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“Nobody ever knows how to love. It just happens, or so I’ve been told. Ash said it was like falling off the edge of a cliff and hanging on to a rock for dear life, knowing that if you let go, if you stop clinging to that rock, you’d be dashed to your death. Perhaps loving Viola is your only chance at life, and not loving her, denying your love for her, would be flinging yourself into a waking death.”
West cocked his head. “I don’t feel like I’m falling. I’d already fallen as low as I could go. I was trapped beneath the ice, watching everyone else live their lives above me. Viola’s up there in the sunshine and there’s a frozen layer of ice between us. I can’t break through it. It’s too thick. I’ve been frozen too long. Not even the blaze of her smile can thaw my heart.”
Jax clapped a large hand onto his shoulder. “That’s a load of asinine nonsense and you know it. Go and talk to her instead of me. Tell her how you feel. See if her kisses might melt that frozen heart of yours.”
“She told me to read the letters my father wrote to me every week for months before his death.”
“You never read them?”
“I read the first few but they were all the same. Praise for my younger brother and disgust for me.”
“Sounds harsh.”
“Viola thinks that if I read the letters, one by one, as a kind of ritual, burning them afterward, it might help me forgive my father and relinquish my hatred for him.”
“Then do it. Read the letters. Life’s too short for regrets.”
“But it’s too late for me to change my wicked ways.”
“It’s never too late, Westbury. Don’t spend your life looking backward. What do you truly want in life?”
“All I want is to make her smile.”
“You might just get your chance sooner, rather than later,” said Jax, chuckling.
“What do you mean?”
“I met her once, you know. She came here with Ash’s wife, Henrietta. Miss Beaton was a shy little thing, glancing around warily. She was very adamant in her disavowal of gambling and all those who practiced the dark art.”
West smiled. “She’s very proper and buttoned-up. Wears these high-necked gray gowns with lace caps over her hair like she’s already a spinster but she’s young and pretty and talented. If you ever have the privilege of hearing her play the pianoforte... my God, you’d fall at her feet.”
“She’d never willingly visit here again?”
“Never. She called it a den of iniquity.”
“I see. And she’d never go anywhere alone, wearing a low-cut red gown...?”
“I told you, she’s very buttoned-up. What are you going on about?”
“Turn around.”
“Pardon?” West turned around. And nearly fell out of his chair. A woman stood near the doorway. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, in a glowing scarlet gown with a square neckline that dipped very low in front, and exposed so much of her lush charms, that every man in the room was staring at her bosom.
The woman saw him and her face broke into a seductive smile bracketed by the most adorable dimples.
“Viola?” West said, his head spinning as his two worlds collided.
He jumped off his barstool and closed the distance between them. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“I have money to wager.” She waved several banknotes at him.
“Don’t wave your money around, there are rough characters about.” West guided her into a secluded alcove. “And where did you get those banknotes?”
She stuffed them back into her reticule. “I followed your advice. I went to the publishing house, met with Mr. Atwater and Mr. Herrick, and revealed myself as Mr. Beam. They offered to publish my symphony, and I made a handshakecontract to deliver several more compositions. This is my first advance. Two hundred pounds,” she said proudly.
“You’ll take it directly to a bank tomorrow morning and deposit it for safekeeping.”
“Ha!” She wrinkled her pert nose. “You sound like a parson. Your sisters are having a night in with Aunt Miriam. My father is happily finishing his symphony. And I want to gamble some of this money away. Who knows? I might even win.”
