Page 5 of The Christmas Ball
Drat it.
“Welcome to Dovington, Lord Winslow,” Mena said regally, calm despite the incredible awkwardness of their situation. “I am the Duchess of Beckford. Thank you for your aid today, but I assure you that we are no longer in need of your assistance.”
“We never were,” Viola said softly, and Lord Winslow shot her a look.
“I never did catch your name,” he said to her.
She lifted her chin. Truly, there was no hope of remaining anonymous. Now that he knew who Mena was, he’d surely work out her own identity.
“Lady Viola Harrington," she said.
“Ah.” One eyebrow went up. “I might have guessed.”
She frowned at him. “Whatever are you implying, sir?”
He opened his mouth, thought better of whatever he was about to say, and merely shook his head. Viola knew she’d a reputation for being too outspoken, and headed for spinsterhood as a consequence, but she didn’t realize utter strangers were cognizant of the fact.
“A pleasure, Your Grace. Lady Viola.” He inclined his head. “You may keep the coat until you’ve no more need of it.”
“Most kind,” Viola said, not meaning it in the least.
She wouldn’t have needed the dratted thing at all, if he’d just minded his own business.
“Then I shall take my leave,” Lord Winslow said. “Good day.”
He turned and led his horse back under the trees. As Viola watched, he mounted in one smooth motion and, without a backward glance, rode off in the direction of the road.
“We shan’t speak of this,” Viola said firmly, as soon as his tall form had disappeared.
“But, Vi. Surely your brother—”
“Oh, I’ll tell Drew, don’t fret.” Though she planned to omit some of the particulars, like her deplorable state of undress. “But after that, I intend to put this most awkward encounter out of my mind.”
She stared at Dorothy, who bobbed a curtsey, then turned her gaze to her sister-in-law.
Mena pressed her lips together and regarded Viola intently for a long moment.
“Are you quite sure?” she finally asked.
“I am,” Viola said. “There’s no merit in any further discussion. Now, I believe my chemise has dried sufficiently that I might get dressed.”
She pulled off Lord Winslow’s coat, trying not to inhale too deeply of the scent of leather and cloves that clung to it. She’d see to it that the garment was laundered and returned to him at the soonest possible moment, and that would be an end to it.
True to her word, Mena hadn’t brought the subject up once in the months that followed. Drew had accepted her terse explanation that she’d stumbled into the pond and Lord Winslow had kindly fished her out again, though by the look on his face it was clear he had his doubts about the actual chain of events.
Still, he hadn’t pressed, and Viola had resolutely attempted to put the entire thing out of her mind. She’d had some success.
Oh, very well. If she were honest with herself, she’d had none at all. The memories were still as excruciatingly clear as day.
“You promised we wouldn’t speak of it,” she said accusingly to her sister-in-law, setting her teacup down with a sharp clack.
Mena’s hazel-eyed gaze held hers. “Vi. If you’re resolved to pretend nothing happened, then you can’t snub the marquess, and most particularly, his sister. The entire neighborhood will comment upon it. And you know what they will say.”
She paused and took a sip of her tea.
Viola scowled, then sighed, letting her expression smooth. “That we are once again too puffed-up with our own social standing. And you’re right about Lady Charlotte’s suitability, too. It would not reflect well upon us if I failed to extend them an invitation.” Much as she hated to admit it.
Still, after what had happened, she was certain Lord Winslow wouldn’t accept. He’d taken clear pains to stay out of her way ever since that day, and there was no reason for him to change his behavior now.
