hear the end of it. I'll try to keep my wits about me next time you have jam on your face."
"I don't suppose you could simply refrain from putting it there?"
"But Viola, that wouldn't be any fun."
"I know life is always fun for you."
"God, I hope so. Should it not be?"
It had been fun for her once, too, when she'd been with him, but her life wasn't like that anymore. Contented, yes. Busy, yes. Satisfying, yes. With some moments of happiness and moments of sadness, but not run, not exhilarating, not heady and exciting. Not like with John .
She dipped one corner of her serviette in her champagne glass to moisten it, then rubbed the linen vigorously against her cheek. After a moment she looked at him. "Is it gone? And don't lie to me."
"It's gone. But you rubbed so hard, you have a rash."
Balling the serviette, she threw it at him. She was tempted to take another glance around to see if she could identify some of the faces of those watching them, but she refrained. She would hear the gossip soon enough, and so would everyone else. By tomorrow morning everyone in his circle of acquaintance and hers would know Hammond had been seen kissing his wife in public, and they would know Lady Hammond hadn't been fighting very hard to stop him. And they would say it was about time she took her husband back into her bed and learned to be a proper wife.
Viola, however, had no intention of doing either.
----
Chapter 7
Covent Garden Opera House was once again popular after several years of turmoil, and many peers of consequence had renewed their subscriptions for boxes there. Because Dylan Moore was England 's most famous composer, because he had recently published a new symphony, and because he was conducting his new symphony himself, the theater was filled to the rafters for his concert on Tuesday night.
Hammond had a box, but it was Viola who most often used it. Seated with her this evening were the two daughters of Sir Edward Fitzhugh and three of the Lawrence sisters. Viola had made these arrangements on purpose, for John had sent her a note on Saturday, stating his intent to sit with her for Dylan's concert. She had sent a reply back at once, informing him she had already filled the seats and he would have to sit elsewhere. Then, of course, she'd gone on a frantic search for the extra person or two she needed to keep him away.
"This is so exciting," Amanda Lawrence, Dylan's sister-in-law, murmured to her over the squeaky sounds of the orchestra as they tuned their instruments. "My sister told me Dylan has not conducted in years."
"I am excited to see it, too," Viola confessed. "I have only seen him conduct once myself, and that was years and years ago. I was at school in France , and my brother came to visit me. Dylan was on a tour of Europe at that time, and Anthony took me to the concert."
Amanda glanced at her program. "His symphony comes after the intermission. Do you know anything about this other composer, Antoine Renet ? He is presenting a violin concerto."
"I have not heard much of his music," she answered as bells began to ring, the call for people to take their seats. A few minutes later ushers dimmed the lamps, and the first part of the concert began.
Viola gave it only the most superficial attention, her mind preoccupied. She was fully aware of the discreet stares directed her way from behind opera glasses. It had been four days since her picnic with John , and by now everyone in London society was discussing the amazing reconciliation of Lord and Lady Hammond.
At intermission, the Fitzhugh and Lawrence girls went to get ices, but Viola remained in her seat. When her companions returned, Amanda was not with them, and her youngest sister, Jane, explained to Viola, "I saw her being introduced to a pair of very handsome men by your sister-in-law, the Duchess of Tremore . One of them looked quite entranced with her." She laughed. "We didn't want to spoil things by interrupting."
The bells rang again, announcing
"I don't suppose you could simply refrain from putting it there?"
"But Viola, that wouldn't be any fun."
"I know life is always fun for you."
"God, I hope so. Should it not be?"
It had been fun for her once, too, when she'd been with him, but her life wasn't like that anymore. Contented, yes. Busy, yes. Satisfying, yes. With some moments of happiness and moments of sadness, but not run, not exhilarating, not heady and exciting. Not like with John .
She dipped one corner of her serviette in her champagne glass to moisten it, then rubbed the linen vigorously against her cheek. After a moment she looked at him. "Is it gone? And don't lie to me."
"It's gone. But you rubbed so hard, you have a rash."
Balling the serviette, she threw it at him. She was tempted to take another glance around to see if she could identify some of the faces of those watching them, but she refrained. She would hear the gossip soon enough, and so would everyone else. By tomorrow morning everyone in his circle of acquaintance and hers would know Hammond had been seen kissing his wife in public, and they would know Lady Hammond hadn't been fighting very hard to stop him. And they would say it was about time she took her husband back into her bed and learned to be a proper wife.
Viola, however, had no intention of doing either.
----
Chapter 7
Covent Garden Opera House was once again popular after several years of turmoil, and many peers of consequence had renewed their subscriptions for boxes there. Because Dylan Moore was England 's most famous composer, because he had recently published a new symphony, and because he was conducting his new symphony himself, the theater was filled to the rafters for his concert on Tuesday night.
Hammond had a box, but it was Viola who most often used it. Seated with her this evening were the two daughters of Sir Edward Fitzhugh and three of the Lawrence sisters. Viola had made these arrangements on purpose, for John had sent her a note on Saturday, stating his intent to sit with her for Dylan's concert. She had sent a reply back at once, informing him she had already filled the seats and he would have to sit elsewhere. Then, of course, she'd gone on a frantic search for the extra person or two she needed to keep him away.
"This is so exciting," Amanda Lawrence, Dylan's sister-in-law, murmured to her over the squeaky sounds of the orchestra as they tuned their instruments. "My sister told me Dylan has not conducted in years."
"I am excited to see it, too," Viola confessed. "I have only seen him conduct once myself, and that was years and years ago. I was at school in France , and my brother came to visit me. Dylan was on a tour of Europe at that time, and Anthony took me to the concert."
Amanda glanced at her program. "His symphony comes after the intermission. Do you know anything about this other composer, Antoine Renet ? He is presenting a violin concerto."
"I have not heard much of his music," she answered as bells began to ring, the call for people to take their seats. A few minutes later ushers dimmed the lamps, and the first part of the concert began.
Viola gave it only the most superficial attention, her mind preoccupied. She was fully aware of the discreet stares directed her way from behind opera glasses. It had been four days since her picnic with John , and by now everyone in London society was discussing the amazing reconciliation of Lord and Lady Hammond.
At intermission, the Fitzhugh and Lawrence girls went to get ices, but Viola remained in her seat. When her companions returned, Amanda was not with them, and her youngest sister, Jane, explained to Viola, "I saw her being introduced to a pair of very handsome men by your sister-in-law, the Duchess of Tremore . One of them looked quite entranced with her." She laughed. "We didn't want to spoil things by interrupting."
The bells rang again, announcing
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