Sebastian.
Viola’s world tilted.
The lemonade glass slipped. She caught it, but not before half the contents splashed across Mr Mainwaring’s waistcoat. He didn’t notice. Nobody noticed. Every eye in the room was fixed on the man in the doorway.
She had to run. Now. Hide. Behind the curtain. Under the table. Anywhere. Before he saw her.
Too late.
As if he knew she was there, as if he’d sensed her presence all along, he turned his head and their eyes locked.
His eyes, icy slivers of blue-green.
It lasted only a fraction of a second, the connection, but long enough for Viola to register that he’d seen—and undoubtedly, clearly, most definitely—recognised her.
Then the crowd closed in on him once more.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Mr Mainwaring muttered. “One rarely runs into Fane outside of Parliament. I wonder why he’s here.”
“Yes.” Viola’s breath came out in short, painful hacks. “Whyishe here? Isn’t he supposed to be in Dublin?”
She’d enquired. Three, four, five times. She’d been so certain he was out of the country. That was the one and only reason she’d dared to come to London. “Is he still the, uh, what did you say he was? Chief Secretary of Dublin-or-other.” She waved the lemonade glass about, not that it mattered since its contents were now adorning Mr Mainwaring’s waistcoat, of which the man was still blissfully unaware.
Mr Mainwaring laughed. “Chief Secretary for Ireland. A most prestigious position, as everyone knows, carrying the same consequence there as the Prime Minister here. He will use it as a stepping stone for greater things.”
“Yes.” Viola swallowed. “Why didn’t he stay in Ireland?” Blast the man. He was supposed to stay on that island!
Mr Mainwaring looked at her, amused. “Because, Lady Viola, Parliament is in session? And the Chief Secretary for Ireland is expected to attend. He is required to represent the Irish government, introduce Irish legislation, answer questions on Ireland, and defend Irish policy. As everyone knows.” He paused. “It must be quite tiresome to have to travel constantly back and forth between Dublin and London by sea and boat.”
The crowd thickened, and Viola felt the urgent need to disappear before it parted again.
Georgiana and Lily notwithstanding, wherever they were, whatever they were doing, she could no longer wait for them and risk running intohim. She would leave. Now.
She mumbled an excuse to Mr Mainwaring, something about having to visit the lady’s retiring room. He wanted to accompany her.
She declined. “As everyone knows,” she told him with a sweet smile, “the lady’s retiring room is exclusively visited by ladies.”
She elbowed her way through the crowd, hailed a footman, scribbled a hasty message on a slip of paper that she requested from him, and told him to find her cousin and deliver it to her.
Her excuse was simple: she was ill and had to leave immediately before she hurled the contents of her stomach all over the ballroom floor. It wasn’t even a lie. She most definitely felt unwell. She prayed Cousin Georgiana would understand.
Then she climbed into her carriage and fled.
Away.
Far, far away.
When she arrivedat her little town house in Bird Street, which wasn’t that far away, unfortunately, she was shaking from the aftereffect of the shock she had just experienced.
The maid drew her a hot bath. As her muscles relaxed, her mind could slowly think again.
So. Sebastian was in London.
She uttered a string of curses under her breath.
Of all the ill-fated, unfortunate circumstances!
She slid down in the water until it covered her chin.
