Against her better judgment, she chose to take pity on him. “It’s all right,” she said. “I suppose the days can be rather long when all you’re doing is lying in bed.” She recalled the paper he’d been reading yesterday. “Did you at least manage to solve all the puzzles?”
“All except one. It was mathematical in nature and I simply couldn’t figure out the missing numbers.” He reached for the paper and held it toward her. “Here. Why don’t you give it a try?”
Taking a step back, Viola deliberately started tidying away her supplies. “You can read it to me while I work. It’s more efficient that way.”
He frowned but refrained from protesting, for which she was grateful. “If two plus one is thirteen, and five plus three is twenty-eight, and seven plus five is two hundred and twelve, then how much is nine plus two?”
“Oh, it’s one of those.” Viola poured a glass of water for Mr. Lowell and handed it to him. “Here, it’s important for you to drink.”
He did so and winced. “Perhaps I can have some more red wine later?”
She laughed. “Maybe. If you promise to stay on your best behavior.” She considered the problem. “I think I need to see this written down.”
“That’s what I thought, but you said I should read it out loud so—”
“No, I mean like actual numerals. Spotting the pattern is difficult when the numbers are spelled out. It doesn’t make the same sort of sense.”
“Oh. Right. Do you have a pencil?”
She picked one from her pocket along with the small notebook she carried with her, placing the paper at just the right distance so she could see what she was writing. She jotted the numbers down from memory and studied them for a moment. “Ah!”
“Ah?”
She cut a glance at Mr. Lowell and smiled. “The answer is seven hundred and eleven. You have to subtract first and add afterward. So take two away from nine, which gives you seven and then add nine to two in order to get eleven.”
He knit his brow and considered the sums she’d written down. “I really hate it when mathematics doesn’t make any sense. This is ridiculous.”
“I agree, but it was listed as a puzzle, which I suppose it is. Even if the numbers don’t add up as they should.”
“Well, at least you have put my mind at ease. That problem would have kept me up at night otherwise.”
“I seriously doubt that, Mr. Lowell.”
He grinned. “How well you know me already.”
A moment of silence settled between them and it occurred to Viola that she was reluctant to leave. Which was curious. He was a rake and she had no interest in that sort of man. Or in any man, for that matter. She’d gained her independence and was loath to part with it—to relinquish her freedom and submit to another’s will.
No thank you.
And yet, she wasn’t eager to go and check on Mrs. Richardson either. So she lingered, unsure of what to do next. To her relief, Mr. Lowell came to her rescue.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to ask you if you would like to play a game of cards with me?”
She hesitated. Her friends’ warnings echoed through her head. They were right to be worried on her behalf. But her acquaintance with Mr. Lowell would be temporary. He would recover and leave, and when he did, he’d give his attentions to someone else.
Consequently, she shook her head. “Not at all. It’s been a while since the last time I played so I would enjoy that, though I do have a few other tasks to attend to first.”
“In that case, I shall rest awhile and gather my strength,” he said. “If you play as well as you care for a man you would rather avoid, I believe it will be a challenging game.”
It took longer than Henry expected before Viola returned to his bedside. During her absence, he contemplated the conversations they’d had over the last two days. They’d been refreshing and full of quick rejoinders. Which made him wonder about her upbringing and her education. Certainly, she would have to be middle class to hold the position she did within the hospital. From what little he’d seen, it appeared as though Emily was her subordinate, which placed Viola in a position of some authority, making Henry all the more curious about her background.
“Does vingt-et-un suit?” Viola presently asked, positioning the table next to his bed in a way that allowed for their card play. Opening a small box, she poured a pile of counters onto the table surface and distributed them equally between the two of them.
“It is one of my favorite games,” he said, even though he generally preferred playing it against more people because of the increased challenge.
Pulling up a nearby chair, Viola took a seat. “Shall we draw to see who’s the banker?” she asked, producing a deck of cards and spreading it into a fan. He picked a card and so did she, beating him with a king to his ten. She smiled. “I’ll deal then.”
He watched her do so with the skill and fluidity of someone accustomed to handling cards. “Who taught you to play?”
