Chapter 6 #2
“A pleasure.” Viola inclined her head. “I am glad to hear London suits you, Miss Galbraith.”
A look passed between mother and daughter, and Viola’s small hope that they were no gossips fell apart at once. Had they come to whisper? To gather some new morsel to carry off to their friends?
“We will not pretend we have heard nothing of your circumstances, Miss Trent.” Lady Henderson spoke as a quiet scratch announced the maid. “All the same, we wished to see you welcomed by those of us who pass no judgment and have no wish to whisper. Such matters are no concern of ours.”
Relief broke over Viola, and her throat ached. “You are very kind, Lady Henderson.” The door opened to admit not only the maid but the footman, who handed Hannah a card. “As you will have heard, it came as a great surprise — to me as much as to all of society.”
“And now we are to be joined by Lord Carrington.” A false brightness entered Hannah’s voice, and Viola’s brows rose.
“Another cup, Margaret.” She kept her smile pinned as Viola got hastily to her feet, a flicker of worry in her chest. To learn that the house had been expected to come to him had been a shock, though the gentleman himself had said nothing of it directly.
He was a marquess, far above her in standing, and no doubt had been as astonished at the will as she.
There was a tension between them she could not deny.
There was also very little she could do about it.
“Lord Carrington.” Hannah dipped into a curtsy, warm with welcome. “A pleasure to have you join us.”
Viola felt the awareness of him before she let herself look.
He was as composed as ever, his dark hair neat, only a few strands fallen across his brow, his expression attentive as he greeted Lady Henderson and her daughter.
Something in his presence unsettled her, though she could not have said precisely what.
He is very handsome.
The thought came without leave, and Viola caught her breath and dismissed it before it could settle.
“How delightful to see you again, Lord Carrington.” Miss Galbraith sounded a touch breathless, her poise slipping as she resumed her seat. “It has been many years since you were last in Scotland.”
“It has, indeed.” He cleared his throat as he sat, perhaps thrown by their being there. “Lord and Lady Henderson reside in the very county as Lady Warrington’s house in the north — Glenbrae.”
“A charming place,” Lady Henderson said, “though rather isolated. Small wonder she did not visit often.”
“A house that has now been left to me.” His smile fixed itself in place, and he turned his eyes to Viola as he spoke, an unexpected darkness flickering through them. “It was not the house I had thought to inherit.”
A tremor went through her, but she held his gaze as best she could, hearing the thing he would not say aloud — that somehow she was the cause of it. His voice was calm. His shoulders were not, nor the tight corners of his mouth. She swallowed and looked away, unable to hold his eyes any longer.
“Perhaps there might be an exchange of houses?” Miss Galbraith laughed, and the sound only drew the tension tauter. “Glenbrae is not without its charms, and you must know, Miss Trent, that Stoneleigh was expected to go to Lord Carrington. I heard Lady Warrington say as much, more than once.”
The words dropped into the room like a stone into still water. Cold rippled over Viola’s skin and closed her throat.
Hannah rose. “Allow me to pour the tea. Now, Miss Galbraith, might I ask — ”
“I am sorry that you were not given Stoneleigh House, Lord Carrington.”
Viola heard herself say it and pressed on against the cold fear creeping up through her.
“I do not know why Lady Warrington left it to me. But I mean to find out. I want to understand her intentions, and the letter she left me. I will admit freely that we had no strong acquaintance — we met seldom, and never exchanged more than a few words.” She lifted her gaze back to him, and saw Lady Henderson cast a sharp look at her daughter.
“She was kind to my father when he was unwell. That was our whole connection. But I cannot refuse what she chose, deliberately, to give me. To do so would dishonor her memory.”
The silence that followed was strained. Viola looked to her sister, who gave the smallest shrug — there is nothing more to be done.
“You must both come to dine with us one evening, Lady Manion, Miss Trent.” Lady Henderson rose, a flick of her fingers bringing her daughter up with her. “I shall send an invitation very soon.”
“Thank you for calling.” Viola stood, and Lord Carrington rose as well, a flush climbing slowly from his neck. “I am glad to know there are those in society who choose friendship over gossip.”
Lady Henderson’s face softened into sympathy. “But of course, Miss Trent. Good afternoon.”
Lord Carrington’s jaw tightened as the two ladies left the room, and then he was alone with the sisters.
Viola’s pulse quickened, her hands curling at her sides as she fought to keep her composure.
She needed him to understand that she would not trade the house away — that she would keep Stoneleigh, whatever came with it.
Lady Warrington had given it to her on purpose, and said as much in her own hand. Viola had no right to turn from that.
“This was not the conversation I had intended, Miss Trent.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then what did you intend, my lord? To ask me, as Miss Galbraith did, to exchange one house for another?”
He scowled, his jaw tightening. “You must understand — this has been a great shock. I only wish to understand it.”
“To what end?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. His brows drew low, his shoulders dropping as he hunted for an answer that did not come.
Into the silence rose the memory of his concern at the dressmaker’s, and again at the ball, and Viola understood, all at once, that it had not been concern at all.
It had been duty. A way to draw near enough to speak of the house, and of his hope to have it back.
Her eyes closed.
“I think I should take my leave.” His voice was low, his exit abrupt. “Good day to you both.”
With a sharp bow he turned and was gone, leaving Viola to stare after him. He had not answered her. He had not even tried. Pressed, he had simply walked out, and left her question hanging in the air.
She sank into a chair and let out a long breath, the weakness creeping back into her limbs.
Then her jaw tightened.
“Hannah.” She lifted her head and met her sister’s eyes. “I think it is time I took up residence at Stoneleigh House.”
Hannah’s eyes flew wide, and then a smile broke across her face.
“After Lord Carrington’s visit, and Miss Galbraith’s unkind little remarks, it is time I showed society I mean to do exactly what I told him I would. To take hold of Lady Warrington’s gift, and in doing so to honor her memory and her wishes.”
“Wonderful.” Hannah sat down opposite, her eyes bright. “I confess I did not expect you to say so — least of all after Lord Carrington’s remarks.”
Viola allowed herself a small smile, the knot still tight in her stomach, and refused to let uncertainty rule her any longer. “It is time I accepted the gift entire.” Her chin lifted. “Let us go back there with all haste. We will live at Stoneleigh House.”
That night, in the easy comfort of Cavendish Square, she lay awake and let herself think about what she had done.
The ton spoke of Stoneleigh as one spoke of the sights of London — a thing to be pointed out from carriages, named with a hush, admired and envied and never, somehow, simply lived in.
A monument. And she had just declared, before her sister and God and her own quaking heart, that she meant to move into it with her four gowns and her father’s watch chain.
And what did she know of managing such a household?
As much as she knew of commanding a ship of the line.
But monuments, she thought, were for the dead. Lady Warrington had not left the house to the dead. She had left it, deliberately, in her own strong hand, to a living girl, and perhaps there was a reason in that, too. Fires could be lit. Rooms could be aired. A door shut for months could be opened.
She would find out whether a monument could be made a home. It seemed as good a way as any to begin.