Chapter 22

CHAPTER22

“Lady Tilly?” Violet repeated.

It isn’t possible, surely!

Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a tiny victory, the smallest amount of happiness that she had been right all along, that Xander had never hurt Tilly, that she was alive here and well, but that feeling suddenly vanished into fear and darkness.

She is here. Why on earth is she here now?

Slowly, the lady turned to face Violet. Her smile faded, a frown creasing that beautiful face. “And who are you?” she said sharply.

“I am the lady of this house,” Violet murmured, trying to find strength.

“Yes, this is the Duchess of Barlow.” Mrs. Winters gestured to Violet with the introduction.

At this point, it would have been right for Tilly to curtsy, but she did no such thing. She jerked her chin higher, pushing one of those pretty blonde locks behind her ear as she looked at Violet.

“No, she is not.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are not. I am the lady of this house. I am the Duchess.”

“I beg your pardon?” Violet stumbled forward, but Mrs. Winters went to catch her arm, to pull her away from Tilly.

Mr. Matthews stepped forward. “Let me deal with this, Your Grace,” he said to Violet, hurrying to face Tilly again. “Please, you have outstayed your welcome. The wedding happened but two days ago. The lady you see before you is indeed the new Duchess of Bar—”

Yet, he didn’t manage to finish the sentence. He had stood in front of Violet, surprising her with his almost protective stance, but now Tilly was walking around him, peering at Violet as if she was some curiosity at an exhibition, a butterfly or insect pinned to the wall for her amusement.

“This little thing?” Tilly burst out laughing. “No. No, indeed. Xander would not find a place in his heart for someone like her. She’s too…” She wrinkled her nose. “Insignificant. He wouldn’t replace me with her.”

Apparently, no one now knew what to say.

Mr. Matthews fell silent, and Mrs. Winters looked horror-struck, her jaw dropping. The rest of the staff were all equally watching on with stunned expressions as Violet felt as if the ground was shaking beneath her feet.

What is she speaking about? Is she quite well?

Violet tilted her head high, still trying to hold onto some semblance of self-assurance. “I do not know for what means you come here today, Lady Tilly, but all your words mean nothing. I am indeed Xander’s wife now, and you are not welcome here.”

“Not welcome? Hmm, some way to treat the new lady of this house.”

“How could you possibly be the lady of this house?” Violet cried in indignation, her voice finding some volume, at last.

“I am your husband’s first betrothed,” Lady Tilly declared with victory as if this somehow mattered more than a marriage certificate did. “So, now that I have returned, your marriage will be annulled.”

She walked past Mr. Matthews and Violet, moving toward the rest of the staff. One of the footmen elbowed the man beside him, and as they bowed to Lady Tilly, the maids curtsied. Mrs. Winters waved madly at them to stand again, and they did so, but the damage was done.

Lady Tilly turned to them with a satisfied smile. “See? They recognize their true lady. Now, Lady…” She paused, glancing back at Violet as she walked around the room. Slowly, she removed her gloves. Violet supposed they must have been fine at one time, but the tips were frayed as if they had been used for far too long. “What did you say your name was?”

“Her name is Violet Grant, the Duchess of Barlow,” Mr. Matthews said with a seething voice.

“Well, Lady Violet,” Tilly carried on as if the title had not been spoken at all. “Do not let me keep you from your packing.” She paused by a mirror in the hallway and started fussing with her golden hair.

“Is she quite well?” Violet whispered to Mrs. Winters behind her.

“Lord knows.” Mrs. Winters shook her head. “I never thought I’d see the lady again.”

“Now, when shall you be leaving?” Lady Tilly turned back, looking at Violet with her nose upturned. “I shall wish to be alone with my future husband as soon as possible.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Violet murmured.

“But I do.”

The sudden booming voice made Violet’s heart leap in her chest. She flicked her head around, gawping as most of the staff did at the incomer in the doorway.

Xander stood there, still wearing his frock coat from his travels that morning. His dark hair was a little damp from the light rain, but what struck her the most was the iciness in his eyes as they stared straight at Lady Tilly. He didn’t look at Violet, not once, as if those eyes had only been made to stare at Lady Tilly.

Please, look at me.

Violet walked toward him on unsteady feet.

“Xander—”

“Yes, Xander, we must talk!” Lady Tilly exclaimed, walking past Violet and managing to brush her to the side as if she were some weed on her doorstep.

Violet stumbled, but, fortunately, Mr. Matthews was there to catch her. Violet decided she had to rethink her earlier wariness of the butler, for he was now protecting her as he put her back on her feet and checked she was unharmed.

“Look after the Duchess, Matthews,” Xander barked.

“Your Grace—”

“Look after her,” Xander said again. “Tilly, we need to talk.”

With these final words, he turned away and walked off through the house. Tilly scampered at his heels like an excited pup.

“This is wonderful, Xander. We shall be wed, at last. You’ll have to get rid of the little thing out there, of course. How soon can she be gone?” Her voice faded as they walked through the house together.

“What is going on?” Violet cried loudly as Xander’s study door slammed shut in the distance.

“All of you, back to your duties.” Mr. Matthews turned to the staff. “Go, now.”

They all darted off in different directions as Violet stood woodenly in the middle of the room.

“I have to know what is going on,” she whispered to Mrs. Winters, who moved to stand in front of her.

“Then follow me, Your Grace. There is a way we can listen in.”

* * *

Xander didn’t bother taking off his greatcoat. He stood in the middle of the study, staring at Tilly as if she had fallen from the sky.

She was as he remembered her, mostly, even wearing the same gown he had last seen her in when she had crept out of his house in the middle of the night, just before they were to be married.

Yet, somehow, she was different, too, and it wasn’t just down to the few years that had passed and the signs of aging on her face. There was something in her eyes he did not recognize. They darted about the space, almost manic and frantic.

“Tilly,” he said coolly and calmly. “Are you quite well?”

She dropped her gloves and reticule on the chair beside her and then moved toward him. To escape her touch, he rounded the desk, keeping a good distance between them. She placed her palms on the desk between them instead.

“You do not know how good it is to see you again,” she said, rushing through the words. “Is it not good to see me? Oh, Xander. Can you speak nothing of love to me after all this time?”

“Love!?” he spluttered.

He hadn’t loved her, to begin with. They’d been quite clear beforehand that they were friends who would be married. He had hoped love would come someday, but she had made sure that it never did by fleeing into the middle of the night.

“Do you not see? Now, we have a chance to be everything we could have been.” She rounded the desk, trying to get to him again, but he went the other way, watching every movement she made with wariness.

There was a paleness to her skin, a darkness in her eyes and heavy shadows as if she had barely slept at all.

She is not well. Surely, she cannot be well.

“Tilly, enough.” He thrust his hand in her direction, his palm flat, urging her not to walk any further. She stopped, though her lips parted and closed as she searched for something to say. “Explain why you are back. Now.”

Something in her spine crumpled.

“Do you not see the truth? I never wished to leave. Never, not really.”

She walked away from the desk, moving around the room. She took hold of ornaments on the mantelpiece and rearranged them, not really concentrating on what she was doing. He noticed that she aligned them all perfectly so they were a finger’s distance apart, all facing the same way.

“I was kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped? Tilly, do not be mad.” He flung himself down into his chair, shrugging his frock coat off. “I was there that night. I was there when you told me you wished to leave, that you loved another. What kind of fool do you take me for—”

“I was coerced into saying it.” She moved on to other parts of his room, now arranging his papers in the same way. “I had to say it, or he would have hurt me. He hurts me now. See?” She turned to face him, rolling up her sleeves to reveal arms that were perfectly pale, unbruised, and smooth as alabaster. “Do you not see the bruises?”

What the…

Xander couldn’t understand her. Was she mad enough to believe there were bruises there? Or did she just think that if she said it, he’d believe it?

“I had to leave. I had to. It was the only thing I could do.” She turned away and went back to rearranging his study. She now moved a chair to a certain position, then went back to adjusting the ornaments on the mantelpiece again.

He thought about telling her that she had already done that, but there was a wildness in her movements that stopped him.

Something is very wrong here.

“I am leaving him, and I wish to come home.” She angled her face to look at him over her shoulder. “To come home to you, Xander.”

“Tilly, please, listen.” He stood, planting his hands on the desk as he leaned forward, trying to make himself completely understood. “You have not spoken to me in years. You left this house and made it very plain you had used our betrothal to distract your father and mother, so they would not realize you loved my stable boy rather than me. Are you saying all of that doesn’t matter anymore? That you wish to marry me now?”

“Of course, I wish to marry you.” She turned and smiled at him. It was a smile he had never seen on her face before. She didn’t quite manage to maintain it, despite her clear determination to, as her cheek twitched. “Besides, you owe me, Xander.”

“Owe you!?” he spluttered.

“Yes. We were betrothed. That comes with obligations and understanding, and you have much obligation to me, even though you have skipped out on it all these years.”

“You make it sound as if I was the one who walked away.” He sat down again in his chair, and she moved toward him, her hands fidgeting as she faced him. “You were the one who did that.”

“But now I am back.” She smiled once more as if this made everything better. “You can get rid of her, can you not?”

“What?”

“The little thing out there.” She gestured to the door, and Xander realized with horror she was referring to Violet.

Tilly didn’t even call her a woman or a lady, let alone his wife or his Duchess. It was as if Violet was nothing at all other than vapor.

“Be rid of her, annul whatever it is between you, then we can get married.”

Xander couldn’t form words. With iciness, he glared at Tilly, thinking things through. He had no intention of annulling his marriage. The last couple of days with Violet had been the happiest days he had known for some time. Whatever it was between them, this warmth, this excitement, this need to be with her constantly, he didn’t want to live without it.

An erratic Tilly returning to his life wasn’t going to change that, but he would have to handle this situation with care. Tilly was clearly not well.

Perhaps it was a sickness of the mind, for he had heard of such things before,—of confusion, of obsessiveness—and this could well be something of the kind. Refusing her outright might cause all sorts of damage.

“Tilly.” Xander tried to approach this with tact. “Why come to me now? Why would you wish to return to me at this moment of all times?”

Is it because she heard I was married?

It struck him that she might have heard it in gossip or read about it in a periodical or a scandal sheet, wherever she lived now.

“It’s time,” she said with finality, standing taller. “It’s time we honored our commitment to one another. We have to. He beats me, he hurts me, I had to leave him.” She pushed up her sleeves again, but as before, he saw nothing but her pale skin. There wasn’t a mark on her. “You also have a commitment to our son.”

Son…

“Wait… Tilly, what did you say?”

“Our son.” Now, she smiled with genuine feeling. “We have a son, Xander, and my husband might be acknowledged and registered as his father, but that is not the truth. You are the father of my boy.”

Xander barely had time to think. He didn’t even have a moment to consider before a door burst open. It wasn’t the main door to the room but another much smaller door behind him which linked his study to the dining room.

The door ricocheted off the wall as Xander turned to see Violet storming into the room. She was red in the face, her eyes wet, her hair wild, and behind her, Mrs. Winters stood with her hands over her face in shock.

Something happened in Xander’s chest as he looked at Violet. It was a strength of feeling, a rushing protectiveness. He nearly leapt toward her and threw her over his shoulder, getting her out of the sudy and as far away from Tilly as possible.

“Is this true?” Violet asked wildly, not addressing Tilly, but him. “Xander, are you the father of her child?”