“Just so,” Viola said. “I will send the story round this very night, should I get the opportunity.”
“Excellent notion.”
Viola glanced at her sister’s day dress and said, “You do not attend Lady Hightower’s evening?”
“Conbatten felt the other ladies might be intimidated to see me there, after my performance of last year. He says it was much talked of. We do not wish to make anybody nervous, after all.”
Viola nodded. “Oh yes, you performed one of your travels through the world of music.”
“Exactly. So, instead of attending Lady Hightower this evening, we are having her to our house on the morrow for an intimate dinner, just the three of us. She will give us a full report on how the evening came off.”
“What shall you do this evening then?”
Rosalind sprawled on the bed. “I will visit with my sisters for a bit, they already wait for me in the drawing room. Apparently, they are using almonds to try to convince Chester to stop saying murder. Then later tonight, my dear Conbatten and I will have an intimate dinner, just the two of us. Then we will likely take a bath together, at precisely ninety-eight degrees, with chilled champagne.”
“He is very romantic, is he not, Rosalind?”
“Very. I positively adore him for it.”
“That is just what I would wish for,” Viola had said dreamily.
Rosalind had kissed her and run down the stairs, leaving Lynette to finish her work.
Now, Viola found herself and Miss Mayton in Lady Hightower’s drawing room and her plan was set to begin.
Lady Clara stood with them, which at first Viola had not been very enthusiastic about. She was the very lady who’d made a visit to Lord Baderston’s estate last summer and the very lady Lord Baderston’s mother favored.
After thinking on it, though, it seemed that a person like Lady Clara probably made quite a lot of calls around Town. If she was not mistaken, the lady was into her third season—she must know everybody. Certainly, the lady would wish to pass on some little tidbit she’d heard while she made her calls.
Viola gave her aunt a meaningful glance. Miss Mayton, understanding her perfectly, nodded. They would start the gossip on its way around Town.
“Being in London, and it being so new—original sights and sounds, you understand,” Viola said, “reminds me of when I almost set off for Gretna Green. Which I expect would have also seemed very new.”
“Gretna Green?” Lady Clara asked in alarm. “With…?”
“You see, it was a tinker’s son with red hair that asked her,” Miss Mayton said.
“A tinker?”
“His son. With red hair,” Viola reiterated. “I’m very partial to it.”
“Partial to tinkers, or red hair?”
“Red hair, of course,” Viola said.
“I see,” Lady Clara said coldly.
Viola hesitated just a bit. The idea of putting it about that she’d considered running off with a redhaired person was meant to be a compliment to Lord Baderston. She had not really thought through how Lady Clara would view it. She felt as if Lady Clara did not approve.
Did Lady Clara really have any designs on Lord Baderston? How could it be? If they were meant for one another, then certainly something would have been said when she’d stayed at his house over the summer.
“A tinker,” Lady Clara said softly. “Tell me, Lady Viola, what turned you from your purpose?”
“Oh, hmm, well, my father would have viewed it a very unfavorable match and I was far too young, in any case,” she said.
“I see,” Lady Clara said quietly. “Indeed, yes, I see.”
*
