Page 6 of A Suitable Countess (To All the Earls I’ve Loved Before #3)

In which our Hero and Heroine Take a Carriage Ride

“What will you do now you have seen through me, my lord?” Viola’s heart thudded despite her outward calm. The merest tremor in her hand shook the brandy in her glass as she lifted it and sipped.

The liquid burned her lips, burned her throat, and she barely suppressed a coughing fit, which in this place would have given her away as surely as if her wig had fallen off.

“I asked you to call me George.” Strangely, his distracted answer that wasn’t really an answer gave her hope.

Ridiculous, tentative, longed-for hope, all because he’d offered his name again. Would he do that if he intended to out her now?

She sat quietly, watching his furrowed brow, wanting to squirm under his intense gaze, but aware she had to continue to wear her confidence like her coat and wait upon his decision.

“I don’t like it, but I understand the reason why you did it. In some ways, it is even estimable that you were prepared to go to such lengths to protect your family in the absence of a male relative. However, it needs to cease immediately.”

His dictum made sense. She might have accepted such if it had come from her father, but Viola burred up at the tone of his voice and the assumption that any male besides her father dared to assume he had the right to tell her what she could and could not do.

“Who are you to order me around?”

“I’m the man you considered marrying. Be honest, Viola, wasn’t that your intention?”

Mutely, she gave him a single nod.

“Tell me, what changed your mind and brought you here tonight? I’m sure you know I’m wealthy, and becoming a countess is nothing to sneeze at, so why risk it all now?”

A waspish need to poke at his arrogance, even if what he said was true, provoked her reply. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just that I like to eat once a day when possible.”

Horror filled George’s eyes before he quickly rearranged his expression. “Is your situation truly that desperate?”

“The butcher and the coal merchant have refused to extend further credit, and I have had to let all our staff go, aside from our butler and cook, and I was going to tell them we can’t afford to keep them any longer.

Within the fortnight, I believe we will have nought to feed off but the air, as Shakespeare wrote in the Danish play. ”

“That bad?”

She nodded. “That is why I am here tonight, thus attired.” She tapped her jacket above where her small wad of winnings resided in an inner pocket.

“Following the ball, my sister made it clear I did not have the luxury of waiting for a proposal from you or any man if we were to keep body and soul together.

“What I won tonight was honestly come by, and will keep food on the table and coal for the kitchen for another week or two. If you— permit me to continue—” How uttering that word galled her, but Viola was sensible enough to know a single word from George would be her undoing.

“I can secure our next month with another hour of play here.”

“Didn’t your father provide a letter to your bank? What of his man of business?”

“The bank manager refuses to speak with a woman. As for Father’s man of business, he has not seen fit to answer any of my letters. I had always thought him an honest man, but perhaps the absence of my father to oversee the accounts was too tempting.”

How it hurt Viola to expose the depth of their need. It felt like a betrayal of her father, but Lord Amhurst—George—had to be made to understand why she absolutely had to return to the game.

“Very well.”

“Very well what, my lord?”

“You may continue to play for one hour, and I will play alongside you. Just one more thing.”

“What is that, my lord?” Exultant at having convinced him, she would grant his request.

“You will call me George or else I will address you as Viola.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I advise you not to push me, Victor.” He tossed off the rest of his brandy and stood. “Ready?”

They rejoined George’s godson when the current round ended, and Viola felt a twinge of nerves running through her stomach as she took her small wad of banknotes from her pocket.

Seeing in it the meat on their table and coal for the kitchen range, she removed three notes, folded them, and replaced them in her pocket.

No matter how confident she felt, it was best to play conservatively.

As play progressed, Viola began to suspect George was somehow controlling the size of the bets made, but she couldn’t prove it.

Perhaps it was only that, in deference to his godfather’s presence, Philip’s occasionally rash, high-stakes bets were tempered.

Or the fact she caught him casting surreptitious glances at his godfather before he raised the stake.

The other players followed suit, but the outcome was that Viola’s winnings grew steadily rather than dramatically.

When the hour George had allotted her was up, she had a tidy pile of notes in front of her. They were a small but essential barrier against looming insolvency. They were a lifesaver.

George rose and collected his stake, making brief eye contact with each player in turn. “Gentlemen, my thanks for a good game, but I must leave you to it. Victor, if you’ve had enough play for the night, I’ll give you a lift.”

How neatly and completely George assumed control, but Viola was content to leave. Tonight’s winnings would pay the most pressing of their bills and see them through to the end of next month, if she was careful.

By then, God willing, her parents might have returned, or at least, good news about their safety.

“Kind of you, George. Thank you. Good night, gentlemen.”

Philip waved a hand. “Be assured I’ll beat you next time we play, Victor.”

“I look forward to it, Philip.” She offered a small, ironic bow.

Even if his godson didn’t yet acknowledge it, George knew that, until the lad learned to control his tell, the outcome would be the same in any rematch with Viola. Philip was occasionally good, but she was much better. But Philip would have to figure that out for himself.

George stood aside, allowing her to precede him.

Once in the entry and waiting for George’s carriage to be called, he turned to her. “Your ability to read each player is uncanny. I’m pleased to have had the chance to see you in action, but Viola, that must be the last time.”

“Why, George? No one guessed who I was except you. How did you, by the way?”

“Your eyes.”

“Many people have blue eyes.”

“Not gentian blue. Yours are quite remarkable. And when you looked up at me, your eyes gave away that you knew me.”

“Ah, I must work on that.”

“No need, since you will not be pulling that trick again. Besides, you should have enough money to see you through until your parents are found to be alive and well.”

That comment sealed Viola’s suspicion and stirred an angry spark within her relief at having staved off destitution for now. It irked that her winnings weren’t solely from her own efforts. However, he had achieved it, George had ensured she won an amount that would keep her family safe.

“You let me win.”

“You attribute me with power I don’t possess. No, winning was all you. My presence merely tempered my godson’s bets.”

As she had suspected, but she let further comments lie unspoken.

The carriage pulled up at that moment, and no more was said until they were settled inside, George having asked for her address and given the direction to the coachman.

The horses set off, and Viola sank into the luxuriously soft seat with a sigh. “George, why do you persist in thinking you can tell me what to do? We barely know one another. You are not my father, nor my husband, nor even my fiancé. I’m not sure if you are even my suitor anymore.”

“And yet I feel responsible for you.”

“There is no need to, I assure you.” In the low light spilling inside from the carriage lamps, she tried to read George’s expression, but he had settled back against the squabs into deeper shadow.

“You do not know me.” If she repeated that often enough, perhaps he would back off. But perhaps not, since he seemed not to have understood what she saw as the key reason why he shouldn’t be helping. “You don’t know me, and you have no cause to worry about my family’s situation.”

“That is where you are wrong, Viola. I believe I know a lot about you already.”

“That’s not possible in the short time we’ve known one another.”

“First impressions are rarely wrong.”

“Even if I thought you were a pompous ass?”

“Did you?”

“No, but if I had, your insistence that you know me after one night of dancing and a single horse ride would be accurate.”

He chuckled at that and leaned forward so that she saw his expression when he told her, “You are stubborn and strong-minded, qualities that are often admired in a man but not in a woman. But they are the qualities that have allowed you to make difficult decisions to ensure your family survives.

“You are also fair; dare I say, noble even, in your self-sacrifice for your siblings.”

Having delivered his assessment of her character, he sat back, returning to the shadows.

A shame, Viola decided. She quite liked watching his face as he talked. His was a face she could imagine across the breakfast table every morning, if indeed marriage to the earl was still on offer.

“A mixed bag of qualities. Who wouldn’t help their family if it were in their power to do so? But none of that explains why you are intent upon this crusade to help me.”

“The game.” George crossed one long leg over the other.

Within the confines of the carriage and with her long legs also in the footwell, inevitably, his brushed against hers.

For some reason, that touch disturbed her even more than his hand at her waist during the waltz and reminded her how alone they were in his carriage.

“Why do you persist in annoying me so?”

“I annoy you?”

“Yes, by not speaking plainly.”