Chapter 3

Chapter Three

" I hope you like a party," the Duke of Attorton said as he greeted Violet in the foyer of the church, "because I'm afraid that our wedding has become one."

"How is that possible?" she asked, squinting up at him to try and ascertain if he was being serious or not. "The vicar would hardly allow a church to become raucous with celebrations."

"Wouldn't he?" The Duke tilted his head to the side, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "I am a duke, after all, and he cannot deny my desires."

"Even a duke doesn't have free rein," Violet argued, refusing to smile at her husband's effrontery.

The Duke's laughter was drowned out by an exuberant cheer from inside the church, and Violet turned towards the chapel, her stomach lurching.

He wasn't serious, was he? Is our wedding really a fête?

A week had passed since the pair had decided to marry, and what a week it had been. The Duke had been working overtime to obtain a special license, and just yesterday, he had finally done so. Violet had appreciated this, even if it had been disconcerting to find herself planning an impromptu wedding.

Best not to waste any more time , the Duke had said, seeing as how everyone knows your father has escaped from prison, and the whole ton seems to agree on his vengeful nature.

By now, quite a number of people had declined to attend the wedding. She assumed they were afraid of her father taking revenge on them if they were seen supporting a marriage he would undoubtedly oppose, and she couldn't entirely blame them.

The rest of her preparations had been minimal. Her mother had given her the wedding dress she'd gotten married in, and Violet had made all the adjustments to it herself, as most of the modistes in London were swamped with orders from young debutantes and couldn't prepare a rushed order.

"It's bad luck to get married in Mother's dress," Rosalie had told her when she'd first tried on the dress. "Their marriage was a disaster! And it is so out of fashion!"

And yet it's still prettier than anything I've ever owned.

"I don't believe in such superstitions," Violet had assured her, and it was true.

She also didn't care about having a new dress for her wedding. It was frivolous and unnecessary.

However, as she stood in the chapel now, next to her soon-to-be-husband, she did wonder if perhaps she should have chosen a different dress. Knowing that the one she was wearing had been her mother's dredged up painful memories. Her childhood hadn't been the easiest. Until earlier this Season, she hadn't seen her mother in ten years. And life with their father had been an endless nightmare of threats, screaming, criticism, and bullying.

"I wish my sister was here," she said suddenly, not looking at James.

Iris would know what to say to make me feel better.

"Iris," he said, understanding her at once. "I wish we could have waited for them, but if that were possible, this wedding would not have been necessary." After a few minutes he added, "I never thought I'd get married, but on the few occasions when I did consider it, I always assumed Phineas would be here to keep me from getting cold feet."

Violet fixed him with an intrigued look. "And now? Do you have cold feet?"

James grinned. "Not in the slightest." He held out his arm, and she took it. "Let us get married, shall we?"

Inside the chapel, the organist began to play, and the doors swung open. Violet nearly dropped her bouquet. The pews were filled with people—more people than she had ever met in her secluded life at Carfield House.

As she and the Duke began to walk down the aisle, she stared around her, trying to glimpse a familiar face. And while she did recognize many of the attendees, they weren't close friends of her or her family. They were mostly the Duke's friends and acquaintances. And they were being very loud, cheering, laughing, and even singing along to the organ in celebration. There were also, she noted most curiously, a few young ladies weeping into their handkerchiefs, accompanied by their sour-faced mamas.

Despite his reputation, the Duke is still considered a catch .

She couldn't help but marvel at this, and even feel a twinge of resentment.

The same would not be true for a lady with a fearsome reputation.

The ceremony passed in a blur. The words the vicar spoke were the same as those that had been spoken at Iris's wedding, and Violet barely heard them. Before she knew it, she and the Duke were saying their vows, then they exchanged rings, and then, all of a sudden, the vicar was declaring them husband and wife.

And it was done. She was now the Duchess of Attorton. She was a married woman.

I'm safe she reminded herself as she and the Duke receded down the aisle to thunderous applause. The Duke's closest friends, who were sitting in the front rows, were particularly boisterous.

But she didn't feel particularly safe. She felt like another woman who had only her dowry and ability to produce heirs to barter with. Other than marriage and children, she was useless.

"Don't be scared," she heard her husband mutter, and she glanced up at him.

Although he was smiling at those they passed, reaching out his free hand to shake his friends' hands and generally acting like a victorious conqueror, he seemed to be watching her.

"Nothing will happen to you now. I promise."

"There's something you should know about me," she murmured as someone took out a tin whistle and began to play.

"What's that?"

She smiled slightly. "I don't like parties."

To Violet's immense relief, the wedding breakfast was a more subdued and intimate affair than the grand ceremony. After kissing both her cheeks goodbye outside of the church, the Duke's friends departed. That left just her, her new husband, and their closest friends and family to make their way to the wedding breakfast at the Duke's—no, their —townhouse, Bolden House.

The Duke helped her up into the carriage and then seated himself across from her. It was a very fine carriage, even finer than her father's, and she couldn't help but admire it as she looked around. At last, her gaze settled on her new husband, who was watching her with a very serious look on his face.

"There is something I would like to discuss with you." James's eyes had become distant, and there was a coldness to him that he hadn't exhibited at the wedding. It made her nervous.

"What is the matter?" she asked, her heart beginning to beat faster.

"We didn't have enough time to discuss this, but this is not going to be a traditional marriage."

Violet frowned. "What do you mean? If you think it untraditional that we married so hastily, or out of convenience, then you are mistak?—"

"No, no, that's not what I mean." James watched her closely, his expression implacable. "I am referring to what our marriage will look like going forward. While I needed to be legally married, I do not intend for us to live together as man and wife. Do you understand what I mean by that? I have no intention of fathering any children, so sharing a bed is not a risk I am willing to take."

Violet blinked at him. She was pretty sure she understood what he meant, but it didn't make it any less shocking.

"You do not desire to have marital relations with me?" she asked, and she felt grim satisfaction at watching him flush.

"It's nothing personal. I would feel this way about any woman I married."

"So it is not because you find me… displeasing?"

James snorted. "Of course not."

Violet raised an eyebrow. She didn't think this was so obvious.

"I'm surprised you know so much about all of this," he muttered when she didn't say anything else.

"I'm no fool," she snapped, fixing him with a cold stare. "I was a curious child, and when I was sixteen, I learned as much as I could about what happens in the marriage bed. I wanted to be prepared."

"How very studious of you."

"Don't make fun of me," she snapped, and the smile on his lips dropped. "You are the one changing the terms of our marriage on our wedding day—when it is too late, I might add, for me to understand the implications and change my mind."

James swallowed, and she thought she saw a hint of guilt in his eyes. "I suppose I should have told you this before."

"Yes, you should have."

There was a tense moment during which James held her gaze. Then he looked away, out the window.

"I thought you would be relieved," he continued. "Most ladies would be relieved."

Violet thought carefully about this. There was a very small part of her that was relieved, of course, but it also meant…

"We will never have children," she murmured.

"Yes. I have known for a very long time that I would never father children."

"And what about your family line?" she asked. "You are a duke, after all. Don't you need heirs?"

"I have a cousin who will gladly take on the job." James shrugged. "And he has been blessed with four children already."

"I see…"

She had never before heard of a duke shirking his husbandly, fatherly, and ducal duties like this, but she supposed there was much she didn't know about why men did the things they did.

"Tell me, Violet," James said, and his tone now was more conciliatory. "Do you greatly desire to have children?"

"Well…" Violet wasn't entirely sure. "I suppose I just assumed I would become a mother if I ever got married. It is expected of wives, especially titled wives. It never crossed my mind that there would be any alternative. So, I have never actually asked myself if I desire to have children. Not when I didn't realize there was an option."

"Women are rarely asked what they desire," James said, and he leaned towards her as if he genuinely wanted to hear her answer. "So I'm asking you, do you desire to have them?"

"You're asking me now that it's too late," she pointed out, and he grimaced. "But I suppose… when I imagine my future without children… "

Her stomach clenched. Her childhood had been difficult, so perhaps a life without children wouldn't be so bad. But at the same time, she had often fantasized about having a family of her own and caring for her children better than her father had ever cared for her. In fact, having children had always seemed like the best part of marriage. And now she had to live without it, and she hadn't even been given a choice.

"What would I do with my time if I weren't a mother?" she asked, trying to keep some of her resentment out of her voice. "How would I occupy myself?"

"There are many things you could do," James replied at once. "You could join a cause and donate money to charity. Or you could become an artist. As a married, titled woman, you would have duties on my estate, of course, but your free time would be yours."

He must have seen the flicker of curiosity in her eyes because he leaned forward again and murmured, "What is it you would most like to do, Violet?"

"I'd have to think about it," she admitted. "I've spent my whole life just trying to survive my father. I never had any time to consider what I actually wanted."

For the rest of the carriage ride, Violet mulled over what she might want to do to occupy her time. Because if James was right, then her new title could give her the freedom to do whatever she wanted.

Except to experience the mysteries of adulthood, marriage, and womanhood a small voice said in her ear. Except hold your own child in your arms and shower them with the love you didn't receive from your parents.

She tried to ignore that voice. Who needed the mysteries of marriage when one had all the money, power, and privilege one could ever ask for? Who needed children, or even romantic love? She had something much better. She had freedom .

Her chest constricted.

A few minutes later, the carriage pulled to a halt in front of Bolden House, and James helped her out. Together, they walked up the drive, and Violet felt her anticipation and excitement about her new life building inside of her.

When the butler answered the door, however, the look of horror on his face sent a chill down her spine.

"Your Graces…" he murmured. "I don't know how it happened. They were normal when I left the hall to check on the breakfast. But when I came back…"

He pulled the door open all the way so that they could see inside. Violet gasped, and beside her, James tensed up.

The hall had been lined with dozens of vases full of beautiful white roses, undoubtedly to welcome the newlyweds to their home. Except, every single one of the roses had been cut, right at the top of the stems, and now petals lay on the floor below the vases, like decapitated heads.

The scene was eerie and profoundly disturbing. Its meaning was not lost on Violet—it was a warning. Her father knew she had married the Duke of Attorton, and he was coming for them.

"I want these cleared out of here at once!" James's voice filled the hall, dark and angry and loud. It reverberated off the marble floor and stairs, echoing with a commanding power.

Violet had never heard him sound like this before, and it might have impressed her if she hadn't felt so dizzy and sick with fear.

Father was here. Or someone working for him. Inside the house.

Was nowhere safe?

I married James because I thought he, at least, would keep me safe. But what if that's not possible? Did I just give up my chance for a real marriage and children for nothing?

The thought was so horrible that for a second, Violet thought she might cast up her crumpets.

The butler was barking out sharp commands at the servants, who suddenly filled the hall as they hurried to take away all the flowers and vases. The flurry of activity did little to ease Violet's nerves. She stared around at the servants, all of whom wore unreadable looks on their faces, and her heart hammered.

One of them might have done it. One of them might be working for Father.

"And someone bring my wife some water!" James's shout startled her out of her thoughts, and she stared up at him. He was looking down at her with deep concern.

"I think I might faint," she murmured.

At once, he seized her hand and led her over to a window seat overlooking the square.

"It'll be alright," James murmured as he helped her into the seat. "I promise you, we will find out who did this and make sure it never happens again."

Violet blinked up at him, too much in shock to try and respond. She wanted to believe him, but how could she?

James's expression hardened, as if he could read the doubt in her eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was full of the same dark, commanding note she'd heard earlier.

"No one will touch you," he vowed. "I give you my word."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Violet murmured.

"James," he said, without thinking. "Please call me James."