And just like that, the distance was back between them. For a moment, as they had discussed Byron, it had felt like it used to, before everything went wrong in their marriage. But just as quickly, with the words my lord, the past four years reinserted themselves. And it was all the more frustrating for the fact that, for a moment, he’d forgotten how things stood.
“Very well,” he said impatiently, angry at her for ruining the moment—for ruining things in the first place, he thought furiously. “If you have no need of my assistance, then I shall take my leave of you.” He hated the sound of his own voice when he was speaking to her, sometimes—never did he sound like so much of a prig as when he was conversing with his own wife.
He reminded himself, as he so often did, that he was not the party at fault in this mess—he had reacted as any man would have upon learning his own wife had manipulated him in so appalling a fashion. The fact that he had to remind himself of this fact at all was itself a dangerous sign—for a good while after their last, final argument, he’d been too angry to think clearly. He’d never needed reminding then.
“I require nothing of you,” Violet said softly, in response to his last statement. And for a moment James wanted to shake her, to demand that she ask something, anything of him—he was her husband, after all, for better or for worse.
But, of course, he could not say that to her. So instead he bowed, and said nothing more at all.
Violet’s plan was proving to be more complicated than she had anticipated.
“Of course it is,” Diana said impatiently the next day as she, Violet, and Emily reclined in Diana’s barouche outside Gunter’s. “I do believe my exact words to you when you confessed this idea were, ‘Have you lost your mind?’ ”
“And I assured you that I had done no such thing,” Violet said, pausing to take a bite of her ice. It was a warm day, and Berkeley Square was packed with carriages and curricles full of other ladies similarly enjoying ices in the sunshine. Violet spotted at least three different clusters of ladies that she knew, but she did no more than nod in acknowledgment upon catching their eyes. She did not wish to be disturbed.
“However,” she conceded, “this is presenting some difficulties. Do you think your physician would be willing to lie to the son of a duke?”
Diana and Emily both blinked at her, Emily with a spoon suspended halfway to her mouth.
“It’s just that if I’m going to maintain this ruse, I’ll eventually need a physician to say that I’m truly ill, and I know James’s physician won’t do it. So I need to find someone else.”
“And you don’t think he’ll find it suspicious that you’re suddenly consulting a different physician?” Emily asked skeptically.
“I shall just tell him that I want someone who has nothing to do with the Audley family,” Violet said, waving a spoon dismissively. “He won’t question me overmuch after I tell him that.”
“What a pleasant time the two of you must have of it,” Diana said, shaking her head. “Tell me, at mealtimes, do you slice your meat with great gusto whilst staring at your husband menacingly across the table?”
“Only on special occasions,” Violet said, refusing to rise to the bait. “But the fact remains, if I want to give James what for, I’ll need a physician at some point.”
“Or someone who looks like a physician,” Emily said thoughtfully, surprising Violet—she had rather expected Emily to be the one who objected more strenuously to all this.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ll struggle to find a physician willing to lie to a lady’s husband, especially when the husband in question is the second son of a duke,” Emily said. She took a bite of her ice. “So you might be better served by finding someone who could pose as a physician.”
“What, an actor?” Violet asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Certainly not,” Emily said, blushing. “The very idea! It would be most inappropriate for a lady of your breeding to even be in the company of an actor, there’s no one who—”
“Wait,” Diana said, her eyes lighting up. “There’s one actor whose company would be acceptable.”
“Who?” Emily asked, her tone highly skeptical. “Violet’s reputation would be compromised if she were seen in the company of anyone involved with the theater. And it’s not as though actors tend to frequent Wednesday nights at Almack’s.”
“Lucky them,” Violet murmured.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Diana said gleefully. “There’s one who does. Well,” she amended, “probably not Almack’s, because no one in their right mind would choose to go there. But there is one person involved with the theater who has entrée to places we can reach him.”
Violet leaned forward, intrigued. “Diana, I do believe your penchant for gossip is finally proving useful.”
“Indeed,” Diana said smugly. “I take it you two do not recall the scandal of the Marquess of Eastvale’s son?”
Violet took a thoughtful bite of ice. The name sounded familiar, somehow—beyond the routine familiarity every member of the aristocracy had with the families listed in Debrett’s. What was it? She gasped.
“Julian Belfry?” she asked. “Oh, Diana, you are brilliant at times, I must admit.”
“Who is Julian Belfry?” Emily asked, frowning.
“Don’t you recall the story?” Violet asked. “It was a few years ago—during your second Season, perhaps? He’s the second son of a marquess and instead of joining the military or the clergy—”
“Or raising a stable full of horses,” Diana added dryly.
“—he started his own theater with the inheritance left him by a relative. I don’t recall all the precise details,” Violet said, waving her hand impatiently. “But it was quite a scandal—his father hasn’t spoken his name since the day he received word of the purchase of the theater. He was a couple of years ahead of James and Penvale and Jeremy at Oxford,” she said, and then her face fell as a realization dawned on her. “Oh, but Diana, he won’t do at all! James knows him! He’ll see through any ruse in an instant.”
“Are they closely acquainted?” Diana asked.
“No,” Violet said, drawing out the syllable as she thought, trying to recall mentions of him James had made in passing. “I don’t know that they were ever particularly intimate.”
“And Belfry is supposed to be quite the actor, isn’t he?” Diana pressed. “Performs in many of the productions at his own theater? It’s all part of the scandal surrounding him, is it not?”
“Well, yes—”
“Then I don’t think it will be a problem,” Diana said dismissively. “Any actor worth his salt must be possessed of a few clever costumes—and men never see anything other than they’re expecting to. Audley won’t notice a thing.”
“Much as it pains me to admit this, James isn’t entirely unintelligent,” Violet said. “I don’t know if this will work.”
“Well, do you have a better idea?” Diana asked impatiently.