Viola burst out laughing.
“I do not recall actually agreeing to be in the play,” the earl went on, although he was smiling now as well. “I suspect my nephew wrote my entire part, and I can only be grateful the rest of the guests shall be actors in the play as well, and not sitting in the audience watching.”
“I am so sorry,” Viola gasped, wiping at her eyes. “Lady Bridget is quite fanciful . . .”
“And Lady Sophronia is even worse!” he exclaimed quietly. “I shouldn’t say this, but I believe she patted me on my—er—hindquarters.”
Oh merciful God. Viola herself had noticed, more than once, that Winterton had exceptionally fine—er—hindquarters. And she knew Lady Sophronia had an eye for such things. “Perhaps it was inadvertent,” she suggested weakly.
Winterton gave her a look. He didn’t think so.
God save her. Viola could feel her face turning red. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, her voice shaking as she tried desperately not to laugh again. She could picture exactly how Sophronia would have lined it up.
Winterton’s face eased. “I took no offense. She reminds me greatly of my grandmother, who used to say she appreciated a pair of muscular calves on a man. She paid her footmen a bonus if they were strong runners, and not because they could deliver her messages faster. I hope I live to such a great age, when I may say what I like and not care a whit what others think about it.”
“I suspect Sophronia reached that age seventy years ago,” murmured Viola. “Thank you for being such an excellent sport about the play.”
He grinned. “When one travels, one learns to accept the unexpected and make the best of it. Often those surprising turns lead to the most memorable experiences of the journey. I find Lady Sophronia charming.”
Viola let out her breath in relief. No wonder Sophronia had patted his bottom; she must have recognized Winterton would let her get away with it. “I do as well,” she whispered, “but not everyone does.”
Winterton laughed. His eyes were so blue and friendly, and Viola found herself smiling back at him. Again.
The other guests came in then, discussing the play rehearsal in good spirits. Bridget had somehow procured a bucket of white feathers, and stuck them all over a coat and cap for Lord Gosling to wear in his role as a Lovesick Swan. The effect was quite ludicrous, but Gosling took the teasing in stride with a smile, declaring that he thought it a very handsome costume since Lady Bridget had made it herself. Bridget rolled her eyes at his flattery, but Viola could tell she was pleased. Bridget was pleased whenever anyone embraced her mad ideas.
When the butler announced dinner, Lord Winterton made sure to offer Lady Sophronia his arm. Viola’s heart gave a funny little jump at the easy way he had with the older woman. Sophronia was charming and amusing, when approached the right way—any sign of shock or indignation, and Sophronia would dig in with relish, purposely being even more shocking and inappropriate.
Viola went to take her own dinner before it was time to return to the party, to instill some order and decorum to whatever after-dinner activities Bridget persuaded Serena to do.
Tonight it was charades, which was perfectly acceptable. Viola settled at the side of the room and watched in amusement. As usual, Bridget’s riddle was ridiculous and took a very long time to guess. When Serena finally called out “chalk figures for dancing” and Bridget nodded, a small cheer went up.
“I wondered if anyone would ever solve it,” said a voice beside her.
Viola glanced at Lord Winterton. “Someone always does,” she assured him. “Lady Serena knows her sister well.”
They both turned to watch Serena, taking her place at the front of the room and pondering her riddle. She looked happier, Viola realized. The grave quiet air she’d worn for weeks after her engagement ended had vanished, and when she smiled at something Miss Penworth said in jest, it was open and warm. It brought a small curve to Viola’s own lips; all three Cavendish girls had become like younger sisters to her, and she took their sorrows and joys very much to heart.
“I heard she was recently disappointed in love.” Winterton sat on the settee beside her, his voice low enough no one else could hear. “She seems to be recovering.”
“Happily, she does.”
The earl glanced at her. “I heard the cruel young man was even invited to this party.”
Bridget, Viola reflected, had no discretion at all. “He’s not cruel,” she murmured in reply. “He’s young.” Young, handsome, and a very dashing duke. She didn’t know why the Duke of Frye had ended his engagement, but she couldn’t believe he’d done it to be cruel to Serena. Their families had been close for ages. And Serena didn’t look very brokenhearted anymore . . .
“Is there no chance of reconciliation?”
Winterton’s question startled her. “Oh! I’m sure I don’t know. But Frye hasn’t arrived, as you can see, so at the moment I rate it very low odds. He can never be forgiven if he never comes to beg forgiveness.”
He grinned. “Nor should he be.” For a moment they watched as Serena delivered her riddle. “Do you have an interest in the stars, Mrs. Cavendish?”
Viola blinked. “Stars in the sky?”
“Yes.”
“A little.” It made her think of Stephen. She had to blink back a sudden tear at the thought of her brother.
“Come with me,” the earl said. “It’s terribly cold, but the sky is beautiful. I thought you might like to see it.”
Her lips parted in surprise. And delight. After all, her brother might be looking at the same stars tonight. It was two days before Christmas, and it was the closest thing to sharing it with him she might have. “All right,” she said.
She cast one glance over the room as they slipped
