He’d hired Pinkerton men to discover where Murdock was with no result. Cade had had disappeared from London after the ice-skating disaster. Murdock as well had pulled a trickworthy of an illusionist and vanished, and the circus didn’t exist anymore. Samuel didn’t shed a tear.
“Are you going to use your notepad, or will someone translate from sign language?” Captain Jackson asked.
“The earl found someone who will translate. Shall I tell Dobkins you say hello?”
The captain smiled. “Ah, lovely woman. Yes, if you can.”
When the carriage rolled to a stop, he hesitated before getting out. The last time he’d been at Huntington Hall, he’d stared up at Vivienne’s dark room, his heart broken. His life had changed drastically, but the pain of not seeing her lingered.
“Good luck.” Captain Jackson didn’t look out of the window although no one would recognise him immediately.
Samuel exited the carriage and straightened his fine coat and silk neckwear.
Huntington Hall hadn’t changed. Its white walls shone with a fresh coat of paint, the bay windows were framed by the same plush brocade draperies, and the marble stairs shone as if recently scrubbed. But the beautiful oak tree had been ruthlessly trimmed. Its branches didn’t reach Vivienne’s room any longer. They were fewer and thinner, lacking the vigour he remembered.
A footman welcomed him and showed him to a sitting room where Lord and Lady Huntington waited.
“My lord, my lady, Mr. Lyon is here.” The footman bowed.
Samuel bowed as well, one hand on his notepad.
All the breath was flushed out of his lungs when he saw Vivienne. For a moment, he couldn’t move, think, or sign.
Her lips parted, and her blue eyes sparkled with starlight. He had to clench his fists not to run to her, hug her, and sweep her off her feet. Controlling himself was the most difficult thing he’d ever done.
“Lady Huntington, Lord Huntington.” He wrote in his notepad. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Lady Vivienne.”
She replied with a nod. Her gaunt face had lost its roundness, and her raven hair wasn’t glossy anymore.
The countess had lost weight too, and her black gown contrasted with her paleness.
Lord Huntington nodded at the footman who left the room, and a moment later, a man entered, followed by Dobkins. She had changed, too. A few more strips of grey streaked her hair and wrinkles of worry crowned her gentle brown eyes.
She gave him a wide smile, then directed the tea service that arrived behind her.
“Take a seat, Lyon.” Lord Huntington gestured at the armchairs. “We’re eager to hear everything about your journey. Mr. Jones here is from the Deaf Institute.”
“Mr. Lyon,” Mr. Jones shook his hand. “I will translate for you.”
Sometimes not being able to use his voice was a blessing, as it was now. He sipped tea while Jones translated his answers to mundane questions.
He had the opportunity to steal glances at Vivienne who glanced back at him. Not warm glances. There was a coldness about her that bothered him.
He gave her a pointed look, with his hand hidden at his side and he signed for her only. “How are you?”
She put her cup down, lowered a hand and signed back, but her movements were sluggish as if she didn’t have the energy.
He didn’t understand what she said. “I’ve missed you.” He checked Lord and Lady Huntington were still listening to Jones. “When can I see you?”
She gazed away.
That was a punch in the stomach. If she didn’t want to see him, he wouldn’t impose his presence on her, but he’d hoped she would be as eager as he was to be together.
“You must come to our garden party tomorrow,” Lord Huntington said. “We’ll serve lunch and a few drinks, and raise money for charity.”
The countess gave him a small smile. “Please say you’ll join us.”
He couldn’t refuse, and it would be another possibility to see Vivienne.
