‘London suits me and I am happy here, Uncle Charles.’
‘It is good to see you have shed the widow weeds. Colour brings out all the parts of you that were in the shade before.’
‘It is time for me to move on, I think, time to find some other purpose for myself in life and focus on the future.’
‘Have I not always told you that, my dear? Your mother will be smiling from up above to hear of such a decision. But now come, I want you to meet the Comte de Beaumont, newly returned from Paris. He is an interesting man.’
Gritting her teeth, she followed Charles with a good deal of hesitation. As the Comte looked up at them some primal interest showed before he could school his face.
‘This is my goddaughter, Lady Addington, Comte de Beaumont, a girl of good name and sense.’
‘We have met’ came the rejoinder. ‘At the Creightons’ ball a week or so back.’
‘Indeed.’
Her godfather gave the impression that he had known already of their first introduction and Violet wondered why he should have tested them.
‘In that case I shall leave you both to become reacquainted and see to my other guests.’
Within a few seconds he was gone, winding his way to the far side of the room. Charles was up to something, Violet thought, but the Comte’s first words chased such ruminations away.
‘I see you have not taken my advice, Lady Addington.’
‘Advice?’
‘To leave London. To go to safety.’
He spoke quietly so that his voice did not carry and she did the same.
‘I want neither trouble nor any added attention, Comte de Beaumont, but...’
‘I think it is already too late for that.’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘How close are you to Mountford?’
‘He was a good friend of my late mother and he is my godfather.’
He had taken her arm now and walked with her out on to an enclosed balcony where no one else had as yet come to stand.
‘Your husband gambled. Large amounts, it is said, too large for the income he was receiving.’
‘Not every marriage is an easy one, my lord.’
She could barely believe she had admitted that, she, who was so private about her own affairs. The words seemed to have taken him aback for he looked concerned, his golden eyes full of it.
‘Do you have other family?’
‘A sister-in-law, my lord.’
‘Who do you talk to, then, confide in?’
The silence between them was telling.
‘It is said that Harland Addington’s sister Amaryllis Hamilton has been seeing a doctor for a melancholy of spirt.’
The words made her freeze. He knew. She knew he did. Knew all about her and Amara and Harland.
