Chapter 14 #2
She looked about, but every face was turned from her. Afraid she would lose her composure entirely, Viola rose and slipped from the room unnoticed, walking blindly along the hall until she pushed open the library door and stepped inside.
It was the grandest room in all the house — two galleries of books climbing to a painted ceiling, the brass rails of the ladders catching the last of the afternoon light — and it had become, these past mornings, the nearest thing in the house to her own ground.
Her feet had carried her here without being asked.
Yet it had never seemed so vast as it did now, with Viola standing small and trembling in the middle of all that ordered learning, a few cruel lines crushed in her gloved hand.
She drew a ragged breath, the note still in her fingers, and leaned against the wall with one hand pressed to her brow.
“Miss Trent?”
The door opened, and she sagged with relief as Lord Carrington came in.
“You were upset.” He made it plain he had seen her go. “Whatever is the matter?”
She held out the note. His jaw tightened as he took it, his brows knotting.
“‘You are a creature of selfishness and greed,’” he read aloud, as she closed her eyes against a sob.
“‘Your father is known for his poverty and his disgrace. No doubt, upon his arrival, he will sell the silver, the paintings, the furniture, and all else of value, until nothing remains but ruin. Stoneleigh House will be torn apart by his hands. Save yourself from such disgrace. Give the deed to the family that truly cares for it.’”
Her throat closed, her father’s face rising before her — the weariness about his eyes, the sorrow as he had pressed the watch chain into her hand, the only thing of value he had left.
“You must know I do not believe a word of this.”
She nodded, barely able to trust her voice. “You do not think poorly of me. I know that. You are nothing like the words on that page.”
“Never.” The fervency of it startled her, and when she looked up he had moved closer — so close she could see the gray flecks in his blue eyes. Her heart, torn by sorrow, seemed to mend itself in an instant and began to pound.
“Someone wishes to frighten you into giving me the house. But even if you tried to press the deed into my hands, I would refuse it.” His voice gentled, a tenderness in it that seemed to wrap around her. “Lady Warrington chose you, and I think now I understand why.”
She swallowed, a single tear falling. “You do?”
“I called on Lord and Lady Wexford today.” His hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed the tear from her cheek, and the touch of his skin made her breath catch.
“They told me a great deal. That is why I came.” He paused, and then — deliberately, his eyes holding hers, as though he would have her mark that he chose it — “Viola.”
She had heard him say it once before, in her grief, when neither of them had marked it.
He marked it now; and so did she. The sound of her name on his lips, given so, was not the small thing it had been — it was a thing he had reached for and meant, and it settled warm in her chest and stayed.
The world narrowed to the space between them.
Her mind was full of questions, what he had learned, what it all meant, and yet she could think of nothing but his nearness, the warmth of him so close.
Slowly, with great deliberateness, he began to lower his head.
Her heart thundered. His breath brushed her skin, and her eyes drifted closed.
His lips met hers.
It was the barest touch — soft, asking, and then, when she did not draw away, certain.
Viola’s hand found the lapel of his coat and held it, not to steady herself, though she told herself it was that.
He made some low, wordless sound, and his fingers curved against her cheek where the tear had been.
For the space of a heartbeat — two — there was no note, no house, no watching world. There was only this.
“Viola?” Hannah’s voice, in the hall, just beyond the door.
They broke apart. The room rushed back in around her, and with it every rule she had just so thoroughly forgotten. Lord Carrington stepped away, slipping the note into his pocket, his breath not quite even, as the door opened and Hannah came in.
“Oh! Viola — there you are.” Hannah’s brows shot up at Lord Carrington’s presence, but she came to Viola, her eyes searching. “What happened? You left the room, and it took me some minutes to see that something was wrong. I am sorry for that. I should have been paying closer heed.”
“It is not your fault, Hannah.” Viola’s voice was soft. “I had another note. Lord Carrington has been assuring me that, whatever it says, he has no interest in the house and would refuse it even were I to give it him.”
“Indeed I have.” Lord Carrington drew the letter from his pocket and handed it to Hannah rather than back to Viola.
“Whoever sent this has decided your sister owes me Stoneleigh House. That is not at all how I see it. I am glad it is hers, Lady Manion, glad it will be so well cared for, and my cousin’s wishes so respected. ”
Hannah read it, her shoulders slumping. “Who would write such a thing? We must find them out, and put an end to it.”
“Lord Carrington believes he knows why Lady Warrington gave me the townhouse,” Viola told her. “That is why he and Brookmire came to call.”
Hannah grimaced. “And, alas, we have Lady Henderson and Miss Galbraith here, so you cannot speak freely. They will surely wish to stay longer now the gentlemen have come.”
“Then tomorrow,” he said, his gaze on Viola so intent it near burned her. “You and I shall speak tomorrow.”
She nodded, wishing her sister had not come in at quite so unfortunate a moment. “Yes. That would suit me very well.”
“I will walk with you in St James’s Park,” he said firmly.
“I know the quieter paths, where we shall not be interrupted.” He bowed, short and sharp, a look in his eyes she had never seen before, one that set her skin prickling.
“I shall take my brother and excuse us at once. Good afternoon, Lady Manion.” He put a hand to his heart and bowed again. “And to you, Miss Trent.”
The moment the door closed, Hannah began to exclaim over what she had so nearly seen, half scolding Viola for standing alone with him, half pressing her with questions about his intentions. Viola answered none, only smiled and caught her sister’s hand.
“Hannah, I will tell you my thoughts of Lord Carrington very soon,” she promised, and Hannah’s mouth closed, though her eyes stayed wide. “For now, we should return to Lady Henderson and Miss Galbraith.”
Hannah drew a breath and scowled, releasing her hand. “Very well. Though I do wish they had not come. This afternoon might have brought such clarity, and instead we have nothing but confusion.”
Viola smiled and said nothing — for she was not, in truth, confused at all.
Lord Carrington had discovered the reason behind Lady Warrington’s kindness, and soon she would know it too.
And he had kissed her. Briefly, improperly, wonderfully — he had kissed her, and in it he had shown her the depth of his feeling, and her own heart had sprung to life with the very same.
No, she thought, as she walked back toward the drawing room.
She was not confused, nor perplexed, nor confounded.
For the first time in many weeks, she felt herself quite certain of one thing.
She was already in love with Lord Carrington.