Someone to Care (Westcott #4)(78)

“I acquiesced, Lord Dorchester,” Mrs. Kingsley said, “even though Viola fancied herself in love with the son of a friend of mine and he with her. It is easy for parents to brush aside very young love when they can convince themselves that they have the greater good of their child at heart. I have never forgiven myself. My weakness has haunted me even more during the past couple of years.”

“Unfortunately, Mama,” the Reverend Michael Kingsley said, “we can never look ahead to see the consequences of the decisions we make.” And never were truer words spoken, Marcel thought. “We can only make them with the best intentions in mind and with love in our hearts.”

He was a bit of a pompous man, Viola’s brother. But he had come all the way from Dorsetshire, abandoning his flock there, because his sister was of great immediate concern to him. There was a story somewhere in the Bible, Marcel seemed to remember, about a shepherd who left his whole flock to fend for themselves while he went in search of the one lost sheep. A rash thing to do, that, though the story illustrated a point. Good God, was he about to start quoting Scripture? The mind boggled.

“I understand,” Marcel said, “that you are afraid Viola is about to step into another marriage that will bring her as little happiness as the first one did. That perhaps it will bring her actual misery.”

One thing to be said in Kingsley’s favor was that he did not beat about any bushes. “We are mortally afraid, Dorchester,” he said. “I was a moral coward during my sister’s first marriage. I did not like or approve of Riverdale, and so I avoided him. In doing so, of course, I avoided her too. I am ashamed of that neglect. It will not happen again. If you do any harm to my sister, I will find you and call you to account.”

He ought to have sounded ridiculous. Marcel had a mental image of pacing out the steps of a duel and turning, pistol cocked, to face this man, who had possibly never held a gun in his life. But try as he would, he could not make the clergyman in that mental image into a figure of fun.

“I will not hurt her,” he said.

“Tell me, Lord Dorchester,” Mrs. Kinglsey said before asking the inevitable question, “do you love her?”

He did not even have to think about it this time, though he knew the answer no better than he had an hour ago.

“Yes,” he said curtly.



* * *



? ? ?

Viola kept out of the way of the busy preparations for the party as much as she could all day. It was not difficult. She spent an hour after breakfast in the nursery with the children. Winifred was in her element playing mother to Annemarie’s two children, who were both younger than she and were quite happy to be organized by someone they looked upon with evident admiration. Sarah was happy to play a clapping game with her grandmother, while Camille and Anna rocked the babies and talked with each other. It was good to see those two grow ever more accepting of the fact that they were half sisters. It had been difficult at first, especially for Camille. And Viola herself was beginning to love Anna, partly because she was determined to do so and partly because she could not help herself.

She drank coffee in the morning room with her former mother-in-law, who informed her that if she must marry a rogue, she could do worse than the Marquess of Dorchester, who was clearly prepared to turn over a new page in his life and who was just as clearly in love. Afterward, Viola went for a walk with Elizabeth and Wren and Annemarie. Viola and Elizabeth walked ahead while Marcel’s sister questioned Wren about the glassworks she had inherited from her uncle and ran herself.

“I was worried about you after Jacob’s christening,” Elizabeth said. “It seemed to me that everything from the past couple of years had come over you all of a sudden and overwhelmed you. We all felt helpless to console you, for of course we were part of the problem. Sometimes people just need to be alone, and the best those who love them can do to help is simply to leave them alone. But it is very hard to do.”

“It is,” Viola agreed. “Watching those we love suffer can be worse in some ways than suffering ourselves.”

“But you found the perfect solution.” Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, I was very prepared to be horrified when I saw who it was you had run away with to that cottage in Devon. I had a slight acquaintance with the Marquess of Dorchester and was fully aware of his reputation. He is, of course, extraordinarily handsome, and that can be a dangerous attribute in a man who is also devastatingly attractive. But it was clear there and has become clearer here that he feels a sincere attachment to you. You should see how he looks at you when he believes you are not looking at him. It makes me quite envious. It is equally clear that you return his feelings. I do love a happy ending.” She sighed theatrically and laughed again. “Your mother and brother are having a word with him.”

“My mother-in-law already has,” Viola said.

“Poor man,” Elizabeth said, and they both laughed.

Annemarie and Wren caught up to them at that point and conversation became general.

Viola spent the early part of the afternoon in the portrait gallery on an upper floor with Camille and Joel and Ellen Morrow and her brother. While Joel studied the family portraits and Ellen identified them, Camille smiled at Viola and strolled with her to the end of the gallery, where there was a window overlooking the park behind the house.

“It is beautiful here, Mama,” Camille said, “and you are going to be happy. I came determined to dislike the Marquess of Dorchester, you know, for he was always so fearfully handsome and . . . well . . .” She smiled again. “I have changed my mind. Not that that matters anyway. You have chosen your happiness just as I did last year with Joel. And I am happy, Mama. Happier than I ever dreamed of being. I can only wish the same for you. And for Abby. And Harry.”