Lady Traveller's Guide To Happily Ever After
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“Your confidence in me is heartening.” James retook his seat.
Marcus pulled open a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of fine Scottish whiskey and two glasses. He filled one and passed it to James.
“I shouldn’t. She’s probably waiting for me in the carriage.”
“Or she’s taken the carriage and left you to fend for yourself.” Marcus chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Nor would I.” James sipped the whiskey. Nothing like good whiskey to put a thing in perspective. Although perhaps not today. “What am I going to do?”
“There’s nothing you can do but abide by the terms of the will. I assure you, I have studied it thoroughly. As I said, my father and his brothers are very good.” Marcus considered his friend for a moment. “She’s quite lovely and you’ve always had an inexplicable charm for women. And she is your wife after all. Is there any possibility that you and she—”
“No. Maybe.” James shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s been a long time.” Even so, the memory of their wedding night—memories of Violet—had always dwelled in the back of his mind. No doubt the reason why he hadn’t been with another woman in a very long time. “Uncle Richard thought Violet and I were destined for one another. That in my avoiding marriage to the wrong woman I had somehow ended up with the right woman. This is his way of forcing us together.”
“He was nothing if not determined.” Marcus paused. “May I ask you something?”
“Why not?” James settled back in his chair.
“If I recall correctly, quite some time ago, in an inebriated state of maudlin self-pity, you told me Lady Ellsworth was the biggest regret of your life.”
“And?”
“And you said that on more than one occasion.”
“You must admit, it’s a rather significant regret.” He shrugged. “I ruined her life.”
“Yes, you’ve said that, as well.” Marcus eyed him thoughtfully. “You’ve also said you were young, stupid and about to be engaged to the wrong woman.”
“Hence the regret.”
“Understandable.” Marcus nodded. “But among all those things you’ve said about your ill-fated marriage, there’s one thing you’ve never said.”
“And what is that?”
Marcus met his gaze. “You’ve never once said it was a mistake.”
JAMES INSTRUCTED HIS driver, then climbed into the carriage. “I didn’t think you’d wait for me.”
“That would have been rude.” Violet smiled pleasantly. “I am never rude.”
“I wouldn’t think you were,” he said slowly.
“We have a decision to make.”
“I don’t see that we have a choice.”
“Of course we do,” she said. “There are always choices, some better than others. From what Uncle Richard has said about you in the last few years, you seem to have a talent for business. Should either of us decide not to abide by the terms of the will, you would have to seek employment.”
He had no doubt he could find employment of a sort. But if he’d learned nothing else about the world of business he had learned who you were was every bit as important as your skills or intelligence. A disinherited earl would not be especially sought after.
“I would indeed.” He shifted in his seat. It wasn’t just the fortune—although its loss would be painful—but losing the properties that had been in his family for generations twisted his soul. The country estate where his father had taught him to ride and to swim, as had his father before him. The London house Uncle Richard had made James’s haven. The places James had always called home. “My life would certainly change. As would yours.”
She hesitated. “Yes, of course.”
He had the oddest feeling there was something she didn’t wish to say.
“Although, as your husband, it would be my responsibility to provide your support.”
“You would have to find good employment.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “You’ve been very generous through the years.”
He shrugged off her comment. Generosity apparently went hand in hand with guilt.
“Was that at Uncle Richard’s urging?”
Did she think so little of him? He couldn’t blame her if she did but it was annoying nonetheless. “Would it matter if it was?”
“Perhaps not.” She paused. “But it is something I have always wondered.”
“You could have asked my uncle.”
“I’m not sure he would have told me,” she said with a sigh. “He was very fond of you and rather proud of the man you’ve become.”
Good to know. “No, your financial support had nothing to do with Uncle Richard.”
“I see.” For a long moment she was silent. “You’re asking for three more years of my life. It’s a very long time.”
“Perhaps it is better to think of it as two years, eleven months, one week and three days after all.”
“Not really.” She pinned him with a hard look. “You do realize the significance of two years, eleven months, one week and three days, don’t you?”
He scoffed. “Of course I do.” What the hell was she talking about?
“Oh?” She studied him closely. “Can you tell me why Uncle Richard stipulated two years, eleven months, one week and three days?”
“Of course I can.” At once the answer struck him and he wondered if Uncle Richard was looking after him from above. He leaned forward and met her gaze firmly. “Five years, ten months, two weeks and six days is—as of today—how long we’ve been married. Two years, eleven months, one week and three days is exactly half that. The stipulation was that the length of time be based on the date of today’s meeting.” He shrugged. “If you had returned to London sooner, the requirement would have been shorter.”
“Very good, James.” She nodded coolly. “Given your reaction in Mr. Davies’s office, one might have thought you didn’t realize that.”
“One would have been wrong,” he said in a superior manner and sent a silent prayer of gratitude to his uncle. “Still, it does seem excessive.”
“Uncle Richard probably considered it fitting. An appropriate penance of sorts.”
“Or a sentence?”
“Also appropriate, I suppose.” She shook her head. “Uncle Richard never failed to lecture me about the absurdity of our circumstances. Every time I saw him, he said this had gone on long enough and I should return to England to stay.” She met his gaze, and challenge shone in her eyes. “I told him I hadn’t been asked.”
“Would you have come back if I had?” It scarcely mattered now but it did seem important.
“It’s rather a pointless question. You didn’t ask.”
“But if I had?” he pressed.
She stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she said at last and shrugged. “It’s water under the bridge now. Nothing can be done about the past.”
“Better to move on from here, then,” he said. Still, there was a great deal of the past that remained to be resolved. “We should have expected something of this nature.” And really, hadn’t Uncle Richard warned him? Hadn’t he said on more than one occasion that if James wouldn’t do something about his marriage, someone should?
She smiled wryly. “He’s proving a point you know, even in death.”
James chuckled. “I am aware of that.”
“It seems that we have no choice.” She sighed. “Regardless, I shall have to consider this. If I agree to abide by the terms of the will, well, my life will be remarkably different.”
“Apparently my fate is now in your hands.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” She settled back in her seat. “Rather ironic when you think about it,” she said under her breath and turned toward the window.
Violet continued to gaze silently at the passing streets, apparently lost in thought. He had no idea what she was thinking. Every now and then he caught a glimpse of her expression, at once serene and determined. He suspected it did not bode well. Beyond that, there was something she wasn’t telling him. Violet was entirely too unconcerned about the potential loss of James’s inheritance. After all, if he lost everything, so did she.
The moment they entered the house they were met by a blonde woman Violet introduced as Mrs. Ryland, her companion and secretary. A few years older than Violet, she was quite lovely, or she would have been had she not glared at James as if he were the devil incarnate. Violet announced they had errands to run and would be back late in the afternoon.
“Will you be joining me for dinner tonight?” he asked.
Violet glanced at the other woman. “I think we’ll take dinner in our rooms tonight.”
He raised a brow. “Don’t we have a great deal to talk about?”
“And I have a great deal to think about.” She smiled politely, nodded at Mrs. Ryland, and the ladies took their leave.
He stared after them. This was not the Violet he remembered. Not the girl he had known. He had liked the old Violet. This new Violet was an unknown. And most intriguing.
Violet Branham was a woman any man would be proud to have by his side. She was strong and confident, independent and elegant—a woman of the world. And a challenge. Six years ago he hadn’t especially liked challenges but he was not the man he used to be, either. At the moment she didn’t seem to like him. It was entirely possible she wouldn’t agree to the terms of the will. But if she did... A lot could happen in the next two years, eleven months, one week and three days.
Violet Branham, the Countess of Ellsworth, his wife might indeed be the right woman for him. Six years ago he’d been too young or too stupid or too scared to realize it or possibly accept it. Now, however...
For a fleeting moment, he could have sworn he heard Uncle Richard chuckling in the distance.
CHAPTER FOUR
“APPARENTLY, JAMES HAS a legitimate office.” Violet stirred a dollop of cream into the Turkish coffee she preferred that Richard’s—or rather James’s or now her cook, she supposed—always had on hand for her visits. Thanks to a restless night, Violet had slept later than usual and it was nearly noon before she came downstairs to join Cleo in the cozy breakfast room where the widow was sorting through Violet’s correspondence. “And keeps business hours.”
“Who would have thought.” Cleo bit back a smile. Apparently, her companion found the fact that Uncle Richard’s comments in recent years about how much James had changed, the responsibilities he’d taken on, his head for management and business and his accompanying maturity did have a basis in fact and were not simply the ramblings of a loving uncle, to be most amusing.
Cleo Ryland had been Violet’s companion, secretary and dear friend almost from the very day Violet had hired her. A scant three years older than Violet, the pretty young widow had been the first person to answer Violet’s advertisement when she had decided to use James’s financial support to travel. Violet liked her immediately and the feeling was mutual. Cleo was well-educated, intelligent with a clever wit and a desire to do something with her life other than marry the first man who came along simply for financial salvation. She was also tired of her family’s—particularly her mother’s—constant harping on how she needed to find a new husband before she was too old to do so. She and Violet had a great deal in common when it came to mothers. Within days, Violet had Cleo’s references checked and the two women were off to see the world.
“It’s most convenient, really. I’d prefer not to be around him every minute.” Especially as Violet had no desire to continue yesterday’s discussion quite yet. Still, it had remained on her mind throughout the long night. As much as she hated to admit it, James was right. There was little choice but to abide by the terms of Uncle Richard’s will. “Unless he was at one of his many clubs, my father was always in the house. Usually in his library.”
Violet glanced around the morning room. It could use a bit of freshening. In fact, the entire house could stand refurbishment. It had been a bachelor abode for entirely too long. That might be something she could take on during the next three years. She’d never been the mistress of a house and it sounded rather like fun. She had, after all, been trained for the position. It was the only thing she’d been expected to do with her life.
“In spite of the circumstances, I am glad to be back in London.” Violet sipped her coffee, savoring the hearty aroma and the deep flavor mellowed by the rich cream. “This time it feels different, as if I have indeed returned for good.”
“I suppose even the lure of the adventure to be found in travel pales in time.”
“Perhaps.” It had indeed been the grandest of adventures. “One does like to pause now and again. To catch one’s breath.”
“Three years is more than enough time to catch one’s breath.” Cleo studied her curiously. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”
Violet met her friend’s gaze. “I am.”
Cleo glanced at the door as if to make certain they were alone then lowered her voice. “What are you going to do about you-know-who?”
“Quite frankly,” Violet winced, “I haven’t given him a second thought.”
Cleo’s eyes widened. “That’s rather telling, isn’t it? I thought you and he were—”
“We’re not,” Violet said firmly. “Admittedly, we have discussed the possibility of something more, as well as the possibility of divorce, but there’s never really been anything more between us. I’ve been very clear about how I feel. He’s been a good friend and he’s a very nice man. And if I were free, well...” She shook her head. “I can’t ask him to wait three years in hopes that my feelings will become more significant than they are.”
“I see.” Cleo considered her. “But you are going to spend three years with a man you haven’t spoken to in nearly six?”
Violet knew Cleo wouldn’t understand. Cleo believed James had ruined Violet’s life and therefore was the root of all evil in the world. “I know you don’t like James—”
Cleo snorted.
“—but I owe him a great deal.”
“Nonsense.” Cleo sniffed. “You don’t owe him anything.”
“On the contrary, Cleo.” Violet blew a long breath. “He could have made my life miserable. You and I both know women whose husbands have tired of them or never especially wanted them in the first place. Their lives look fine on the surface but everyone knows how dreadfully unhappy they are. They are the subject of quiet ridicule and blatant pity. James saved me from that.” She shook her head. “He married me because of a silly mistake that nonetheless would have ruined my life. He deserves some credit for doing the right thing.”
“He married you and then went his own way. According to everything we’ve heard, he’s behaved exactly as he did before he was married.” Cleo pinned her with a firm look. “I think you should tell him to shove off.”
Violet laughed. “You are a good friend but in this, you’re wrong.” She thought for a moment. “In providing generous financial support, as well as freedom and independence, James gave me the world.
“I wouldn’t have become who I am and I certainly would never have met you, Cleo, had he insisted on my being an expected sort of wife. Think of the things we’ve seen, the things we’ve done, the people we’ve met and those we’ve helped in some small way. James made it all possible and for that I’m grateful.” She shrugged. “I didn’t say it would be easy and I’m not especially happy about it. And yes, three years is a long time, but James saved me once. Now it’s my turn to save him.”
“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”
“Don’t be absurd. I’ll tell him I’ve decided to abide by the terms of the will, but I certainly won’t say I’m grateful to him.” She adopted a wicked smile. “It would go straight to his head and that wouldn’t be any fun at all. Nor do I intend to make this easy for him.”
“That sounds something like revenge.”
“I prefer to think of it more as retribution. If he wants his inheritance, I intend to make him work for it. I’m not sure how at the moment, but I’m certain opportunities will arise.” She paused. “Besides, I like the idea of his being in my debt.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Cleo nodded. “Very clever.”
Violet sipped her coffee. “Aside from everything else, this was Uncle Richard’s last wish. I owe him, as well.”
Still, as grateful as she was for the life James had given her, there were some things she could not ignore. He never made any attempt at a real marriage with her. He never saw her, never spoke to her. Admittedly, she had said she never wanted to see him again, but that sort of thing did tend to mellow with the years. There were any number of times—especially in the first few years—when she would have been receptive to overtures, even reconciliation. When she might well have returned to truly be his wife. But he’d made no effort whatsoever. And he’d certainly never asked her to come home. Oh, she could have taken the first step toward him. Whether it was a matter of pride or simple stubbornness or apprehension, Violet refused to do so. James had made the decision as to the type of marriage they’d have, he had determined the path of their lives and it was up to James to change that path.
She might be willing to give him three years but forgiveness was another question entirely. It scarcely mattered how much these years apart had changed either of them. The moment she saw him again, she knew somewhere deep inside she would have to keep her distance and guard against the resurfacing of any of those feelings she’d once thought she had for him. The man was not to be trusted, at least not with her heart. Regardless of his intent, and whether he realized it or not, he had broken her heart all those years ago. She would not allow him to do so again.
“It might even be fun.” Violet grinned. “Being Lady Ellsworth, that is.”
“One can only hope.” Cleo smiled. “You are already in high demand. There are a number of invitations here to consider.”
“So soon?”
“According to his lordship’s secretary, the earl is routinely invited to nearly everything of note, although his attendance is rare. Even though you weren’t here, invitations were always addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Branham and now, of course, to Lord and Lady Ellsworth.” She paused. “Everyone in society is going to be talking about your reconciliation, you know. The attention on the two of you will be unrelenting.”
“Thank you for the reminder.” Violet had very nearly put the stipulation about appearing as a happy couple out of her head.
She knew full well there was no possible way for the two of them to appear in public without causing a tidal wave of gossip. Violet Branham may be clever, confident and sophisticated when it came to the rest of the world but here in London, she had always feared she might slip back into the docile creature she used to be. That when presented with the unforgiving, unrelenting judgmental nature of London society—of her mother and people exactly like her—time would reverse itself and she would again be the unassuming wallflower she had once been. Precisely why she never stayed long in England. That would be yet another challenge of the next three years. “Let’s wait to decide what to accept until we speak to Mrs. Higginbotham and her friends tonight. I’m sure they will have some suggestions.”
“Lady Ellsworth.” Andrews appeared at the door. “Lady Cranton is here.”
Cleo winced.
“Tell her I’m not at home,” Violet said.
A distinct look of distress washed over the butler’s face.
Violet grimaced. “She knows I’m here, doesn’t she?”
“I’m afraid so, my lady.”
“It can’t be helped I suppose.” Violet sighed. “Please show her into the parlor. Oh, and then ask the kitchen for tea and a tray of biscuits.” Violet glanced at Cleo. “You know how she’ll be if I don’t offer her something.”
Cleo shuddered.
“Anything else, my lady?” Andrews asked.
“A pot of coffee as well, I think.” Violet nodded. “That will do. Thank you, Andrews.”
The butler nodded and hurried off.
“You do realize, living in England for the next three years, seeing her will be unavoidable.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Although that in itself is enough to make me change my mind,” Violet added and rose to her feet.
“Are you sure you want to talk to her alone?”
“Not really, but this is my house and I’m not going to put up with her nonsense in my own home.” She started toward the parlor. “But do say a little prayer for me, Cleo.”
“I daresay a single prayer will not be nearly enough.” Cleo’s words trailed after her.
Violet paused before the parlor doors, summoned every ounce of confidence she possessed, adopted a pleasant smile and pushed open the doors. “Good morning, Mother.”
Margaret, Viscountess Cranton, was as tall as her daughter with hair a few shades darker. That, Violet had always thought, was where the similarities ended. While Mother was still a fine figure of a woman, she was stern and unrelenting in her pursuit of what she deemed to be required or proper. Mother’s unyielding nature was evident in her manner and her speech and showed on her face. Mother, Violet had long suspected, had never been especially happy. She would have felt sorry for Father but he didn’t seem to care.
“Please God, Violet, have you at last come to your senses?”
“Delightful to see you again, Mother.” Violet smiled coolly. “I thought I’d see you before now. Lady Brockwell’s ball was the day before yesterday, after all.”
“I’ve been in the country. We returned last night.” Mother glared. “I demand to know what’s going on.”
“Do be seated, Mother.” Violet waved at the sofa, then settled in a nearby chair.
Mother glanced around the parlor, no doubt assessing the quality and cost of every item in the room. She probably hadn’t stepped foot in Ellsworth House since James’s ill-fated engagement party all those years ago.
“Well, go on.”
“I’m not sure what you want to know.”
“Don’t be evasive.” Mother’s brows drew together. “You know exactly what I’m asking.”
A discreet knock sounded at the parlor doors before they opened and Andrews rolled in a tea cart. Mother set her jaw impatiently. It would never do to be caught discussing private matters with servants present.
“Would you like me to pour, my lady?” Andrews asked.
“I’ll do it. Thank you, Andrews.” Violet smiled and nodded in dismissal.
Andrews took his leave, no doubt grateful to escape.
“Would you care for tea?” Violet said, even as she poured a cup.
“At least you haven’t forgotten everything you were taught.” Mother accepted the cup and added sugar.
“I assure you, Mother, I’ve forgotten absolutely nothing.” Violet poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Is that coffee?” Disapproval furrowed Mother’s brow.
“It is.” Violet widened her eyes innocently. “Oh, I do apologize. Did you prefer coffee?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Mother considered coffee a drink of the lower classes and therefore beneath her. “No doubt you picked up a taste for it in some godforsaken foreign coffeehouse.”
“No doubt.”
Mother cautiously selected two biscuits, as if she wanted to assure herself of their quality before indulging. Violet’s jaw tightened.
“Why are you here, Mother?”
“Instead of waiting for you to call on me?” Mother’s brow soared upward. “Who knows when that might happen.”
“Come now, Mother. I join you and Father and Caroline for dinner whenever I’m in London.” As much as neither Violet nor her mother enjoyed it, Violet always paid an obligatory call on her family, which usually included dinner. An ordeal no one especially enjoyed. Conversation inevitably centered around what a perfect daughter twenty-year-old Caroline was with her brilliant prospects for a match and the disastrous state of Violet’s own marriage. A failure that was obviously her fault. Truth was never especially important to Mother.
The fact of the matter was Mother had never forgiven Violet for being the subject of scandal, compounded by her not becoming the perfect Mrs. Branham, now Lady Ellsworth, she was expected to be. She should have been a force in society, a renowned hostess and mother of a respectable number of offspring. A daughter an ambitious mother could be proud of. And Violet had never forgiven her mother for leaping at the chance to marry her off. Not merely because of a relatively minor scandal but because she thought this was Violet’s only chance for an acceptable marriage. Which might well have been true but was beside the point nonetheless.