1. Let's Switch

Victor and Violet DuVere had always done everything together. They were twins (Victor being the oldest by a mere half an hour), and identical. They had matching wide brown eyes, wavy brown hair, snub noses and wide grins. In their youth, back when Violet was still allowed to wear breeches, they could impersonate each other and enjoyed confusing everyone. They were inseparable.

But of course, people change. Victor grew taller, his voice changed and he had to begin shaving. Violet had to start wearing dresses, grew her hair long, and had to wear it up, because proper ladies didn't wear breeches and such.

Mrs DuVere was very keen on Violet's being a 'proper lady' just as Mr DuVere was keen on Victor being a 'proper man'.

'I don't know what to do with her.' Mr DuVere sighed one sunny afternoon. Victor and Violet were playing in the garden with the dogs, and Violet was laughing and running. 'She's…well, there's no getting around it. She's simply mannish.'

Mrs DuVere was A Lady (with a capital L). She had been extremely beautiful in her youth, graceful, accomplished, everything a young woman was supposed to be. She had big plans for her daughter. When Violet was born, Mrs DuVere assigned the care of her twin baby boy entirely to her husband, and waited for her baby girl to grow into a replica of herself. She was disappointed. Physically, Violet was entirely different. She was small and thin, her mother was tall, with womanly curves. Her mother was confident and practical, Violet was shy and a daydreamer. However, they did share the same temper and stubborn nature, which caused many a disturbance in the household.

Despite their differences however, Mrs DuVere assumed her daughter would share her own goal of a suitable marriage. 'And I know just the man.' Mrs DuVere confided to her husband.

As Violet entered the hall, she heard voices in the drawing room, and quickly darted up the stairs to hide. Her dress was muddy and crumpled, and her hair had fought its way out of the elaborate bun her mother had forced it into. She was also sure she had a scratch on her cheek. In a word, she looked a mess. If we have guests Mother won't want me to be seen like this, she thought to herself. She peeped through the banisters to see who was visiting. It was five o'clock now, and people didn't visit that late.

A tall, well built man with fair hair and a coat in the latest style strode confidently down the hall. His ice blue eyes flicked up and saw Violet peeping, and he smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, more like a crocodile smiling at its next meal, and Violet shivered. His name was Edward Hemps, and Violet couldn't stand the man. Oh, he certainly handsome, and he could be charming and amusing when he wanted. But his perfect smiles never reached his perfect eyes. Lately, he'd seemed to bestow more of his perfect smiles on Violet, which she chose to ignore. He had married young (for a man), barely twenty, and quickly fell out of love with his insipid bride and into hate.

Margaret had been one of Violet's friends, a rather silly, romantic girl, very beautiful, and idolised Edward. He soon regretted his marriage, as she had little personality and less money. She began to get in the way. Edward began to drink and gamble again (he had never really stopped, but he became more open about it again). He brought back numerous dancing girls and opera girls to his home under his wife's very nose. Edward's parents and siblings blamed Margaret for this, and he soon began to believe it was all indeed his poor little wife's fault. He convinced himself it was really her fault when he would come home drunk and beat her and throw her down the stairs. Poor Margaret never stood a chance.

The family and Edward came up with some story or other when Margaret was found dead. They had a brief, cheap funeral and his mother instantly set out to find her son a 'proper' wife. Most people knew that Margaret had been viciously beaten to death.

'I can't understand,' Violet had sobbed to her brother one evening, 'how people can just…forget! They act as if he was never married!'

'Edward is rich,' Victor shrugged, 'Margaret was not.'

So what was this man doing here today? Violet wondered. Surely her mother had not invited him.

'Violet dear,' Mrs DuVere called from the drawing room. 'Come in here.' she was sewing, and only looked up when Violet sat down in front of her. When she looked up, she gave a sort of squawk. 'Violet! What do you think you look like? Oh, I do hope Edward didn't see you like that!'

Edward? Violet thought, not, 'Mr Hemps? 'Why was he here?'

'Oh, darling, I was hoping to wait till your father was finished speaking to Victor. But no matter. Edward came here to ask for our – your father and I – our consent to ask for your hand! Isn't it wonderful?'

Violet was dumbfounded. 'You…he…'

'Ah, you're speechless. I don't blame you. After all, he's so rich and handsome…and so charming. And, well, not to hurt your feelings dear, but there are so many prettier girls than yourself he could have fixed on. He says he has distinguished you with special attention for a while now, but you are so stupid, I doubted you had noticed. And you haven't. Now, we were thinking of perhaps a June wedding, I had one, and they're very a la mode nowadays and…'

'Wait,' Violet interrupted. 'You mean Edward Hemps wants to marry me?'

'Yes dear, it's absolutely…'

'I can't marry him. I won't. You can't make me.'

'What? Why ever not? He's a lovely young man.'

'He killed Margaret. I hate him.'

'Who? Oh, that silly little airhead. No, no dear, that was an accident. A burglary or something of that nature. A nasty accident, they were ever so upset.'

'It was not an accident. He killed her! She told me how he used to beat her?'

Mrs DuVere grew angry. 'You are being silly. He did not kill anyone. He's just a little rough around the edges, that's all. Nothing a nice, gentle, pretty wife can't smooth out. You've always been ungrateful, that is your trouble, young madam. Men like Edward don't come along every day, and they aren't usually interested in silly little spoilt brats like you. Edward is coming tomorrow at noon to ask for your hand. You can say no if you like, but you forget you are only sixteen years old. It is not for you to say 'yes' or 'no' to whom you choose. Your father and I will decide, and it is decided. You will marry Edward, so I suggest you make your peace with this.' With that, Mrs DuVere got up and swept out of the room.

Violet stormed up to her room and closed the door quietly. She wanted to slam it with all her might, then throw herself on her bed and scream and cry. But that would accomplish nothing. What can I do? What can I do? She thought frantically to herself over and over. Nothing came to mind.

I won't marry him. I'll kill myself first. I won't do it. They can't make me. Oh yes they can. They will. What can I do? She nearly jumped out of her skin as someone tapped softly on the door. It was far too gentle a knock to be her mother, and her father hadn't come to speak since…well, ever.

'Vi, it's me.' Victor's muffled voice came.

'Oh. Come in.'

He quietly let himself in and turned the lock. He turned and stood with his back to the door for a second or two, unsure of what to say. 'Mother…told me. About this business with you-know-who.'

'They're going to make me marry him.' Violet's face and voice was muffled in a pillow, so he couldn't tell if she was crying or not.

'They can't make you.'

'Yes they can.'

Victor crossed the room and sat down on the end of the bed. He was taller than Violet, but still a slight young man with delicate, almost feminine features. Mr DuVere despaired as his son chose books over hunting, and preferred studying animals to guns and shooting.

'I'm leaving tomorrow.' Victor sighed. Violet sat up and turned to face him, revealing red-rimmed eyes and a blotchy face. 'What? Leaving? Why?'

Victor breathed in deeply. 'Father said he's had enough of me, that I need a trade. He wants me to be a sailor.'

'Didn't you tell me you want to study animals? Your professor thinks you could get a job over in Brazil.'

'He just laughed, said that wasn't a man's job. He's already got me a position as a midshipman on the HMS Surprise. I leave tomorrow, early.'

Violet was shocked by how hollow and dead her brother's eyes were. 'But…there's talk about a war with Napoleon. Surely…you might be killed!'

'I might. I'm a huge disappointment anyway. Father probably won't mind as long as I die with honour.'

Violet was filled with sad anger and empty rage. 'It's not fair.'

'No. The professor…' he hesitated. 'Maybe I shouldn't tell you.'

'What? What? Tell me!'

'The professor did mention a colleague of his out in the Brazilian rainforest, a Dr Barks, who asked him to find a young man to train up. The professor recommended me. He said…he could organise a passage for me. It leaves tomorrow at five o'clock in the morning. I don't know if I should go or not.'

Violet's eyes were glinting. She picked up a book from beside her bed; it was one of her favourites. It was called Twelfth Night. 'I have a brilliant idea that might save both of us.' She whispered. Her brother arched an eyebrow. His twin's ideas tended to get them into trouble. Especially the 'brilliant' ones.

'What's this 'brilliant' idea then?'

Violet grinned. 'Let's switch.'