The dowager had not believed it, but she could not find a way to stop him.
Now, he was lurking by the front doors near a column. He would step behind it if he caught sight of the dowager, and step in front of it if he caught sight of Lady Viola.
*
This was it.They were in the carriage and on their way to Almack’s. Viola glanced down at her marvelous dress—a lilac silk with a netting overlay in a shade darker.
Rosalind and Beatrice were right, a dress such as this could give a lady courage.
She did need courage at this very moment.
Viola had discovered, as Lynette had dressed her, that it was one thing to daydream about a gentleman, and another to consider actually encountering him.
Daydreaming had felt quite safe, while reality felt quite fraught. Daydreaming had allowed her to direct what everybody would say and do—whathewould say and do.
Now, she was to discover what he would say and do on his own, no longer the marionette of her imagination.
That, and knowing she was minutes away from walking into Almack’s and being examined by the patronesses, sent a shiver running down her spine.
The earl patted her hand. “You are very quiet, Viola, which makes me think you are anxious regarding this first outing.”
“I am, rather,” Viola confessed.
“Put your nerves aside,” Darden said. “The Benningtons always stack up rather well, in my experience.”
“That is very true,” Miss Mayton said. “All of us must be admired wherever we go. I do remember how solicitous Lady Jersey was to see me in my widow’s weeds last season.”
The earl and Darden glanced at each other as if they were surprised to hear it.
Her aunt had continued on with wearing black, having several new gowns in bombazine made for her. Just now, she rustled with every shifting.
Viola could not know what Lady Jersey had thought of her aunt’s mode of dress. It was not usual that a lady who’d never married now dressed in mourning for a husband who had never been. Of course, she knew that. But then, there was a certain romance to the idea too. Miss Mayton was in mourning over a loss—quite a few losses actually—and it hardly mattered that there had never been a meeting in a church.
“Here we are,” the earl said as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Be of good cheer and light heart, my dear. By the time you get home this night, you will laugh at the nerves that assault you now.”
Viola hoped that was true. It would be very uncomfortable to go about always feeling as if your heart was about to fly out of your body.
A footman helped her down to the ground.
In what seemed to be time moving both faster than it ought and slower than it ought, vouchers were examined, tickets handed in, and into the foyer they went.
Viola’s breath caught. There he was, Lord Baderston, looking even more glorious than she remembered.
It was just as they’d all imagined—he’d been there waiting for her. She was sure of it. His eyes had locked on hers and he hurried forward.
“Lady Viola,” he said, the warmth of the timbre of his voice sending the blood to her cheeks.
“Lord Baderston,” she said with a curtsy. “You know Miss Mayton, and Darden too, I think.”
Lord Baderston bowed. “Miss Mayton. Lord Darden.”
“And this is my father, the Earl of Westmont.”
“My lord,” Lord Baderston said. “A pleasure to know you.”
Viola’s father nodded graciously at Lord Baderston.
“Lady Viola,” Lord Baderston said, “I have taken the liberty of retrieving your card. It can be a long walk to the cloak room.”
