The Husband Trap

by Warren, Tracy Anne

  Violet pressed a palm against her stomach and struggled to focus on her mother’s words, on the role she was supposed to be playing.

  “Are you certain you want to give Jacobs to your sister?” her mother continued, referring to Jeannette’s longtime lady’s maid. “Violet can do quite well on her own, you know. She always has done. I couldn’t bear to part with my own dear Miss Phillips.”

  Violet drew a deep breath before rushing into the speech she and Jeannette had agreed upon earlier. Jeannette, it seemed, could not be parted from her lady’s maid any more than their mother could be parted from hers.

  “Yes, she will be a great loss, you are right,” she agreed. “But Jacobs is so very knowledgeable about all things Continental. With Violet off to Italy with Great-aunt Agatha in a few days’ time, she will need her assistance far more than I. I wouldn’t feel right leaving her to the ministrations of some foreign maid. Heaven knows the trouble that might ensue.”

  Violet fluttered a hand, imitating a regal gesture Jeannette had taken to using lately. “So I have decided to give Jacobs to Violet as a present. A wedding gift, if you will, one sister to another. I shall take Agnes for myself. She’s new to the household but genteel. She should do quite well as a lady’s maid, I am sure, once she is properly trained.”

  Actually, Jacobs had been handsomely compensated to soothe her ruffled feathers, the woman none too happy when she had learned she was not to be the Duchess of Raeburn’s dresser, after all.

  “Oh, you are so dear, Jeannette,” her mother proclaimed. “So giving and loving. Violet is blessed to have you as her sister.” The countess straightened and gazed toward the door. “Where is that girl anyway? I declare she is never around when you want her.”

  Violet cringed inside but said nothing.

  “Here I am, Mama.” The real Jeannette walked demurely through the doorway, attired in the ecru silk bridesmaid’s gown she’d worn since their switch, spectacles and reserved glances firmly in place. Violet found herself staring for a long moment before she looked away.

  What a curious sensation, she mused, to see herself as others must. Like gazing into a three-dimensional mirror except for the glint of mischief that peeked like a devil from inside her twin’s eyes.

  “Have you seen your sister’s brush?” their mother questioned, turning to Jeannette. “You know, the one with the pearl handle. The maids say they can’t find it anywhere, and your sister needs it for her trip. You didn’t use it and leave it somewhere, did you?” The countess shot Jeannette a disapproving stare.

  Jeannette linked her hands together in front of her. “No, Mama, I…I did not use the brush. It was on the dresser this morning, as I recall, when Jeannette was getting ready for the ceremony. I have not seen it since.”

  Her mother snorted derisively. “Well, you’re of little help. See to your sister, then, since she must be leaving anytime now. Raeburn won’t abide being kept waiting much longer. You know how men hate letting their cattle stand. I shall consult with Phillips,” she went on, half speaking to herself. “Perhaps she will be able to shed some light on this mystery.” Carried forward on a wave of rustling skirt, the countess departed, leaving the two sisters entirely alone.

  Jeannette crossed the room, closed the door, turned the key in the lock.

  Violet met her twin’s gaze. “I suppose you have it.”

  “Of course I have it. It is my brush.”

  “Well, don’t let any of them see you with it. You will be sorry if you do.”

  Jeannette came over, dropped down into a nearby armchair. “I don’t care a fig what they think. I never have. You are the one who has always been the little timid doe, trembling at her own shadow.”

  Violet gritted her teeth at her sister’s unflattering assessment of her character. Jeannette didn’t understand the way it had been growing up, since she had always been the favourite, fussed over and cosseted by both of their parents. Violet, on the other hand, had simply been the other daughter.

  Over the past twenty years of her life, she had often considered the subject, never able to understand what it was she did wrong. Why her parents made such a marked distinction between her and her sister.

  Physically the two of them were indistinguishable. They shared the same ash blonde hair, the same peaches and cream complexion, the same radiant blue-green eyes. They both had pert noses and full rosy lips, cheekbones set high in perfect oval faces. Their figures were rounded in the hips and breasts, attractively slender everywhere else. Even their voices sounded exactly the same; only by their manner of dress and speech could they be told apart. Like a pair of fresh spring peas in a pod, their uncle Albert used to say of them.

  Yet their personalities were markedly different, and had been from the time of their birth, so their mother was wont to say. Perhaps beneath the surface others saw what Violet could not see herself. Some essential ingredient, some basic character flaw that made her intrinsically unworthy. She had spent many long hours praying over it. Many hours searching her reflection in the mirror for signs of what it was she lacked.

  “Still,” she quietly warned Jeannette, “purloining the brush would be unlike me. And you having it might draw attention in directions that would not be wise. You are, after all, supposed to be me now.”

  Jeannette shrugged. “I know, I know. Don’t fret over it. I won’t get caught. No one has suspected a thing. And I must commend you. You have been putting on a fine performance. I told you none of them would know the difference if you simply applied yourself a bit. Now, there is something I must tell you before we part.”

  Violet frowned. Whenever Jeannette pulled her aside to tell her something, it usually led to trouble. “What?” she asked dolefully.

  “I am not saying you will, but if you should receive any missives from a certain individual by the name of Kaye, you are to pass them along to me directly, unread, of course.”

  Violet frowned harder. “Who is this Kaye person and why should I need to pass along notes for you?”

  “Because I asked you to. Because you are my sister and you love me. Now, will you do it or won’t you?”

  Was this Kaye person a man or a woman? Violet wasn’t sure she wanted to know, was afraid to ask. Was Jeannette involved with someone? Someone other than Adrian? Is that why she had decided to call off today’s wedding? Oh, it was too scandalous to contemplate.

  She wanted to refuse Jeannette’s request but knew it would only cause unpleasantness. And didn’t she have enough to fret about right now without adding to the burden? If any of the notes came, she assured herself, she could always dispose of them.

  She nodded. “Yes, all right.”

  Jeannette picked up an adorable chip-straw bonnet, one that had been made especially to complement her—now Violet’s—traveling costume of pearl pink sarcenet. A sheer, long-sleeved pelisse of dotted white swiss buttoned over the dress, completing the outfit. Settling the fashionable hat upon Violet’s head, Jeannette tied the candy-striped ribbon in a tight, saucy little bow, set off at a stylish angle to one side of her chin.

  Violet waited as Jeannette stepped back to survey her work.

  “Perfection,” her twin declared. “Shame I couldn’t wear that outfit myself at least once. Raeburn is bound to find you quite fetching in it.”

  “Do you think?”

  “Oh, yes, definitely.”

  Violet turned around to take a look at herself in the dressing-table mirror, forced to squint at her image. “I wish I had my spectacles,” she murmured low. “Everything is so frustratingly blurry.”

  “Well, you had best get used to that. Lord knows I would never wear them, not unless forced to, that is.” Jeannette pointed to the eyeglasses perched on her face. “I have been doing a bit of thinking upon that issue. It seems to me that Violet may soon undergo a change of heart about wearing her spectacles. In fact, I believe she may soon undergo a change of heart about a great many things. This trip to Italy will do her a world of good.”

 
; Alarmed, Violet grabbed her sister’s arm. “Oh, Jeannette, don’t do anything rash.”

  Jeannette plucked Violet’s fingers away. “Don’t worry. Violet will change ever so gradually. No one will suspect.”

  Her stomach pitched in a long, slow roll, fresh tension slamming her like a hard wave in a raging tempest. Her hands began to perspire. “Perhaps we shouldn’t do this, after all. There is still time to change back, change places again.”

  Her heart sank even as she spoke the words aloud. It would mean losing her chance with Adrian for good. But lying to him was so dreadfully wrong, wasn’t it?

  Jeannette’s face hardened. “There is no changing back. You are the Duchess of Raeburn now. You married him, I did not. If you want to be a fool and reveal everything to everyone now, be my guest. But know this, it will all come raining down on your head. The scandal, the disgrace and the punishment. Mama and Papa will likely disown you. At the very least you’ll be sent away somewhere dreadfully remote, Scotland or Ireland perhaps, and never be heard from again.”

  She was right, Violet thought, that is precisely how their parents would react, what they would do. Jeannette would be fine; nimble as a cat, she always landed on her feet. No, she was the one who would reap the brunt of the blame for the deception. She would be seen as the truly guilty party for having agreed to participate in the ruse at all.

  When she’d slipped into Jeannette’s wedding gown this morning and assumed her sister’s identity, she had sealed her own fate. Made a choice from which there could be no retreat. Ever.

  “So put away your guilty conscience and show some pluck,” Jeannette encouraged. “Everything is going well, will go well, as long as you don’t start confessing. Now, come along. Like Mama said, Raeburn’s horses must be growing restive, and he anxious to be off.”

  Violet drew in a deep, rallying breath. She could do this, she repeated silently. Everything would be fine. Forcing her shaking hand to still, she reached for the doorknob.

  A few doors down the corridor, Adrian stood conversing with his brother, Christopher. His words drifted her way. “…since I shan’t be seeing you again before you leave for University. Have a good term and don’t do anything foolish. You are there to study, remember, not drink and carouse to excess.”

  “Don’t worry, brother,” the younger, dark-haired man murmured. “I’ll make you proud.”

  “See to it that you do,” Adrian concluded, not sounding terribly reassured.

  The men turned to watch her and Jeannette approach.

  Just as she had done, Adrian had changed out of his wedding attire into clothes more suited to travel. Coat and trousers of the finest dark blue broadcloth. White shirt and tan waistcoat embellished with a modest gold stripe, his neck cloth tied in a mesmerizingly complex knot. A pair of gleaming Hessians on his feet.

  Sophisticated, refined, breathtaking.

  She swallowed and fought another minor skirmish for composure.

  He was so beautiful, she thought, far too beautiful for her. What on earth did she think she was doing?

  “Ready at last, my dear.” Adrian approached to take her hand.

  Tell him or not? she dithered. This was her very, very last chance to be honest.

  Then she smiled as she thought Jeannette would, wide and full of confidence. She struck a small pose to show off her finery, holding her arms out to her sides. “And was it worth it, your Grace?” She shifted her hips to make her skirts sway.

  He raked his eyes over her, smiled, long and slow. He bent to kiss her hand. “Most decidedly, my dear. Most decidedly.”

  Chapter Three

  The well-sprung coach bowled along the southwest road away from London at an impressive speed, the elegant team of four that pulled it some of the finest horseflesh to be found in all of England. Inside, Adrian Winter, Duke of Raeburn, relaxed his long legs against the satin-covered seats and watched his new wife sleep.

  She was exhausted. There had been no hiding that fact once they had been waved away from the reception hall by the cheers and congratulations of their family and friends. The rhythm of the coach and the stress of the day had soon combined, her hands growing limp in her lap, her eyelids heavy as leaden weights, until she had been helpless to deny the lure of Morpheus’s command.

  Adrian had been observing her for nearly half an hour now. Wondering if he had done the right thing. Knowing it was too late for regrets if he had not. As the vows said, he and Jeannette were married for life, for better or for worse, until death do them part. A sobering realization indeed.

  She had surprised him today, especially at the reception, behaving in a far quieter, more reserved manner than he had ever seen her exhibit before. She had even listened with patient interest while his perpetually tongue-tied cousin Bertram took a full five minutes to stutter out best wishes on their nuptials. Most people began fidgeting the moment poor Bertie opened his mouth. Their eyes would wander, their full attention drifting away after no more than a minute or two at most.

  Yet today Jeannette had been nothing but gracious politeness, pleasant consideration, to everyone she encountered. Perhaps the gravity of the step the two of them had taken today had acted as a sobering reminder for her as well.

  He could but hope.

  Lately, over the past few months of their engagement, he had been racked with doubts as to the wisdom of his choice of bride, finding her behaviour annoyingly childish on occasion, such as the day she spent pouting when thunderstorms had ruined an intended picnic. And another time when she refused to join him for a ride in the park because the new matching bonnet for her favourite carriage dress had not arrived from the milliner’s shop. Added to that was her all-consuming adoration of parties and entertainments. Once he had rendered her speechless by suggesting they cancel plans to attend a masquerade and spend a quiet evening together instead. He’d never bothered to make such a suggestion again.

  Of a far more serious nature, Adrian had begun to suspect she was seeing another man. But although he had tried, he had never been able to catch her or even procure any tangible evidence. As he well knew, suspicions were not proof. A gentleman, no matter his reservations, did not call off an engagement with anything less than rock-solid proof demonstrating a grave indiscretion.

  While they were courting, Jeannette had seemed so sweetly vivacious. Although, as he reconsidered the matter, her mother had left them little time alone. It was only after their engagement had been announced that he had begun to observe her other side.

  Most particularly he recalled last week when he broke it to her that their much anticipated tour of Europe would have to be postponed for several months due to difficulties at Winterlea, his primary estate, in Derbyshire. He had thought for a moment, after he delivered the news, that she might burst into a messy fit of tears right there in her mother’s silk-lined drawing room, her face had grown so flushed. And when he suggested a week by the seashore at one of his lesser estates, in Dorset, she’d gaped and stared at him as if he’d asked her to honeymoon inside a hermit’s cave. Adrian had almost expected her to call off the wedding then and there. Perhaps a part of him had been hoping she would.

  He could have chosen Brighton to placate her, to smooth things over, since word had it the Prince Regent would be relocating his Court to the popular seaside town in the next day or two. But Adrian didn’t want to go to Brighton, where half the Ton would be descending to while away the last of their summer boredom. He wanted some privacy, away from Society’s demands, and thought perhaps the quiet would give him and Jeannette some time to get to know each other better.

  She shifted in her sleep on the opposite end of the seat from him, pushing her hat to one side, so the ribbon under her chin was yanked tight against one cheek. It looked far from comfortable. Taking pity, he leaned across and tugged the bow loose, letting the ribbons trail freely under her chin. Relieved of the pressure, she settled more deeply, breathed more evenly in her sleep.

  He hadn’t entirely believed her excu
ses concerning her late arrival at the church this morning. There was more to that story than a simple case of ill-arranged hair, but he had decided not to force the issue. She had done her duty, had not embarrassed him in front of his peers. In the end, weren’t those the things he really expected of her?

  Duty and discretion.

  The coach hit a rut, jostling them both despite the excellent springs in the vehicle. She roused briefly, giving a small cry of alarm. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment before drifting downward once more, her head coming to rest behind her at a very awkward angle.

  He couldn’t leave her like that, Adrian decided. A few minutes in such a position might result in a painfully stiff neck, one that could linger for days. His lips quirked upward at her decidedly humorous posture before he reached out and gently pulled her into an upright position. She sank forward against him, murmuring in her sleep. The brim of her elegant chip-straw bonnet dug sharply into his neck.

  With the nimble fingers of a man well used to assisting women out of their garments, he tugged the little bonnet loose from its moorings. Then cast it across to the opposite seat with scant regard for its fashionable perfection. Settling back into his own corner, he tucked her against him so she could use his shoulder as a pillow.

  He glanced downward, noting the way her pale golden lashes fanned out against the porcelain smoothness of her fair cheeks. Her lips, tinted a delicate, sunset pink, lay slightly parted, ripe for a kiss. Mere inches and his mouth would be on hers, stealing soft kisses at first then progressively harder ones until she awakened to find herself in his arms. But Adrian didn’t know how far things might progress if he gave in to temptation now. And he did not want their first time together to be in the inside of a coach, even one as comfortable as this. There would be time for that sort of love play later, he consoled himself, plenty of time.

  As if she sensed his intent regard, her eyes opened, her irises translucent as the finest aquamarine gemstones. Still more than half asleep, she locked her sights upon him. “Adrian? What are you doing here?”