Viola smiled. And would also like to pinch Darden, as he seemed as if he were holding back laughter over the idea of the long walk.
“That was very considerate, Lord Baderston,” she said.
“I wonder,” he said, “if I might step forward to escort you into the supper later this evening?”
“That would be most pleasant,” she said.
Goodness, what was she saying? Most pleasant? It would be divine. It would be just as it ought to be. It would be perfect. Of course he must take her into supper. How else could it be?
Lord Baderston wrote his name down. As he handed her card to her and she slipped it on her wrist, a feminine voice was heard behind her.
“There you are, Baderston.”
Viola turned her head, certain she would see the wretched Lady Clara who’d had the temerity to attend a house party at the lord’s estate. Instead, it was a woman of late middle age.
“Mother,” the lord said.
His mother! Viola felt rather sick. For all the time she had dreamed of Lord Baderston, she’d not for a moment considered his family. He had a living mother, and that lady would need to approve of her.
The gaze of the patronesses suddenly seemed as nothing. It was this lady who must be pleased.
Lord Baderston cleared his throat and said, “Dowager Countess of Baderston, may I introduce you to the Earl of Westmont, Miss Mayton, Lord Darden, and Lady Viola Bennington. My mother so rarely comes to Town, Earl, that I must presume you are not acquainted.”
“On the contrary,” the earl said. “Though it has been very many years gone by, I do recall our meeting several times over one season, Countess. We were all very young and full of fun then.”
The dowager countess nodded, though she looked exceedingly cold about it. Viola would almost think the lady had reason to dislike her father.
That, of course, would be nonsense. Nobody in the wide world disliked her father.
Viola noticed the lady’s eyes drifting to her wrist and the card that was on it. She glanced down herself—Lord Baderston’s name down for supper was clearly visible.
The dowager countess frowned. “Have you yet seen Lady Clara?” she asked her son.
“Lady…uh…no,” Lord Baderston said, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
The dowager countess turned to the earl. She said, “I only mention Lady Clara as we had the very good fortune of seeing her and her parents on our estate over the summer. We are all very fond of Lady Clara.”
“I have not the pleasure of knowing her yet,” the earl said. “Darden, I suppose you are acquainted with Lady Clara?”
“Yes, certainly, a genial lady,” Darden said noncommittally.
“We do find her so,” the dowager said. “And of course both she and her family are above reproach. Sticklers for propriety is how I would describe it—they never put a foot wrong. Some people simply have the right instincts for it.”
Viola could feel her face growing red. It was one of the downfalls of her sort of coloring. Some ladies could hide their feelings, but hers raced to make a loud and public announcement.
Lord Baderston’s mother seemed practically enamored with Lady Clara and far less so with her. She’d hardly given Viola a glance after they’d been introduced.
“Baderston, do escort me inside,” the dowager said. She nodded to the earl and put her arm out for her son.
Lord Baderston did not look very enthused to be pulled away, but Viola supposed he had no choice. He bowed and took his leave, escorting his mother with her head held high.
“That was rather chilly,” Miss Mayton said.
“Chilly?” Darden said with a laugh. “It was more like we’d accidently wandered into an icehouse.”
“Yes,” the earl said thoughtfully. “I had not thought…”
“Does she not like me?” Viola asked. “Why? She does not know me at all. Goodness, she must not like the look of me, as that is all she’s had to go on.”
