Sycamore contented himself with that, but his objective was for her to like him exceedingly, one day, perhaps, even to love him as he already loved her.
“But, my dear,” Viola said, “you must admit that soldiers and sailors are a less controversial direction in which to aim the late marquess’s charity. The Magdalen houses have not proven to bring about any beneficial result, not consistently, whereas a soldier fed is plainly improved by the charity shown him.”
Jeanette held up a plate stacked with a dozen artfully decorated tea cakes. She made a mental game out of guessing in which order Viola would choose her sweets, and Viola did not disappoint. Lemon cakes had already disappeared, the raspberry would be next, followed by—after at least two demurrals—the lavender tea cakes.
She set the plate down next to Viola’s cup and saucer. “Precisely because the soldiers and sailors are the more popular cause, I prefer to devote my money to other struggles.” Not the late marquess’s charitable funds, which Jeanette was in the process of transferring to Trevor’s management. “How are the young ladies?”
Viola went off into a rhapsody about Diana’s vocal talent and Hera’s skill with a needle. Diana was soon to make her long-awaited come out, and fortunately for her, she was a sensible, pretty, good-humored young lady who knew how to curb her mother’s worst fashion suggestions.
Viola had many faults. She was no higher born than Jeanette, but comported herself with the airs and graces of the queen mother. She was a catty gossip, blind to her son’s faults, and desperate to see her younger daughters well matched, despite the older three settling for husbands who’d brought more devotion than means to their unions.
But Viola was also a loyal wife and mother, keenly protective of her offspring, and never openly critical of her husband. That last quality was a virtue, one Jeanette resented bitterly.
“Is Diana nervous about making her come out?” Jeanette asked as the first lavender tea cake met its fate.
“Nervous? Of course not. I have spent years ensuring my daughters are the equal of any occasion, most especially a court presentation. Diana will be a credit to the family, as all my children are.”
Jeanette wanted to shove the rest of the plate at Viola and summon the Vincent coach, but clearly Viola was working up to one of her grand sermons. She might have been an ally to a much younger Jeanette, might have tried to smooth the way with the marquess.
Viola hadn’t, not in the least. She’d waited for Jeanette to commit every possible misstep and then offered muttered platitudes such as marry in haste, repent at leisure as Jeanette’s consolation. Perhaps Viola had married in haste.
A thought like that would not have occurred to Jeanette a week ago, but a week ago, she had not been Sycamore Dorning’s lover—or his something. Twenty-four hours after rising from his bed, Jeanette was still agog at her own daring. Becoming intimate with him had been breathtaking, alarming, delightful, and altogether overwhelming.
Jeanette was counting the seconds until Sunday afternoon and also considering an immediate, extended repairing lease at the Vincent family seat. What had she done, and how soon could she do it again?
“How fares Jerome these days?” Jeanette asked.
Viola set down her tea cup. “Well you should ask, my lady. Well you should ask. Jerome has brought me the most shocking news regarding your step-son.”
Trevor was our marquess and his darling lordship when Viola eyed him as a possible husband for one of her daughters. He was your step-son when he’d tripped during the quadrille at the Portmans’ ball.
“I try not to pry into his lordship’s personal affairs, Viola. I suggest you maintain a cordial distance from them as well.”
“You can afford to be indifferent,” Viola said, perching on the edge of the sofa cushion like a laying hen about her business. “I must think of the family. What will people say when they learn that your step-son has taken up some sort of apprenticeship in a gaming hell?”
“The Coventry Club is a supper club, Viola, and if Tavistock finds the surrounds congenial, then we must look to Jerome for having introduced his lordship to that venue in the first place.” Jeanette had offered to take Trevor to the Coventry last autumn, but he’d never indicated a willingness to be seen there with his step-mother.
For which she, of course, did not blame him.
“Jerome is trying to prevent Trevor from stumbling into the worst sorts of mischief that young men get up to, so of course Jerome would accompany Trevor to such a place. His lordship would be a lamb to slaughter without Jerome’s guiding influence.”
A week ago, Jeanette would have stuffed a tea cake into her mouth and changed the subject to Diana’s presentation gown, which apparently boasted more pearls than the North Atlantic.
“According to an eyewitness,” Jeanette said, “Jerome has visited the Coventry on at least a half-dozen occasions. He goaded Trevor into playing hazard, made sure the marquess was plied with drink from every direction, and further inspired him to throw good money after bad.” Sycamore Dorning had seen the whole drama, and Jeanette was grateful that he had not intervened.
Trevor had lessons to learn that Jeanette could not teach him by wrapping him in cotton wool.
Viola smiled pityingly. “Trevor is becoming mendacious, isn’t he? Of course he’d spin you such a Banbury tale, because he is ashamed, but he’s too enthralled with a den of vice to simply pay his debts and walk away. I fear for my nephew, your ladyship, and for the influences bearing on him as he approaches his majority.”
Those influences included Jeanette, of course. “Speak to him, then,” Jeanette said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “He holds you in great affection and will surely abide by your guidance.”
Viola clearly wasn’t prepared for that salvo. She’d apparently been expecting Jeanette to promise to try to do better, whatever that meant, and
