“Well. Naturally, I have objections. I was here first, and now I have to share the house with you.” And the bed. “It is rather unexpected to find you here.”
“Life is full of unexpected surprises, isn’t it?” he said pleasantly. “You must learn to share. I daresay you will hardly see me, as I will be very busy in the coming months. And you, of course, may go about your own life. As we agreed. Never fear, I have no intention of curtailing that freedom you so vociferously demanded. Just continue your life as you always have. You shall hardly notice I am here.”
She took another sip of her tea and burned her tongue. Ah yes. She did demand that. In her letters. Rather vociferously.
Speaking of letters, the butler came in with a salver, with piles of letters on it. “The mail, sir.”
“Excellent. Put them here.” Sebastian appeared visibly relieved that he had something else to divert his attention.
Viola buttered a slice of bread, watching him furtively as he went through his mail.
She watched with increasing astonishment as the butler brought in yet another tray, equally piled with mail.
“Are these all for him?”
“Well, yes, my lady.”
It occurred to her that Sebastian must have informed the servants in the meantime about their matrimonial state. She did not know whether that was good; good, of course, because it wouldn’t be at all the thing if Mr Fane were to cohabit with Lady Viola, spinster. So, he must have told them. Or had they known all along? Were the servants bribed to keep silent? It would be the only explanation. A brief suspicion crossed her mind that maybe he’d planned it all. Closed the house on St James’s Square to have it renovated. Timing his arrival here at the same time as hers… What if the butler had informed him that Lady Viola had enquired about coming to London and staying in his grandmother’s townhouse? But why would he do that? Her mind was in a whirl. She’d have to interrogate the butler later.
Scowling, she picked up the newspaper, which Sebastian had set aside.
To her surprise, she discovered it was full of him.
The Chief Secretary for Ireland addressed the House on the matter of the Consolidated Fund Act and its implications for the Treasury’s quarterly allocations...
She blinked.
She turned the page.
... commended by the Prime Minister for his handling of the Select Committee on the State of Ireland, widely regarded as the most consequential appointment of the session...
There again.
...praised for his speech on the Irish Poor Relief Bill and the allocation of emergency grain stores...
Three pages of news filled by the Honourable Mr Sebastian Fane.
It was really quite incredible.
She’d had no inkling of his consequence. He appeared to be famous.
Here he was, the man in person, sitting right across from her, slicing his letters open with a swift, efficient movement with his letter opener. His profile in sharp relief, he looked awfully intimidating as he perused his mail.
She cleared her throat.
“You, er, uh.”
“Yes?” he said, without looking up from his letter.
“What you are doing these days appears to be somewhat important. Is it not?” She plucked at her bread.
He lowered his letter and met her gaze steadily. “Somewhat important.”
“I see.” She waved a hand at the newspaper. “They say you are an Irish chief of some sort.”
A vague glimmer of amusement passed through his eyes, but it was so quick she might have imagined it. “An Irish chief of some sort.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me that is news to you?”
“Of course not!” She wasn’t that ignorant. Not really. Of course, she’d known in the end he’d not pursued a career in law but had turned towards politics. She’d known, also, that he was in Ireland more often than not, after all she’d written to the butler and kept meticulous track of when he was in Dublin and when in London so she could use the townhouse—all to no avail, as it turned out.
