“You made the right decision,” Viola said. “Typhus is a terrible disease. Many people died, but more would have done so had it not been for Florian and Juliette. His immunity and dedication served us well, as did her idea to quarantine those with symptoms on a ship.”
“But you did your part as well, I’m sure,” Mr. Lowell said.
Viola took a sip of her wine. “I kept the hospital running.”
“Which is no small feat,” Coventry said.
The rest of the group nodded. “It is unusual for a woman to involve herself with medicine,” Huntley said. “At an administrative level, I mean.”
“What are you implying?” Gabriella asked with raised eyebrows while Amelia gave her brother an equally expectant look—the sort that ought to warn the duke to tread carefully at the moment.
“Merely that I have only heard of women being nurses. Viola is the only female physician I have ever met.”
Viola almost choked on the wine she was drinking. “I am not a physician, Huntley. I am merely St. Agatha’s patroness.”
“I think we can all agree that you’re far more than that,” Mr. Lowell said.
Feeling a flush spread across her cheeks, Viola willed herself to regain her equanimity. The effect he was having on her could not be denied, and she wasn’t the least bit sure what to do about it. “All I have done is provide a building.”
Silence ensued for a length of time before Gabriella remarked, “But you renovated that building.”
“And you see to the daily running of it,” Amelia added.
“From what I have been able to gather, you even assist with the surgeries,” Coventry said.
“Which must require some medical training,” Huntley told her.
Viola glanced at them each in turn. “Renovating the building was not as complicated as you might think. I merely hired a foreman who handled everything on my behalf.”
“Having renovated a building of my own,” Amelia said, “I know it is not as simple as that. There are always decisions to be made and work to check up on.”
“Well yes, I suppose that is true,” Viola agreed. “I just never really thought much of it.” She flattened her lips and knit her brow while thinking back on the project she’d undertaken right after her husband’s death. It had been staggering in its magnitude, but the distraction had been a welcome one. It had given her something else to focus on besides her husband’s relations, who’d made no effort to hide their dislike of her when they’d shown up for the funeral.
A waiter arrived, setting down plates before them. Viola’s mouth watered as she looked at her salmon, perfectly pink and decorated with a light drizzle of mustard sauce, a curled lemon slice and dill. Picking up her cutlery, she cut a piece and popped it in her mouth, the buttery texture and zesty flavor a decadent treat for her taste buds.
“Good?” Mr. Lowell queried so low only she would be able to hear.
Viola nodded. “Mmm-hmm.” She washed down the bite with some wine and stabbed the salmon with her fork while saying, “My father believed in gender equality, so he taught me everything he knew.” She shrugged a little on that thought. “The fact that he had no sons is probably also worth mentioning at this point.”
“It is a minor detail,” Mr. Lowell said. “What matters is the opportunity you were granted.”
“I agree,” Gabriella said. “Women are just as capable of learning things as men. Limiting us to playing instruments, doing needlework and looking pretty is a waste.”
Coventry tilted his head. “While I agree—especially after witnessing my own wife’s ability to run a business—I do think many would argue that keeping a home in order is no simple feat.”
“You’re right,” Gabriella said. “It isn’t. Especially not when there are servants to manage and parties to host. It can be something of a logistical problem at times. But”—she dipped her chin and served her brother-in-law a very frank stare—“I will still encourage my daughter to follow her dreams. Whatever they may be.”
“Let us not forget that if you’d been allowed to follow yours, my dear,” Huntley said, “you and I might never have met because you would have been off chasing insects in some exotic location.”
Gabriella blushed. “I’m ever so glad I wasn’t.” Her eyes met her husband’s and her blush deepened, inciting a twinge of envy deep inside Viola’s chest.
She’d fulfilled her dream, Viola reminded herself. What need had she for anything more? The question prompted her to glance in Mr. Lowell’s direction, and for a second, she could not help but be caught up in the way his jaw worked as he chewed his food.
Ridiculous.
She returned her gaze to her own plate before he could notice her perusal, worried he might believe she was falling for him if he caught her looking. And then he’d probably flirt with her even more, which would not be the least bit helpful. For if there was one thing she really didn’t need, it was to give another man the power to crush her heart, no matter how tempting it was to do so.
Chapter 9
When Henry felt the heat of her gaze against his skin, it took every bit of willpower he possessed to stop himself from turning toward her and meeting those silver eyes that sparkled like moonbeam-kissed puddles. How she was able to dismiss them as dull was beyond him, for in truth, they were more unusual than any he’d ever seen and thus more intriguing.
But it wasn’t just her eyes that were different, it was Viola herself. Her uniqueness made him want to understand her, to pick apart her brain and figure out why it worked the way it did. It also made him realize that treating her the way he’d treated other women in the past would get him nowhere. So he allowed her curious regard of him while feigning ignorance.
She was dedicated to her work and didn’t flaunt the position. In fact, considering he’d never seen her make a public appearance, she either valued her privacy or did not care for Society. Possibly both. Or maybe she did not want to face gossip, which was something she probably would when considering her age, her looks, and the fact that she’d married a man old enough to be her grandfather and gained an impressive title in the process.
Thinking back on his recent conversation with Robert, Henry couldn’t for the life of him align the selfish woman his friend had described with the one sitting beside him. She didn’t seem to have a single malicious bone in her body. But on the other hand, he couldn’t understand her reason for wanting to marry an old man unless it had been to acquire his title and fortune. And the fact that she came from few means was not exactly a point in her favor, so he could understand why Robert would assume the worst of her. Still, Henry was sure he was missing something. The facts didn’t quite add up.
He reached for his glass and took a sip, aware that she’d given her attention back to her own plate. To his left, Gabriella was telling her husband about the latest spider she’d caught. An impressive find, apparently. Henry shuddered. He’d never cared for insects and was of the opinion that they didn’t belong in the City. So he allowed himself to continue his contemplations instead while enjoying his close proximity to Viola.
She’d tried to hide the fact that she could not read without spectacles, which was silly, even though he did understand her. Because the only people who ever ventured out in public with such an accessory tended to be well into their dotage and beyond the point of caring what others might think. Viola, however, definitely cared. She had not wanted him or anyone else to know she had an impairment. She also hadn’t wanted them to see what she looked like wearing spectacles, which was why he’d tried to ease her mind a little by suggesting he rather fancied the idea of seeing her like that.
In response, her cheeks had turned a delightful shade of pink, the color sweeping down her neck and out of sight since he’d sworn not to glance at her décolletage again. Doing so when she’d first arrived had been enough. A series of dastardly thoughts had followed, like the idea of kissing his way across that wide expanse of creamy perfection, of licking the swells of her breas
ts, of dipping his finger beneath the taut fabric and . . .
He’d forced a laugh and led his guests toward their table in the hope of concealing his inappropriate reaction.
Coventry grinned at something Amelia was saying and Henry smiled, reminded of the happiness his own brother had found with his wife, Juliette. He hoped they were both enjoying their travels. His smile broadened and he popped the last bite of food into his mouth. Of course they were, because they had each other. In spite of scandal, they’d found the sort of companionship and love Henry dreamed of.
Sipping his wine, he gave Viola a cautious look as she dabbed her mouth with her napkin. For now, there was no denying his desire to court her and wed her was based on everything other than love, like physical attraction and admiration. It was too soon for it not to be, but surely with time love could bloom, could it not? After all, his reasons for choosing to pursue her weren’t based on attraction alone. It also had to do with her drive, her kindness toward others and her obvious determination to resist his charms, which only made him want her more. He genuinely enjoyed her company, was thrilled when he’d witnessed the pleasure she found in card play and was pleased by her fondness for puzzles. He could already picture them working out riddles together in the Sunday paper and trying to best each other at games.
And she had the meanest-looking dog he’d ever seen. He wasn’t sure why he found that so endearing, but there was just something charming about the unexpectedness of it. Add to that the various layers of her personality, of which he suspected there were many, most of which he’d yet to discover. And since he also had a penchant for puzzles, it only made sense that he wanted to solve her.
“The way I choose to decorate the space is extremely important,” she was telling Gabriella. Henry’s ears perked up. He listened with greater attention while the waiters cleared their plates. “I want it to be different from anything else people are used to, which is why I decided to aim for a Persian theme.”
“Are you talking about the rejuvenation center?” he asked, recalling the intricately carved wooden door he’d seen there, the impressive mosaic floor and the elaborate mural artwork adorning the walls. It had brought to mind every story he’d read in his well-used copy of The Arabian Night’s Entertainment.
Viola nodded. “Yes. It’s time for me to start purchasing furniture and decor. Unfortunately I haven’t had time yet, and with the grand opening coming up, I really must get started on it. The only problem is, I’m not sure where to look for Persian-looking things, which worries me a little.”
“I wish I could help,” Gabriella said, “but the only foreign design elements I’ve seen in recent years have been Greek, Roman and Egyptian.”
“Those have been quite the rage,” Coventry said, joining the conversation. “My aunt redid her entire home in the Greek style a couple of years ago. Cost her husband a fortune!”
Henry considered the problem carefully before saying, “Perhaps I can help.” Viola’s eyes brightened to a shade that revealed a hint of blue. Fascinating. “There’s a large market in Woolwich where vendors sell a hodgepodge of furniture and knickknacks from all over the world—things merchants have picked up and can’t get rid of in any other way. I’ve always enjoyed taking a stroll there to see the things they put on display. Picked up an automaton from there last year for next to nothing. When I had it evaluated I was told it was made by Pierre Jaquet-Droz or possibly by one of his sons.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” Coventry said. The waiters, who’d now arrived with the main courses, set the plates before them.
“Neither had I,” Henry said, “but it turns out he was a late eighteenth-century watchmaker who designed and built these animated dolls to advertise his business, which also specialized in mechanical birds.” He proceeded to cut his pork.
“How intriguing,” Viola said with the sort of interest Henry wished he could hold in the palm of his hand and admire forever. “So what can yours do?”
He smiled, pleased to have piqued her curiosity. “He can write.” And with that statement, Henry stuck a piece of meat in his mouth.
“He?” all three ladies asked in unison.
Knowing he had them—and most especially, Viola—riveted, Henry swallowed his bite and grinned. “My automaton is a boy. Looks like he’s about five years old.” He reached for his glass and paused with his fingers around the stem. “He can pen a custom text up to forty letters in length.”
Silence. And then, “But how?” Viola asked.
Henry set his glass to his lips and drank while savoring this moment. His heart beat a steady rhythm, aligning itself completely with her advancing curiosity, which was like an army whose march he’d redirected.
“A crank winds the mainsprings and then there are stacks of gears that determine the text. When he writes, he dips his quill in ink and even follows the nib with his eyes. It’s really quite astounding.” Deliberately, Henry chose not to offer a viewing of it. If Viola desired to see the automaton, he wanted her to ask. So he ate a bit more food while the rest of the party did the same and then he said, “So, considering my own find, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if the sort of decor you require can be located at the Woolwich market.”
“Perhaps we ought to ride out there tomorrow and take a look,” Gabriella suggested.
Viola beamed. “Oh, indeed, I would love that. Thank you, Gabriella.”
“Can you spare the morning, Lowell?” Amelia asked.
“I have no other plans,” he said.
“Are you sure it’s no inconvenience?” Viola asked him softly, as if she felt obliged to do so while secretly hoping he wouldn’t say that it was.
“Not at all,” he assured her. “I believe it will be most diverting.”
“We’ll need two carriages,” Coventry said.
“We can pick up Viola at, say . . . nine o’clock?” Huntley suggested.
“I look forward to it already,” Viola said with a smile so radiant it made Henry’s chest swell with deep satisfaction.
He allowed himself an inward cheer. Acquiring her friendship, earning her trust and finally wooing her required perseverance and time. Fortunately for him, he had these traits in ample supply, because building a business required both. And now that he’d done so and met with success, he had no doubt about his abilities where Viola was concerned.
When dinner ended, punctuated by a marvelous selection of cream cakes and champagne, the gentlemen stood and helped the ladies rise. Since Gabriella and Amelia were already paired off with their husbands, it came as no surprise that it was Mr. Lowell who pulled back Viola’s chair and offered her his arm.
She accepted, even though the butterflies flapping around in her belly were warning her not to. After all, she had no desire to like him as well as she already did or to find him amusing. She did not want to acknowledge that she invariably ended up enjoying his company in spite of her best efforts not to. Because doing so was bound to lead to trouble.
Especially since she had no intention of ever remarrying. Freedom was not an easy thing for a woman to come by and yet she’d managed to gain it. To give it up would be foolhardy. She was used to keeping her own schedule, to managing her own accounts and engaging in proper work. Having a husband tell her she ought to stay home and mind the children was not the sort of life she aspired toward.
So then the only remaining option if she were to allow a man’s attentions—and there was still a very big if—would involve becoming a mistress, and that was absolutely out of the question. Although she supposed she could consider a brief affair, if the need arose, but if anyone were to find out about it her reputation would suffer and her businesses along with it. Which was something she absolutely could not allow.
“Are you ready for the game of billiards I promised?” Mr. Lowell inquired as they left the restaurant. “I find a bit of competitive sport invigorating after a tasty meal.” He led them all down a corridor and into a large room where five felt-covered billiard tables
stood side by side, one of which was already being used. At the far end of the room was a comfortable seating arrangement, and at the other a counter where visitors could request drinks from a waiter.
Viola’s nerves thrummed with sudden excitement. Her enthusiasm over the prospect of learning this game had been growing ever since Mr. Lowell had made the suggestion the previous day and peaked upon seeing one of the players at the first table shoot a white ball toward a colored one. It made a satisfying clunk before propelling the second ball into a corner pocket.
Mr. Lowell leaned closer, bringing a waft of sandalwood with him. “It isn’t hard. I will teach you the basics in no time at all.”
Although she knew she was being unwise when his scent alone was doing peculiar things to her insides, Viola could not say no.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her skin tightening in response to the slow slide of his arm against hers as he released her.
“I think you’ll love it,” he said with a smile, eyes dancing with pure exhilaration before he turned away and went to select a cue stick.
Viola’s heart thudded against her chest. He was unbelievably attractive, and for reasons she still couldn’t fathom, he was interested in her.
“Ready?” Mr. Lowell asked as he came to stand beside her, cue stick in hand.
Huntley and Coventry were already playing against their wives at other tables, and for a few seconds their game had distracted Viola. She sucked in a breath in response to Mr. Lowell’s sudden proximity. He wasn’t touching her at all, and yet, for reasons she could not explain, it felt as though he was.
“Yes,” she managed to say. The word came out breathy, causing her to wince.
If he noticed, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he indicated the three balls waiting to be put into play. “As you can see, there is one white, one yellow and one red. The white and the yellow are cue balls and each player has his”—he flashed a smile—“or her own. You can be white and I shall be yellow. The aim of the game is for each of us to use our cue balls to knock the red ball into one of the pockets.”
The Infamous Duchess Page 11