“So, Mrs Sable,” Sebastian said when he returned, giving her a quixotic look. “I do not know why I never made the connectionearlier, since the evidence was always there. I would never have seen it, however, had it not been for Cousin Georgiana.”
“It was a mistake,” Viola burst out. “This book was never meant to be published. Oh please do not read it.” She tore it from his hands as he bent to pick it up. “I wrote it when I was very green and very angry, and I poured all my emotions onto the page, only for myself. It was never intended for any other eyes. Somehow there was a mix-up, and I gave the wrong folder to Lockwood.”
“Lockwood.” He frowned. “What role does he play in all this, pray? I am finding his perpetual nosing about you increasingly irritating.”
“He is a friend, as I told you, but also my manager. He discovered I write stories, and it was thanks to him they were published in the first place. He is in direct contact with the publishers and assures me that my anonymity is being safeguarded. But Sebastian,” she wrung her hands, “I did not know that in that folder there were letters I had written to you as well, which he accidentally handed over to the publisher. I wrote them to you over the years but never sent them.” Her voice faltered. “I was quite candid about my feelings and my day-to-day life, and my writing, and it is perfectly clear from reading them I am Selina Sable. They are addressed to you.” She drew in a shaking breath. “They are to be published as a pamphlet tomorrow. Oh Sebastian, I fear it will be a tremendous scandal.”
He frowned. “This does not appear to be an accident.”
“Lockwood assures me it is.”
“And how much does he profit from all this? Surely, he receives a considerable portion of your royalties in recompense.”
Viola named the percentage.
“Ah. Viola.” His voice sharpened. “Are you entirely out of your mind to hand over the greater part of your earnings to thatcad? Of course, he is milking you for every penny. That alone might be incentive enough, don’t you think?”
“But, but…he is my manager.” She faltered. Somehow, she had not imagined that Sebastian would be more incensed by her arrangement with Peregrine than by his own impending ruin. “But isn’t that beside the point? The letters are being printed as we speak. By tomorrow at the latest, the entire country will know about you. And me.” She swallowed. “It will be a scandal that eclipses even Lord Byron’s disgrace concerning his half-sister.” The rumour mills had exploded years ago with whispers of an illicit attachment, and the world had not forgotten.
Voices sounded in the hallway as the butler admitted a visitor.
“I must speak to him,” an agitated male voice declared. “It is of the utmost urgency.”
“Peterson,” Sebastian groaned. A fellow Member of Parliament.
“But Sebastian, there is something else I need to tell you?—”
“We shall have to continue this discussion later, Viola.”
She watched him retreat unhappily, knowing that later would be far too late.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She had fallenasleep while waiting for him.
She had not meant to. She had intended to stay awake, to be there when he returned, to tell him all that she hadn’t been able to tell him yet. But her body had betrayed her. The exhaustion of early pregnancy was relentless, and when her maid had gently suggested she lie down for just a moment, she had not had the strength to refuse.
She had slept through the night without stirring. Sebastian must have come to bed at some point; the pillow beside hers still held the impression of his head as evidence that he had been there right beside her, but she had not woken. She had slept through it, and now he was already gone. Parliament did not convene until the afternoon, but the butler informed her he had left at dawn because of some urgent matter.
Her stomach gave a nervous lurch as she could imagine what that ‘urgent matter’ would be.
The hours crawled by. The house was unnaturally quiet, as though the very walls were holding their breath. She’d perused the newspapers that morning, but there had been nothing noteworthy in them. Yet. If the letters were publishedthat morning,The Evening Timeswould certainly be the first newspaper to report on it…followed by all the other gossip rags.
When the footman finally appeared to announce Lady Penworthy, Viola nearly leapt out of her skin.
“Viola.” Josephine rushed toward her and seized both her hands. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes briefly. “My letters were published.”
“Yes.” A pause. “You knew?”
“I knew. And the scandal is immense.”
A beat of silence followed, and then Josephine’s grip tightened. “They are talking of nothing else.”
Viola began to tremble. “Fane went to Parliament this morning.” Her voice failed. “How bad is it?”
Josephine bit her lip, visibly wrestling with herself. “I was there. I listened from the ventilator. He took the floor to defend a motion, but they would not let him speak. They interrupted with accusations. What moral authority could such a man claim, they asked, when his own wife was publishing such filth?” She squeezed Viola’s hands. “He defended you, Viola. Brilliantly. He was magnificent, and he very nearly brought the House to his side through sheer force of will. But then…” she faltered.
