Chapter 13 #2
“I have been wondering about Fane’s wife.” He looked her frankly in the face. “It appears he hasn’t been lying about hiding her away in the attic.”
“Oh no,” she said with a small, self-conscious laugh.
“It was only a matter of prudence. We thought it best that I remain out of sight.” She caught sight of Sebastian across the room, deep in conversation with a group of men.
He glanced back at her, his expression creasing into a worried frown.
She smiled brightly and gave him a little wave.
The gentleman raised his eyebrows. “And what, pray, do you mean by that?”
“I appear to possess the unfortunate talent of embarrassing myself whenever I am seen in society,” she said lightly.
“I should hate for that to reflect on Fane.” She gestured carelessly, forgetting she held a glass of champagne, and promptly spilled it over his sleeve.
“Oh dear. Precisely like that. I am so terribly sorry!”
She dabbed at the stain with her handkerchief. “I am the clumsiest creature in existence. I cannot hold a container of liquid without inevitably spilling it over myself or over my fellow human beings. It is a law of nature, you see.”
He looked at her, slightly bemused. “Pray do not be concerned; I am certain it will dry in good time.”
Viola looked at him contritely. “If the stain doesn’t come out, pray let me know and I shall buy you a new coat. Or even better, I shall make Fane do it.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Now that is an offer I might have to hold you to. Imagine Fane buying me a new coat!”
“Yes. His taste in fashion is vastly superior to mine, you see. But let me tell you right away: if you have approached me believing I have any sort of influence over my husband—like the gentleman I talked to earlier, for he seemed to believe I could sway Fane’s opinion on some bill or other—then you are suffering under a gross illusion.
I am a profoundly unpolitical person, you know.
I know as much about politics as a dormouse knows about trigonometry, and I have as much influence over my husband’s opinions as my bonnet has over the weather.
” She looked at him kindly. “Just so that you know that if this has been your ulterior motive, talking to me might be a fundamental waste of time.”
The man was momentarily speechless.
“Furthermore,” she blithely continued, “I am a passionate and unapologetic reader of unsuitable novels. The worse, the better. I was told that this might be the ultimate vice in a politician’s wife.
” She leaned forward to whisper, “That it might even bring down his career. A fascinating notion, don’t you agree?
I thought I had better put all my cards on the table, for good measure. So there.”
He looked at her with grudging appreciation.
“On the contrary. Your taste in literature aside, you appear to be an excellent judge of character and refreshingly candid. More so than most of the men in this room. I admire honesty above all virtues. It is rarely found.” He leaned in.
“And since we are speaking of honesty, tell me, you truly have no opinion on the sinking fund?” He looked quite serious, though at the depth of his eyes there might have lurked a twinkle.
“What could it mean? The term reminds me of a sinking hole,” Viola mused. “That in turn recalls to mind a toad in the hole.” She leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Is it a sort of savoury pudding?”
That elicited a surprised laugh from him, drawing the attention of several people. “You have nailed it. It is a sinkhole indeed! A metaphor for the shocking financial state of the nation.”
“Yes. Well, that sounds positively frightful. I am certain you and Fane and everyone else,” once more she waved her hand and her companion had the foresight to jump back in time so he wasn’t yet again doused in champagne, “shall come up with some grand idea or other to save the nation, so I am not in the least concerned. What I am concerned about, however...” She wrinkled her nose.
“But no. Even I know it isn’t the topic for a genteel evening.
And I would be loath to instil disgust in you just when we are getting along so famously. ”
“Well, now I am profoundly curious. What is it you are concerned about?”
“The insane asylum in Dublin.”
“Ah. And why is that, if I may ask?”
“Since we were speaking of sinking funds and financial holes, I wondered whether the difficulty is truly a lack of funds, or rather a lack of proper oversight. One might pour money into a leaking bucket forever and never fill it.” She paused, thoughtful.
“One donates and donates, but what assurance is there that the money truly reaches its destination? Or that it is allocated appropriately? I must say, I am truly concerned.”
He looked taken aback. “That is an excellent question indeed, and you strike at the heart of the matter. The core of the problem lies in administration rather than charity. And yet there could scarcely be a better person than Fane to oversee such a concern. Have you discussed it with him?”
“Oh no. Goodness! We surely have better things to do than sit around in our drawing room discussing madhouse legislation, you know.” She folded her hands primly in front of her.
He nodded. “True. One would have to bring it before Parliament and vote for a select committee to investigate the matter and recommend reforms.”
She leaned forward. “Oh. Do you think that could be done? That would be quite fabulous. But never mind.” She waved a hand dismissively. “No need to concern yourself with it. I shall ask Fane about it later.”
He looked at her appreciatively. “And so, despite your protests to the contrary, you have proven to hold a rather sharp understanding of the matter at hand.”
“Oh, pooh, I really know nothing at all. Truly, I don’t.”
An involuntary chuckle escaped him. “You amuse me, Lady Viola. Few people do.”
“I do? I am glad. You don’t seem half bad yourself. You appear somewhat stern and frightful at first, but now I see you have a benevolent heart and are an excellent judge of character.”
“As I said, delightful. You are not at all what I expected, Lady Viola. It was a pleasure.” He bowed and removed himself, leaving Viola to stare after him, puzzled.
Lady Hatherleigh took her arm and assigned her to her table partner, a certain Professor Tolliver. She braced herself and looked into a pair of twinkling eyes.
“Lady Viola,” he said. “It is an honour that I may partner you at the table. I see you have held one of the most powerful men in this room in thrall, and I am keen to know what you discussed.”
“Indeed?” She looked wonderingly at the gentleman, who was now sitting at the head of the table, next to her husband, deep in conversation. “Who might you mean? Silverstar or Purple-breeches?”
The man blinked. “Purple-breeches? Oh, Mr Eldon. He must have tried to wear you down on his opinion on the Corn Laws. He does wear rather ghastly purple pantaloons, does he not? And Silverstar.” He uttered a soft laugh. “What an apt description.”
“It’s because he has this pretty star pinned on his chest,” Viola pointed at the right side of her chest.
“Hm. Indeed.” The man’s eyes twinkled. “I may be wrong, but I believe it is the star of the Order of the Garter. And you tell me you do not know to whom this star belongs?”
“No. Pray tell me?”
“Your Silverstar, Lady Viola, is none other than Liverpool, of course.” He chuckled. “Our Prime Minister.”
Viola’s eyes widened. “No. Truly?”
She hadn’t really seen his face the other day when he’d stepped out of White’s, for she’d focused entirely on Sebastian.
“Now then,” Tolliver said cheerfully, unfolding his napkin. “Shall we discuss something more interesting? I run the anatomy school at the Royal College of Surgeons.”
She looked at him with dawning delight.