hearth and poured herself a glass of port. What were the odds the dowager would be upset? Viola had always admired the dowager duchess’s levelheaded approach to things, but there was no telling what she might do when one of her children was in trouble. The poor woman was still ill, growing frustrated at her inability to recover, and every day she peppered Viola with ever more detailed questions about the party’s progress. She was very annoyed that Frye had not arrived yet. The match between Serena and Frye had been arranged by their fathers years ago, and the dowager duchess still clung to hope that Frye would arrive, fall on bended knee to apologize profusely for breaking the engagement, whereupon Serena would graciously forgive him and fix a date for the wedding.
Now Viola faced the possibility that the dowager was about to be greatly disappointed by two daughters instead of one. Serena displayed no interest in Frye’s attendance, and Alexandra was sneaking off to kiss a young viscount she’d only met last week. Anyone would be upset in these circumstances, and Viola knew she was the most likely person to bear the blame.
What would she tell Stephen if she got sacked? She took a large sip at the thought. Her poor brother. If she could have held on for another two years, he would have been able to finish his studies and become eligible for a post at the university. That was where Stephen belonged, among the books and scholars and ancient stone buildings that had harbored the likes of Isaac Newton. What would he do, out in the real world? He was brilliant enough to be a professor and witty enough to be a dean . . . except when his brain went off on some wild and wonderful journey through the realm of astronomy and mathematics. She’d known him to stay awake for three days straight, barely eating, working away until his hands were black with ink and he looked like a wraith from the grave. She’d given up scolding him about it years ago; he told her it was like a hurricane in his head, and he would have no peace until it blew itself out. Nor did he want peace from it—on the contrary, he reveled in those storms of thought that swept him away from her and everyone else on earth, into the exotic and thrilling world of numbers and stars and all sorts of things that enchanted him, but bewildered everyone else.
Alas, hurricanes of thought didn’t pay well. James, her dear James, had been so fond of Stephen. His affectionate kindness for Stephen, then only a gangly lad, had been what initially endeared him to Viola. When she married him, James had pledged to pay for Stephen’s schooling, and off her brother went to Cambridge.
But that came to an abrupt end when James’s heart gave out. His income was only for his life, and it turned out he hadn’t saved much for his widow—not that he’d had time, dying before his thirty-seventh birthday. Viola had been staring poverty and ruin in the face, and Stephen the loss of his place at Kings College.
The Duke of Wessex offered her a small stipend when she applied to him for help, as James’s most illustrious relation, but it wouldn’t have been sufficient to support both her and Stephen. Viola had swallowed her pride and asked for a position instead, with a regular, higher salary. As a secretary, she was able to send to Stephen enough for his school fees and books. If she instead had to pay for her own lodging and keep . . .
The tap on her door roused her from her growing anguish. She went still, suddenly gripped by fear that the dowager duchess might be sending for her already.
“Mrs. Cavendish?” called a low voice. “Viola?”
She gasped in relief, and went to open the door. “Good evening, sir. Do you require something?”
The Earl of Winterton stood there, looking penitent. “I wanted a word, if I may.”
Viola dipped a shallow curtsey. “If you please, sir, perhaps Mrs. Hughes or Withers—”
“No!” He lowered his voice and ran one hand over his hair, ruffling it into unruly dark curls. “I wanted to talk to you.”
She gripped the doorknob. The servants at Kingstag Castle were expected to be as respectable as the family. Socializing and romantic attachments were permitted, but only when conducted with propriety and decorum—and inviting the earl into her private rooms would be neither