Lady Penworthy steadied her by the elbow. “Why, naturally? His wife is said to live quietly in the country. No one has ever seen her. She never attends the Season. I suppose they must be estranged.” She paused and looked back at her. “Do you know her, perhaps?”
“Oh, no, no, no. Certainly not! Not at all!” Viola waved a hand. “I was merely wondering, that is all. I was just being curious.”
“I must say, I do not like the man. The woman married to him must lead a poor, miserable, squashed life. It can’t be easy living in the shadow of a man like him.”
Viola nearly stumbled. “Indeed,” she offered hastily. “I am entirely in agreement. Poor, uh, squashed woman.”
“Well, today’s debate merely affirmed my determination for Penworthy voting for lowering the duties. The Tories shan’t carry this one.”
Viola nodded but wasn’t really listening to her.
She asked Lady Penworthy to drop her off in front of St George’s church. They parted on the agreement that Viola would attend their next book club meeting.
“We will read Selina Sable’sMysteries of Creddock Abbeynext. Murder, ghosts, and a madwoman in the attic passionately in love with the heir of the estate, who turns out to be a vampire. It promises to be a riveting read! There is nothing more fascinating than reading about madwomen. I wonder where Mrs Sable gets her inspiration from.”
“Indeed,” Viola murmured, lowering her eyes. “Where does she, indeed?”
Chapter Twelve
Viola,truly, would go mad if she had to endure yet another hour of the musical evening to which Cousin Georgiana had dragged her. The soprano was singing out of tune, and the beat seemed to be off as well.
Normally, Viola didn’t mind listening to music as it allowed her to daydream and to continue plotting her next book.
But tonight, it didn’t work.
She couldn’t focus on the music.
She hadn’t seen Sebastian since she’d visited Parliament, for he’d come home long after she’d fallen asleep, and he rose again before she awoke. If she hadn’t seen the dent in his pillow the next morning, she would have concluded that he hadn’t returned at all. But then, last night, she ever so vaguely remembered someone lifting her from the desk in the study and placing her in bed, and her burrowing her nose into a warm, comforting, breathing pillow that smelled of bergamot and musk. Someone might have stroked a few strands of hair away from her face and placed a kiss on her lips, and she might have burrowed in for more.
But in the morning, it felt like nothing more than a dream. She woke languid and warm until she found the bed empty and an aching sense of loneliness gripped her.
She’d intended to ask him what he had meant by mentioning her in Parliament. But at breakfast, the butler informed her that Mr Fane had already left for Westminster to attend a committee meeting, and that he had hastily drunk a cup of coffee before leaving.
When she called on Cousin Georgiana somewhat later, she informed her she would take her to the Brookshurst musicale.
“It is a most exclusive gathering,” she said, lowering her voice. “And while the music is not renowned to be the best, it is advisable to attend and be seen. All the most important heads of the Season will be there. It will do us good to be noticed.”
Viola, however, had no desire whatsoever to be noticed. Nor did she care much for the music.
Worse still, Cousin Georgiana was entirely correct. Absolutely everyone was there.
Peregrine sauntered into the room first, wearing a cheeky grin and acknowledging Viola’s presence with a surreptitious wink that made her stomach sink.
He was followed, to her dismay, by Sebastian, who paused briefly at the doorway before being promptly absorbed by a knot of gentlemen eager for his attention.
She braced herself for another evening of having to ignore the presence of her husband.
Viola sighed.
And then there was the ever-present Mr Mainwaring.
Viola repressed a groan.
He had sidled up to her the moment she entered the room and claimed the chair next to her, as though by unquestionable right. He then proceeded to speak to her throughout the entire concert, commenting on the performance of the musicians, thecomposition itself, and pointing out passages he admired or disliked.
She found this highly irritating, not least because she disagreed with him on every count.
Sebastian was seated ahead of her in the front row. Once, he turned his head and caught her looking.
