“What! Pistols at dawn?” Douglas laughed good-naturedly.
He unfolded his arms and clapped Hugh on the back. “Oh, I see where the land lies. You want her for yourself. Be careful. She might get under your skin. She’s that kind of woman.”
“She’s certainly not a woman to be trifled with while under my protection, Douglas.”
He shrugged. “Pity.”
“I must ask you not to mention Viola’s presence at Vale Park to the prince’s set. Not until we unravel the mystery that brought her here.”
“I shouldn’t worry, unless Prinny sets eyes on her. He has a fondness for buxom…” He paused at Hugh’s scowl and yawned behind a hand. “I’m devilishly tired. Ended up trolling the gambling hells last night and didn’t retire until dawn—then the trip down. I’m for bed. I want my aim to be in tomorrow.” He went to leave and then turned.
“Is Miss Viola’s chamber amongst the guests or in the servant’s wing?”
“None of your business. And she is amply chaperoned.”
“Ah.” He grinned. “See you in the morning.”
“And please leave my maids unmolested.”
Douglas took his leave of the room, bending to kiss a few ladies’ hands before departing. Perhaps one of them would provide him with company for what was left of the night.
Hugh flinched. Douglas’ remarks had struck too close to the bone. Hugh had toyed with the idea of offering Viola a carte blanche. It had seemed the perfect solution for her, and, he couldn’t deny it, him as well. He had thought to set her up in her own cozy establishment. She would want for nothing, and there seemed to be little to prevent it now that he had parted company from Aurelia.
Amply rewarded with a fine parure of emeralds, she now sought solace in the arms of Quincy Bartwell.
Even though it went against the grain, such an arrangement with Viola would suit him once he’d married. He needed passion in his life, damn it! He’d intended to raise the matter with Viola when he sought her company by the river, but it hadn’t seemed to be the right moment. Then again, when they visited the tenant farmers, but seeing how compassionate and caring she was, helping others in a way he’d never thought to do, his words had dried up in his throat.
Viola was far above the role of a mistress. She deserved so much more. More than he could ever offer her. He remembered her flash of anger that day. One more thing he had learned about her. She loved to dance.
Douglas had understood she was a woman who would provoke strong passions. Passion was something Hugh had been resigned to do without in his marriage. The habit of the ton to marry well and seek love elsewhere must be his chosen course, although the arrangement had never really appealed to him. His parents loved one another deeply until death parted them. Surely, they would have wanted the same for their son, yet they had tied him to a life he didn’t want. Would they still if they lived? As he asked himself this question, he knew, in his heart, the answer.
Their fervent wish was for him to carry out the plans they had made for him. Hadn’t he accepted this long ago? Why then, did he feel so hollow?
Hugh went to say goodbye to his guests. Viola’s plight was a sorry one, indeed. The ton was very unforgiving if one flouted Society’s conventions.
A horrible thought struck him. Was he being helpful to Viola, or did he condemn her by his inability to leave her alone?
Chapter Twelve
Viola sat with Hugh’s sister over a tea tray in a smaller and more intimate parlor furnished in rich cream and burgundy tones. The duchess outlined the plan she had devised, as she poured from a silver teapot.
Viola sat agape as her intention became clear. She planned to take Viola home with her to introduce her to Bath Society.
“Bath attracts people from all over the country,” she said.
“We shall have to avoid any smidgen of gossip arising. Therefore, you shall be a distant cousin from out of town. You have been unwell and are visiting to take the waters.”
Her head reeled. Was this the duchess’s way of parting her from her brother? It was far more generous than she expected. She clasped her hands together, not wishing to appear ungrateful.
“Your Grace, this is too good of you. But I must refuse. To put yourself in such a position!”
The duchess evidently believed all difficulties would disappear with a wave of her hand.
“Pish, I can do as I wish. And I wish to do this!”
Viola swallowed the anxious lump in her throat and fought to discover another way to deter the duchess, who appeared to be set on this course of action. Such a deception would prove a nightmare.
“I’ve no clothes suitable for such a ruse,” she said lamely.
This problem also disappeared with another swish of the duchess’s hand. “I have so many outfits I shall never wear again, and several I have never worn, for some reason or the other. Stand up for me and turn around.”
When Viola obeyed, she said, “You and I are similar in build; I am a trifle taller and thinner, perhaps. My dressmaker may have to make alterations. It’s of no consequence. We shall see to all of that presently.” She motioned for her to sit. “Your feet and hands appear smaller than mine. We’ll need to purchase shoes and other items, but this is a mere trifle.”
Viola drew in an anguished breath. “Your Grace, this is extraordinarily kind. But it cannot happen. I feel it would be putting you to far too much trouble and expense. I don’t know if I shall ever be able to repay you.”
“Nonsense, Viola. These clothes will only be sent to a street buyer if Burns doesn’t want them.”
Viola’s heart sank further at the thought of depriving the maid of the duchess’s clothing. “Oh but I couldn’t do that to your maid.”
The duchess seized her hands in a strong grip, and gave them a shake. “Pish. Burns does very well from my cast-offs. She has more than she will ever need. And what social occasions might she attend to wear them? Whereas you—”
“I do appreciate your offer, but couldn’t I stay quietly here with Nanny until I can find suitable employment?”
“As a governess?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Viola hoped an offer of a reference might result from this extraordinary conversation.
“Oh, no, my dear.” Hugh’s sister shook her head. “Viola, I am of a passionate nature. ’Tis true, I take some people in strong dislike, but I take to others immediately. My dear husband tells me I lack logic. While I am sure his opinion is sound, I do have good instinct. You have come to us with no history with which we may judge you, so it is purely instinct that makes me feel you are a person worthy of my help.
Nay, more than instinct perhaps, logic too, for your knowledge and manner are such that we must believe some accident has befallen you and removed you from your proper place. If I can assist you to find your way back then I feel compelled to try. How could I not in this cruel world in which we live?” She patted Viola’s hand. “Would you not do the same if our positions were reversed?”
Viola suppressed a smile at the thought of the duchess cut adrift from the small army of people who cared for her. “Indeed, I would, Your Grace.”
The duchess went on, her voice taking on a confessional tone, which surprised Viola even more. “Truth to tell, I want to help you because I shall enjoy it. It is not without a grain of selfishness on my part. My life is remarkably good, but carefully planned since the day I was born. It’s the same for my brother, but men are allowed so much more freedom. They have their dalliances, do they not?” She winked at Viola in a way that would scandalize most ladies in Society. “I too have an adventurous spirit, so I find it unfair that ladies are so restricted. I’ll enjoy the company of a woman who shares my interests. Think of the fun we shall have setting Bath society on its ear.” She laughed mischievously and stood, sweeping Viola with her out of the salon. “Come, we must start immediately! I have had some gowns laid out that will be more than suitable.”
Clarissa was such a force, Viola felt completely
unequal to further argument.
“I am overwhelmed by your generosity, Your Grace,” she murmured.
Her Grace clapped her hands together. “It will be such fun to dress you!”
Viola’s head ached when she was at last able to leave Clarissa's suite some hours later. The duchess’s deft needlewoman had thrown one magnificent Parisian gown after another over her head, expertly pinning them—taking them in a little here and there, easing them over the bosom, and pinning up the hems. She and the duchess had studied each one, discarding those they thought unsuitable to a young woman of Viola’s coloring. The remainder brought about a serious discussion on accessories, before whisking the glorious pile away for alteration.
Viola was pleased most of all when Clarissa decided Nanny was to accompany them in the role of Viola’s companion.
This decision, coming as it did rather late in the proceedings, made Nanny quake. She was excited that her sedate life was to be turned upside down, but neither did she have a stitch to wear. Unfortunately, the duchess didn’t see the need to provide Nanny with new clothing. Viola helped her as much as she could. This meant revisiting the trunks in the attic, dragging out much worn and discarded, outmoded gowns.
With swift, nimble fingers they cut, re-stitched, added lace here, braid there, to hide old tears and stains. Finally, exhausted, Becky crisped and straightened them all with the flat iron.
Several outfits had been created, not stylish, perhaps, but more than acceptable. Nanny was thrilled when Viola altered two of her ancient bonnets with artificial flowers and ribbons Madame Sophie had contributed.
This filled the last of their days at Vale Park. They were exhausted, but prepared when the day the barouche arrived to take them along with trunks and bandboxes to the house. Nanny was resplendent in her updated gown of grey silk and bonnet trimmed with pink roses. Viola had chosen a white crepe frock with a primrose satin body and deep yellow spencer. A yellow straw bonnet, dressed with spring flowers completed the ensemble.
Busy as they had been, Viola hadn’t seen Hugh for days.
She smiled shyly as he put out a hand to aid her descent from the barouche.
Elegant in an olive green carriage dress with a matching muff, the duchess and her maid emerged from the house. Might she be annoyed that Hugh had decided to accompany them?
“Am I not an artist, Hugh?” she asked him, her eyes shrewd. “Have I not produced perfection in Miss Viola?”
Aware that they both would be constantly tested, Viola’s cheeks heated when he looked at her, but he merely said, “You’ve done well, Clarissa. Miss Viola looks charming.” Then he turned away and called to Porter, who was organizing the footmen placing bandboxes on the roof. “Make sure those are well tied on, Porter. There’ll be trouble if we arrive without the ladies’ furbelows.”
Viola’s spirits lowered. A swift surge of annoyance followed. What a fool she was to dress for his approval when there was no hope of him returning her affection. She followed Clarissa into the carriage.
The small procession set off. The duke and the menservants led the way in Hugh’s carriage. Hugh rode alongside them on his fine stallion. The duchess, her maid, Viola, and Nanny traveled in the Whitcombe’s carriage while a further vehicle brought up the rear with the footmen, piled high with trunks and bandboxes.
Her Grace had called her dog Ulysses. A most unsuitable choice, for Homer’s Ulysses was noted for his bravery and adventurous spirit. Nothing of the sort could be found in this fractious animal. He was alarmingly timid, jerked at any sudden sound or movement, and panted almost non-stop, filling the coach with his doggy breath. Her Grace didn’t seem to mind, lavishing tender love upon him. He hardly left her knee and she admitted the dog spent every night in her chamber on a satin pillow.
Viola liked animals, but try as she might, she could not muster any real affection for Ulysses. For Her Grace’s sake, she attempted to befriend him, suspecting he was a substitute baby for his mistress.
She made a promise that she would take him for long walks around the grounds each day when they arrived, and perhaps that would improve his disposition.
When Her Grace was not attending to the needs of Ulysses, they discussed the works of Wordsworth and the thrilling Lord Byron. Before the journey ended, Viola acquired a new novel, Northanger Abbey. She cherished it, for such a book was like gold.
The weather continued to be sultry, and the coach stuffy. At the Duke of Whitcombe’s insistence, they traveled at a stately pace, which did not suit Viola at all. She had to fight her curiosity and eagerness to see what was around the next bend, but this soon waned as the countryside they passed through took on a sameness as they ambled along.
She caught only brief glimpses of Hugh for she and Nanny shared a room and ate their meals in the inn’s dining room. At their last posting-inn, early in the morning on the day they were expected to arrive at Whitcombe Hall, Viola walked to the landing to wait for Nanny to find her shawl.
Hugh appeared, about to descend the stairs. His shoulders twitched with impatience as he pulled on his gloves.
“Good morning, Miss Viola,” he said. His voice was soft, his eyes warm, but he obviously suffered the same frustration as she.
“Did you sleep well?”
“I did, thank you.” She was greatly relieved this was to be their last stop except to change horses. “Are you enjoying the leisurely trip?” she couldn’t resist asking him.
A wicked gleam of acknowledgement shone in his eyes. “We have a wonderful opportunity to study nature at close range, do we not?” His voice was heavy with irony, but she knew he would go no further to criticize his beloved relatives. Nor would she wish it. “What of you, Viola? Are you looking forward to the journeys end?”
She drew in a deep breath as her stomach tightened. “I’m eager to visit Bath.”
“You’ll find Bath society quite lively.” His eyes searched hers. “My sister is at the center of the Bath social scene. She will keep you too busy to have time for much thought.”
She nodded, reminded of the odd position she was in.
Neither a servant nor a relative nor a guest of equal standing. She had no place.
“Your family are so generous. I feel quite overwhelmed at times and wonder what I might do to repay it.”
“I shouldn’t worry. My sister has taken to you. You’ve become one of her causes.”
Viola stiffened. “I’d rather take whatever life has in store for me.”
“I did not mean to imply you were a charity case,” he said, taking a step towards her. He stopped with a frown. “You will make a perfect companion for Clarissa. I’m sure that is in her mind.”
“Do you think so?” Relieved, she said, “I shall certainly enjoy her company.”
“We shall all benefit from the charming company you and Nanny will provide us. I look forward to having a chess partner. My sister and her husband don’t play.”
She smiled politely, wondering how long Hugh intended to remain in Bath. Would he leave her there when he returned to Vale Park?
“I’ve no idea if I can play.”
“I look forward to finding that out,” he said, as Nanny came into view.
“As do I,” Viola said. Hugh bowed to her and Nanny then descended to the floor below. She watched his broad back disappear. And it will prove to be both pleasure and pain, for that is what my life has become.
****
In the late afternoon, the weary passengers arrived at their destination. Viola caught her breath as the coach turned through the magnificent wrought iron gates of Whitcombe Hall. The excitement was infectious. Ulysses jumped about barking and earned a scold from Clarissa.
They traveled down the carriageway as the grounds of Whitcombe Hall unfolded before them. A team of gardeners removed their hats and slipped discreetly from view, their hard work evident everywhere. Glossy-leafed, clipped yew hedges sheltering statuary, hardly dared show a leaf out of place. It was late in the afternoon and long fingers of
shadow crept over the closely scythed lawns, which flowed like an emerald carpet up to the Hall. The duchess related the house’s history as Viola stared out the window awed at its grandeur. It had been built eighty years previously, when the duke’s father gained his peerage for services to the Crown. Six towering Corinthian columns marched across the front entrance of the huge house, dwarfing the two dozen servants waiting to welcome them. Decked out in livery, they formed a colorful line at the top of the steps.
A footman helped Viola down. She stretched her cramped limbs and shook out her skirts, as the Duke of Whitcombe moved in stately procession along the line of servants, like a General inspecting his troops.
They entered the great marble hall where liveried footman escorted Viola and Nanny up the sweeping horseshoe staircase, passing niches along the walls sheltering ancient urns and statuary.
Nanny continued up another flight of stairs to the attic room assigned her. With a guilty rush of pleasure, Viola entered her bedchamber, the walls, bed hangings and curtains were a pale blue Chinoiserie pattern of birds and pink flowering cherry trees.
Her toes sank into the deep Axminster blue carpet. It was so grand it quite robbed her of breath. She peeped through a doorway into a dressing room with a rose damask covered chaise longue, painted screen and a chervil mirror. Despite her anxiety, she was thrilled right through to her toes. She pulled off her hat and soiled gloves, and hurried to a gilt mirror to smooth her hair.
A vase of dewy pink roses sat on a delicate, satinwood table by the window. Viola put her nose to them with a sigh, and gazed at the view.
She looked forward to conquering an impressive maze in the grounds. Beyond its hedges, the parterre gardens stretched out in geometric perfection. A masterpiece of design, but for her it lacked the careless beauty of Vale Park.
A maid knocked at the door, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m Nellie, Miss. I’ve been instructed to direct you to the water closet, and organize your bath.”
“Thank you Nellie.”
Viola returned to find two servants filling a hipbath behind the screen in the dressing room. Thick towels were laid out on the chaise. Nellie pinned up Viola’s hair and helped her undress.
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