“I’ll get it,” Viola called to stop Diana and Harriet from dropping whatever they were doing.
“Have a great time,” she heard them both call from the back of the house.
Collecting her key, she opened the door and sucked in a breath the moment her eyes met Mr. Lowell’s.
“Good morning,” he said, and stepped slightly aside so she could exit her home. “I trust you slept well?”
Viola nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” She shut the door behind her. Hands trembling on account of her silly nerves, she fumbled with the key for a second before she managed to slip it into the lock and turn it. “And you?” she then asked, recalling her manners.
“Oh yes,” he said. Offering her his arm, he escorted her down the steps and toward the first carriage, where Huntley and Gabriella waited. The Coventrys were in the second carriage with the window open, so Viola waved and wished them both a good morning while Mr. Lowell led her forward. “Had a little trouble falling asleep, but once I did, I had the most blessed dream.”
Viola could not for the life of her understand why such a statement would prick at her skin, but there was something about the way he spoke—a suggestiveness that alerted her senses. Of course, it only got worse when his hand clasped her waist in order to help her up into the conveyance. The heat of his touch seemed to linger, reminding her of the danger Mr. Lowell posed to the orderly life she valued.
Greeting the Huntleys, Viola lowered herself to the opposite bench. Mr. Lowell sat down beside her and closed the door, then Huntley knocked on the roof and the carriage rolled forward. Viola clasped her hands in her lap. She could not ignore the feel of Mr. Lowell’s thigh pressing up against hers on account of the narrow space or how solid it seemed.
“It will be fun to get out of London for a bit,” she said in an effort to force her brain to think of something besides Mr. Lowell’s physique. “I have not left the City since I was a child and I accompanied my father to some of his lectures.”
“There is a lot to see outside of London,” Gabriella said. “Have you ever considered traveling?”
Viola thought back on a dream she’d had right after her father died, of running away and not looking back. In it, she invariably ended up in the same place. “I would like to visit the seaside.”
Huntley smiled. “I saw the ocean for the first time myself last summer. The endless expanse of water is definitely impressive.”
“I’ve seen paintings,” Viola said, “but I’m sure it’s not the same thing.”
“It gives an idea, but it does not stir all your senses,” Mr. Lowell said. “When you walk on a beach there are so many sounds and smells to experience. There are the waves rolling toward the shore and the wind tugging at grassy dunes. It’s so much bigger than a painting can possibly convey.”
Intrigued, Viola allowed the description to lure her into a daydream for a while. She lost herself in it until a bump in the road made her thoughts return to the letter she’d received from Mr. Hayes and what her response to it ought to be. She supposed she should try and meet with him as soon as possible—tomorrow even, if that was an option. Because as much as she wanted to ignore the entire debacle and toss the letter into an open fire, she knew that wasn’t possible.
“Are you all right?” Gabriella asked her when they arrived at Woolwich. The carriages had been parked and they were now waiting for Amelia and Coventry to alight from theirs.
“Perfectly,” Viola said. She forced a smile.
“You’ve been awfully quiet for the last half of our journey.” Gabriella eyed her carefully. “If there’s anything you would like to talk about...”
Viola glanced toward the Coventry carriage where the duke was assisting his wife, and then toward Huntley and Mr. Lowell, who were now discussing an upcoming boxing match.
Cupping Gabriella’s elbow, Viola gently maneuvered her friend farther away and said, “As a matter of fact, I mean to ask if you or your husband are able to recommend a good barrister.”
Gabriella’s eyes widened. “Heavens, Viola! You’re not in some sort of trouble I hope?”
Viola bit her lip and scrunched her nose. “I might very well be. Robert—the Duke of Tremaine, that is—wants to oppose my husband’s will. He...” Her heart suddenly lurched with suppressed panic. “He plans to take back the money Peter left me by whatever means necessary.”
“Good Lord!” Gabriella’s face blanched.
“What is it?” Huntley asked, noting his wife’s distress.
Viola shook her head. She did not want her problems to be aired like this and she didn’t want to ruin what promised to be a fun outing for the rest of the group.
“It’s, um... I...” Gabriella gave Viola an apologetic look. “You did ask me if I or my husband can help, so I have to ask.”
“Ask about what?” Mr. Lowell said, stepping right into the middle of the conversation.
Viola groaned. “It is nothing. Forget I said anything, Gabriella, and let us simply enjoy the market. We can talk about this later.” And then, to stop any further discussion, she deliberately pasted a smile on her face and went to greet Amelia and Coventry, who were now approaching.
Henry studied Viola as they walked between the stalls. She’d grown distant after mentioning her desire to visit the seaside. It was as if a matter of tremendous weight pressed upon her mind. She’d also looked anxious when Huntley had wanted to know what she and Gabriella were discussing. More so whenhe’dinquired, leaving no doubt in his mind that she did not want him involved with whatever it was that was bothering her.
Gabriella of course gave nothing away. She’d simply told Huntley that they would discuss this—whateverthiswas—later, no doubt upon their return to London when there was no one else around to overhear.
