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