Free Two Little Lies by Liz Carlyle

the room and went haring off in that direction.
    “I beg your pardon, Lady Alice,” said Viviana when her aunt had gone. “May I collect that you are recently widowed?”
    Lady Alice looked instantly pained. “I—yes, just over a year ago,” she said. “It was sudden.”
    “My sympathies,” said Viviana. “I know the difficulties you must suffer. I, too, am widowed, though not so recently.”
    Lady Alice gave a watery smile. “One hates it for one’s children’s sake,” she said. “Mine are so very young. They do not quite understand why their dear papa has been taken from them.”
    Viviana could have made the argument that her children were no worse off—certainly, Cerelia was not—but she said nothing of the sort. Instead, she set one hand lightly on Lady Alice’s arm. “But children are very resilient,” she said. “I know this firsthand. I have three, and all are well.”
    “I have three also!” said Lady Alice. “How old are your children, Contessa?”
    “My daughters are eight and six,” she said. “And my son is four going on ten. Perhaps you know what I mean?”
    Lady Alice nodded with alacrity. “They are almost the same ages as mine,” she said. “We really must visit.”
    “I should like that,” said Viviana truthfully.
    “My children will be pleased to find new playmates so near at hand.”
    “Yes, it is but a short drive,” said Viviana. “Will you be staying here long?”
    “Six or eight weeks, I daresay,” said Alice. “And it is a short drive, but a far shorter walk if one comes through the wood in between. There is a well-marked bridle path which we all use to go back and forth to Hill Court. I am told my parents wore it to a rut when they were courting.”
    The quartet was tuning up, and black-clad footmen were everywhere. Some two dozen guests were drifting through the drawing room now, greeting one another with handshakes, and even kisses. There were no strangers here. Viviana was feeling very much out of place, and even more uneasy when she saw Chesley approach.
    “My dear, you really must come with me,” he said, setting a hand on her arm. “The cellist is playing a Guadagnini!”
    “Is he indeed?”
    “Yes, can you believe it? Here, in a backwater like Buckinghamshire!”
    Viviana flashed her new acquaintance a parting smile. “Piacere, Lady Alice!” she said. “You must call on us at Hill Court.”
    Alice brightened. “Tomorrow, then?” she suggested. “Would that be too soon?”
    Viviana looked at Chesley expectantly.
    “My home is yours, Alice,” said her uncle impatiently. “You may move in if you wish.”
    Alice laughed. “But you are taking away the most interesting person in the room, uncle!” she protested.
    Chesley’s gaze, however, had turned toward the entrance to the withdrawing room. “Oh, I think not tonight, my dear,” he said quietly. “I believe our guest of honor has arrived.”
    “The guest of honor?” said Viviana. She had not realized there was one.
    Chesley was staring at a young lady in a silver-gray silk gown who had just stepped hesitantly into the room. She was slender, and almost diminutive, but elegant in her simplicity. Her light brown hair was twisted into an artful arrangement, and entwined with a strand of pearls. A second strand encircled her throat. She looked lovely. She looked, in fact, like the perfect English miss.
    “Behold Mamma’s long-sought prize,” Alice whispered. “Miss Esmée Hamilton, Quin’s bride-to-be.”
    “She is an heiress, too, is she not?” murmured Chesley.
    “Yes, Lady Tatton’s niece.”
    The words were sinking slowly into Viviana’s brain. Quin. Bride. Heiress. Oh, dear God. Viviana’s knees almost buckled.
    “Well, she’s pretty enough, I’ll warrant,” Chesley grumbled. “But she looks nothing at all like his usual type.”
    Alice laughed. “Oh, come now, Uncle Ches!” she said. “You are a man of the world, are you not? Men may keep company with one sort of woman,