Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

" I really am grateful for this distance between myself and the Duke," Violet said as she and Rosalie drifted along the edge of the dance floor while couples swirled all around them. "It has given me time to think about what I would like to do as a duchess."

"That's good," Rosalie muttered, but she was clearly not listening to her. Her eyes were fixed on the dancing couples, and there was a dreamy quality to her voice.

"Are you off in one of your fantasy worlds?" Violet asked, peering at her sister.

"What? No, I'm not a child anymore," Rosalie said, frowning. "I'm merely imagining what it would be like to dance at a ball like this with a handsome gentleman."

"You don't have to imagine it," Violet said. "We're here, at the ball. You can certainly find a partner who will dance with you."

"I don't know…" Rosalie fingered her dance card nervously. "I'm not officially out, and no one here knows me."

Violet bit her lip. She wished she could have asked her husband to introduce them to some young gentlemen who might be suitable for Rosalie to dance with. But her husband wasn't in attendance—he didn't even come to help Violet chaperone her sister at her first ball. He was too busy with business.

Truthfully, Violet had been reluctant to let Rosalie attend the ball.

"It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that Society can be overwhelming," she'd explained the day before. "And you are sensitive."

But Rosalie had begged and begged.

"I want to experience the thrill of a Season without Father hovering over my shoulder," she had said, and it was this that had finally made Violet relent, although not for the reason her sister thought.

The mention of their father reminded her of his letter, and she had decided that if she were going to the ball, it was better to have Rosalie there with her, where she could keep an eye on her.

Better not to take any risks. Perhaps he warned me he was planning to meet me in order to let my guard down around Rosalie. Perhaps she is the one he actually wants to see.

Violet hadn't told her sister or mother about the letter, but she had written to James about it. Despite their disagreement over the kiss, she knew he would want to be kept informed of any developments.

This letter will be taken into consideration, and more protection will be added to the house , James had written back at once. But he hadn't accompanied the letter to Bolden House, so it had now been a whole week since Violet had last seen him.

"What about those gentlemen?" Rosalie asked, her eyes landing on two young gentlemen nearby. "They're rather handsome!"

Violet followed her sister's gaze. The two gentlemen seemed young, but they looked agreeable. Still, it wouldn't be possible.

"If we had been introduced, then that would be one thing," she explained to her younger sister. "But we have not been introduced, and therefore it would be rude for us to approach them."

Rosalie let out an angry sigh. "Why couldn't your husband come with us? He could have made all the proper introductions!"

"He is very busy with business," Violet said, her tone as emotionless as she could make it. "I invited him to the ball in my last letter, but he declined."

Not even to discuss the new safety measures with me . He is behaving like a child because of one kiss!

"What about Cousin Niles?" Rosalie asked suddenly. "Couldn't he introduce us to some gentlemen?"

Both ladies turned to look at their cousin, who was standing several yards away, talking animatedly with several young ladies. From the looks on their faces, the ladies were baffled by what the new Lord Carfield was saying, rather than impressed.

"Poor Cousin Niles," Violet sighed. "He really is hopeless, isn't he? He looks less like a gentleman and more like a court jester in that colorful jacket…"

"And he keeps making the most dramatic and preposterous statements," Rosalie added, giggling. "The way he speaks, it sounds like a medieval poem on courtly love, not how a gentleman actually talks to a lady and gets to know her."

"Still, I suppose he will do," Violet said, cocking her head. "He is a viscount, and he will be able to introduce us to many gentlemen I'd be happy to see you dance with."

She waited for a lull in the conversation, then swooped in and asked if she could borrow her cousin. The young ladies looked more than happy to let her lead him away, and as she left, Violet could hear them tittering among themselves.

"Do you know those gentlemen, Cousin Niles?" Violet asked, nodding towards the two men Rosalie had pointed at. "My sister would like an introduction."

"I do, indeed!" Niles said, puffing out his chest proudly. "And I would be happy to introduce Cousin Rosalie, for she is the finest star in all the heavens, and any man who dances with her would be as lucky as the King himself!"

Rosalie gave Violet a meaningful look, and Violet had to fight not to laugh.

"Indeed…" she mumbled.

Niles brought them over to the gentlemen, introductions were made, and then the five of them chatted idly for several minutes until the music changed, signaling the beginning of a waltz. At this, the younger of the gentlemen, a Mr. Cain, bowed low to Rosalie and held out his hand.

"Would you do me the honor of this next dance, Miss Rosalie?" he asked.

Mr. Cain was handsome, with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes set above an aquiline nose and a chiseled chin, and Rosalie beamed as she nodded and took his hand.

Again, Violet had to fight not to laugh.

She is going to have a huge success in the marriage mart .

Then, to her surprise, the other gentleman, Mr. Bellsworth, bowed to her as well. "Your Grace, would you care to join me on the dance floor?"

"Oh!" Violet was so surprised that she almost forgot her manners.

Her Seasons had been dull due to her father's controlling ways, so she had rarely been asked to dance. But Mr. Bellsworth seemed kind, and he was looking at her rather eagerly, so she forced herself to smile and take his hand.

"But of course," she murmured.

He swept her onto the dance floor, and they fell into step next to the other couples. To her delight, Violet found that she still knew the steps to the dance, although she was a little rusty. Mr. Bellsworth, however, didn't seem to mind.

He seemed eager to talk and kept asking her questions about herself.

"You have another sister, is that correct? The Duchess of Eavestone?"

"Yes."

"So two sisters became duchesses! How remarkable."

"Yes."

"And your sister, Miss Rosalie, do you think she dreams of a lofty title as well?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask her."

Mr. Bellsworth bit his lip and glanced at Rosalie and Mr. Cain, who were laughing and chatting excitedly as they waltzed near them.

Violet had to stifle a smile. She was sure that Mr. Bellsworth would prefer to be dancing with a lady like Rosalie, who was bubbly and conversational and open. Unfortunately for him, he'd been stuck with Violet.

"Er, well, you dance very well," he remarked after a minute, and then he blushed with embarrassment. He must have known how inane that sounded.

"Thank you," she said.

She knew she should have been helping out the poor gentleman more, but she was too distracted watching her sister. She suddenly felt paranoid.

What if Mr. Cain is a spy for my father, sent to lure Rosalie out to the gardens, where Father will kidnap her?

She shook herself. No. She was being crazy.

"May I cut in?"

His voice was…

Violet felt her heart stop as she noted the fear crossing Mr. Bellsworth's face. She turned to see James standing next to them, a thunderous look on his face.

"James!" she gasped, before remembering herself. "Duke! What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing here? You invited me to this ball."

"And you told me you wouldn't be attending!"

"Well, I changed my mind."

"Pardon me, Your Grace," Mr. Bellsworth cut in, looking between Violet and James with an uneasy look on his face. "Did you want to dance with Her Grace?"

"Indeed, I did," James said, before rudely snatching Violet's hand out of Mr. Bellsworth's.

The gentleman went pink in the face, then his expression turned sheepish. "F-forgive me, Your Grace," he stammered. "I did not realize… that is to say… only being polite…"

"You may go now," James commanded, not even looking at him.

Mr. bellsworth swallowed, bowed clumsily, and then slunk off. He reminded Violet of a dog with its tail between its legs. The sight was pitiful, and it roused both her sympathy and her fury.

She rounded on her husband. "Was that necessary?" she hissed. "He was only dancing with me!"

"It was necessary!" James snapped. "He had his hands all over you!"

"He did not have his hands all over me," Violet snarled. "We were dancing a waltz. It is a dance that necessitates physical proximity, but that is all it was—a dance!"

"You are so naive," James shot back. "You don't understand how men use that dance to take liberties with women."

"If it were so scandalous, it would not have been approved by our hosts! Even the matrons of Almack's have allowed the dance there!"

"Then they are being as naive as you are."

"Stop calling me naive!" Violet said shrilly.

Several of the dancing couples turned to look at them. Other onlookers had also begun to raise their eyebrows, and Violet could see them whispering to each other out of the corner of her eye.

But she didn't care. James had no right whatsoever to call her naive.

"I am not naive, nor am I the kind of woman who would let a man take advantage of her," she asserted, not bothering to lower her voice. "I have stood up for myself my whole life, and if a man were taking liberties with me on the dance floor, I would know it. You malign a perfectly kind gentleman simply because it bruises your ego that he would dance with your wife."

"Be quiet," James snarled. "You are making a scene."

"I am not the one who made a scene!" Violet practically shouted. "You are the one who interrupted us quite rudely and then gave poor Mr. Bellsworth the cut direct!"

James's lips pressed into a thin line, and Violet had the impression that he didn't like that she'd pointed out how ungentlemanly he had behaved.

But when he spoke, it was with forced calm. "You are right," he said. "I should not have interrupted you like that. The way I spoke with Mr. Bellsworth was rude, and I shall apologize." He gave her a cold, condescending smile. "There, is that good enough for you? Will you stop making a spectacle of yourself now?"

But Violet was too angry to see reason. She was sick of it all—sick of the stress in her life; sick of her father's threats; sick of never knowing when she would be kidnapped by gangsters or ambushed by her father; and, most of all, she was sick of James. Sick of hating him, sick of wanting him, and sick of the fact he wouldn't just kiss her again.

"You know what?" she snarled. "I wish Mr. Bellsworth would have taken liberties with me. At least that would mean someone wants me, since you clearly don't!"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you ran away!" she shouted. "You ran away from me and what happened between us and hid behind ‘business' and ‘cleaning up the duchy' like you always do, when in reality you are just afraid to let anyone get close!"

Then she turned on her heel and stormed across the ballroom.

The crowds seemed to part for her, but she barely even noticed how many people grew quiet as she passed by them and then began whispering.

To hell with them all. They turned a blind eye when my father made our lives a living hell. I don't owe them anything.

James watched his wife storm away from him with a mutinous look on his face. He was torn. Part of him wanted to go after her, but he wasn't sure exactly what would happen if he did.

I'll either kiss her again in front of everyone or rage at her. Neither would be particularly dignified.

Not that he had any dignity left. Everyone had seen their fight, and all around him, he could see people whispering behind their fans and gloved hands. Some were even openly staring.

Well, she deserved every word I said! The way that man was touching her… and she let him!

On some level, James knew he was being unfair, that his wife was far too much the pinnacle of propriety to ever let such a thing occur, but it was hard for him to think reasonably. The feeling that had flared in his chest when he'd seen her in the arms of another man had been so fierce and so furious that it had made it hard to think straight.

"Your Grace," an urgent voice said next to him, and James looked around to see Rosalie approaching him, a worried look on his face. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he snapped, then corrected himself. "Excuse me, Miss Rosalie. It was merely a disagreement between myself and your sister."

"Ahhh." She looked at him with a strange, knowing look in her eyes. "A lovers' quarrel?"

"Certainly not!" he huffed. "Besides, I don't see how it is any concern of?—"

"Well then, go after her!" Rosalie said.

"What?"

"It's what the heroes do in the novels."

"Life isn't a novel," he said, but she merely laughed.

"Oh, how similar you are to Violet." She shook her head. "She always says the same thing."

She gave him a slight nudge, then turned around and crossed the room towards her mother, who was now watching him with a small frown.

Rosalie doesn't know what she's talking about. She's still a child. She doesn't understand adult relationships.

And yet, for reasons he couldn't explain, James found himself crossing the ballroom in the same direction his wife had gone, then exiting through the same doors she'd disappeared through, the ones leading to the gardens.

It didn't take him long to find her. The deeper part of the gardens was where illicit trysts happened, but Violet hadn't gone that far. Instead, she was standing on the terrace, staring out over the hedges, her back to him.

When he saw her, his anger subsided, and he felt his heart thump painfully in his chest.

Just apologize. You can still make this right.

"Violet," he said as he approached. "There you are."

She turned at the sound of his voice, and from the look on her face, James realized that his wife was absolutely not ready for them to put their fight behind them.

"Yes, here I am," she returned coldly. "Not cavorting with gentlemen I've never met before, in case you were wondering."

"I am sorry about that," James said awkwardly. "That was a terrible accusation, and it was wrong of me to make it. Please, forgive me."

"I cannot believe you would think so poorly of me."

"I don't! I was merely?—"

"When from the very beginning, it has been you who has been the deceitful one in this marriage!"

James's back stiffened. His anger was still close to the surface, and he had to work hard to keep his temper in check.

"I don't know how many times I have to apologize for not telling you I would not have children," he began slowly, "but I will keep doing it until you forgive me."

"Then you will be doing it for the rest of your life!" Violet shouted. "I will never forgive you for deceiving me! For making me live my whole life without children, without love, without—" She broke off, and color crept up her neck and cheeks.

Realization dawned on James.

She felt what I felt during our kiss!

The thought was so painful that it felt like a dagger to his heart.

He wanted her to feel what he'd felt—the same intoxicating, heady mix of passion and deep respect, because to feel what he did and not have it reciprocated was a terrible fate.

But he also didn't want her to feel it, because it would only mean pain for her. And pain was the last thing he wanted for his wife.

He tried to think of something to say—something to reassure her and keep the distance between them—but he found himself at a complete loss for words.

"You will not explain yourself?" she demanded. "Why you would kiss me back when you have vowed that you will not have children?"

"I—"

He wanted to. He wanted with every fiber of his being to say something that wouldn't make her look at him like she was doing now. But suddenly, his reasons felt so feeble.

"Well then, I will have to tell myself the reason," she continued coolly. "Clearly, you do not find me beautiful. Either that, or you do not think that I would be a good mother to your children. I was good enough for a wife, as it allowed you to receive your inheritance, but I am not good enough to mother the next Duke of Attorton."

"This isn't about you," he insisted. "You are totally worthy to be the mother of the next Duke of Attorton."

But instead of reassuring her, this seemed to only anger her more.

"Then it is some sort of physical problem?" Her eyes swept over him. "Or are you merely afraid of women?"

Her tone was taunting and cruel, and alongside his anger, James also felt something else—embarrassment.

"There is no need to be so cruel," he said, and he was shocked by how hurt he sounded.

"No need?!" Violet exclaimed.

She was completely out of control, he realized. Her anger had overtaken her so completely that she could no longer see how much she was hurting him.

James understood her anger. It was that kind of anger that had led him to make a certain vow to his father.

"There is every need! You know what your problem is, Your Grace? You pretend to be the strong man, the Devilish Duke, the frightening Duke who makes others quiver in their boots when he is near. But at the end of the day, you are afraid. You're afraid to be close to anyone because you know if they get close, they will discover that underneath the persona you have built, you are afraid."

"You're one to talk!" he snapped, his temper getting the better of him. "You think I'm afraid to get close to people? You are the one who won't even let your sister or mother close! You keep everyone at a distance!"

"Because I had to! It's not like I wanted to be like this."

"Well, neither did I! I didn't have the easiest childhood either."

"Our positions were not the same!" she argued, stomping her feet. "You are a man, and a duke! You have your own money, your independence, and the ability to forge your own path. I had to get married to a man I barely knew just to keep myself and my sister alive!"

James couldn't argue with that. She was right—their positions were not the same. The world had made her powerless simply for being a woman. All the anger left him then, and he felt a deep, terrible pain in his chest, as if his heart was cracking open.

"I thought I married a strong man," she said. She took a step towards him, and he saw in her eyes his pain. "I did not agree to marry a coward who could not even be a real husband to his wife. Next week, I believe we should look into an annulment. It will not be hard to get, once I tell them of your… problem."

It was the blow that felled him. The world spun around him, and he thought for a moment that he might collapse. But he didn't. He just stood there, feeling as if he had been punched in the gut.

"Goodnight, Your Grace," she uttered, before she stormed out of the terrace, leaving him alone in the darkness.