Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

" M y dear, where is your husband?" Lady Carfield asked as she sat down on a chair next to Violet, who was sorting through another bookcase. "I haven't seen him in several days."

Violet looked up, surprised by her mother's presence. She had been so focused on organizing that she hadn't even heard her enter the library.

It was a very good question. Violet had not seen her husband for a couple of days, ever since their kiss, and she couldn't fault her mother for asking. However, her stomach turned at the thought of James, and she had to clench her jaw and look away.

"He is staying at his apartment in The Albany," she replied stiffly.

"Really?" Lady Carfield sounded surprised and concerned. "And why is he doing that?"

Violet swiped a palm over her sweaty brow and turned back to her mother. "I believe he thinks it will be easier for him to conduct his business from there. It is closer to the headquarters of Scotland Yard as well as Parliament. And from what I understand, his crusade against Farrell—and the other criminal enterprises in the duchy—is taking a great deal of both legal and political bargaining. And with the number of hours he is spending there, it simply makes more sense for him to reside close by."

He really had the perfect excuse . The perfect excuse to get away from me.

"I see." Lady Carfield squinted at her as if trying to read the look on her face, but Violet kept her expression placid and cool. It wasn't hard—she'd been doing it her whole life. "And how do you know all this?"

"He sent a note," Violet explained.

The mere thought of his note, which had arrived shortly after he had fled the house, still made her angry. It had been cold and impersonal, informing her that he would be staying at The Albany until the business with the duchy was concluded.

"And before you ask, no, he didn't say how long he'll be staying there, as he doesn't know how long it will take to clean up the duchy once and for all."

"I certainly hope he returns home soon," Lady Carfield said. "The house is not as lively without him, and you do not seem as happy."

Violet bristled at the insinuation, not least of all because she knew it was true. "I'm happy! I don't need my husband to be present in order to be happy."

Lady Carfield tilted her head to the side and studied her daughter with motherly astuteness. "You're not happy, Violet. A mother can tell. I can see it in your eyes when you look at his empty chair during dinner—I can see it on your face now."

Violet scowled. "What would you know?" she snapped. "You have only been back in my life for a few months. You don't know how to read my expression, and you certainly don't know me well enough to decide what does and doesn't make me happy."

There was a short, tense silence during which she couldn't quite meet her mother's eyes. She hadn't meant those words, but it was easier to be angry at her mother than to admit what was wrong.

"Perhaps you're right," Lady Carfield acknowledged. "Perhaps I missed too many years of your life to try and offer advice now."

"No, you didn't," Violet sighed, taking her mother's hand and looking her in the eyes. For the first time in two days, she felt her shoulders relax, but a lump formed in her throat. "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I apologize."

"You don't need to apologize," her mother said gently. "It's all right if you're mad at me for abandoning you when you were young. You and I haven't really had a chance to talk about it yet. Iris and I spoke, but you… Well, you have always been so tough, so reserved, that I didn't know how to bring it up."

"I'm not mad that you left us," Violet clarified, squeezing her mother's hand. "I understand why you did it. If I had to live with a man like Father… Well, I can understand the temptation."

"But it was wrong of me to leave you behind," her mother insisted.

Violet shook her head. "I'm not in a place to judge, Mama. Nor am I angry about what I'm sure was a very difficult choice. I spoke in anger just now, but I'm practical enough to know that sometimes we have to make the hard decision, even if it hurts people."

There was another small pause, but this one didn't feel strained. Lady Carfield smiled slightly at her daughter, and Violet smiled back.

"Iris was not so quick to forgive me," Lady Carfield noted.

"Maybe it helps that I had a mother figure," Violet said. "Iris was my mother in a way. But poor Iris, because she was the eldest, was the one who had to live without a mother figure. And she remembers life with you better than I do. It's mostly a blur for me."

"Well, I'm glad I get to be your mother again," Lady Carfield murmured.

"Me too."

"And in that vein, if you really aren't angry with me, then I would like to use my motherly position to give you some advice. I wanted to say that in order to become close to someone, you have to be willing to open yourself up to them."

"What do you mean?" Violet asked swiftly.

Is she talking about me and her, or me and James?

Her mother didn't answer right away, but when she did, her words were circuitous.

"You were always my most reserved child, you know," Lady Carfield began, frowning thoughtfully. "I know you think you only became reserved after I left in order to protect you from your father, but you were like that before anyway. Perhaps not so much as you are now. But you were always the quietest of my girls, the one who was least expressive, and at the same time the most thoughtful and practical."

"What are you trying to say, Mama?" Violet asked, unsure how to decipher all of this.

Her mother gave her a sad smile. "I don't know what happened between you and your husband after we got back from that horrendous trip, but I can tell that something happened. The two of you were so happy when we left the inn. And it made me so happy to see it—my daughter happily married to a man who adores her and who would put his life on the line for her."

"I wouldn't say he adores me," Violet protested at once.

"A mother can tell," Lady Carfield insisted, with an air of mystery. "I know when a man adores one of my daughters."

"Well, he certainly isn't acting like it now."

"Yes, well, I can see that. And while I can't pretend to be an expert on marriage, I do know that the strongest relationships can only stem from emotional honesty."

"Why are you assuming I'm the one who wasn't emotionally honest?" Violet asked, a little put out.

After all, she had kissed James. She had put herself out there. It was he who had rejected her and pushed her away.

"I'm not assuming that," Lady Carfield said, patting her shoulder. "Maybe he's the one I should be talking to about this, but you're my daughter, so you're the one to whom I'm giving the advice." Her expression became very serious. "Love is worth taking a risk for, my darling. It's worth opening yourself to, even if it's scary. And it's worth giving the person you love a second chance if they are struggling to open up."

Violet's heart clenched painfully at her mother's words. The pain was too much to handle, and she felt it morph into anger and defensiveness.

"You sound just like Rosalie now," she huffed. "The Duke and I have a marriage of convenience only, and I would ask you not to use that word"—she couldn't bring herself to say it, but she knew her mother would know which word she meant—"again."

"But—" Lady Carfield began, but Violet cut her off, standing up as she spoke.

"I know you have good intentions, Mama, but I can promise you, the Duke and I are not in the throes of any kind of romantic passion. We have our differences, yes, but it is not of the nature that you suspect. And while I agree that love is worth the vulnerability, that's not relevant in my life."

"Violet," Lady Carfield pleaded, standing up as well, "don't do this. Don't push me away as well."

"I'm not," Violet said stiffly. "I'm merely correcting your impression of my marriage. I assure you, I am well, and the Duke and I will clear up the misunderstanding we have—our relationship is purely platonic, after all!"

She turned and left the room as quickly as she could, trying not to feel guilty about the crestfallen look on her mother's face.

"I need to do something other than redecorate this house," she muttered to herself as she took the stairs to her bedroom two at a time. "Something to distract me from thinking about my husband."

She had just thrown herself down on her bed in a dramatic fashion that Rosalie would have been proud of when a knock sounded at her door.

"Enter," she called, hoping that it wasn't her mother.

And it wasn't. It was her lady's maid.

"A letter just arrived for you, Your Grace," she said, curtsying as she held out a silver tray atop which was an envelope.

At once, Violet's heart leaped.

It must be from James!

She sat up and eagerly snatched the envelope off the tray. It was addressed to her but had no return address, which only confirmed her conviction that it was from her husband. The note he had last sent also did not have a return address.

Once her lady's maid was gone, she ripped open the envelope and scanned the note.

At once, all the momentary joy was replaced by the icy grip of fear. The letter was not from her husband. It was from her father.

My dearest daughter,

You must forgive me that I have not written to you yet to congratulate you on your wedding. As you can imagine, it has been hard for me to get letters delivered from my current place of instability and rootlessness. But congratulations are certainly in order! You snagged a duke, and not just any duke, but the Devilish Duke! I should have known that both my daughters would marry men who are as formidable as their father, and I am even less surprised that you chose someone so clearly fashioned in my image.

We have always been so alike, Daughter. From a very young age, friends and colleagues would comment on it. And since you married a man who is unafraid to go to extremes to get what he wants, I believe that you will understand my position even more. Perhaps you will even help me.

I need to meet with you, Violet. Of course, I cannot let you know the time or place, in case you would be foolish enough to bring Scotland Yard or your husband with you. But I would very much like to meet and discuss how you can make up for your wrongdoings. Since I cannot leave my return address for you to write to me, I shall assume you are amenable to this meeting.

Expect me when you least expect me, Daughter. I shall see you soon, and then we shall find out just how similar we really are.

Yours truly,

Jebediah Crampton, Viscount Carfield.

Violet folded the letter, and her fingers shook so badly that she thought she might drop it. She felt ill. Her father's letter had sent a shiver up her spine. It scared her greatly that he would write to her and tell her he was planning to see her. By warning her, he was giving her a chance to anticipate him and outsmart him, but he was also instilling in her the dread of coming face-to-face with him.

He's trying to scare me. Even now that I'm married to James, Papa still isn't afraid to threaten me.

Now, more than ever, she wished that her husband was here at the house, and not staying in his bachelor lodgings at The Albany.

"Why aren't you here, James?" she whispered out loud. "Why aren't you protecting me?"

She crumpled the letter in her hands. At least she was no longer thinking about the kiss, she thought dully. Her father had thoroughly distracted her from that debacle.

Across town, James was standing outside the office of Harold Twycross, the Earl of Kettledown, also trying to distract himself from thinking about the kiss he and his wife had shared.

It was hot outside, and during the whole ride from Lord Gray's office to the Parliament building at Westminster, he had been unable to think of anything except the baths in Rome—the perfect place to cool down in the summer heat—where, he couldn't help but imagine, it would be perfect to take his wife on a honeymoon.

She would love Italy, and now that Iris had spent her honeymoon in Italy, James was sure that Violet was also eager for such an escapade.

You can't go on holiday to Rome , he reminded himself sternly, when you have the duchy to clean up.

And also because he and Violet didn't have that kind of relationship. If there was one thing Rome necessitated, it was romance.

The door to the office opened, and the secretary came out. "His Lordship will see you now," he said, before showing James into the office.

"Your Grace!" Kettledown greeted, standing up as James swept into the room, and extending his hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Lord Kettledown," James returned, shaking the Earl's hand earnestly. "I will not beat around the bush—I am here on business, and to ask for a favor."

"Ahh." The Earl indicated the chair in front of his desk, and they sat across from each other. "I see the time has finally come for you to call in your favor."

"Indeed." James inclined his head. "I didn't just make you a rich man, Kettledown, when I took that failing mine off your hands. I saved you from having to file for bankruptcy and potentially sell your family's ancient estate."

"You did," Kettledown agreed. "You saved me and my family from ruin, Your Grace, and I will not easily forget that. Chances are, you were going to take a loss on the mine, but you managed to get it up and running again—and even make it profitable!" He shook his head. "I'll never understand how you do it, but you always seem to get your way, don't you?"

James smiled and steepled his fingers. "Yes, I do."

"Then let's get down to brass tacks. What can I do for you?"

"The matter is delicate," James began, leaning forward slightly. "It involves Lord Redfield."

"Redfield!" Kettledown's expression darkened. "A weasel of a man. Investing in his shipping business was one of the worst mistakes of my life. If I hadn't put all that money into that business, I might have been able to save the mine…"

"Well, it's done now," James said. "And it worked out for you in the end."

"Indeed."

"What I need," James continued, his voice growing lower and softer, "is to access Redfield's financial records for his investment in Mr. Farrell's dogfighting and smuggling ventures. And to do that, I need you."

Kettledown stroked his beard. "And why do you think I would be able to help you get that information?"

"Don't play coy with me," James said, his voice still soft but edged with a hint of warning now. "I know that you both work with the same solicitor, even after you stopped investing in his company."

"But the records are sealed at the solicitor's office!" Kettledown exclaimed.

"I also know that the solicitor is a member of your family," James continued, and Kettledown's eyes went wide. "And I doubt that he would think twice about helping out the patriarch of his family, especially if it meant the Earl might owe him a favor in the future."

"H-how do you know that?" Kettledown spluttered. "Mr. Condran and I are… very distantly related. And only through marriage! He is in trade!"

"You forget who I am," James said, and he enjoyed watching the color drain from Kettledown's face. "It is my job to know things."

In fact, it was one of his favorite things about his reputation, although he would never admit it.

"Anyway, I don't care about your having a commoner for a relative," James continued impatiently. "What I care about is how you can bend him to your will—or rather, my will."

"But…" Kettledown still looked uncertain. "He could lose his license if someone finds out!"

"This is of the utmost importance," James said. "Farrell must be brought down, and without the financial records of his illegal dealings with Redfield, we may lose our chance. And you owe me, Kettledown. Wouldn't you like that debt to be cleared up?"

Slowly, Kettledown nodded. "I suppose that my second cousin would be amenable to having the Earl in his debt," he relented, at last. "And he would certainly be flattered by an invitation to Kettledown House… that might be enough to sway him."

"Very good." James stood up and extended his hand. Kettledown scrambled to his feet and shook it. "We have a deal."

As he turned to leave the office, James experienced exactly what he had been hoping for—a feeling of such pure satisfaction that he had actually stopped thinking about his wife.

But of course, it didn't last long.