Chapter 12 #2
“There is no mistake.” Sebastian cut smoothly across her.
“Lady Viola and I have been married for nine years. I do not discuss my private life lightly, nor do I appreciate having it aired in public.” His gaze swept the room before settling on Viola for the briefest moment.
Something flickered there. A question, perhaps. Or a warning.
Peregrine’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. No sound emerged.
Mr Mainwaring had gone quite pale. “You were married to him,” he said slowly, “this entire time?”
Sebastian took her hand and gently drew her away from him. “There is nothing more to see here, ladies and gentlemen. Do move on and help yourself to some refreshments.” He did not let go of her hand.
“But Viola,” Georgiana said helplessly. “When on earth did that happen?”
“It is a long, long story,” Viola said tiredly. “I shall tell you sometime later. Maybe.”
“Fane, she is Fane’s wife. Incredible,” someone muttered.
“A secret wife?” muttered another.
“He never made a secret of it. Heard him mention her in the Commons.”
“Very true, very true,” affirmed another.
Mr Mainwaring looked at her, thunderstruck. “I had no idea. It never even occurred to me. I should have known—”
Poor Mr Mainwaring. Peregrine recovered more quickly. He sauntered up to Sebastian and nudged Viola. “Introduce me.”
Viola was exhausted. “Lockwood. Fane. Fane, Lockwood. Peregrine is an old friend of mine from Scotland.” Peregrine, who knew rather more of her secrets than any man ought. He had known that she was married; that was not the issue. But that it was Fane…
“We are actually related. Remotely so, but related. I must say, sir, I am quite an admirer of you. Your latest bill was masterful.” To Viola, in an aside, he murmured, “Well played, my dear. When you do finally produce a husband, you couldn’t have produced one that is more powerful, nor more influential.
” To Sebastian he said, “It will be a pleasure to call on you, Mr Fane.”
Sebastian did not look pleased. He ignored Peregrine, and his grip on Viola’s hand tightened. “We’re done here. Let’s go home.” He steered her through the muttering crowd, made a comment to one or the other, nodded and brushed off people, then took Viola outside and ushered her into the carriage.
“Oh, oh, oh,” Viola groaned, placing her head in both hands as she propped them onto her knees. “Have you any idea of what you have just done?”
“What, my dear, have I done except speak the truth?”
She opened her mouth to tell him that this particular truth might have better been left unspoken, given that she was also Selina Sable and that her identity ought not be entwined with his, but then she remembered that that was supposed to be a secret too, so she snapped her mouth shut.
“I don’t understand. You were the one who insisted on keeping our marriage a secret. Because of your sacred reputation and everything. And now you declare it to the entire world, not only at the musicale but also in Parliament?”
His head turned sharply toward her. “How did you know that?”
“I heard it,” she said darkly. “It appears I don’t know the difference between a tariff and a teapot. Even if that is true,” she went on, wringing her hands, “how can you just blurt that out to all and sundry?”
“Did you indeed?” he murmured. “I would say it’s high time we declared things openly.
I never insisted that our marriage remain a secret.
I never claimed to be unmarried. While people were certainly curious, they always respected the notion that my wife was rusticating somewhere in the country.
I never disabused them of that belief. But now that you are here, such a deception no longer is warranted, and it is best for all involved that we just announce things as they are.
You are my wife, and I will not tolerate other men sniffing about you.
” He scowled. “How did you come to know a man like Lockwood in the first place?”
“As he said, we’re remotely acquainted, and one day he visited my great-aunt Augusta when I was staying with her in Inverness.
” She looked out of the carriage window to avoid his eyes.
Viola had been fleeing the drawing room, where she’d been writing, and had hastily covered her writing with her embroidery, except Peregrine’s sharp eyes had seen all the same.
He had picked up her short story and, without asking her, had sent it to a publisher in London. Thus, their collaboration had begun.
“But Lockwood aside, it isn’t good at all that people know I’m married to you. There will be talk, and, and…it won’t be good for either of us,” she ended lamely.
Sebastian went still. “Of course. I had forgotten how burdensome you find this arrangement.” He looked out of the window, jaw tight. “Rest assured, I certainly have not forgotten for one moment that this was never the union you wished for.”
“What? No, that isn’t what I—”
Suddenly the temperature in the carriage seemed to plummet.
“But what is done is done. And you are certainly correct in pointing out the reputation aspect. Now that the public has been informed, you will be inconvenienced to perform, in public, the part of a politician’s wife.
That is, if you insist on staying in London.
” His eyes had frozen into icicles. “Otherwise, you will be freed from this obligation if you return to Scotland.”
Viola rubbed her eyebrows. How had it come to this, suddenly? He was giving her the choice to leave or stay. Of course she would stay in London. “What do you mean, play the part of a politician’s wife?”
He regarded her broodingly. “There will be invitations, naturally. And your presence will be expected now that it’s in the open that we’re married. And you are entirely right: appearances need to be upheld. Anything you do will reflect on me and my position in the House.”
Viola began to sweat despite the coldness in the carriage. “That is…rather burdensome.”
“If that is what you believe, then there is really nothing more to talk about.” He looked as if he had been hewn out of marble.
She shook her head wildly. “No. You do not understand in the least. I don’t know how this could ever work.
You know how I am. I spill tea over every surface, trip over every carpet, and my hair can’t hold a hairpin for the life of me.
” She threw up her hands. “Heaven help me, but I find discussions on dead carcasses of hanged criminals more exciting than some tariff or legislation or other. I shall be an utter disgrace to you every time I even open my mouth at a political supper table.” Her shoulders dropped. “You are truly better off without me.”
“I told you then, as I tell you now, that an annulment is out of the question.” His face was impassive. “As is a divorce. Resign yourself to the reality of married life or leave for Scotland.”
She heaved a long, hard-pressed sigh.
“Well, what is it to be?”
He was merciless.
Stay in London and be his wife and maintain a reputation she could never uphold. Eventually, it would come to a crashing disaster.
Or leave and return to Scotland. The safer, cowardly way out.
If she’d ever cared for him, even just a bit, and by God, she did, she should pack up and leave. It was the only way to protect him.
But never to see him again. To live apart once more. The last nine years had been agony that was only relieved through the passion for her craft. How she could have survived them otherwise was a mystery to her.
She could not bear to do that again.
“Very well,” she heard herself say.
“So, you’ll leave.” His voice sounded oddly dull.
“I’ll stay and do my best to ruin your reputation.” She heaved a sigh.
His gaze snapped back to hers. “I wouldn’t be so sure that is so easily accomplished.” Something shifted in his expression, the ice cracking just slightly. “There is something I want you to understand, Viola.”
When he paused, she lifted her gaze to find him looking at her with an odd expression. If she’d known any better, she’d have said it was sternness mixed with something like tenderness.
“I would never expect you to differ from what you are. Nor would I want you to be.” He paused, then added, “That is all.”
Viola blinked. Did he just tell her he accepted her for who she was, her entire bumbling self, with tea stains and all? And that it did not matter to him?
Something caught in Viola’s throat. She had braced herself for ice, for disdain, for the cutting remarks he wielded so well. She had not braced herself for this.
“That is the nicest thing,” she began, with a thick voice, but found she did not know how to finish.
“There is only one thing I don’t understand,” he said as the carriage pulled up in front of their home.
“What?” She braced herself for some reproach or criticism.
“What on earth do you find so fascinating about rotting carcasses?”
She uttered a surprised, relieved laugh.
“Oh, many things! Did you know that putrefaction begins within two days of death, and by the fifth day, the body has bloated to nearly twice its size? It is tremendously fascinating. The timing is remarkably predictable.” She smiled sweetly.
“You could even work this tidbit into one of your parliamentary debates.” She imitated his cool tone: “‘If the honourable member deliberates any longer on the question of duties, a corpse will have bloated, burst, and been picked clean by beetles before he reaches his point.’ I imagine it would enliven the proceedings considerably.”
“Good Heavens.” Sebastian was torn between horror and laughter. “I don’t really talk like that, do I? But one thing is certain: you never cease to astonish me.”
Viola beamed at him. “Thank you. That is a lovely compliment, indeed.”