The Lady Travelers Guide to Happily Ever After Page 8

  “Excellent.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore beamed. “Then the final stipulation is the one prohibiting scandal or gossip.” She paused. “Although gossip about how Lord and Lady Ellsworth have reconciled their differences and are apparently quite happy would certainly be acceptable. Agreeable gossip as opposed to scandalous rumors. You understand.”

  Mrs. Higginbotham’s gaze circled the table. “While neither Lady Blodgett, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore or myself are prone to gossip—”

  Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore choked. Lady Blodgett smiled serenely.

  “—we are not without connections. We are well aware of the past gossip involving each of you. That is at an end.”

  “I have no difficulty with that.” Violet smiled.

  James nodded. “Nor do I.”

  “To everyone outside of our little circle here, the two of you will appear to be happily reconciled. I believe it would be wise as well to keep the stipulations of the will private—to avoid undue gossip.” Mrs. Higginbotham turned to Violet. “You do understand that you will be taking up management of the household as per your position as Lady Ellsworth.”

  Violet nodded. “I assumed as much.” She glanced at James. “Will I have a free hand? To manage the staff as I see fit? And with regards to all matters pertaining to the residences?”

  “Of course,” James said. He really hadn’t considered that there was now a lady of the house. It was rather a nice idea. “Regardless of how little time you’ve spent here in the past, this is your home as is Ellsworth Manor. You are Lady Ellsworth, after all.”

  “The first Lady Ellsworth in quite some time, given Richard never married,” Mrs. Higginbotham pointed out.

  Violet smiled with satisfaction, a bit too much satisfaction really.

  “However, even the most loyal of servants do gossip you know,” Lady Blodgett said. “Which means even here you will have to behave in a cordial manner toward each other.”

  Violet shook her head. “This feels like a poorly written French farce.”

  “Then perhaps you need to rewrite it, dear.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smiled pleasantly.

  “I have no desire to lose the property that has been in my family for generations but aside from all else...” James chose his words with care. “This is what Uncle Richard wanted. I am not thrilled with the manner in which he is forcing us to abide by his wishes but if Violet is willing to do so, I am, as well.”

  “I told his lordship earlier today, I would abide by the terms of the will. For Uncle Richard,” Violet added and smiled at Mrs. Higginbotham. “He really was a wonderful man.”

  “Then allow me to propose a toast.” Marcus rose to his feet. “To his lordship, Richard Branham, the late Earl of Ellsworth.”

  The toast echoed around the table and James swallowed against a lump in his throat. As much as he would have preferred Uncle Richard had found some other way to encourage a reconciliation with Violet, James knew the determined old man had only done what he thought was best. His methods were questionable but his heart was not.

  “And here’s to Lord and Lady Ellsworth and the next three years,” Marcus added. The gathering responded with varying degrees of enthusiasm. James was fairly certain only he heard the rest of Marcus’s words. “God help you both.”

  “WASN’T IT NICE of his lordship to send us home in his carriage?” Poppy snuggled back against the tufted leather seats.

  “I’d say it’s the least he could do,” Effie said. “We are, after all, the only thing that might save his future.”

  “Not, of course, the main purpose of his uncle’s will,” Gwen pointed out.

  “Richard’s letter was very clear on that point,” Effie said. “There was no doubt in his mind that these two people potentially share a great love and belong together. I don’t see it myself but we shall take Richard’s conviction on faith. He has charged us with making certain that happens and has given us three years to accomplish it.”

  “Three years might not be enough. This is going to be harder than I thought.” Gwen frowned. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve attended a more awkward meal.”

  “But the food was excellent,” Poppy murmured.

  “Surely you didn’t think Richard could simply throw them together and all would be well?” Effie scoffed.

  “I had rather hoped that would be the case,” Poppy said. “As his late lordship did think they were fated to be together it seems to me, fate really should lend a helping hand.”

  “One cannot count on fate,” Gwen said. “Fate however, can count on us.”

  “No one said this would be easy.” Effie drew her brows together. “I agree that the evening was awkward and there was a palpable sense of tension in the air.”

  Gwen nodded. “A great deal was left unsaid at that table.”

  “At least they’re not at each other’s throats,” Poppy pointed out.

  “That’s something, I suppose.” Gwen sighed.

  “Actually, I don’t think it is.” Effie considered the evening. There was something missing... “There was no particular, oh, I don’t know, spark between them. There were moments of course but all in all, he was pleasant and she was polite. At least if they were arguing, if their blood was at a boil, that would indicate some sort of, well, passion.”

  “Passion?” Poppy’s voice rose. “What on earth are you thinking?”

  “She’s thinking’s there’s a fine line between the passion of anger and passion of another sort.” Gwen grinned. “I must say that’s brilliant.”

  “There is nothing more satisfying than scratching a persistent itch.” Effie smirked.

  “I don’t understand.” Poppy shook her head. “We’re going to make them itch?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Gwen said. “From tonight’s observation, I suspect James is more amenable to reconciliation than Violet. While they both seem quite stubborn, it would appear Violet is extremely wary, as well. Perhaps our next step should be to determine how they really feel about each other.”

  Effie nodded. “The more information we have, the quicker we can move this along. We would hate for them to fall into the habit of merely existing together. No, we need to strike while the iron is hot.”

  “One does prefer to avoid being mercenary,” Poppy said slowly, “but the longer this takes, the more Effie will be paid.”

  “That is a consideration,” Gwen added. “We do need the money.”

  “Richard’s money is nothing more than a momentary respite.” Effie forced a note of confidence even she didn’t believe. “It simply gives us a bit of room to come up with a way to salvage our sagging finances. Nonetheless, financial considerations will not influence our efforts. And I will not have a dead man’s final wish hanging over my head for the next three years. Richard believed James and Violet belong together. And together they shall be.” Effie set her chin stubbornly. “Whether they like it or not.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  VIOLET JOTTED DOWN another idea regarding refurbishment of the house in the notebook beside her plate, ignoring James’s entry into the breakfast room. She’d retired to her room the moment their guests had left last night, once again politely declining James’s invitation to join him in the library.

  “Good morning,” he said in a pleasant enough manner, bypassing the table for the breakfast offerings on the sideboard.

  “Good morning,” she murmured, her gaze still on the page before her.

  “I trust you slept well.”

  “Quite well, thank you.” In truth she’d barely slept a wink. Dinner with Mrs. Higginbotham and her friends had driven home just how difficult and challenging the next three years would be. Beyond that, she couldn’t get James’s suggestion that they be friends again out of her head. Their friendship had once been the first step toward heartbreak. She would not make that mistake again. Polite cordiality while maintaining an aloo
f distance was the right path to take if Violet was to survive the next three years with her heart intact.

  She really hadn’t considered the game they’d be playing. They would be together continually, pretending to be a happy couple. More than once through the long hours of the night she had revisited her decision to adhere to the conditions of Uncle Richard’s will. And more than once she had aimed disgruntled comments toward Uncle Richard in the hereafter.

  Most annoying of all was that his uncle had put James’s future squarely in Violet’s hands. Which did seem only right, all things considered, but was still a nasty burden to bear. Unless Violet was mistaken, James had no idea she had financial resources of her own.

  Before their wedding, Uncle Richard had set up a private trust for Violet that, according to the terms of their marriage agreement and the myriad papers she and James had both signed, was to be hers and hers alone. A few years ago, Violet had asked Richard if he had provided her with her own financial security because he didn’t trust his nephew. Richard had simply said James was a good man who would one day also be reliable, dependable and responsible. Until then, Violet’s private finances were a reserve against disaster. A reserve Richard was confident she would never need. Indeed Violet had never touched any of the money and the trust had grown to a tidy fortune thanks to clever investing and sage advice.

  Which made Richard’s will all the more mysterious. He knew she could do without his money. That threatening not to give it to James wouldn’t really affect her. Apparently Richard was counting on her to go along with the stipulations to save his nephew. Whether the earl thought she would do so because she still had feelings for her husband or because James had given her opportunities she would not otherwise have had or simply because she was a decent enough person she would never know.

  James filled his plate and sat down at the table.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “I had an excellent night’s sleep,” he said in a hearty manner she didn’t believe for a moment. She knew better.

  The master suite dressing rooms separating his bedroom from hers were not deep enough to muffle sound. And James’s bed creaked. Loudly and horribly like the moaning of the hounds from hell.

  Violet had slept on any number of hotel mattresses and she couldn’t recall even one that was worse. Judging by the incessant creaking of his bed, the man had tossed and turned all night and he’d had no more sleep than she. If there was one thing that drove her mad, it was not being able to sleep.

  “Where is Mrs. Ryland this morning?”

  “She had a family matter to attend to.” After Violet’s mother’s visit yesterday, Cleo decided she should call on her own before her family learned she was back in London. While Cleo’s family was not in the same circles of society as Lady Cranton, one of her sisters had married the brother of a viscount and was usually well informed of the latest gossip.

  “Are you going to your office today?”

  He chuckled. “I go to my office every day.”

  “Every day?” She turned a page in her notebook. “That’s impressive.”

  “Is it?”

  “It implies you are serious about the responsibilities you have taken on.”

  “Did you think my office was simply some sort of ploy? Something to fool the world into believing I have accepted my obligations? That I am now the man my uncle hoped I would be?”

  She looked up and met his gaze. “I’m not sure what to think. In the past few years, Richard wasted no opportunity to talk about how you have matured. Accepted your position. Given up your wild ways, that sort of thing.”

  “Well, not all of them.” He grinned in an altogether too wicked manner, and her heart fluttered, as unexpected as it was annoying. She ignored it. His tone sobered. “Apparently, I now have to prove it to you.”

  The sincerity in his eyes was unmistakable. Still, reconciling this new James with the man she had married was difficult and might well be impossible. “There’s no need to prove anything to me.”

  “Oh, but there is.” He selected a piece of toast from the rack on the table and slathered it with jam. “If we are to survive these next three years, you need to understand that I am not the man I used to be.”

  “We shall see,” she murmured and returned her gaze to the clean notebook page in front of her. She scribbled the first thing that came to mind, ignoring the fact that she had written the very same line on the previous page.

  For several minutes he didn’t say a word, but she could feel his gaze on her. “I like having an office,” he said at last, “and I admit it is a symbol of sorts. More of independence than anything else really.

  “Uncle Richard used to take care of all his business here, in the library, as most men do. When I started learning to manage his affairs, I worked at a table near his desk. But as I gradually handled more and more and hired a secretary, my needs outgrew the table. At the same time, his supervision of his business endeavors and property management and everything else grew less and less. Some days I would look over to see he was doing nothing more than reading the Times.”

  She glanced up at him.

  “The desk in the library has been in the family for generations. It was his father’s and his grandfather’s before him for at least the last century. My uncle once told me one of his strongest memories was of his grandfather sitting behind that carved mahogany beast. It’s really quite intimidating, you know.”

  Violet smiled wryly. “Yes, I know.”

  “Be grateful you never had to sit in front of it to be taken to task for your sins.” He shuddered.

  “I can well imagine how daunting that might be.” Although she had sat in front of the desk during her visits when she and Uncle James would discuss her accounts and investments, he had never chastised her for anything. But then, in spite of gossip about her, there had never been anything to chastise her for.

  “Daunting?” He scoffed. “Try terrifying.”

  For a moment, she could see James as a boy sitting in one of the chairs positioned in front of the desk, waiting for whatever judgment Uncle Richard might deem suitable for any transgression James had committed.

  “The desk has always been a symbol, the sacred altar of authority. It’s always been used by the head of the family.” He paused. “Even though Uncle Richard offered the use of the desk, my doing so was like saying his time was at an end. That he was no longer useful or necessary or wanted.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that.”

  “So you acquired an office,” she said softly. She’d never doubted James’s affection for Richard but that was based on Richard’s comments alone. Here and now it was obvious how much her husband had cared for the old man.

  “I did.” He nodded. “Aside from this house and Ellsworth Manor in the country, my uncle owns—” his brow furrowed “—I suppose I own them now at least for the time being—several professional buildings here in London. I took a suite in one of those buildings. Now that my uncle is gone I could give it up, I suppose, but I rather like leaving the house every day. Being out in the world. Being part of the world.” He smiled in a self-conscious manner.

  “Do you?”

  He nodded. “I know it sounds rather odd for someone of my background, but the world—Uncle Richard’s world and the world of all those earls that came before him—is changing rapidly. Family fortunes used to be dependent on land but that will soon no longer be the case. We have to change with the times or in time we will be left behind. We are approaching the dawn of a new century, you know.” James speared a piece of sausage and popped it in his mouth.

  Violet had no idea what to say.

  James continued to eat his breakfast as if he hadn’t just said something rather clever and profound and insightful. And damned impressive.

  “One other thing.” He took a sip of coffee. “In spite of the family heritage, I’ve always hated tha
t desk.”

  “Really?”

  “Good God, Violet, have you looked at it?”

  “It is rather imposing.”

  “The legs are carved with writhing mythological beasts devouring unrepentant sinners.”

  “I never noticed.”

  “Perhaps because you’ve never been a ten-year-old boy sitting in front of it at eye level with a dragon or a snake consuming a screaming villager, awaiting your own fate.”

  “Yes, well, I can see where that might be disheartening.”

  “At the very least.” He shook his head. “I have no desire to put my children through that.”

  “You want children?” she said without thinking.

  He raised a brow. “Don’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but...”

  “But that is a discussion for another time.” He took another sip of his coffee and set his serviette beside his plate. “What are your plans for today?”

  “Oh, this and that. Nothing of any particular importance.” She squared her shoulders. “Lady Ellsworth might as well begin making public appearances. Mrs. Higginbotham and her friends invited me to join them for tea.”

  “They’re a dangerous group,” he warned with a smile. “I would watch myself if I were you.”

  “I shall be alert at all times.”

  “See that you are.” He grinned and stood. “I should be off. Good day, Violet.”

  “Good day, James.”

  With that he took his leave.

  Violet tapped her finger absently on her notebook. That was certainly unexpected. Oh, they had conversed any number of times before their marriage when he was courting Marie but that had always been lighthearted and vaguely flirtatious and of no consequence whatsoever. They had never spoken of anything even remotely serious.

  It struck her that she really didn’t know anything about the man she had married and now suspected she never had. She had fallen head over heels for him based on nothing more than flirtatious banter and a wicked smile. How dreadfully shallow of her. And how stupid.