The duke, who could deal with the visiting gentlemen, was away and not expected to return soon.
The duchess, who could organize activities to keep the young ladies occupied, was also away.
The dowager duchess, who could maintain order and decorum by sheer force of will, was confined to bed for several more days at least.
Lady Serena, nominally the hostess in her mother’s stead, could hardly be expected to supervise the friends who had been invited to cheer her after her recent heartbreak.
And that meant Lady Sophronia, who loved chaos and scandal more than she loved breath, would be in charge.
Viola recognized that she was the only person at Kingstag with any hope of preventing both chaos and scandal. She had expected that the duchess’s absence would offer her a bit of a reprieve from work, when she might have some time for herself. With no small amount of regret, she realized that instead of enjoying some cozy afternoons by the fire with a good book or writing letters, she would be keeping a keen eye on Lady Bridget’s play rehearsals, as well as on all the guests, especially the young ladies. Her heart sank at the futility of that endeavor. Perhaps she ought to keep her eyes on the gentlemen . . .
Then she blushed, thinking of keeping an eye on Lord Winterton. That wouldn’t be a hardship. Keeping her eyes off him would be harder. But he didn’t look like the sort to cause trouble with young ladies barely half his age—if anything, Viola thought the young ladies would be causing trouble over him.
Lord Newton, though, had gazed at Bridget with such interest, and Viola sighed.
“With luck the snow will be gone in a few days, and the gentlemen can be on their way—presuming His Grace hasn’t returned by then, that is. In the meantime, I’m sure there will be no trouble. I shall keep a keen eye on the whole party.”
The dowager still looked doubtful, but also relieved. “If you are confident you can maintain order, then I see no cause for alarm.”
“I can,” she promised the duchess with more confidence than she felt. “I give my word.”
A servant directed Wes to a large formal drawing room before dinner. He hadn’t seen Justin since shortly after they arrived, but he heard his nephew’s laugh as he approached the drawing room doors. Since he hadn’t heard Justin sound that happy in months, Wes’s step quickened in a mixture of interest and alarm.What could have pleased him so much?
The sight that met his eyes was both wonderful and confounding. Justin wore a blindfold and was seated on a chair in the midst of several young ladies. He wore a wide grin. A handful of other people stood about the room, some watching the spectacle with amusement, some with disapproval. Wes’s main concern was his nephew; what on earth—?
“Good evening, Lord Winterton,” said a woman beside him, and he instantly forgot all about Justin.
He bowed. “Good evening to you, Mrs. Cavendish.”
She smiled. Tonight she wore a stylish green dress that matched her eyes and displayed her figure beautifully, and he felt a stir of dangerous interest as he looked down at her. “Some of the ladies begged Lord Newton to play a game with them.”
“He appears to be enjoying it.” Justin said something, too quietly for Wes to hear, but a burst of laughter from the group indicated his nephew was in excellent humor tonight. “Very much,” he added wryly.
“The aim of every hostess.” She said it lightly, but Wes caught a note of something else in her voice. Tension? Alarm? Good God, what had Justin done? They’d only been here an hour. “May I present you to the other guests?”
“That would be very kind of you.” He offered her his arm, partly out of manners, but mostly out of eagerness to draw her a little closer. She blinked as if startled—and then laid her hand on his sleeve. Even that slight pressure sent a shock wave through him. Wes inhaled deeply, and almost went light-headed on the scent of her: rosemary and lemon. It made him think of Italy, and the hot Tuscan sun above the villa where he’d spent a glorious four months several years ago. He let her lead him across the room.
By the time he made the acquaintance of Lady Serena, the ostensible hostess; Viscount Gosling and Mr. Jones, two visiting gentlemen; Lady Jane Rutledge, a neighbor; and a brother and sister called Penworth who were apparently Cavendish cousins, Wes felt distinctly old. Mrs. Cavendish might be near his age, and Lady Sophronia, an elderly relation, was far older, but everyone else was much more Justin’s peer.
That could be taken in two ways. First, advantageously, as it seemed they had stumbled into the exact sort of party that might bring out Justin’s more polished side and encourage him to behave in a more appropriate manner.
But second, it also meant far more temptation for his rash and headstrong nephew, and therefore greater risk that Justin would forget himself and do something stupid. Wes felt every one of the eleven years he had on Justin.
“I apologize again for intruding on the party,” he told his companion, watching as the young people continued their game.
Her cheeks were the most entrancing shade of pink. “Please don’t think of it as an intrusion! I feel certain that if the duke were here, he would have urged you to stay. And I must say, your arrival was very welcome to the young ladies, especially Lady Bridget.”
“Yes, she seems very cheerful.”
To prove his point, the girl in question let out a shout of laughter, clutching her belly as she did so. “Bravo,” called Lady Sophronia, sitting on a sofa nearby.
Wes ducked his head closer to Mrs. Cavendish. “What game are they playing?” he murmured. The bright scent of lemon was driving him to distraction. He wanted to breathe her in forever.
“One of
