Chapter Six
After the electric moment with the earl, when he caught her hand and looked at her as if he’d like to pull her back into the privacy of the storage cupboard and kiss her senseless, Viola tried to busy herself with dull tasks in the distant reaches of the castle. Not because she feared the earl actually would pull her aside and kiss her senseless, but because she was coming to hope he might.
Her hand had tingled for an hour where his lips brushed it. After she delivered the makeshift crown to Bridget, she fled the drawing room, even though it left Sophronia completely in charge. The earl had watched her go—Viola could swear his gaze made her feel warm and giddy from all the way across the room—but thankfully he didn’t follow. That was proper, she told herself; she was a servant and he was a gentleman of leisure.
So she ended up sitting in the small room off the duchess’s private parlor where she normally worked, staring out at the snow and wondering about the foreign lands Lord Winterton had been to. Had he seen the ancient pyramids in Egypt, which Stephen said were marvels of engineering? Had he been to India and seen elephants? Lord Newton had told the young ladies fantastical tales of his uncle’s journeys, and as much as Viola reminded herself it was not her place to know, she burned to ask him about all the places she had read of, but would never see herself.
It was true that everything and everyone she held dear was in England. Even more, the dearest person in the world to her, her brother Stephen, relied upon her being prosperously employed, and that was easiest to accomplish in England. She had neither means nor opportunity to go abroad, whether she wished to or not. Unlike the earl.
She sighed, brushing her fingertips over the knuckles he had kissed. Everything about her life was unlike the earl’s. She was an idiot to sit here thinking a kiss on the hand meant anything. He was being polite, or flirting, or even trying to persuade her to help him locate that atlas. Not that she didn’t understand his desire to have it. She’d made sure Stephen got their father’s astrolabe and sextant, and she’d kept her mother’s pearl necklace, which would have paid for a term at Cambridge.
But whether or not the duke would be willing to sell the atlas, if he even had it, Viola knew she ought to stay out of the matter. Her growing sympathy for and interest in Lord Winterton could only get her in trouble.
She was still torn when she went down to dinner. It was part of her duties to help oversee dinner and entertain the guests in the drawing room before and after the meal, but she was not expected to dine with the guests. When it was just family, she was often invited to join them, but during this party she receded to her proper place.
Naturally the first person she set eyes on when she reached the drawing room was Lord Winterton. No one else was in the room yet, so she felt safe enough returning his smile.
“How did the rehearsal progress?” she asked.
His eyes closed for a moment, as if in pain. “Apparently I die a very bloody death, though thankfully off stage.”
Viola giggled before she could stop herself. “I trust you’re quite regal and imposing before that.”
“Pompous and boring, I should say. ‘Let not my subjects make merry,’” he intoned. “‘There is too much frivolity in the kingdom, and I will have an end to it.’”
“Oh my.” Viola wondered what on earth Bridget was thinking. “To what end?”
“Solely to my end,” he replied dryly. “My role is to be pompous and boring, die savagely, then return as a ghost after the prince becomes a far more beloved king, to penitently pronounce that I was wrong to be so pompous and boring, but now I shall rest in peace because the new—much better—king has brought such joy and merriment to my former kingdom.”
Viola burst out laughing.
“I do not recall actually agreeing to be in the play,” the earl went on, although he was smiling now as well. “I suspect my nephew wrote my entire part, and I can only be grateful the rest of the guests shall be actors in the play as well, and not sitting in the audience watching.”
“I am so sorry,” Viola gasped, wiping at her eyes. “Lady Bridget is quite fanciful…”
“And Lady Sophronia is even worse!” he exclaimed quietly. “I shouldn’t say this, but I believe she patted me on my—er—hindquarters.”
Oh merciful God. Viola herself had noticed, more than once, that Winterton had exceptionally fine—er—hindquarters. And she knew Lady Sophronia had an eye for such things. “Perhaps it was inadvertent,” she suggested weakly.
Winterton gave her a look. He didn’t think so.
God save her. Viola could feel her face turning red. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, her voice shaking as she tried desperately not to laugh again. She could picture exactly how Sophronia would have lined it up.
Winterton’s face eased. “I took no offense. She reminds me greatly of my grandmother, who used to say she appreciated a pair of muscular calves on a man. She paid her footmen a bonus if they were strong runners, and not because they could deliver her messages faster. I hope I live to such a great age, when I may say what I like and not care a whit what others think about it.”
“I suspect Sophronia reached that age seventy years ago,” murmured Viola. “Thank you for being such an excellent sport about the play.”
He grinned. “When one travels, one learns to accept the unexpected and make the best of it. Often those surprising turns lead to the most memorable experiences of the journey. I find Lady Sophronia charming.”
Viola let out her breath in relief. No wonder Sophronia had patted his bottom; she must have recognized Winterton would let her get away with it. “I do as well,” she whispered, “but not everyone does.”
Winterton laughed. His eyes were so blue and friendly, and Viola found herself smiling back at him. Again.
The other guests came in then, discussing the play rehearsal in good spirits. Bridget had somehow procured a bucket of white feathers, and stuck them all over a coat and cap for Lord Gosling to wear in his role as a Lovesick Swan. The effect was quite ludicrous, but Gosling took the teasing in stride with a smile, declaring that he thought it a very handsome costume since Lady Bridget had made it herself. Bridget rolled her eyes at his flattery, but Viola could tell she was pleased. Bridget was pleased whenever anyone embraced her mad ideas.
When the butler announced dinner, Lord Winterton made sure to offer Lady Sophronia his arm. Viola’s heart gave a funny little jump at the easy way he had with the older woman. Sophronia was charming and amusing, when approached the right way—any sign of shock or indignation, and Sophronia would dig in with relish, purposely being even more shocking and inappropriate.
Viola went to take her own dinner before it was time to return to the party, to instill some order and decorum to whatever after-dinner activities Bridget persuaded Serena to do.
Tonight it was charades, which was perfectly acceptable. Viola settled at the side of the room and watched in amusement. As usual, Bridget’s riddle was ridiculous and took a very long time to guess. When Serena finally called out “chalk figures for dancing” and Bridget nodded, a small cheer went up.
“I wondered if anyone would ever solve it,” said a voice beside her.
Viola glanced at Lord Winterton. “Someone always does,” she assured him. “Lady Serena knows her sister well.”
They both turned to watch Serena, taking her place at the front of the room and pondering her riddle. She looked happier, Viola realized. The grave quiet air she’d worn for weeks after her engagement ended had vanished, and when she smiled at something Miss Penworth said in jest, it was open and warm. It brought a small curve to Viola’s own lips; all three Cavendish girls had become like younger sisters to her, and she took their sorrows and joys very much to heart.
“I heard she was recently disappointed in love.” Winterton sat on the settee beside her, his voice low enough no one else could hear. “She seems to be recovering.”
“Happily, she does.”
The earl glanced at her. “I heard the cruel young man was even invited to this party.”
Bridget, Viola reflected, had no discretion at all. “He’s not cruel,” she murmured in reply. “He’s young.” Young, handsome, and a very dashing duke. She didn’t know why the Duke of Frye had ended his engagement, but she couldn’t believe he’d done it to be cruel to Serena. Their families had been close for ages. And Serena didn’t look very brokenhearted anymore…
“Is there no chance of reconciliation?”
Winterton’s question startled her. “Oh! I’m sure I don’t know. But Frye hasn’t arrived, as you can see, so at the moment I rate it very low odds. He can never be forgiven if he never comes to beg forgiveness.”
He grinned. “Nor should he be.” For a moment they watched as Serena delivered her riddle. “Do you have an interest in the stars, Mrs. Cavendish?”
Viola blinked. “Stars in the sky?”
“Yes.”
“A little.” It made her think of Stephen. She had to blink back a sudden tear at the thought of her brother.
“Come with me,” the earl said. “It’s terribly cold, but the sky is beautiful. I thought you might like to see it.”
Her lips parted in surprise. And delight. After all, her brother might be looking at the same stars tonight. It was two days before Christmas, and it was the closest thing to sharing it with him she might have. “All right,” she said.
She cast one glance over the room as they slipped out. Everyone was absorbed in charades. Sophronia was watching from her usual chair near the hearth, and there was a great deal of mirth and laughter. A little devil on her shoulder whispered that no one would miss her for a few minutes.
Viola followed the earl to the doors at the back of the hall. In the summer they often stood open, presenting a beautiful vista over the gardens, bowling green, and the ancient oaks that lined the road to the stables. Tonight all those sights were covered in piles of snow, and the raw air made her eyes water as they stepped out. She clasped her arms around herself and stayed close to the door, sheltered from the wind.
“It’s a bit cold,” said the earl sympathetically, looking unaffected by the temperature himself. “But look.” He raised his arm and swept one hand across the skies.
She put back her head and gasped. It had been snowing heavily all evening, but now it almost looked like a hole had opened in the sky. Clouds still ringed the horizon and hovered over the tops of the trees, but directly above them was a jeweled canopy of stars, sparkling against the black velvet of the night.
“There is Polaris,” said the earl, pointing. “And there is Sirius.” He pointed toward the far left horizon.
“Goodness,” breathed Viola. “You can see everything! There—look—the Cork Nebula lies there!” In excitement she pointed as well.
Winterton looked at her in amazement. “The Cork Nebula! How do you know that?”
“My brother is studying mathematics and astronomy at Cambridge,” she said, still gazing raptly at the stars. “The Cork Nebula is at the heart of Perseus. There is Pegasus, and Lyra, and—oh—such a beautiful view of Vega!”
The earl’s eyes moved back to the sky. “I have no idea which stars are in Pegasus,” he said after a moment. “I only know a few points of navigation.”
“That’s not even one star in a thousand,” said Viola with a laugh.
“What else do you see?” He stepped closer, until their shoulders were touching. Viola felt the warmth of him beside her like a roaring fire.
Stars. She focused on the sky and pointed east. “There is Pollux.” It was easy to find, nice and bright. “And there south of it is the belt of Orion. The Spanish call them Las Tres Marias. The ones in asterisms are easier to find.”
“Marvelous,” murmured the earl, his head tipped back, giving her a perfect view of his profile.
“Stephen would have spent every night outside, pointing them out to me. Our mother made him come inside, and he would sleep under an open window, even in the dead of winter.” She smiled in memory.
“Mathematics and astronomy. How impressive.”
She nodded. “Stephen’s brilliant. I wouldn’t be at all astonished if his name is as famous as Mr. Herschel’s some day.”
The earl was staring at her. “I’d no idea you had a brother, Mrs. Cavendish.”
“Only one, younger.” She raised her brows in fun. “Ought you to know all my family?”
He laughed ruefully. “Forgive me. Of course not. I have inflicted my family on you, and that really should be enough.”
“Inflicted! Lord Newton is hardly that bad…” She paused at his expression. “Perhaps writing a painful death for you as king was a bit much.”
He snorted. “What is your brother like?”
“Brilliantly clever,” she said at once. “We knew from the time he was six that he should go to Cambridge. My father was a sea captain, and he taught Stephen how to navigate by the stars.”
“A sea captain! And you never had the desire to go away?” The earl clasped his hands behind him and studied her with interest.
She smiled wistfully. “I never had the chance! Females, I was told, are not very welcome on ships… But Stephen went on a few journeys with him, where he noticed nothing but the stars overhead. Once my father showed him how to use the sextant—well! My brother barely pays attention to anything on earth now when an idea seizes him. His passions are stars and nebulae and planets, how they move and how they change appearance, and how he might possibly improve his telescope so that he can see them better. When he’s working on a calculation, he forgets to speak to anyone, to eat, even to sleep.”
Winterton shook his head in amazement. “I always admired those fellows at university.”
“I can’t even imagine an entire college of them,” she said honestly. “Stephen alone amazes me.”
Winterton chuckled. “I doubt one chap in ten at Cambridge works that hard at his studies as all that. But here—you’re shivering.”
Viola realized she was. “We’d better go back inside.”
He opened the door and touched her back lightly as she went back in. Viola felt that touch through all the layers of cloth between them. Do not make anything of it, she told herself. “Thank you,” she told the earl as he bolted the door behind them. “For showing me the sky.”
“It may be snowing again by morning.”
“I know.” Viola smiled. “But it was beautiful for that moment.”
His blue gaze felt like a caress on her face. “Yes. Very beautiful.” She flushed with pleasure, as if he’d paid her a great compliment. He reached up and gently brushed a few flakes of melting snow from her hair. “Like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright…”
Kiss me, she thought, feeling herself falling into his mesmerizing eyes. Viola stopped breathing as the force of the thought hit her. “Marlowe?” she asked breathlessly, trying to jolt herself out of it.
“Byron, I believe.” He fingered a loose curl of her hair, studying it for a moment before smoothing it behind her ear. “We could check, in the library.”
The library would be dark and deserted and private now. Anything might happen there, just between the two of them. She should go back to the charades, remember her duty, and not let poetry and starlight go to her head. Slowly she nodded. “Yes. Yes, we could.”
Something shifted in his focus. He knew what she meant. He offered his arm.
Do not be stupid, Viola told herself. But she put her hand on his arm and went with him.