“Is that the weak, infirm, dead king I’m to portray?” he asked, as if dreading the answer.
She tried to stop it, she really did; but a gasp of laughter escaped her, then another. “I’m terribly afraid so,” she said, her voice shaking.
Winterton sighed and hung his head as Viola bit her lips to keep the laughter bottled inside her. “At least I’m to be a weak, infirm, and ultimately dead monarch. Having been here a few days, I now know it could have been so much worse. A dead night-soil man, or a pickpocket.”
“Well. Yes.” Viola tried to speak normally. “But the king leaves a crown for the prince, while a pickpocket . . .”
“That depends on his skill at picking pockets, don’t you think?” The earl grinned impishly. “He might leave a ruby the size of a hen’s egg.”
She laughed again. “Or a tatty old handkerchief.”
“Ah, but it’s the chance of something more exciting that renders it interesting. I think Lady Bridget would agree with me.”
Viola shook her head, but still smiled. “No doubt. Bridget would write a scene having him pick the pocket of a mikado or a rajah, as simple as you please, in the heart of Westminster.”
“A rajah! Now that would be an interesting role.” The earl’s face lit up. “I’ve been talking to young Mr. Jones about India, as he intends to take a diplomatic post there.”
“Does he?” Viola hadn’t heard that about Mr. Jones, only that he was friends with the scoundrel Frye and therefore must be hateful, according to Alexandra. She also claimed he’d said something very unkind about Serena, but from Viola’s observations, he hadn’t meant it.
“Yes. He asked for my advice on the journey there. I gather Newton has told everyone I’ve traveled to every corner of the globe, and can’t bear to set foot in England.” He said the last with a grimace.
“Have you?” Viola blushed when he looked at her in surprise. “That is, I did hear that you are a great traveler. I’ve never been out of England, and can’t imagine what it’s like in India.”
“Do you long to see the world?” he asked, sounding interested.
She thought for a moment. “A little,” she replied at last. “Yes, I suppose I do. I never had the chance of it.” A clock chimed in the room behind them, making her guiltily aware that she was doing nothing, just standing in the corridor talking to the earl. “Shall we see if there is a suitable large book in the library?”
“Of course.”
“It’s not true that I can’t bear to set foot in England,” he said abruptly as they walked. “I’ve been home for almost a year now.”
“So long,” she murmured.
“So few people truly get to see the world,” he went on, almost as if trying to persuade her. “There are places so vastly different from England, one can hardly describe them. People so different than Englishmen. Art and food and music. I would hate to spend my entire life without seeing anything other than the village I was born in, perhaps a few other villages, and then only London for exotic sights.”
That rather perfectly described Viola’s own life. “How very fortunate that you were able to see more.” She opened the doors of the library. Bridget had completed most of her play, so everyone was off rehearsing in other rooms. The library was quiet and empty.
“I do feel fortunate.” The earl went to the French windows, opened the drapes, and gazed out at the snow. The wind had died, and the view was dazzling. “Those who have the means and the ability and the desire to travel ought to do so, to bring those far corners of the world home to those who stay.”
“So it’s your duty?” She smiled to take the sting off the words, but he still shot her a sharp glance. Viola put up her hands. “I don’t judge, my lord. You have the means and the desire; therefore it’s entirely your choice whether you stay or not.”
“Wouldn’t you go, if you could?”
Her smile turned wistful. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Everyone dear to me is here in England. It hasn’t felt like a great loss to remain home.”
He recoiled as if struck. “I didn’t mean it’s a loss to stay home.”
“And I didn’t mean it’s an indulgence to travel.” She hesitated. “Lord Newton is young. Life seems to pass so slowly when you’re young. You feel you will go mad if you can’t escape the ordinary drudgery of home and family. It’s only when you’re a bit older that you realize how easy it is to lose those things, sometimes without noticing until it’s too late.
“I expect he’s told everyone you’re impatient to be gone because he would like to explore the world—at least a bit of it beyond England’s shores—and because of his father’s death he cannot. He sees you as free to do as you please, and if he were free to do as he pleased, he would be on the first packet to France.” She stopped at his expression. “That is only my guess at his feelings.”
“No,” he said slowly, still staring at her. “No, I believe you’re correct.”
Viola felt her face heat. “You know him much better than I—”
“I doubt it.” Winterton’s eyes were piercing. “I’ve only seen him a dozen times since he was a boy.”
“Well.” It was astonishing how flustered she felt, just from him looking at her. “Perhaps you’ll become better acquainted with his thoughts and feelings during this visit.” She chewed her lip and changed the subject. “A large book. Perhaps an atlas would do?”
He tensed. “Pardon?”
“An atlas. Bridget said it must be a large book, and an atlas is the largest book I can think of.”
