Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
She had fallen asleep while waiting for him.
She had not meant to. She had intended to stay awake, to be there when he returned, to tell him all that she hadn’t been able to tell him yet.
But her body had betrayed her. The exhaustion of early pregnancy was relentless, and when her maid had gently suggested she lie down for just a moment, she had not had the strength to refuse.
She had slept through the night without stirring.
Sebastian must have come to bed at some point; the pillow beside hers still held the impression of his head as evidence that he had been there right beside her, but she had not woken.
She had slept through it, and now he was already gone.
Parliament did not convene until the afternoon, but the butler informed her he had left at dawn because of some urgent matter.
Her stomach gave a nervous lurch as she could imagine what that ‘urgent matter’ would be.
The hours crawled by. The house was unnaturally quiet, as though the very walls were holding their breath.
She’d perused the newspapers that morning, but there had been nothing noteworthy in them.
Yet. If the letters were published that morning, The Evening Times would certainly be the first newspaper to report on it… followed by all the other gossip rags.
When the footman finally appeared to announce Lady Penworthy, Viola nearly leapt out of her skin.
“Viola.” Josephine rushed toward her and seized both her hands. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes briefly. “My letters were published.”
“Yes.” A pause. “You knew?”
“I knew. And the scandal is immense.”
A beat of silence followed, and then Josephine’s grip tightened. “They are talking of nothing else.”
Viola began to tremble. “Fane went to Parliament this morning.” Her voice failed. “How bad is it?”
Josephine bit her lip, visibly wrestling with herself.
“I was there. I listened from the ventilator. He took the floor to defend a motion, but they would not let him speak. They interrupted with accusations. What moral authority could such a man claim, they asked, when his own wife was publishing such filth?” She squeezed Viola’s hands.
“He defended you, Viola. Brilliantly. He was magnificent, and he very nearly brought the House to his side through sheer force of will. But then…” she faltered.
“Tell me.”
Josephine pressed her eyes shut. “It was Sir William. My own husband. I’d told him, without thinking.
I never imagined that the very next day he would do something like this.
I could kill him. He has no discretion whatsoever, and he called out in front of the entire house, what moral authority Fane could claim when he could not even manage his own household, given that he was about to become a father… ”
The room tilted. “No.”
Viola sank onto the sofa.
“I thought he knew,” Josephine continued.
“I thought you must have already told him! Good heavens, the poor man. Fane went absolutely white. He gripped the bench behind him as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. He opened his mouth to speak, and…” Josephine’s voice dropped.
“Nothing. Not a word. The Slayer was utterly silent. The whole House just stared at him struggling for words. For the first time ever. It’s unheard of. ”
Viola could not breathe. “And then?”
“And then he walked out. Not a word to anyone. Simply turned and walked out, and no one has seen him since.” Josephine looked toward the door. “I took the carriage immediately. He is not here yet?”
“No,” Viola whispered. He must have been so beside himself that he had walked.
“I am terribly sorry. I feel wretched that he was humiliated by none other than my fool of a husband. Make no mistake, William will receive a tongue-lashing like he has never had before.”
“But what happens now? What will they do to him?”
Josephine sighed. “I do not believe they will strip him of his seat. But they are talking of suspending him from his post as Chief Secretary. It’s because elections are happening soon, and his moral authority has been called into question.
I daresay things might not have been so bad if it hadn’t been for the elections. There is much at stake, you know.”
“I have made him an embarrassment in front of Liverpool and the entire party.”
Josephine winced. “I would not put it precisely like that. But Liverpool will, in all likelihood, want to relegate him to the backbenches for a while. And Fane might decide to stand down on his own. Until it all blows over.”
“I ruined his career.” Viola’s voice was toneless. She had not only embarrassed him in the worst way possible, but she had unmade him in front of his peers. Everything he had striven toward had crumbled like dust.
Because of her.
“It will blow over,” Josephine repeated. “Things like that always do.” And yet, she did not deny what Viola had just said. Her voice sounded overly forced and light, as if she herself did not believe in what she’d just said.
At last, Viola rose. “Thank you, Josephine, for telling me. If you will forgive me, I am exhausted and need to lie down.”
“Of course. Of course.” Josephine clasped her hands briefly. “But Viola, if you need me, please send word. At any hour.”
Sebastian did not return until the evening. She heard his footsteps in the hallway, and she rose from the sofa, pressing her trembling hands against each other.
He darkened the doorway. She could tell at a glance that his face was pale, tired, and drawn.
“Sebastian.” She took one step towards him, two, then paused, casting him an uneasy look.
He stepped into the room, closed the door, and pulled a hand through his hair. There were shadows under his eyes, and he looked so tired that it wrenched at her heart.
The gaze with which he regarded her was courteous but withdrawn. “When were you going to tell me?”
The question hung in the air as Viola struggled for an answer. “Sebastian. Are you all right?”
He wiped her question away with a brusque hand movement as if it were irrelevant.
“I want an answer to my question.” He took several paces into the room and remained standing in front of her.
“I had a most irregular experience in Parliament today. One that I never thought I’d experience in my wildest dreams. One of my peers, one I am not even close with, informs the entire house that I am to be a father.
” His gaze fell on her stomach. “Is it true?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Her hand rested lightly on her stomach.
He followed her motion with his eyes.
“I am glad.” He swallowed. “Truly, I am.” His voice was hoarse. Then he turned away, as if that were all he had to say.
“Sebastian!” Viola reached out to grab his arm.
“I should have recognised the signs earlier, but somehow, I did not. Again. I am a dunce. It was Josephine who helped me realise…and I suppose she must have told her husband, and he had to blab it out thoughtlessly. Josephine was here to apologise, but what is there to do about spilled milk?” His expression did not change as he listened politely.
She wiped her hands nervously on her dress.
“I am rambling, am I not? I tried to tell you as soon as I knew. Truly, I did. But somehow the opportunity never presented itself. You were always busy and then gone, and I was too worried about the publication, and I tried to get Peregrine to stop it, but he couldn’t.
It was all a terrible mistake. I am so terribly sorry they exploited something that was meant to be for you and me alone and embarrassed you like that.
It was never meant to be like that. And now, your career… ” Her lips wobbled.
He rubbed his eyebrow tiredly. “Well, yes. That.” He spoke as though it was not relevant at all.
“What is to happen now?” She wrung her hands.
“It’s over.”
Viola’s eyes flew to his. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I have resigned my position. Liverpool has accepted.”
“But—But why?”
“It’s making the party too vulnerable. There is too much at stake in the upcoming elections.”
Josephine had said the same.
Viola felt all the blood drain from her face. It was worse than she’d feared. “I’ll talk to Liverpool myself. I’ll write a counterstatement that you can read in the Commons. We’ll publish it in all the papers, and we’ll make the publishing company publish it. In the worst case, we can sue them—”
“No.”
She drew away from him in disbelief. “No? You won’t fight for your reputation? Your career? You’ll just stand by and watch it crash and burn?”
“There is nothing to be gained from fighting this.” The silence that weighed between them was heavier than lead. “It’s done, Viola. I will not be standing in this election.”
The whole dreadfulness of it was too much. He’d had a brilliant career, with brilliant prospects, and then she went and ruined it all. Ruined his life like she ruined so many things, with a thoroughness that was breathtaking.
She should never have come to London. She should have stayed in the Highlands, and none of this would have happened.
And more than that, she should have never married him, even if it had been an accident and not her fault; she should have never gone to Westwood Hall; she should have never accepted Lady Regina’s invitation; she should have never taken that walk to the ruin and met him and fallen in love with him. It was all a terrible mistake.
Her knees gave way, and she sank slowly to the ground before him.
“It’s all my fault.” She wrapped her arms around his legs and burst into noisy tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He froze. Certainly, he must be mortified by this outburst, for he said nothing at first. Then, gently, “Get up, Viola.” Or perhaps he said, “Let go, Viola,” for she held him entirely immobile, her arms wrapped around his legs, her forehead pressed against his shin as she wept.
“I am a curse in your life. I make a mess of everything I touch. I am so terribly sorry.”
Sebastian gently disentangled himself. “That is enough now. Compose yourself.” His voice was not unkind, but it was not warm either. “Remember, you are with child. Our child. That is the only thing that matters now.”
He was right. Surely it was not good for the child that she wept like this. She fumbled for a handkerchief, but of course found none. Sebastian held his out to her, and she took it and blew into it noisily.
“What happens now?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You are to remove to Westwood Hall with immediate effect.”
As he spoke, she heard the servants on the stairs, carrying trunks.
She grew still. “Already? Tonight? Right now?”
He gave a curt nod. “There is no time to lose.”
The butler appeared in the doorway. “Everything is ready, sir.”
So that was to be her punishment. He was banishing her.
She supposed she deserved it. Dazed, she rose from the sofa. He walked her out of the house, handed her up into the carriage. The door closed. Through the window she watched him exchange a word with the coachman, his face unreadable, and she thought: he is not even saying goodbye.
Then the door was wrenched open, and he hauled himself inside onto the seat across from hers, rapping against the roof. “With haste.”
Outside, a crowd of onlookers had gathered, pressing around the carriage, shouting questions.
“Mr Fane, is your career finished?”
“Is the character of Lord Morvino truly a faithful portrait, Mr Fane?”
“How does it feel to have your bedchamber secrets in every lending library in England?”
“Mr Fane, do you regret marrying your wife?”
That last question rang loud and shrill and pernicious, like a poisonous arrow. She thought she might be ill right there on the carriage floor.
Then they were moving.
“I thought you were sending me alone,” Viola gasped, near tears again from the sheer relief that he was not banishing her, that he was coming with her.
“Nothing will hold me in town now.” He lowered the blinds. “The best course of action is to remove ourselves before all hell breaks loose. As it seems it already has.”
Several fists knocked against the door, but the carriage pressed on through the crowd, and after a while, the clamour fell away behind them.
Flee the scandal. Flee the curious whispers, the penetrating stares, the sneers, the giggles. The journalists and pamphleteers who would haunt them. The fingers that would point at them wherever they went. Utter ruination.
He was joining her in the banishment.
It did not seem he’d forgiven her. But at least he was not sending her away alone.