“I think it’s wonderful, Emily,” Violet said, ignoring Diana and Jeremy’s squabbling, as was usually best. “I rather like Lord Julian. He’s very handsome,” she could not resist adding.
“And his pockets are very deep,” Diana added.
“I think I agreed out of curiosity more than anything else,” Emily confessed. “I’ve no idea how I’ll convince my parents to allow his escort—they’ll be worried Mr. Cartham will be offended.”
“Did you mention your parents’ concern to Belfry?” Jeremy asked.
Emily nodded. “He said not to worry about that—that he and Mr. Cartham run in some of the same circles, and he’d handle it.” She sounded dubious at the odds of his success in this endeavor, but Violet rather thought that Lord Julian Belfry might be entirely capable of managing Oswald Cartham, and she said as much.
“Besides,” she added. “Diana’s right. Men have to marry eventually. Perhaps he’s decided that the role of husband appeals to him.”
“Speaking of husbands,” Emily added, clearly desperate for a change in subject matter, “where was yours rushing off to, Violet, in such a hurry when I arrived?”
Violet frowned. “What do you mean?”
It was Emily’s turn to frown. “He was departing just as I was arriving—he seemed in a state of some agitation, I must confess. Did he not tell you where he was going?”
“I didn’t even know he was home,” Violet said, exasperated. When had James arrived? And why had he left?
“How odd,” Emily said, still frowning. “He was walking away from the hallway leading to the library just as Wooton let me in; I assumed he had been in here with you.”
A cold feeling crept over Violet. What had they been discussing, just prior to Emily’s arrival? What might James have overheard? She thought for a moment, and then realized, a mixture of anger and mild alarm rising within her: they’d been discussing the possibility of Violet having an affair.
Of course that would be the moment he chose to eavesdrop, the infuriating man. She wanted to throttle him.
Instead she said slowly to her friends, “I think he overheard us.”
“What do you mean?” Diana asked.
“You were prattling on about my taking a lover,” Violet said, striving to keep the irritation out of her voice. “I think that’s the bit of our conversation that James overheard. Why else would he rush off like that?”
“Pish,” Jeremy said dismissively. “It’s not Audley’s way to listen at keyholes like a naughty schoolboy.”
This was an amusing mental image, but Violet did not allow herself to be distracted. “It was likely accidental,” she clarified. “The door was cracked, after all, and he could have easily caught a bit of what we were saying if he were standing just outside.”
“What has you so upset, Violet?” Diana asked, getting up and walking to her side.
“The man’s probably gone and gotten the wrong idea again!” Violet burst out angrily. “No doubt he heard your nonsense and now he’s gotten himself worked into a fury once more. Oh, I could strangle him!” She began to pace the length of the room—which was not inconsiderable. “How am I supposed to make a go of this marriage if he takes offense at every whispered insinuation he hears? It’s infuriating!”
“To be fair,” Jeremy said helpfully, “I don’t think Lady Templeton was insinuating anything. She was stating it quite plainly.”
Diana shot a venomous look at Jeremy, but Violet had no time for their squabbling now.
“It would be nice if I could confide in my dearest friend without her encouraging me to destroy my marriage.”
Diana’s face flushed with anger, which was unusual; despite her quick tongue, it was rare that she grew truly angry. She never seemed to think it worth the energy. But Violet had clearly struck a nerve.
“You’ve done quite enough to destroy your marriage without any help from me,” she said in a clipped tone that evidenced nothing of her usual languid demeanor. “You’re behaving like a child, and so is your husband.” She crossed her arms. “It’s absurd that you’ve ever tried to claim your indifference to him, in fact. People don’t try so desperately to needle someone they’re indifferent to.”
Violet was sorely tempted at that moment to ask how that particular theory applied to Diana’s perpetual spat with Jeremy, but resisted the temptation with some difficulty, deciding that it would only make matters worse.
“I’m going to take my leave of you now, Violet,” Diana said decisively, gathering up her reticule and making for the doorway. “Do please let me know when all this nonsense is at an end and we might have a normal conversation once more.” With that, she departed, leaving Violet, Emily, and Jeremy staring at the empty space she’d just vacated.
“You know,” Jeremy said thoughtfully, “I think I might rather admire Lady Templeton after all.”
Fourteen
That morning, James had done what he always did in moments of doubt: taken to his horse.
He’d felt like the very devil upon awakening, his mouth dry and head pounding, but he’d dragged himself out of bed nonetheless; he was going to feel like hell regardless—he might as well do it in the open air. And, in truth, he needed to think, and he had always thought better out of doors. He recalled his years at Oxford—whenever he had become stuck on some sort of thorny mathematical problem, a good, hard ride had usually sorted him out.
He had languished in bed long past his usual hour, courtesy of the aforementioned throbbing head, but still arrived at the park hours before five, when the ton turned out in force. It was, therefore, something of a surprise when he heard another rider hailing him as soon as he turned onto Rotten Row.
It was an even greater surprise when he discovered that said rider was his father.
As James had grown from boy to man, his father had seemed to shrink—he was still a tall, imposing man, but he no longer towered over James as he had in James’s boyhood, nor was he a towering figure in James’s imagination, one to be feared at all costs. However, he still made no effort to see the duke more than was absolutely necessary—and when one was a second son and not the cherished heir, “absolutely necessary” was rather less than one might think. Or it had been prior to West’s accident.
Since that day, the duke had taken rather more of an interest in his second son. There had been the gift of Audley House as a wedding present and that frightful morning when James had returned home to find his father and Violet deep in conversation—a conversation that James was beginning to think he might have badly misunderstood. Still, despite the fact that the duke’s hopes for the future of the dukedom focused rather more on James than James might have wished, he had managed to put as much distance as was seemly between himself and his father. They weren’t openly feuding—they kept up appearances—but . . .
Well, but James didn’t relish the idea of his father interrupting a much-needed ride. Especially on a day when his head felt as though a hammer were pounding at his temples.
“Father,” he said stiffly, having reined in his horse and allowed his father to catch up. “This is rather early for you, is it not?”