No matter. This evening could not have gone any better.
As he approached his house, the groom he’d made arrangements with slipped out of the shadows and walked Tempest quietly back to the stables.
Roland himself slipped down the narrow mews and entered the house through the servants’ entrance.
It was too glorious a moment to encounter his mother in a champagne-soaked ruff and a temper.
*
Viola had risenvery late. It was one of those delicious mornings when she’d awoke far too early, it was just a bit chilly in the room and so rolled over. She thought of it as a “second sleep” and found it a delightful thing to do.
She supposed she had dreamed of Lord Baderston, though she could not recall where her mind had wandered in her slumbers.
The carriage ride home from Lady Bloomington’s had found a rather sobered Miss Mayton. The earl had served her cup of tea after cup of tea in the card room.
“I’m sure I do not understand how the champagne got away from me,” she’d said.
The earl, always so kind, had said, “Many a person has wondered that very same thing after one of Lady Bloomington’s masques. It is indeed hard to keep track when the footmen are so quick to hand out another glass.”
“I do hope Lord Baderston was not too put out about the mishap?” her aunt asked her.
Viola smiled. Her aunt had now several times referred to knocking the dowager to the floor as “the mishap,” as if it had little to do with her.
“Not at all,” Viola said, happy to put her aunt’s mind at ease. “He thought very little about it.”
This seemed to put the earl’s mind at ease too and so they happily continued on to Portland Place. Miss Mayton, being rather tired from her adventures, had retired at once.
Viola found her sisters asleep in her bed. She crawled in with them and woke them up to whisper to them the happenings of the evening. She told them of the lovely times with Lord Baderston and the fate of the dowager’s ruff at the hands of their aunt, assisted by four glasses of champagne.
They all fell asleep as Juliet worked to compose an ode to a wet dowager.
Now, the sun had risen in the sky and she’d entirely missed breakfast. Lynette, always so practical, had arranged for a tray to be sent into the drawing room. Viola hurried down the stairs to find her sisters there.
“Murder, murder, murder!” Chester said, by way of greeting.
“Good morning to you, too, Chester,” Viola said.
Cordelia and Juliet were at the windows, looking across the street. “Viola, do come and see,” Juliet said.
Viola hurried to her sister’s side. Both of Van Doren’s carriages were stopped in front of his house, and the viscount himself was out there directing footmen running in every direction.
“What do you suppose he’s doing?” Viola asked.
“We do not know,” Cordelia said, “but it is very odd. We’ve just watched a vast number of pillows being stuffed into one of the carriages. We think he is preparing to transport something very delicate—an old oil painting, or a porcelain figurine, perhaps.”
“Though we cannot think why he’d need two carriages to do it or where he would be taking it.”
“You do not think he’s taking things to auction?” Viola asked. “Beatrice has not said a thing about money troubles.”
“Van Doren? Money troubles?” Juliet said, laughing. “He’s far too sensible about his estate for that. Beatrice says he is out with his steward nearly every day and he visits his tenants more than they probably appreciate. I know I would not like seeing him forever at my door.”
“Oh, look there, Jules,” Cordelia said, “the footmen are putting luggage into the second carriage. They must be going somewhere!”
“Beatrice never said they were going anywhere,” Viola said.
Miss Mayton came into the room, and it must be said that she looked rather bleary-eyed. “There you are, girls. Goodness, what a head I have this morning. What is it we’re doing?”
“It is not whatweare doing, but what is Van Doren doing?” Viola said.
