The Husband Trap (17 page)

Upstairs in her bedchamber, Violet woke, surprised to discover she had fallen deeply asleep.

Agnes, bless her heart, bustled in moments later to help her dress for dinner. She assisted her into a lovely gown of spotted primrose India muslin with short sleeves and a scoop-necked bodice. Then the maid brushed and repinned her hair, hooking a creamy strand of pearls around her throat.

Thanks to a good sense of direction, Violet managed to find the second-floor drawing room after taking only a single wrong turn. Adrian was already inside, along with another gentleman. Introductions were made. Mr. James Dalton, Adrian’s private secretary, would, it seemed, be joining them for dinner tonight.

As a rule Violet found strangers utterly intimidating. But Mr. Dalton with his crooked smile and ruddy cheeks was so thoroughly pleasant, so thoroughly polite, she felt relaxed and at ease in his presence in no time at all.

She learned that Mr. Dalton was a great dog lover and had already acquainted himself with Horatio. A fine specimen of canine grace, he declared, winning her over completely. They were eagerly comparing notes on the most even-tempered breeds, Adrian listening on with an amused tilt to his upper lip, when the dowager duchess entered the room.

Violet did her best not to tense up and fall silent. It was vital she maintain her ruse and do nothing out of character for her sister. She knew it would not do for her to rely upon the excuse of tiredness for a second time that day. Unknowingly, Mr. Dalton came to her aid, drawing Adrian’s mother into the conversation as if she had been there the entire time. To Violet’s utter relief, her own occasional lengthy silences seemed to go by without notice.

Dinner was served in the family dining room, small by ducal standards, only large enough to seat fifteen to twenty people. A center leaf had been removed from the long, polished pecan table. That way the four of them would be able to dine in comfortable intimacy, and not be forced to raise their voices to be heard.

Adrian sat at one end, Violet at the other, in the place reserved for the hostess. How odd it was, Violet thought, to act as hostess. Even odder to do so while pretending to be her sister. By some sheer miracle, she managed. Silently she directed the staff while she ate and talked, forcing herself to carry her share of the conversation as each new topic was introduced.

Profound relief swept through her when the coffee was poured and dessert laid. The beautiful puff pastry swans Chef had promised glided—one on each plate—in a small, delicious lake of melted dark chocolate, serving as the final conversation piece.

Her relief was short-lived, however.

Once the meal was concluded, the men excused themselves to discuss a pressing matter of estate business. Violet was left to return to the drawing room with the dowager. She had no idea what to say. Oh, why had Adrian had to abandon her? Drat the man.

His mother seated herself on one end of the comfortable sofa. Violet settled into the spot on the other end while she racked her brain for a suitable subject. Perhaps some mention of the weather. Generally it was considered a safe subject.

“The day looks to be most pleasant for your journey tomorrow,” she ventured.

“Hmm,” the dowager replied. “Though sudden storms often erupt in the afternoon this time of year. It may turn out to be quite inclement.”

Violet kept herself from rolling her eyes. So much for the weather, she thought. She drew in a bracing lungful of air and tried again. “You lived here at Winterlea for quite a long number of years…”

The dowager turned her refined face toward her, one eyebrow elevated.

Dear heavens, Violet fretted, had she just inadvertently insinuated that the dowager was old? She rushed on. “Perhaps you could tell me something of the families who live in the neighborhood.”

Her mother-in-law pinned her with a long probing stare, then relented. “There are several fine families in the area, though none to compare in wealth or status with our own. A Winter has been the leading peer and landholder in this part of Derbyshire for nearly three hundred years. Ever since King Henry VIII granted the land to the first Earl of Exeford in 1545.”

Violet remembered a small smattering of family history from her original visit to Winterlea. If she recalled correctly, Adrian was, in addition to being the sixth Duke of Raeburn, also the tenth Earl of Exeford, Viscounts Trentworth and Faynehill, Lord Leighton and Baron Crofton. He held a few other assorted minor titles that she couldn’t easily recall. One other that she did recollect clearly was the Marquis of Ashton. Their firstborn son would become the ninth marquis, should she and Adrian ever have a son.

A tingle ran through her at the thought.

“Lord and Lady Carter own Cresthaven, some miles distant,” her mother-in-law continued. “Very genteel people. The Miltons and the Lyles, they are fine people too. And, of course, Vicar Thompkins and his wife. They have the living here and reside very near the village.
Certainement,
they shall call upon you after a reasonable period.”

Call upon her? Violet shuddered imperceptibly. She hadn’t considered having to receive her neighbors. But of course she would, politeness would dictate that she must. How stupid of her not to have considered. She twisted her hands together and forced herself not to scowl.

“You will get along well in the area so long as you provide a few entertainments here and there. People expect others to keep the boredom away. But that should not be a problem for you, since you have such an honest love of Society.”

Violet smiled, the delicious meal she had so recently consumed burning uncomfortably inside her stomach.

“I expect you shall spend a fair amount of time in London. It is good,” Adrian’s mother declared, “you have established already so many connections there. Your polish and easy ways will be a great boon to my son’s career,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“What do you mean?”

“Up to now, he has taken only casual interest in his duties in the House of Lords. But now that he is married, I am sure he will take a more active roll in government. The Dukes of Raeburn have always been leaders. Even his father, and I shall say no more on
that
subject, was very active politically. Adrian is no different. He is bound for greatness, by birth as well as inclination. It is only a matter of time.”

Violet stared. Did Adrian have political aspirations? He had never mentioned anything about it to her. But then, why should he have? They had only been wed for a little over a week, and men did not always discuss such things with their wives. They simply went out and did as they chose. At least, that is how her father behaved. He did as he wished and let her mother cry and complain about it later if it turned out to be something she did not like.

“You will be a wonderful asset to him.” The dowager reached out, patted her hand. “A skilled hostess, she can be every bit as essential to a man as his abilities and convictions. I am depending upon you to aid him in all his future successes.”

“Yes, of course,” Violet said, falsely cheerful. “I would want nothing else.”

“I love my son. I would be greatly distressed to hear that Adrian was in any way discontented.”

Violet’s back stiffened, her chin coming up of its own accord. “As would I. You are not the only one who loves him.”

Something softened in her mother-in-law’s eyes. The dowager nodded once, then moved on to another subject.

Adrian and Mr. Dalton joined them a few minutes later.

A distant clock sounded the time, two mellow strokes that echoed in the buttery softness of the night.

Violet lay awake, gazing into the darkness, Adrian asleep beside her.

Her conversation with the dowager kept playing in her mind, words repeating themselves over and over again in a loop that had become a diabolical sort of torture.

Your polish and easy ways will be a great boon to my son’s career.

What polish and easy ways?

The Dukes of Raeburn have always been leaders…He is bound for greatness.

Unless she committed some grievous mistake and spoiled everything for him.

You will be a wonderful asset to him.

Oh, but she wouldn’t, Violet moaned to herself. She knew little of Society and even less about being a political hostess. If Adrian’s mother was correct, if he wanted to take a prominent role in leading the nation, she was the last person to whom he should turn. She was floundering around as it was, clutching at any likely straws just to get through each day. Pretending to be her sister among her new family was difficult enough. How on earth could she hope to dazzle the world at something she was not certain even Jeannette could pull off? Jeannette was about as political as a brown mouse. Then again, she had a way with people. Perhaps that’s all it took.

Dear God, why had she ever agreed to this deception?

She would be Adrian’s ruination, and her own as well.

I would be greatly distressed to hear Adrian was in any way discontented.

The words stabbed at her. Violet rolled to her side and squeezed her eyes shut. She loved him. The last thing she wanted to do was hold him back. Panic hummed in her veins, her heart thumping a rapid staccato inside her breast.

“Jeannette?” Adrian murmured, waking at her movement. He slid a hand over her shoulder.

She stiffened, recoiling to hear her sister’s name.
No,
she thought,
I am Violet. I am Violet.

“Is anything wrong?”

She had to answer him. “Nothing. I can’t sleep,” she said.

“Bad dreams?”

Bad dreams, troubled thoughts. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Would it help to talk about it?”

If only she could talk about it. Turn to him, tell him what his mother had said, ask if he really did have serious political aspirations. But what if it was true and he had already discussed his plans with Jeannette during their engagement? It would seem awfully odd for her to be inquiring again now. She couldn’t take the risk.

“No. I scarcely remember what I was dreaming,” she said.

“Well, maybe I can think of a way to lull you back to sleep. Come here.” Gently, he turned her into his arms, his lips meeting her own in tender warmth.

She threaded her fingers into his hair, loving its silky texture, warm and mussed from sleep. His cheeks were rough with nighttime whiskers. She didn’t mind, kissing him harder, suddenly desperate to lose herself in his lovemaking.

“Yes,” she whispered, wrapping her arms fully around him. “Take me away. Make me forget everything but you.”

Chapter Ten

“Those are the last of the linen wardrobes, your Grace. Would you care to inspect the china cupboards next?” Mrs. Hardwick shut and locked a set of tall double doors that lined one section of hallway in the east wing. Once finished, she turned inquiring eyes upon the new duchess.

Violet stifled a weary sigh. In the past four hours she and the housekeeper had walked what must have been a mile at least of hallways and staircases. Striding into rooms and back out again as the older woman acquainted her with Winterlea’s current domestic arrangements. The torture had commenced promptly after breakfast with an inspection of the wine cellars, then gradually moved upward through the house. They were now on the second floor.

“Not at present, Mrs. Hardwick,” Violet declared, forcing herself to be pleasant but firm. “I am sure they are in the same excellent order as were the contents of all of the other cabinets and closets we’ve inspected this morning. I thank you for a most thorough tour, but now I must return to my rooms to change for luncheon. The duke will be quite cross if I am late arriving at table.”

Mrs. Hardwick frowned as if she meant to disagree. In a precise imitation of her twin, Violet gave a perfunctory nod then turned away.

Mrs. Hardwick, however, was not ready to be dismissed. “If your Grace has time this afternoon, there are next week’s menus to approve. Chef is most insistent about knowing beforehand what meals he is to serve.”

That’s right,
Violet thought,
shift the blame onto Chef.
“Who has been in charge of approving the meals up to now?” she asked.

The housekeeper straightened her scrawny shoulders, crowlike in her black bombazine dress. “Prior to your Grace’s arrival, that duty has fallen to me.”

Violet knew decisions concerning meals, table arrangements and such fell under her purview as duchess. But the thought of being troubled over such mundane details left her less than enthusiastic. Jeannette would likely have reveled in such domestic authority. For Violet’s part, she could think of a hundred and one more interesting ways to spend her time. She wished she could simply chuck it all, but she was the Duchess of Raeburn now. She had responsibilities. She did not want to disappoint Adrian.

“Yes, very well,” Violet said, watching the other woman’s eyes ignite with a subtle gleam of triumph. The look, and the knowledge that her sister would never cavil to a servant, gave Violet the courage to rebel just a little. “But not today,” she stated. “Tomorrow is soon enough. Ten o’clock, in my study. I shall see you there.”