Page 25 of Map of a Lady's Heart
Viola rolled her eyes. “Only if you wish to.”
“Newton’s very handsome! And eligible! Don’t you think Gareth would approve of him, if he knew?” she argued.
“If he knew,” repeated Viola with meaning. “I shan’t speculate on what your brother might do or say,if he knew,since neither you nor Lord Newton took the time or trouble to seek his approval before sneaking off for a bit of kissing. What do you think he’d say now?”
Alexandra bit her lip. “I shall explain to Mama. Mama will understand.”
“I hope so.” Viola was relieved that Alexandra had grasped the import of this moment. If the dowager could see that it was a harmless kiss, nothing much would come of it. No one else had seen anything, and even if the other guests had noticed Newton and Alexandra leaving together, that was proof of nothing. Viola could even say she had been with them, if it came down to it.
Of course, if the dowager grew upset that her daughter had been able to sneak off with a gentleman, there was one person to blame for failing to chaperone her: Viola.
They had reached the dowager duchess’s suite of rooms now. Viola put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and gave her a firm squeeze. “Chin up. Your mother was once a young woman, hoping to fall in love, flattered by a handsome young man’s attentions. She will surely understand what you’re feeling. But that’s no excuse to be foolish, and risk your reputation for a few moments of excitement. And don’t blame Lord Newton; unless he carried you off to the library against your will, you are as much to blame as he. You are a young woman now, Alexandra, and must take responsibility for your own actions. Be honest and true with your mother, and I have faith she’ll treat you fairly.”
The girl stared at her with dark, worried eyes. “Isn’t it monstrously unfair that such a trifling thing could cause such trouble?”
Yes. Viola felt uncomfortably aware of all the impure thoughts she had had about the Earl of Winterton recently, and how easily she could have been the one caught kissing in the library. He found her attractive; she sensed that if she gave him any sign, he would kiss her. Perhaps do more. Perhaps she had even agreed to go to the library with him because she knew he wanted to kiss her, and she wanted him to do it.
But she had even more to lose than Alexandra did. “Yes, but that won’t change anything. ‘It’s not fair’ is rarely a winning defense.”
A spark of pique animated her face for a moment. “It should be. Lord Newton won’t be judged so harshly over a trifling little kiss.”
Viola sighed. “His uncle looked very displeased with him. But that doesn’t affect you, which is why you must speak to your mother before anyone else does. Own your mistake and learn from it, so you don’t make a worse one later.”
Alexandra wilted. “All right.” She put back her shoulders and knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately, and Ellen let her in. Viola waited until the maid had closed the door before she let out her breath.
Chapter 8
Viola dutifully returned to the drawing room, but thankfully everyone else was ready to go to bed. No one asked where Alexandra or Lord Newton had gone, although Sophronia did murmur something about Lord Winterton with a sideways glance at her. Viola let it go. Tonight had been hard enough already.
So she did something she rarely did and helped herself to a bottle of port from the tray in the drawing room, then climbed the stairs to her rooms and shut the door.
Just looking at her apartment gave her a pang. The duchess had given her a luxurious room by servants’ standards, a comfortable bedroom with an adjacent sitting room. It was small, but it was private and it was hers. Even more, it wasn’t on the servants’ floor but tucked at the end of the corridor where the duke and duchess had their rooms, almost like a member of the family. That was to make it easier for her to answer the bell that hung discreetly near her bed, of course, and it was right next to the servants’ stair, but it still made all the difference. She could pretend that she was more Cavendish than servant.
It was shocking how quickly her happily settled life might go to pieces.
With a sigh she dropped onto the chair near the hearth and poured herself a glass of port. What were the odds the dowager would be upset? Viola had always admired the dowager duchess’s levelheaded approach to things, but there was no telling what she might do when one of her children was in trouble. The poor woman was still ill, growing frustrated at her inability to recover, and every day she peppered Viola with ever more detailed questions about the party’s progress. She was very annoyed that Frye had not arrived yet. The match between Serena and Frye had been arranged by their fathers years ago, and the dowager duchess still clung to hope that Frye would arrive, fall on bended knee to apologize profusely for breaking the engagement, whereupon Serena would graciously forgive him and fix a date for the wedding.
Now Viola faced the possibility that the dowager was about to be greatly disappointed by two daughters instead of one. Serena displayed no interest in Frye’s attendance, and Alexandra was sneaking off to kiss a young viscount she’d only met last week. Anyone would be upset in these circumstances, and Viola knew she was the most likely person to bear the blame.
What would she tell Stephen if she got sacked? She took a large sip at the thought. Her poor brother. If she could have held on for another two years, he would have been able to finish his studies and become eligible for a post at the university. That was where Stephen belonged, among the books and scholars and ancient stone buildings that had harbored the likes of Isaac Newton. What would he do, out in the real world? He was brilliant enough to be a professor and witty enough to be a dean... except when his brain went off on some wild and wonderful journey through the realm of astronomy and mathematics. She’d known him to stay awake for three days straight, barely eating, working away until his hands were black with ink and he looked like a wraith from the grave. She’d given up scolding him about it years ago; he told her it was like a hurricane in his head, and he would have no peace until it blew itself out. Nor did he want peace from it—on the contrary, he reveled in those storms of thought that swept him away from her and everyone else on earth, into the exotic and thrilling world of numbers and stars and all sorts of things that enchanted him, but bewildered everyone else.
Alas, hurricanes of thought didn’t pay well. James, her dear James, had been so fond of Stephen. His affectionate kindness for Stephen, then only a gangly lad, had been what initially endeared him to Viola. When she married him, James had pledged to pay for Stephen’s schooling, and off her brother went to Cambridge.
But that came to an abrupt end when James’s heart gave out. His income was only for his life, and it turned out he hadn’t saved much for his widow—not that he’d had time, dying before his thirty-seventh birthday. Viola had been staring poverty and ruin in the face, and Stephen the loss of his place at Kings College.
The Duke of Wessex offered her a small stipend when she applied to him for help, as James’s most illustrious relation, but it wouldn’t have been sufficient to support both her and Stephen. Viola had swallowed her pride and asked for a position instead, with a regular, higher salary. As a secretary, she was able to send to Stephen enough for his school fees and books. If she instead had to pay for her own lodging and keep...
The tap on her door roused her from her growing anguish. She went still, suddenly gripped by fear that the dowager duchess might be sending for her already.
“Mrs. Cavendish?” called a low voice. “Viola?”
She gasped in relief, and went to open the door. “Good evening, sir. Do you require something?”
The Earl of Winterton stood there, looking penitent. “I wanted a word, if I may.”
Viola dipped a shallow curtsey. “If you please, sir, perhaps Mrs. Hughes or Withers—”
“No!” He lowered his voice and ran one hand over his hair, ruffling it into unruly dark curls. “I wanted to talk toyou.”
