Sebastian, clearly floundering, needed rescuing.
Viola inserted herself smoothly between Lady Jersey and her husband, gripping his arm and smiling up into his face. “No one at all. Aside from me, of course.” She patted his arm. “Shall wereturn home, my heart?” She had never called him ‘my heart’. Least of all in front of strangers.
Taken aback, he blinked. “By all means.” He was clearly nonplussed by both her and Lady Jersey’s behaviour.
Things did not improve once they stepped outside again. Viola wanted to bundle him into the carriage as quickly as possible before they had to endure further encounters, but it was too late.
A group of ladies came bearing down on them. “Mr Fane, an autograph, Mr Fane!” They waved books.
“Good heavens, it has come to this,” Cousin Georgiana gasped. “Quickly, into the carriage.”
“I didn’t know my speech caused so much excitement amongst the people,” Sebastian muttered, clearly perplexed, as he climbed into the carriage, barely evading a lady’s grasp.
“Trust me, my heart, this has nothing to do with your brilliant speech,” Viola muttered, firmly shutting the door against the female onslaught.
The carriage set in motion.
When they arrived home, Peregrine was waiting for them. He was pacing in their drawing room as though he had been there for hours. Viola’s stomach plummeted, for she knew why he was here.
“Lockwood.” Sebastian nodded at him coolly. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Fane.” Peregrine peered closely into his eyes. “Dash it, if she didn’t get the eyes right down to the precise shade,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. Nothing is the matter, right, Viola? I mean, Lady Viola?”
Viola closed her eyes to summon patience. “Lord Lockwood.” Turning to Sebastian, she said, “I believe this visit is for me. A message from my aunt in Scotland?”
“Yes. Yes. Absolutely. Aunt. Scotland. If you don’t mind us talking for a few minutes, Fane.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Very well. You have five minutes.”
“By George, he truly is pulling out his pocket watch to keep track of the time.” Peregrine shook his head in amazement as he watched Sebastian leave.
Viola planted her hands on her hips and scowled. “Peregrine. I await your explanation. How on earth did this happen? How could you allow this disaster to occur?”
He ran both hands through his hair, visibly agitated. “I know, Viola, I know. But you yourself gave me the folder. The story shocked me out of my socks. Good heavens, Viola. I thought I was used to reading the worst, I mean, the best, of course, but this was beyond anything. When I said ‘explicitly explicit’, I hadn’t thought you’d take me so literally. But it was so brilliant, so masterfully written,” he rushed on when Viola groaned, “I sent it to Piber and Brown and what would you know, they were so ecstatic they published it immediately and with great haste.”
Viola groaned. “This manuscript was never meant to be published. Ever.”
“Well, it is done, and there is no use crying over spilled milk. It is also the least of our problems,” he added in a mutter.
Viola’s head perked up. “What do you mean?”
His eyes shifted away.
“Peregrine!”
“The thing is this. I may have accidentally, quite unintentionally, entirely by mistake, you know… alsogiventhemthelettersthatwerehiddeninthepocketofthefolder.”
Viola blinked. “What was that?”
He cleared his throat and tugged at his cravat. “You forgot to take out the letters.”
Icy panic seized her stomach.
Her letters.
