The Devil and the Heiress

by Harper St. George

  “How will you stop it?” She turned and looked up at him to ascertain his confidence. He seemed resolute and unworried.

  “Papa is angry now, as he has every right to be, but he is above all a shrewd man of industry. Dragging this out will only damage all of us, and Crenshaw Iron will suffer.”

  Crenshaw Iron would suffer. Her own suffering counted for much less when contracts might be held up in Parliament if the men took offense to Papa attacking one of their own. She had never wanted another life as much as she did in that moment. A life where she could be who she wanted to be. The Mitchells’ cottage came to mind, but she forced it out as she did every moment of every day when thoughts of that happy time threatened to surface. “Will Papa be convinced of that?”

  “Yes. I have full confidence that he will relent. Five hundred thousand is a reasonable offer, and he’ll come to see that. Once we have reached an agreement, we’ll obtain the special license and you can be married immediately. I believe a ceremony by a civil registrar will be most expedient.”

  “I agree.” Helena spoke for the first time. “We need to minimize the scandal so it can begin to fade away. You can marry at the General Register Office, with a church ceremony to follow in a few weeks, if you prefer.”

  “No.” Violet shook her head. “The civil ceremony will suffice.” She couldn’t imagine acting out an elaborate wedding in a church where everyone pretended they were happy and this marriage was a blessing.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Papa has another meeting scheduled with the attorney soon, and I would be there to stop him doing something rash.” Pulling her into his arms, he said, “Please try not to worry. This will be sorted out very soon.” When he pulled back he bent a bit to look her in the eyes. “Unless you want to leave. You don’t have to go through with any of this. We can go home.”

  “No, I won’t live my life as a recluse. But have you been able to transfer the deed to Aunt Hortense’s home?” They had decided it best to have the property moved to a trust controlled by Max. Violet owned the property, and if they were in New York, it would still be hers upon her marriage, but under British law it would transfer to her husband. Indeed, even she would be British afterward. There was no telling the legal ramifications if Christian chose to sell it.

  “I am working on it, yes, but I cannot promise it can’t be undone.”

  She nodded. That would have to be enough. “And you’ve made it clear that I do not expect to reside with him?” It wasn’t a concession that could be enforced, but she felt better knowing the expectation was established from the beginning. She would not pretend this marriage was a real one, not with the stain of his betrayal marring it.

  “Yes, he did not push back on that point.”

  “Good.” She didn’t mean it, though, no matter how much she wanted to. The man she had loved would fight for her. She wanted that man. Not this one who would likely prefer his freedom.

  “I’ll send word the moment the settlement has been finalized.” Max kissed her forehead and left the way he had come in.

  Violet joined Helena on the settee.

  “All will be settled soon,” said Helena.

  “Yes, I know. I simply cannot help wondering how I could have allowed myself to be deceived so.”

  “Perhaps you weren’t as deceived as you’d have yourself believe.”

  “How so?”

  “Your feelings were real. You spent days with him, and I’m convinced that at least some of that revealed his true character.”

  He had saved her. That was the part Violet was struggling with. If he were completely mercenary, would he have chased the carriage toward the river and pulled her out? Would he have carried her on his injured ankle?

  “He did sit by my bedside while I was unconscious and read Jane Eyre aloud to me.”

  “Then perhaps at least some of the affection he returned to you was real, as well.”

  “Perhaps.” She had to believe it was true or else she might go mad. She couldn’t go through her entire life questioning her every instinct. “But that doesn’t change the facts of the matter. He lied to me and used me for his own gain.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Helena agreed. “I do not mean to urge you to forgive him. I only hope to reassure you that your feelings, that you, are not at fault here. The blame is entirely with him.”

  “Thank you, Helena. I appreciate that.” Violet didn’t entirely agree, but to know that her friend believed it was a comfort. “If only it would take the sting out of his not agreeing to marry me unless Papa gives in to his demands. Whatever affection he feels for me apparently isn’t deep enough to overcome his financial concerns.”

  “He is a fool.”

  And she along with him.

  * * *

  • • •

  The wedding took place a few days later, on a Sunday by special dispensation to avoid the public spectacle that might have occurred otherwise. Christian held the power, so Papa had agreed to his settlement demands the morning after they had been made, just as Max had predicted he would. Violet walked up the grand staircase in the North Wing of Somerset House to the first floor as if in a dream. Her parents had been waiting downstairs when she and Max had arrived. There had been a stiff and achingly formal greeting between them before Max took her arm and led her upstairs to the office of the general registrar.

  She took a breath to calm her nerves as a servant opened the door. Inside, Christian, Jacob, and the man whom she assumed to be the registrar rose as their group entered. He was an older man who stood behind a rather large desk that had been wiped clean of everything except a ledger that appeared to be some sort of register, a Bible, and another book opened to a page. She dared not look at Christian full on, not if she intended to get through this.

  She had seen enough to know that he wore dove gray trousers and a charcoal morning coat with a deep blue tie and waistcoat. It was in sharp contrast to how she had last seen him in shirtsleeves and bare feet. Though handsome, he stood rigid and cold, unapproachable, and yet she had no choice but to go and stand beside him. He would be her husband by the time she left this room, a fact that still didn’t seem real.

  She wore a gown of thin batiste that buttoned up the front with pretty bits of lace along the chest, at her cuffs, and along the skirt. It had a short, ruffled train. Helena had helped her add a lace veil, though they had pinned it so it didn’t cover her face and instead trailed down her back. The gown itself wasn’t strictly speaking a wedding gown, having been made for the eventuality of attending a summer party. There had been no time to have a true wedding gown made, as well as no need, since there would be no large church wedding. Violet had chosen this one because it was the prettiest of the few white gowns she owned. Like an idiot, she hoped he liked it, and then despised that the thought had crossed her mind.

  Swallowing thickly, she came to stand beside Christian and inclined her head when the registrar greeted her and her family. Her parents took their places next to her, with Christian and Jacob to her left and Max behind her. Christian made no move to grasp her hand, not that she was expecting that. She held no flowers, and August wasn’t even here to share the moment with her. It hardly felt like a true wedding at all.

  “Let us get this done with,” Papa said, his voice harsh with anger.

  Done with. Another transaction he wanted finished because it hadn’t quite worked out the way he wanted.

  “Perhaps you would prefer to wait downstairs.” Christian’s voice was clipped and precise with his own anger. She grimaced inwardly at the coldness contained within it. He sounded like a stranger to her.

  The registrar cleared his throat, apparently deciding it would be best to move things along, and picked up the open book. The air was thick with antagonism. “We are here today to join the Right Honorable Christian, Earl of Leigh, to Miss Violet Crenshaw in matrimony. If there would be any who wou
ld voice an objection to why these two shall not be joined, let him speak now.” There was only the slightest pause before he continued. “Very well. Let us proceed with the vows.” Looking at Christian, he said, “My lord, if you would be so good as to repeat after me.”

  They faced forward, staring at the registrar instead of each other. Fitting, she supposed, for what amounted to a sham. The inflection in Christian’s voice did not change as he repeated his vows. Neither did hers, though it was because she forced herself to speak them in a clear voice past the lump in her throat. There was no ring pushed onto her finger in a moment of tender urgency, there was no kiss to celebrate. There was only the registrar saying, “You are now man and wife.”

  “There. That is done,” said Mother, nodding with a smile as if she had accomplished some task and could put it behind her.

  “If you could sign here, my lord.” The registrar pushed the ledger over.

  Christian picked up a pen and signed his name with a flourish. His fingers were long, graceful, exactly as she remembered them. She blinked away as soon as she noticed her own thoughts.

  “Now you, my lady.” The man shifted the ledger to her.

  Christian offered her the pen, and she accepted without touching him. Her fingers trembled, so she paused, forcing a calm as she began to sign her name. She almost wrote Crenshaw. A dot of ink spread on the paper as she caught herself, turning the little curl at the beginning of the C into the beginning of an L. She was Violet Leigh now.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, giving the registrar back his pen. The strength of her voice had been all used up, so it was barely higher than a whisper. And then it was over, and time to reconvene at the Crenshaws’ rented townhome for the wedding breakfast. They all left exactly as they had arrived, in three different carriages.

  Chapter 22

  Rose, for her part, had no interest in playing the role of savior. She knew what many did not, and what some only learned after tribulation. True redemption came from within.

  V. Lennox, An American and the London Season

  Christian was certain that he would never forget how beautiful Violet had looked when she walked into the registrar’s office and became his wife. It was a day he would remember for the rest of his life. He regretted many things. How he hadn’t been honest with her when he should have, how he had stolen her away to begin with, and even how she didn’t have a proper wedding. But he would never regret making her his wife, even if meant living with her disappointment and dealing with that nest of vipers she considered family.

  When he and Jacob walked in, the Crenshaws’ townhome was bustling with activity. Servants moved from room to room, carrying in last-minute flower arrangements and setting up platters filled with glasses of champagne for the guests who would be arriving soon for the wedding breakfast. Having only arrived moments before them, Violet and her family still stood in the entryway discarding their outerwear.

  “Leigh,” Maxwell Crenshaw greeted him. “Mr. Thorne.”

  Her father simply glared at them both. He didn’t know if Jacob’s presence had been expected, but no one objected.

  “Hello, Mr. Thorne.” Violet gave his brother a tiny smile, studiously avoiding looking at Christian. His heart twisted from the coldness.

  “I would have a moment alone with my wife before the guests arrive,” he said, handing his hat and gloves to a footman.

  “I’m afraid there is simply no time, my lord.” Mrs. Crenshaw indicated the photographer, who had set up a camera and his equipment farther in where the curve of the staircase could serve as a backdrop to their wedding portrait. “We must get your photograph finished before guests arrive.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Christian, “I must insist.”

  Mrs. Crenshaw frowned, but Violet said, “It will take but a moment, Mother.” She led the way into the music room, her shoulders back and head high as if she were going to meet her dark fate.

  As he closed the door behind him, secluding them, he could not help but notice how pale she was. Dark shadows under her eyes indicated she hadn’t been sleeping well. It appeared as if her stitches had been removed, but the veil and her hair had been artfully arranged to cover the wound. Her bruising had faded a bit, and what was left was disguised by a layer of powder.

  “I rather hoped you might wear your pirate scarf.” The words were out before he knew he had meant to say them.

  “I am sorry to disappoint you.” Her voice was all business and impersonal.

  He hated that he had done this to her. Could she so easily forget how he had accused her of being a pirate? The way they had laughed? She seemed to look through him rather than to see him. He wanted to pick her up and take her out of here, to spend the night in his bed showing her how he regretted hurting her.

  He took in the fine batiste, almost sheer in its delicacy, and the artful way it clung to her curves. “You are beautiful.”

  She glanced down, but not before he saw the blush that touched her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  Reaching for the ring in his pocket, he walked over to her. “I have brought you a ring. I wanted to give it to you alone rather than before your family.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t been expecting one. His heart cracked a little at that.

  “Here.” He took the ring out of its little velvet pouch and waited for her to offer her hand.

  “I don’t need a ring,” she said, staring at his hands as if they meant to do her harm.

  “I would very much like for you to have it. It is expected for a woman of your station.”

  Her brow creased, but she nodded and gave him her hand. He gently grasped her fingers. To touch her again after a week apart was bliss; heat and the faint hum of a current seemed to work its way up his arm to settle in his belly. His body recognized her immediately as need tore swiftly through him, the need to hold her against him and inhale her sweet scent, to feel the beat of her heart. The gold ring held a rose-cut emerald set in the middle of two matching diamonds with a scrollwork band. He pushed it onto her finger, only to have her withdraw her hand the second it was done, as if she couldn’t abide his touch.

  “Thank you,” she said, examining the ring.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Very much so.” His joy at those words was diminished with her next. “I suppose an extra few hundred thousand dollars allows for some extravagance.”

  “Crenshaw shared the contract negotiations with you.” Bloody bastard.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?” This was almost an accusation; her eyes flashed at him.

  “That’s why you’ve been so cold. I understand now.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. Your lying would have been enough to justify my being cold, but there is really no need to have this discussion now.”

  He stared at her, trying to see some hint of the woman who had smiled up at him so sweetly and held him as if she never wanted to let him go. This woman was aloof, and though her anger was justified, he could not understand how she could so easily put her feelings for him aside. Perhaps he had been taken in by her and he had been right all along. It had been mere infatuation and it was already fading. Admittedly, he had helped it along, so he didn’t blame her.

  “I negotiated the settlement for you.”

  “It is always good to understand the figure the men in your life put on your worth.” Bitterness filled her voice, and she turned away from him, facing the window that looked out over the street. “But you cannot pretend it was for my benefit. I know you refused to marry me if you didn’t get what you wanted.”

  “A negotiation tactic. Christ, Violet, I wanted you so badly, I ran away with you. It wasn’t the money.”

  “Really?” Fire lit her eyes as she fixed him with her stare, stopping him when he would have closed the distance between them. “Then you would have run away with me had I been penniless? Had I not possessed a s
tock portfolio, or property in Manhattan? Had you no hope of collecting any funds?”

  “Had I known you as I knew you in Yorkshire, yes.”

  “Which is a fancy way of saying no.” The fire in her eyes gave way to sadness that was unbearable. He stepped toward her, but she moved away. “How convenient for your better financial sense to make a reappearance now that we are back in London.”

  “Your father’s initial offer was insulting. You deserve far more than fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Lucky for you we are one and the same under the law, and you were able to negotiate more money for yourself in the bargaining.”

  “Violet—”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “No, I understand now that this is always how it was meant to be for me.”

  “You don’t understand.” He walked to her but stopped short of touching her. “You are meant to live with fine things. I would not have you give them up because of me, because I was selfish to want you for myself. What I did was wrong, and I know that now.”

  She moved away from him, giving him her back as she put space between them. He hated that he had made her despise him so much. “Is this all you wanted?” she asked without facing him. “Guests will be here soon.”

  He suspected she was blinking back tears, because her voice had thickened. He tightened his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. “I have placed the funds in an account under your name. You can access it at any time. The documents have been left at the Belgravia home for you.”

  “And you are on the account as well?”

  “Well, yes.” He’d had to open the account and add her name to it.

  “Then you can access the funds as well.”

  “Yes, but the funds are yours.”

  “Then they are yours, too.”

  “I cannot control the laws, Violet. I only know that I want to give it to you, and you can use it as you see fit.”

  “All right. I believe we should return now.” She appeared resigned, but not nearly as aloof when she turned toward him. Her face fell in dejected acceptance.