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Viola did not believe for a moment that he was truly glad of her company, but she said nothing and curtsied, her sister doing the same.

“Lord Carrington.” Hannah’s words were clipped, her voice a touch high. “We are taking the air, as you see. If you will excuse us — we should not like to keep you from your walk.”

“You keep me from nothing, I assure you.” He glanced at Viola and back to Hannah. “Might I beg to walk with you a few minutes? I give you my word, I have no wish to return to our last conversation.”

Viola felt the weight of the question settle on her, for Hannah said nothing and left it entirely to her. She hesitated, wetting her lips. “You give me your word the house will not be mentioned? You will have heard I have taken up residence there, and I cannot help but wonder if you mean to speak of it.”

He shook his head and put a hand to his heart. “I swear it. The name Stoneleigh House shall not cross my lips.”

She nodded, a tightness in her chest in spite of his promise. “Then please.”

“I thank you.” He fell into step beside her, and Hannah, for some reason of her own, dropped back, leaving Viola sharply aware of him at her side. For a long moment he said nothing, and her nerves climbed higher for the silence. When at last he spoke, it was low, with a heaviness in his face that worried her.

“I received a letter two days ago,” he said, drawing a folded sheet from his coat. “The same day I returned from calling on you. I think it best that you read it.”

He held it out. Her instinct was to draw back, as from something unclean.

“Please. I mean no harm by it — though the words will be hard to read.”

She took it, hearing the gentleness in his voice and hoping it was real. The moment she began, heat climbed her face, for each line stripped a little more of her dignity away. It spoke of deception where there had been none. It hinted at threats made against Lady Warrington, as if Viola had wanted Stoneleigh House all along. To read such accusations in his presence was so great a humiliation that she could scarcely lift her head.

“I do not believe a word of it, of course.”

Her head came up, though she did not look at him. “I see.”

“I wanted you to know of it. To see that there is someone in society who wishes me to believe this of you.”

Her eyes stung, and she stumbled. Hannah gave a swift exclamation, but it was Lord Carrington who caught her arm and, after, settled her hand upon his sleeve, giving her the silent support he seemed somehow to know she needed. A different heat turned over in her chest, and she let out a slow breath, still struggling to meet his eyes.

“Are you quite all right?”

She nodded. “To read those words has been a shock, my lord. I cannot imagine why anyone would think it of me.”

“Because they believe Lady Warrington would not have changed her will without reason.” He said it at once, as if he had waited for the question. “It does not make their suggestion true. But even I cannot understand why she did it.”

Her shoulders dropped. “This may surprise you, my lord, but I cannot understand it either. You are quite right that she would not have changed her will without purpose — that is just as I see it. Yet I cannot know what reason she had to grant me two such generous gifts. Her letter did not explain it, and try as I might to be simply grateful, there are too many questions in my mind for me to be at peace.”

He ran a hand along his jaw, his gaze on the path ahead, thoughtful, with no hint of anger. That, she supposed, was a relief in itself.

“Might I be bold enough to ask what the letter contained?”

The question gave her pause. But he had come to her and shared this cruel page, and so she chose to be truthful. “It was very simple. I can quote it for you. I have read it so often I have it by heart.” He nodded, and she drew a breath. “Lady Warrington wrote: ‘You must trust that I have acted with purpose and intention. You will be surrounded by those who do not understand; bear their scrutiny with courage and determination. Kindness has been far from your family. It is my hope that this gift offers you some of what you have lacked, and brings about a change in a great many things.’”

A silence followed. Viola looked at him a long moment, sensing some barrier give way between them as he took in her words. His brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as he took in what his cousin had meant.

“Kindness has been far from your family,” he repeated.

Heat rushed up her neck and into her face, and she pulled her gaze away.

“I do not mean to shame you,” he said quickly. “Forgive me. I only meant to ask — ”

“I am surprised you do not know that my father, Viscount Tyne, is an impoverished gentleman. He has long been so, since the death of my mother.” She swallowed, the path curving beneath a row of elms whose leaves gave them a moment’s shade. “He invested heavily, and the investments were lost. None of it was his doing, but he was very near ruined by it. Our circumstances have been hard, and he has borne them with dignity.” She paused, wondering why she told him so much. “All this to say, my connection to Lady Warrington was only ever small kindnesses, here and there. She never turned from my father for his circumstances, as so many did. I was too young to know the particulars then, but I believe he lost a great many friends when his troubles came to light. The Warringtons were not among them. I know how grateful he was for that.”

Lord Carrington nodded slowly, his arm steady beneath her hand.

“To have inherited Stoneleigh House now is a kindness I scarcely understand,” she finished, her throat tightening. “And a heavy responsibility I cannot help but fear.”

“Fear?” He sounded surprised. “What is there to fear?”