Part 27 (1/2)

Viola did not deign a reply. Really! How unfeeling of the woman to say such a thing. She wondered if the dowager had suggested it.

”The dowager said ye might be feeling a bit out of sorts because o' yer woman time. She said that if ye were, I was to toss the water from yer washbasin on ye. I don't like to do such a thing, meself, but if it'll rouse ye...”

Despite her best intentions, Viola's eyes flew open. ”That woman told you to throw water on me?”

”Aye. Actually, she wished me to throw water on ye and then tell ye to get up, but I didn't think that a sportin' thing to do.”

Viola's temper exploded. She sat upright and glared. ”Please inform the dowager that I am not in the mood for tea.”

”I daresay ye aren't,” Liza said, unperturbed by Viola's icy voice. ”But ye needs to come anyway. There's guests, and the dowager isn't too pleased, as she only had four scones readied for tea.”

Viola's gaze went to the window. The snow was finally melted, but the roads were a river of mud. ”Who would come on a day like this?”

”Yer daughter is one o' the guests. Some of her acquaintances seem a bit ragtag to me, though one o' them is as beautiful as Lucifer!” Liza s.h.i.+vered deliciously. ”He even has the devil's own scar across his face!”

”Sweet roses!” Viola hopped off the bed so suddenly the maid jumped back. ”Get my blue morning gown! And don't waste another moment, you foolish girl! We must hurry!”

Viola was dressed in a remarkably short time. She heard the dowager's quavering voice as she flew down the steps, along with several other voices. What had occurred to send Venetia here? And who was with her?

Viola stepped into the sitting room, her gaze immediately finding her daughter. Venetia, who was elegant even under the most strenuous circ.u.mstances, was sadly crumpled and tired-looking. The entire group appeared to be out of sorts, muddied, mussed, and wrinkled.

”Mama!” Venetia rushed forward and threw her arms around Viola.

Venetia had always been an affectionate child, but there was something almost desperate in the way she hugged Viola. ”Venetia! What are you doing here? Not that you're not welcome, but goodness, what has happened?”

Over Venetia's shoulder, Viola caught Gregor's gaze. He returned her look evenly, but she had the fleeting thought that something was different.

Something significant.

A flicker of hope lifted in Viola's breast. She patted Venetia's shoulder. ”There, there. You must tell me everything.”

”I will. It's a long story. Meanwhile, allow me to introduce my traveling companions. This is Miss Platt.”

A thin woman with mousy brown hair bobbed her head nervously.

”And this is Miss Higganbotham, and Sir Henry Loundan.” An exceptionally beautiful girl, who was unfortunately covered in mud, blushed and nodded a greeting. The distinguished gentleman beside her, who had risen to his feet on Viola's entrance, bowed.

”And you know Ravenscroft.”

He bowed from where he stood by the window, away from the main group.

Viola eyed him with interest. Lord Ravenscroft seemed somewhat sullen, his usually carefully disheveled locks now not so carefully disheveled. He appeared to have slept in his clothes, for his cravat was oddly knotted, his coat rumpled, his hair standing on end, and mud streaking one leg.

The thin, angular woman cleared her throat and said in a painfully arch voice, ”This is an interesting house. The exterior is so morbid and the interior quite dark. I cannot help but think we've all stumbled into a Gothic novel of some sort. One of us might wake up dead before morning!”

The dowager was not pleased. Dressed in her habitual black and lavender, her hair covered with a huge, improbably red wig that was stuck with a ma.s.s of glittering jeweled pins, she sniffed loudly. ”Miss Flat-”

”It's Miss Platt.” The woman t.i.ttered again.

The dowager's thin brows snapped down. ”Miss Flat, I do not like the implications of your words. If you find my house offensive, feel free to leave. The door is over there.” The dowager pointed to the wall to one side.

The entire group looked at the wall. There was no door there, only a large window that opened an entire story above the garden.

Viola stifled a tired grin even while she admitted that Miss Platt was right about the house; she wouldn't be a bit surprised to discover a dead body in one of the lesser-used rooms, along with a set of clues pointing directly to the owner of the house.

”My lady,” Miss Platt said, looking nervously at the window. ”There is no door there. It's-”

”Venetia!” The dowager glared at her granddaughter. ”Did I invite you?”

”No. However, you have told me many times that I don't visit you often enough.”

”I didn't mean for you to arrive like this, unannounced and with a group of scoundrels!”

”Grandmama!” Venetia said, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng. ”Please don't be rude.”

”It's not rude to speak plainly.” Her grandmother squinted at Gregor. ”You there! You've the look of the MacLeans about you.”

He bowed. ”I am Gregor MacLean.”

”Humph. Are you the scalawag who keeps flirting with my Venetia but won't come up to snuff and marry her like a G.o.dly man?”

Venetia covered her eyes with both hands.

To Viola's surprise, Gregor smiled faintly. He crossed to the dowager's side and took her gnarled hand from the arm of her chair and kissed it with a gallant air. ”I am that same MacLean; both a scoundrel and rogue. But not because I won't marry your granddaughter. I have asked her to marry me, and she has refused.”

Viola gasped.

”What?” Ravenscroft cried.

Miss Platt crossed her hands over her heart. ”Miss West! You never said a word!”

Miss Higganbotham and her beau appeared confused.

Viola wondered who Miss West could be while Venetia dropped her head, her eyes still covered by her hands, a moan escaping her.

The dowager stomped a foot. ”Why won't she have you?”

”Because I botched my proposal in the most ham-handed way possible. I am hoping to persuade her to give me another chance, for I feel we are eminently suited.” Viola's heart leapt. She never had seen MacLean give her daughter such a heated look before.

Something had definitely changed. But why wasn't Venetia responding?

The dowager eyed Gregor. ”I'm surprised you're letting a mere gal tell you no.”

”Grandmama!” Venetia said, dropping her hands. ”Please stop this. And do not call Gregor names.”

”Huh!” The dowager hunched her shoulders. ”Any family that's been given a weather curse is scoundrelly in my book.”

Gregor grinned. ”In my book, any woman who was able to torment my great-grandfather to the point of madness is a sad romp.”

”Ha!” she said gleefully, her wrinkled cheeks pink. ”Told you about that before he kicked off, did he?”