Chapter 12 #4
Viola kept to the edge of the room, refusing to take a step in any direction.
It had been a strange afternoon — the silent drive home, and then Miss Galbraith’s words pressing into her mind until she was ill at ease.
She had begun to fear that all of society thought as Lady Henderson seemed to: that she would remove from the house, sell it to the highest bidder, and be gone.
That there was nothing permanent about her at all.
They presumed she would slip away, back to her father’s house, and be easily forgotten.
“Miss Trent, is it not?”
A quiet voice behind her turned Viola about, her soft cream gown swirling. “Yes?”
A lady she did not know smiled at her, silver hair arranged in elaborate curls about a face full of discernment, her eyes sharp and steady. “I am very glad to see you again, my dear.” Her gaze moved to Hannah. “And you also — though I believe you are married now?”
Hannah blinked, glanced at Viola, then nodded. “Yes. To Lord Manion.”
The lady’s smile warmed. “How delightful. You will not remember me, I think, but my husband and I lived near your father’s estate some years ago. We removed about the time of his… troubles.”
The air grew thin. Viola clasped her hands, wondering who stood near enough to overhear and carry it across the room.
“Lady Wexford,” the silver-haired lady said, setting a hand on Viola’s arm. “You need not look so afraid, my dear. I do not mean to gossip about you.”
Viola’s shoulders came down. “Forgive me, Lady Wexford. These past weeks have made me uneasy in society.”
“Quite understandable.” The lady’s smile faded. “Might I ask how your father fares now? I know he came near to ruin, but he was always a determined sort.”
“He has always been so,” Hannah agreed, soft with tenderness. “We live near one another; I would say he has settled into his quieter circumstances.”
“He makes the best of them,” Viola added. “He manages well, and is determined to do what is right. He has had to be very careful, but on the whole his fortunes are improving, if slowly.”
“I am glad of it.” The lady studied her closely, until Viola grew uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “It is good he has two such loyal daughters. Your devotion will have meant a great deal, especially when his supposedly trustworthy friends would not come to his aid.”
Viola’s smile fixed itself in place. “I — I beg your pardon?”
Lady Wexford arched a brow. “Ah. I see I have spoken out of turn. No doubt your father, in all his goodness, would have spared you this. He would not wish you to think ill of anyone.”
Viola looked to Hannah, who gave a small shrug, her eyes a little wide. “Lady Wexford — of what do you speak?”
The lady considered, the silence stretching while Viola curled her hands into fists to keep from saying more. With a small sigh she nodded and opened her mouth, only for Lord Carrington to step in among them.
“Do forgive the interruption,” he said, bowing low, “but I hoped I might persuade you to dance, Miss Trent.”
In another hour the offer would have set her heart singing. But her attention clung to all Lady Wexford had not yet said. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to draw herself from one conversation into the other — only for Lady Wexford to give a soft snort.
“I am surprised to find you offering Miss Trent such a thing, Lord Carrington,” she said, her tone gone acerbic.
“I should have thought there would be nothing but distance between you, given your father’s actions.
” She lifted her chin and flashed him a hard look, then touched Viola’s arm, her eyes gentling.
“When next you write to your father, give him my regards. We think of him often, and all he has endured.” The last she said with another sharp glance at Lord Carrington, as if he were somehow to blame for Lord Tyne’s troubles, before she stepped away, leaving Viola staring after her.
“I confess I do not know that lady,” Lord Carrington said slowly, as Viola tried to gather herself. “Nor do I understand what she meant.”
“Nor do I,” Viola said, hoarse. “But it is plain now that your father and mine were connected in some way.”
“In a way that calls for distance between us, not friendship.” His voice was heavy. “I do not know what it is. But I fear it is bound up with Lady Warrington’s will.”
Viola turned and searched his face — the sorrow in it, the drop of his shoulders, the faint line at his brow.
“Then we will discover it,” she said firmly, surprised that Lady Wexford’s words had stirred her to resolve rather than fear.
“I will speak to her again, if I must. But whatever it proves to be, you must know that I would never hold your father’s actions against you. ”
He smiled briefly, his eyes glinting with confusion and something gentler. “I value that, Miss Trent,” he said, offering his hand as the cotillion began. “More than I can say.”
She hesitated only a breath, then placed her hand in his — her acceptance a promise that all she had said, she meant to keep.