Viola accepted his offering and studied the legal text with Henry. They both agreed that it looked highly professional, which was yet another surprise. She would not have expected it, but apparently Carlton Guthrie was more than what the rumors suggested, and if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that rumors could be entirely wrong.
When Viola returned to St. Agatha’s the following day, she was pleased to discover that nothing had changed during her absence. And with Florian back at work, things were once again running smoothly. In fact, it was as if the awful events of the past six and a half weeks had not taken place at all.
Arriving home after a busy day, she waited for Henry to return from his club. They’d gotten into the habit of having tea together in the parlor while discussing their day. After dinner they would retire to the library for a glass of port and a game of either cards, chess, or something else entirely. Tonight they were playing The New Game of Human Life and so far, Viola was winning.
She spun the teetotum and whooped when it landed on two before moving her mark to The Triflet at number nineteen. “I will pay one counter and advance to The Songster at number thirty-eight.”
Henry studied the board. “If I can manage to get a five, I’ll land on the Assiduous Youth, receive two counters from the pool and overtake you.” He picked up the teetotum and spun the exact number required. Henry moved his counter and then looked at Viola. His eyes darkened and the edge of his mouth drew up in a roguish smile. “I do believe this deserves a reward,” he murmured in that intoxicating voice that made heat flare up inside her.
“What about the game?”
“We’ll continue it later.” Rising from his chair, he rounded the table and held out his hand. Viola placed hers in his and allowed him to help her stand. “These last few weeks have been trying on you.” He kissed her softly, gently, with all the tenderness in the world.
“For both of us,” she said as soon as she was able to catch her breath. “Perhaps we ought to consider getting away for a while.” He planted a row of light kisses along her jaw. “Florian’s account of Paris makes me want to see the city for myself.”
It was tempting. “What about the hospital?” Viola breathlessly asked while he kissed a path down her neck and along her shoulder.
“Let my brother manage it for a while as you did while he was away.” He pushed at her sleeve, revealing more skin, and placed a series of kisses against it.
A shudder went through her, straight to her belly, where it heated before sinking lower. “Perhaps we ought to venture upstairs?” His mouth was at her décolletage now, his intention to best her at The New Game of Life apparently forgotten for the moment.
“Too far,” he murmured while going to work on the buttons at her back. “And besides, having you here on the sofa is a dream I’d like to realize sooner rather than later.”
He tugged at her gown and it slipped from her shoulders. His hands swept over her curves, willing her to submit to his plan.
“The dining room is another place in which I hope to explore my craving for you,” Henry told her later when they were both thoroughly sated. “The table there is exceptionally sturdy.”
“You really are awful sometimes.”
“Because I cannot resist my wife?”
She chuckled. “No. Because I fear I won’t be able to think of anything else next time we have guests over for dinner.”
Chapter 27
Paris exceeded Henry’s expectations.
During their month-long stay, they lodged at the Pavillon de la Reine, a charming seventeenth-century building located in the Marais, within walking distance of the Notre Dame Cathedral. Twice they visited the Louvre in order to fully appreciate the vast collection of art it housed. They enjoyed a balloon ride over the Ranelagh Gardens and dined at a restaurant that floated on the Seine.
“Is it wrong of me not to want to go back to England?” Viola asked when their last day in Paris drew to a close.
“Not at all, my darling. We have had a wonderful time here together, but you know, there’s no reason we can’t come back here one day.” His heart swelled as he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist. “I suspect our children will love it as much as we do.”
Viola leaned into his embrace, cocooning him in her sweet perfume. Her courses had ceased while they’d been away and they now looked forward to a new chapter in their lives.
“You will make a superb father,” she said. Turning in his arms, she rose up to meet his lips.
He kissed her back with overwhelming love and affection. “And you shall be the mother every child dreams of, Viola.”
When they arrived in London after two long days of travel, Mr. Andrews was there to greet them. “Welcome back,” he said as he helped them with their luggage. “I trust you had an enjoyable trip?”
Henry pulled off his gloves, dropped them into his hat and handed it over to Mr. Andrews, who nodded and smiled in response to what Viola told him.
Leaving them to their discussion, Henry went to his study to check on his correspondence. A pile of letters awaited, some of them invitations to various events and others notifications from Mr. Faulkner intended to keep Henry up to date. But one stood out from the rest because it was dated The Valley, June 10, 1820. Henry picked it up slowly. The London arrival mark had been stamped on the front three days earlier.
Breaking the seal, Henry unfolded the papers and read. His pulse quickened with every word his eyes absorbed until he reached the end. He drew a sharp breath. “Viola?” Crossing the floor he strode out into the hallway. “It’s here,” he told her, catching her on her way up the stairs. “Confirmation that Robert killed his wife.”
She stared at him, her body poised between going up and coming down. She chose the latter, descending a step so they were at eye level. “Really?”
