small girl.
The Royal Warrant. Chocolate Manufacturers to the King. It had been her father’s abiding goal in life for as long as she could remember. Now the scandal she’d created could dash his dream.
How had it come to this? She struggled for breath. She’d never meant to insult the royal family, never once imagined that her passion for the Cause could risk what her father had worked so hard to build. Yet she couldn’t regret her deed. It was the suffragette motto after all. Perhaps she’d gone too far with the banners at the ball, but she would never give up her beliefs.
‘What do you think needs to be done?’ Mr Coombes was asking Adam Beaufort.
‘Make a formal announcement as soon as possible,’ he replied. ‘Notify The Times.’
Mr Coombes tucked his hand in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his spotted handkerchief. ‘What you’re
