He’d seen right through her. Viola stared down at the edge of the table while coming to terms with the fact that her secret was out. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it exactly, for although she thought spectacles ruined her appearance, she rather liked knowing that Mr. Lowell needed them too.
“I hope you’re not troubling your steward on my account, Mr. Lowell,” she said, needing to fill the ensuing silence between them.
“On the contrary, I did it for myself.” He moved his head even closer to hers and quietly murmured. “I imagine a pair of spectacles will suit you tremendously, Viola.”
For reasons she couldn’t explain, his tone painted an image of her wearing nothing else. It was most provocative and inappropriate and not at all what she wanted. And yet her bodice grew suddenly tight, reminding her of a similar experience she’d had five years earlier. She’d surrendered to desire back then and it had been a terrible mistake.
“Then you would be wrong, Mr. Lowell.” The way Robert had made her feel once—small and insignificant—echoed through her. “Spectacles draw attention to my eyes.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” he asked while a waiter poured wine in their glasses. “You have lovely eyes, Viola. They remind me of raindrops on a windowpane.”
“On a dull day,” she added.
Mr. Faulkner returned at that moment and discreetly handed the spectacles to Mr. Lowell. “Why must it be dull?” he asked after thanking Mr. Faulkner. “I think it is a matter of perspective, don’t you?”
She wasn’t so sure. A rainy day with clouds blocking out the sun was not the most uplifting. To have her eyes compared to such a thing did not make her feel particularly pretty or eager to don a pair of spectacles.
And yet, as much as she tried to avoid asking the question, she couldn’t resist for long. “How do you mean?”
He positioned the menu before them just so, and held the spectacles in front of her eyes. “There is nothing more invigorating than striding through the rain and feeling the cool splash of water against my skin. There is also nothing more soothing than listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops as they fall against the windows. While some might find it dreary, it reminds me that even though most days are calm and unremarkable, nature is filled with powerful emotion.”
Although the spectacles allowed her to see, Viola hadn’t been able to concentrate on what was written on the page in front of her. Mr. Lowell’s words had distracted her completely. “You’re right, I suppose. Rain does have its merits even though I have always preferred when it’s sunny. It brings out the color in the world and makes everything so much brighter.”
He chuckled low, the rich timbre whirling around her and heating her skin. “I will agree that such days are pleasing in a different way.”
Alerted by the pointedness with which he spoke, she instinctively darted a look in his direction. Their eyes met, and her heart shuddered while a gust of awareness blew over her skin.
“You might not like the color of your eyes, Viola, but to me they’re perfect because they’re different. What you may consider uninteresting, I see as filled with intelligence and mystery. Your eyes are those of a woman whose mind intrigues me—a woman I wish to spend time with. Which is why I asked you to join me this evening.”
Undone by his words, Viola’s every apprehension about keeping his company melted away. She liked him too well—so well she was already wondering when she might see him again. “I did not want to come,” she told him honestly. She’d been afraid. Afraid of how he would make her feel—afraid of wanting more than what was wise and afraid of eventually getting hurt. “But I am glad I did. Your club is beautiful, Mr. Lowell, and you are proving to be more than I ever expected.”
“I trust that’s a good thing?” Hope shimmered in the depths of his coffee-colored eyes.
She could not stop the heat creeping into her cheeks or the flurry of nerves squeezing her belly, but she could provide him with an honest answer. “I believe it’s a very good thing, Mr. Lowell.”
Appreciation warmed his features and made him look even more handsome than seconds before, which was something Viola would not have thought possible.
“Are you ready to place your orders?” Mr. Faulkner asked. He’d returned to their table without Viola noticing, his words scattering her thoughts like autumn leaves carried away on a breeze.
Mr. Lowell lowered the menu and closed it, reminding Viola that they weren’t alone but that they were seated together with four other people. How on earth could she have forgotten that? Slightly dazed, she listened while Mr. Lowell inquired about everyone’s preferences, advised on a few different options and conveyed the final choices to Mr. Faulkner. He ordered smoked salmon and pheasant on Viola’s behalf and then the menus were handed back to Mr. Faulkner, who quickly vanished once more.
“Thank you for inviting us here this evening,” Huntley said as he raised his glass and saluted Mr. Lowell. “It was an excellent idea.”
“I’ve been trying to convince him to come here for a while,” Coventry said. He lifted his own glass while the rest of the party followed suit, cheering the fine establishment and wishing Mr. Lowell continued success with it.
“I regret to admit that it hasn’t been a priority,” Huntley said. “There have been a lot of other things for me to see to for the past couple of years.”
Viola could well imagine. He’d risen from poverty when he’d inherited his title. Moving from St. Giles to Mayfair with his two sisters and having to learn how to navigate high society must have been an extraordinary challenge.
“You needn’t explain,” Mr. Lowell said. “I completely understand.” He gave his attention to Amelia. “You’ve been at least as busy as your brother. Tell me, how is your school doing these days?”
“It is thriving,” Amelia said. Wanting to help the poor children of St, Giles receive a proper education, she’d bought a house on the edge of the slum and turned it into a place of learning. “We did have a bit of a setback last year with the typhus outbreak, but we’ve since made up for the time we lost when we were forced to close.”
“You made the right decision,” Viola said. “Typhus is a terrible disease. Many people died, but more would have done so had it not been for Florian and Juliette. His immunity and dedication served us well, as did her idea to quarantine those with symptoms on a ship.”
“But you did your part as well, I’m sure,” Mr. Lowell said.
Viola took a sip of her wine. “I kept the hospital running.”
