Lady Carstairs received them beneath a portrait of a horse. She was small and bright, sixty perhaps, with diamonds at her ears too large for the rest of her. Her gaze found Violet first and stayed there, and the warmth in it was immediate and entire.
“So this is she.” She took Violet’s hand in both of hers. “You are not what they promised, my dear. They promised me something wild from Hampstead, and here is a composed woman in the loveliest gown in the room.” She tightened her grip around Violet’s hand briefly then let go. Not enough to hurt her butenough to signal:I have a messageorYour sleeve plumper has deflated.
Then she turned to Henry. The warmth left her face, replaced by contempt.
“Iredell.” She did not offer her hand. “I shall keep your duchess by me. You will find the card room through the gallery. I trust you will be civil, though I confess the evidence for that expectation is thin.”
A gentleman with the look of the law about him claimed Henry almost at once and steered him toward the card room. Two older gentlemen near the door watched Henry pass and did not bow. One turned his shoulder. Henry looked back at Violet once before the doorway took him, and the look was not easy.
Lady Carstairs took Violet on her arm as though nothing had happened. Her hand covered Violet’s where it rested in the crook of her elbow, a small anchoring pressure that saidyou are under my protection.
It went worse than Violet had braced for. A pair of women by the pier glass watched her come and turned, between one breath and the next, to study the curtains. A gentleman bowed to Lady Carstairs and let his eyes pass over Violet. An older duchess to whom Violet was presented gave a smile with nothing behind it, showing her back before Violet had finished curtseying. The rejection moved ahead of her through the room.
“Stupid creatures,” Lady Carstairs muttered beside her. “Do not worry, my dear. There is no one in London I cannot make behave.”
And she did. She planted Violet beside a marchioness who had known her grandmother and stood guard until the old lady thawed. She produced two young wives near Violet’s age, kinder than the rest, who wanted only to know whether the sleeves were truly to be worn so wide and whether she had her gloves from Paris.
“You will do,” Lady Carstairs said in her ear when the young wives had moved off. “Stand here a moment. There is a bishop by the window I cannot decently leave to drown, and then I shall come back and steal you the good champagne.” She pressed Violet’s arm and was gone.
“You are the fourth,” a new voice said.
A woman of forty or so had come to stand beside her, golden-haired and sharp-featured, wearing the sort of expression that had decided not to trouble itself with pleasantries. She did not smile.
“Do not be alarmed. I have not come to make a scene. I came to look at you.” She studied Violet with frank appraisal. “I am Lady Wharton. The first wife of your husband was my sister.”
Violet went very still.
“You did not know,” Lady Wharton said.
“No,” The word came out too quickly. Violet steadied herself against the mantelpiece with one hand. “I have heard of your sister, Elizabeth. I did not know this was her family’s house. I was not told.”
The woman snorted through her nose. “I am not surprised. Henry conserves words like he might need them in winter.”
“I do not understand why Lady Carstairs would have me in her home,” Violet said.
“You must think us very strange.” Lady Wharton’s eyes met hers. “I will be direct with you, Your Grace, because you speak your mind plainly.” She turned so that they stood side by side, facing the room. “My mother insisted on inviting you. Not to scare you. To warn you.”
“Warn me?”
“My mother believes your husband killed my sister,” Lady Wharton said without drama. “She wanted you here so that she could look at you and alert you to the manner of house you hadmarried into. She regretted not warning his second and third wives, so profound was her grief.”
Violet’s throat had gone dry. “And you? Do you share her belief?”
Lady Wharton said nothing for several seconds. “No,” she said at last. “He was different, you know. Before. Never a charmer, but he laughed now and then. Jested. Loved.” Her voice softened on the last word. “Theirs was the kind of love match people tell stories about. Do you know that he used to ride forty miles between Friday and Sunday only to stand under her window in the rain? Our father had forbidden the calls. A second son, and Father had ambitions for the eldest girl.” A pause. “Then his brother died, of an illness, they say, and the second son was a duke. I had my own thoughts on his brother’s illness. I opposed the marriage, but Elizabeth was smitten with him.”
She glanced at Violet, and some private memory drew a smile out of her. “When Elizabeth told him she was carrying before the family, he lifted her clean off her feet and held her there. He was laughing, spinning her in front of everyone. He did not care who saw.” Lady Wharton’s eyes had gone bright. “That is not a man who murders his wife and their unborn child. Mother cannot see it because her grief demands someone be responsible for her daughter’s death.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Mother asked me to. And in case I am wrong. Because I want to know if anything in that house has frightened you.”
“Go gently, Sylvia,” Lady Carstairs had returned to Violet’s other side. “All these years and the pain does not leave us.” She took Violet’s hand between her own. “Forgive us, Your Grace. We are poor company at the moment.” She squeezed Violet’s hand and her voice was very quiet. “I will say one thing, and then I shall let you be. My Elizabeth was well. She was happy. She was carrying a child she wanted.” She pulled Violet closer. “Becareful in that house, my dear. That is why I wanted you to be here. And to tell you, if you ever have need of me, you have only to send.” Her eyes filled. “I could not save my girl. I should be glad to save one of you.”
Her gaze rose above Violet’s head. “Iredell. Come for your duchess?”
Violet turned. Henry stood behind her, and his face was stone. His eyes went from Lady Carstairs to Lady Wharton and back.
“Come Sylvia.” Lady Carstairs linked her arm with her daughter’s. Lady Wharton nodded at Violet and Henry as her mother turned her back on the duke without another word.