Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “We are not unaware of the conditions. They are regrettable. But reform is already underway. Legislation has been passed, committees appointed, funds allocated.” He delivered this with the ease of a man who had said it many times before. “The mills grind slowly. But they grind.”
Viola nodded. “How very reassuring. I shall write to Mrs Burns and tell her that relief is on its way. In good time. When the mills have finished grinding.” She set down her pencil. “Thedifficulty, of course, being that she may well be dead before that happy day arrives. And I confess I find it hard to call something legislation when it legislates nothing. Promises much. But ultimately delivers nothing.” She shrugged.
“And here I thought you were uninterested in politics,” he said softly. “How entirely wrong I have been.”
She blinked at him, surprised. “Iamuninterested in politics. I am, I assure you, decidedly, completely and entirely unpolitical.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he leaned back in his chair, watching her. “On the contrary. You are one of the most political creatures I have ever known. I may have even married a radical.”
“Oh, pooh. I am as radical as that plant over there.” Then her eyes fell on the clock on the wall and she was startled. “Goodness, it’s late! I must ready myself to go—” She interrupted herself and began to gather her papers.
“Go where?”
Newgate. To investigate hangings. Maybe even watch one live.
But something told her he might disapprove.
She waved a hand. “Meet someone. Cousin Georgiana. For shopping. Yes.” She had another meeting with Lady Penworthy and the Secret Book Club afterwards as well.
He lifted a cream card between two fingers. “This is an invitation to supper at Hatherleigh’s. It specifically requests your presence. Tonight.”
“Supper at the Hatherleighs’.” She blinked. It sounded dreary. “Must I really?”
His smile was thin. “I do think it would be good to appear in society as a happily married couple. Shall I answer that invitation in the affirmative?”
“Oh, botheration.” She went to the door, then returned to the table to pick up her spectacles, and once again turned towards the door.
“So do I have the pleasure of taking you there?” Sebastian called after her.
“If you absolutely must.” She popped her head in again. “But I tell you, it will be a disaster,” she prophesied.
The Hatherleigh Supperwas a yearly event at which Tories gathered to polish their laurels, congratulate themselves on being Tories, bemoan Whig policies, and strategise for the upcoming general election.
Sebastian looked exceptionally fine in his evening wear; his black coat moulded to his broad shoulders, his cravat crisp and white. She herself did not look half bad, she thought, her flyaway hair tamed into a tidy braided coiffure, the midnight blue silk drifting around her, smooth and weightless.
There had been an odd look in Sebastian’s eyes that might have been appreciation, for he opened and closed his mouth twice, as though at a loss for words. And just when she was about to congratulate herself, happily and with no small sense of triumph, that she had finally managed to impress him and rendered The Slayer speechless, he uttered a curt, “You’ll do.”
The words left her with the same sinking disappointment she had felt on her eighteenth birthday, when she had gone to such trouble to dress in her finest, hoping, just once, to appear pretty in his eyes. He had barely looked her over then, before dismissing her in his usual curt manner. She had returned to her room, torn the dress from her body, and vowed never again to attempt to make herself pretty for him.
Well, look at her now. She really hadn’t changed one whit, had she? This fluttery feeling in her stomach, and thishammering in her heart every time he but looked at her. She was still as hopelessly naïve and ridiculously infatuated with him as she’d been.
And he…entirely oblivious to her feelings.
Viola sighed.
Her hand smoothed the silky material beneath her fingers. She supposed she could try as much as she wanted; he’d never see her as beautiful.
Why did that bother her so much ?
Sebastian helped her out of the carriage and gripped her hand a moment longer than was necessary, as if he were reluctant to release her. He let go when Lady Hatherleigh approached them, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.
“Fane. It is an honour, as always. And finally, with your wife.” She eyed her up and down. “I vow; this mythical creature does exist! You can’t imagine how many betting books he’s filled, as all of London was fairly convinced he’d invented you to escape the matchmaking mamas! But here you are.” She inserted herself between her and Fane. “You must tell me all about yourself.”
Thus, they were separated. Lady Hatherleigh introduced her to an elderly gentleman with heavy-lidded eyes who droned on and on about grain prices. She nodded and smiled, and smiled and nodded, until her eyes glazed over. They were joined by a second gentleman. She edged herself out of the conversation, took a glass of champagne and sipped it gratefully.
“Lady Viola?” a male voice said behind her.
She turned to find a stern-looking gentleman gazing at her, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked vaguely familiar, but then, so did every second face she encountered here. She supposed it would come to her in time.
