Chapter Eight
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 to you.”
She gripped the doorknob. The servants at Kingstag Castle were expected to be as respectable as the family. Socializing and romantic attachments were permitted, but only when conducted with propriety and decorum—and inviting the earl into her private rooms would be neither proper nor decorous. And she had just scolded Alexandra for doing much the same thing with Lord Newton.
On the other hand, letting the earl sit on her sofa for a few minutes could hardly make things worse, if the dowager duchess decided to sack her. She opened the door wider. “Then you might as well come in.”
Winterton frowned. Viola gave a small shrug and went back to her chair. She propped her foot upon the fender and waved one hand toward the tiny table by the fireplace. “Have a glass of port, m’lord.”
Slowly the earl stepped into the room. “You’re upset.”
Viola tilted her glass at him. “No,” she corrected him, “I am resigned.”
“To what fate?” He closed the door behind him.
Viola looked hard at that closed door, decided it didn’t matter enough to protest, and sipped her port. “The duchess left me in charge of the household. Yes, Lady Serena is acting as hostess,” she acknowledged as his brow dipped. “But she’s not accustomed to maintaining order in a household this size. Naturally Her Grace the dowager duchess is, but she’s still stricken in bed. Hence, the duchess entrusted me with the running of the house in her absence.”
“That’s a weighty responsibility.”
She laughed weakly. “Isn’t it? I assured her I could manage, even with the guests and the snow and Lady Sophronia being let off her lead. And I was managing well enough, until—”
“Until my nephew and I arrived,” he finished when she didn’t. “I will speak to the duke. Newton will speak to the duke and he will do whatever the duke deems proper and necessary.”
Viola felt herself droop. “Proper? You know as well as I do what that normally means, my lord. But you are not acquainted with the Duke of Wessex.”
Winterton hesitated. “No, I’ve never met him.”
“Then allow me to offer you some advice, when you do meet him.” She rearranged her feet on the fender. The fire was very warm. “He adores his sisters. He will throw over propriety and every rule of society to protect them, and a viscount who’s still wet behind the ears will be no match for him.”
“What are you saying?”
“I am warning you to tread carefully, and for heaven’s sake tell your nephew the same. The duke will not be pleased to learn he trifled with Lady Alexandra.”
“I imagine not.” The earl came another step into the room. “May I?” He gestured at the sofa. Viola waved one hand in assent, and he took a seat. Any fluttering awareness she had of the man should be entirely overwhelmed by the disaster that loomed before her.
Still, he sat very near her. When he stretched out his own legs, his boots brushed her skirts. As if from a distance she watched the fabric sway, then settle. Goodness; the port must be having an effect on her after al
l. She turned her head to look at the earl, and discovered him watching her.
She guessed what he would say. What ought I to do to keep the duke from calling out my nephew? Viola had not seen the Duke of Wessex in a temper often, but he was not a meek or indecisive man.
“What will happen to you?” Winterton asked instead.
It took a moment for the question to sink in, which then caused her to sink lower in the chair. “Me? I might be sacked.”
“Why?”
“You know why,” she said softly.
“Hear me out,” he responded, calm and unruffled. “Lady Alexandra has been flirting with Newton all week. Putting them together in the same house for days on end in a holiday spirit was bound to foster some interest between them. It’s only natural.”
“And it’s only natural that His Grace will be furious.” She sipped more port.
“But why would he sack you?”
Viola swirled her port, then drained the glass. “I ought to have kept a closer watch on Lady Alexandra.”
“And I on Newton.” Winterton blew out his breath. “His mother will have my head for this, you know. I thought I’d outgrown my fear of her, but tonight I am discovering that I have not.”
She peeked at him. He looked glum but serious. “His mother is your older sister?”
“By several years, and she entrusted her son to me on the condition I would teach him some restraint and dignity.” He grimaced. “She’ll box my ears and slap my face, just as she did when I scalped her favorite doll.”
Viola’s eyes went wide. “Scalped!”
For a moment something like guilty enjoyment flickered over his face. “I fancied myself an American savage, like the ones I read of in travel diaries. They cut off their enemies’ hair, did you know? Anne can be a bit… managing, and at the age of six I decided she was my mortal enemy. Obviously I could not cut off her hair, but her doll…” He flexed one hand and shrugged. “It seemed a good idea at the time. She was too old for dolls then, yet she took it oddly to heart.”
Viola laughed. It was wrong to laugh, both at the story and because she might still be in an ocean of trouble, but once she started, she couldn’t stop. She laughed until her sides hurt and she was gasping for breath and her eyes were wet. And when she finally recovered enough to catch her breath, she discovered she’d crossed the line into sobbing at the end.
The earl had gone down on one knee in front of her. He held out a handkerchief without comment. Viola took it and blew her nose, loudly and miserably.
“Is there a chance you’re underestimating Wessex’s understanding and compassion?”
She rolled the damp handkerchief into a ball. “Perhaps. It will depend, I suppose, on what Lady Alexandra tells her mother. If the dowager duchess takes umbrage, she will urge the duke to do the same.”
“What will Lady Alexandra tell her, do you think?”
Viola thought of the set expression on Alexandra’s face as she went in to see her mother. “I expect she’ll say it was a trifle; some harmless flirting, a stolen kiss.”
“As it most likely was,” he pointed out.
Viola sighed. “She’s a proper young lady, the sister of a duke. She’s not at liberty to flirt with and kiss any young man she chooses.”
“No.” He looked down. “If I may repeat my question… What will you do?”
“If I’m sacked?” He gave a slight nod, and she put down her glass. “Look for another position.” She looked sadly around the room. “I’m very fond of this one, though. It will be hard to leave Kingstag.”
He nodded, rubbing his hands on the arms of her chair. Viola covertly watched. He had lovely hands, strong and big. “Would it reassure you,” he said very slowly, “if I promised you a similar position at the same salary?” She jolted, and he raised those lovely hands as if to calm her. “Only if you cannot find one more to your liking. I hate to think you might be brought low by my nephew’s actions, and thus by my own. I blatantly invited myself to Kingstag, and then I brought Newton with me. If there is blame to be laid, I must accept my share.”
“You don’t need to do that, my lord,” she murmured.
“But I want to.” One corner of his mouth tilted upward. “I want to very much, actually.”
Viola turned her gaze to the corner of the fender where her feet were propped. Do not become enamored of an earl, she told herself. Especially not this earl, with his strong hands and endearing grin and an offer that could easily lead her to forget herself and do something very wrong, like flirt with him. Encourage him. Let him kiss her, and kiss him back, repeatedly, until she ended up in bed with him, begging him to make love to her. She didn’t want that, she really didn’t, even though part of her did want it, despite it being a terrible idea and—
A knock at the door startled her out of those thoughts and sent her leaping to her feet. She looked in alarm at the earl, who had also risen. There was no way to excuse his presence in her private room.
Without a word, he pointed at her bedroom, brows raised. Viola gave a quick nod, ignoring her conscience, and he stepped quietly inside, closing the door behind him. Straightening her shoulders, Viola went to the main door and opened it.
Alexandra stood there. Her eyes were a little wet, but she managed a smile. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Viola stepped aside and followed her to the tiny sofa.
“Mama said I must apologize to you,” the girl began. “I put you in a very bad spot, and betrayed your trust. Mama was terribly upset that I took advantage of your distraction to steal away, when she’s been so sick and you’ve had to do so much more than usual.” She sucked in a deep breath. “But I want to apologize for myself. I know it was wrong, and even though nothing very improper happened, I’m sorry I did it. As soon as I saw your expression, I felt so stupid.” She pleated her skirt, her whole figure drooping. “I hope you don’t think less of me.”
“Of course I don’t.” She clasped Alexandra’s hand. “I understand exactly—what’s more, I agree that it isn’t fair a mere kiss should be judged so harshly. But I don’t make the rules, and I would hate it more if you suffered. I may not be your sister—or your brother—able to protect you in other ways, but you are very dear to me, Alexandra.”
Alexandra gave her a grateful smile. “As are you to us, Viola. I told Mama several times it was not your fault, and she agreed it was all mine.” She made a slight grimace. “Jane always says her mother would sack a companion who allowed her to get into trouble, but I won’t let Cleo think ill of you. I don’t want you to go, and I shall try very hard not to put you in that position again.” She paused. “What you said, outside Mama’s door… Thank you. I had been feeling rather put out lately—everything has been Serena, Serena, Serena. I want her to be happy, I do… and I shall never forgive Frye for breaking her heart, never… but I was beginning to feel impatient with all the fuss over her. This whole party was arranged to cheer her up, and she doesn’t even seem sad to have lost Frye.” Her mouth quivered. “I shall try to be a better sister.”
Viola pulled her into a hug. “You are a good sister. What happened to Serena was dreadful, but she shall survive it—as shall you survive this little to-do.” Alexandra smiled. Viola squeezed her hand. “I fear we’re all going a bit mad, trapped inside by all the snow. Who knew it could snow so much in Dorset? I’ve never seen the like…”
Alexandra laughed at last. “Nor I.” She got up. “Mama said she doesn’t want to make a fuss over a kiss—as long as I have learnt my lesson. I shall keep Lord Newton at a distance and be more conscious of my actions.”
“Very good. That’s all any of us can do.” Viola walked her to the door. “Good night, Alexandra.”
“Good night.” Alexandra left, and Viola closed the door, feeling vastly relieved. If Alexandra escaped this with nothing worse than a scolding and chastened spirits, all would be well.
She had not forgotten that the Earl of Winterton was in her bedroom. He must have heard her conv
ersation with Alexandra, and his mind must be at ease about his nephew. If the dowager duchess saw no reason for upset, there would be no need to tell the duke. That would put her own mind at ease, of course; if she didn’t lose her position at Kingstag, there would be no need for her even to think about Winterton’s offer, and what it might lead to, and why he’d said he wanted to propose it to her very much.
She opened the door and paused. It was a small room, barely big enough for the bed and a washstand, with a clothes cupboard in one wall. Consequently, Lord Winterton had stretched out atop her bed, his long legs crossed, his arms folded behind his head. There hadn’t been a man in her bed since James died two years ago. The sight sent a shock of desire through her, hot and so powerful she had to cling to the doorknob to keep herself steady.
“She’s gone,” she said, shocked by the low husky quality of her voice.
He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. “I heard. All will be well?”
He was relieved the duke wouldn’t thrash his nephew. “It seems so.”
Winterton nodded. He still sat on her bed, far too big and masculine for her widow’s room. Viola was trying without much success to stifle the wicked thoughts drifting through her mind like snow, a veritable blizzard of sinful images threatening to swamp her composure. She shouldn’t have drunk that port; it had shot her good sense to flinders.
“Then you won’t be sacked,” said the earl.
Viola cleared her throat. She hadn’t even been thinking of that. “I feel less anxious on that score.”
He smiled again, that roguish grin that made her heart skip beats and her mind go blank. “And vastly relieved you shan’t have to address what I said earlier.”
She was too distracted by the sight of him sitting on her bed, his large, lovely hands clasped between his knees and his coal black hair rumpled as if he’d just woken… in her bed… “Yes, of course.”
He got to his feet and came toward her. It only took two steps but they seemed very momentous and significant steps to Viola, still gripping the doorknob. “I’m relieved as well. I think you misunderstood what I meant. It wasn’t an improper offer.”
At the Christmas Wedding Page 9
