Page 37

Footsteps and low, masculine voices interrupted her. The butler rapped and, at Viola’s call, opened the door to admit not only Lord Carrington but his brother, both unmistakable in their shared dark hair and broad shoulders. Lord Carrington bowed first, though Viola caught the flash of surprise at Miss Galbraith’s presence. Lord Brookmire did the same, his expression lighting the moment he saw the lady.

Viola rose. “Lord Brookmire, Lord Carrington. Good afternoon.”

“You were not expecting us,” Lord Brookmire said, his eyes still on Miss Galbraith. “Forgive our unexpected arrival.”

“You are both very welcome.” Viola went to ring the bell. “Lady Henderson and my sister are in the house, but must have been caught up in conversation; they shall join us soon.” She watched Lord Carrington cross the room, her heart quickening as his gaze never left her. There was a connection between them she could not deny, and no doubt it was that very thing Miss Galbraith had marked. “I was just telling Miss Galbraith that I have written to my father, asking him to join us in London. I am hopeful he will come.”

“And I was speaking to Miss Trent of how well Stoneleigh House suits her,” Miss Galbraith said, with exaggerated warmth. “Have you decided what you will do with Glenbrae, Lord Carrington? Will you keep the tenant, or remove him and set some of your own family there?”

Lord Carrington gave a light shrug as the door opened on Lady Henderson and Hannah, still deep in talk. “I have no intention of making great changes yet.”

The conversation grew from there, and Viola, though she longed for a private word with Lord Carrington, found relief in having more than only Miss Galbraith to speak with. Miss Galbraith, for her part, now ignored Viola openly, addressing herself to Lord Brookmire, and to Lord Carrington whenever she could draw him in.

“Miss Trent?”

She looked up to find the butler at her elbow, a note in his hand, left at the door, he murmured, by a boy who had not waited. She took it without thinking and broke the seal — wax with nothing pressed into it. Her breath caught as she read the few carefully scripted lines, her stomach twisting, heat burning behind her eyes.

Not again.

She looked about, but every face was turned from her. Afraid she would lose her composure entirely, Viola rose and slipped from the room unnoticed, walking blindly along the hall until she pushed open the library door and stepped inside.

It was the grandest room in all the house — two galleries of books climbing to a painted ceiling, the brass rails of the ladders catching the last of the afternoon light — and it had become, these past mornings, the nearest thing in the house to her own ground. Her feet had carried her here without being asked. Yet it had never seemed so vast as it did now, with Viola standing small and trembling in the middle of all that ordered learning, a few cruel lines crushed in her gloved hand.

She drew a ragged breath, the note still in her fingers, and leaned against the wall with one hand pressed to her brow.

“Miss Trent?”

The door opened, and she sagged with relief as Lord Carrington came in.

“You were upset.” He made it plain he had seen her go. “Whatever is the matter?”

She held out the note. His jaw tightened as he took it, his brows knotting.

“‘You are a creature of selfishness and greed,’” he read aloud, as she closed her eyes against a sob. “‘Your father is known for his poverty and his disgrace. No doubt, upon his arrival, he will sell the silver, the paintings, the furniture, and all else of value, until nothing remains but ruin. Stoneleigh House will be torn apart by his hands. Save yourself from such disgrace. Give the deed to the family that truly cares for it.’”

Her throat closed, her father’s face rising before her — the weariness about his eyes, the sorrow as he had pressed the watch chain into her hand, the only thing of value he had left.

“You must know I do not believe a word of this.”

She nodded, barely able to trust her voice. “You do not think poorly of me. I know that. You are nothing like the words on that page.”

“Never.” The fervency of it startled her, and when she looked up he had moved closer — so close she could see the gray flecks in his blue eyes. Her heart, torn by sorrow, seemed to mend itself in an instant and began to pound.

“Someone wishes to frighten you into giving me the house. But even if you tried to press the deed into my hands, I would refuse it.” His voice gentled, a tenderness in it that seemed to wrap around her. “Lady Warrington chose you, and I think now I understand why.”

She swallowed, a single tear falling. “You do?”

“I called on Lord and Lady Wexford today.” His hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed the tear from her cheek, and the touch of his skin made her breath catch. “They told me a great deal. That is why I came.” He paused, and then — deliberately, his eyes holding hers, as though he would have her mark that he chose it — “Viola.”

She had heard him say it once before, in her grief, when neither of them had marked it. He marked it now; and so did she. The sound of her name on his lips, given so, was not the small thing it had been — it was a thing he had reached for and meant, and it settled warm in her chest and stayed. The world narrowed to the space between them. Her mind was full of questions, what he had learned, what it all meant, and yet she could think of nothing but his nearness, the warmth of him so close. Slowly, with great deliberateness, he began to lower his head. Her heart thundered. His breath brushed her skin, and her eyes drifted closed.

His lips met hers.

It was the barest touch — soft, asking, and then, when she did not draw away, certain. Viola’s hand found the lapel of his coat and held it, not to steady herself, though she told herself it was that. He made some low, wordless sound, and his fingers curved against her cheek where the tear had been. For the space of a heartbeat — two — there was no note, no house, no watching world. There was only this.

“Viola?” Hannah’s voice, in the hall, just beyond the door.

They broke apart. The room rushed back in around her, and with it every rule she had just so thoroughly forgotten. Lord Carrington stepped away, slipping the note into his pocket, his breath not quite even, as the door opened and Hannah came in.