Page 6 of The Viscount's Code
“My apologies, Lord Whitehall,” Hope said, stepping backward hastily, only she was so close to the pianoforte that her bottom hit the keys, creating a loud crashing of sound that made her wince. “I am glad you are not hurt.”
“And just how would Lord Whitehall hurt himself in a music room?” Faith asked, an eyebrow raised as she peered at the two of them.
“He tripped,” Hope said when it appeared that the viscount was not going to explain himself.
“Did my sister’s music so captivate you that you could not walk straight?” Faith asked, sarcasm lacing her tone. Hope’s face warmed as she saw the viscount’s expression harden, and she wondered herself at what had caused his clumsiness.
How long had he been standing there, listening to her? She had been playing a song of her own creation, one that was playful, light, written with the thought of flitting about the gardens on a warm summer’s day.
The truth was, once she had seen the viscount’s carriage arrive, she had thought to greet the man and his mother, but her father had told her that the guests were not here to visit her, and that she and Faith could make themselves scarce until dinner. When she had tried to suggest otherwise, she had detected the warning in his tone and did as he bid, but she wondered at it. Just what did he – and Faith – have against the man?
“You are an accomplished musician,” the viscount said to Hope, ignoring Faith, but it was Faith who answered before Hope had a chance.
“Of course she is. Hope is perfection at nearly everything she attempts.”
“That is not at all true,” Hope said hastily. While she did pick up young lady’s accomplishments rather easily, she was not nearly as intelligent as Faith. She also never seemed to know the right thing to say in many circumstances and had no wit or humor. Not that she was going to spell out all of her faults to the viscount at the moment.
“I assure you it is,” Faith said, and Hope wondered at the bit of malice that laced her tone. She sent a concerned, questioning look at Faith, but she ignored her.
“Since we have a moment alone,” Lord Whitehall said, looking from Hope to Faith and back again, “I thought I might ask a favour.”
“Of course,” Faith and Hope both said at the same time, except that Hope meant what she said while Faith was obviously not quite as sincere.
“This book that I am to examine – have you seen it?”
“No,” Hope said, biting her lip. “Unfortunately, we have not. In fact, I do not recalleverseeing such a book. As hopeful as I am that we can locate it, I do wonder at the duke’s memory.”
Cassandra’s father, the Duke of Ashford, had been the one to recall that Hope’s father possessed a similar edition to the one they had found after following the riddle. His Grace, however, suffered a disease of the mind that could bring his reliability into question.
“I find that when it is the past in question, His Grace is usually correct,” the viscount said, rubbing a hand over his brow. “Where do you suppose I should look?”
“Likely his study,” Hope said. “Although perhaps we should simplyaskFather.”
“No,” Faith interjected swiftly. “I do not think he would be in favour of the idea.”
“Why not?” Hope asked.
Faith looked over to the viscount. “He is not Lord Whitehall’s biggest admirer.”
“Faith!” Hope exclaimed, her eyes shooting over to Lord Whitehall, who smirked.
“I am not shocked,” he said.
“Does our father know you well?” Hope asked, to which Lord Whitehall shook his head.
“No.”
“Then why—”
“He knew my father.”
Hope looked back and forth from Faith’s hard expression to Lord Whitehall’s, knowing she was missing something, but it seemed that neither of them was inclined to share at the moment.
“Very well,” she said, raising her hands in the air. “I think, however, you are best to simply ask Father. Perhaps he will be reasonable.”
Faith snorted at that, and Hope shot a look her way. Was she the only one who actually wanted to get to the bottom of this and help her friends?
“Best of luck, my lord,” Faith said with an amused smile. “Come, Hope, we best prepare for dinner.”
