The Husband Trap

by Warren, Tracy Anne

The housekeeper appeared momentarily taken aback. “No, your Grace, of course I have not—”

  “If that is true, then why have you continuously interrupted me since you entered this room? Perhaps you believe your age gives you such a right?”

  The older woman’s lips tightened. “No, your Grace. I know my station.”

  “Do you? Then you will apologize to me. And you will apologize to Lord Christopher. He hasn’t worn short coats in some years and as such deserves your respect.”

  Mrs Hardwick’s nostrils pinched tightly at the reprimand. “I beg your pardon, your Grace. Your lordship.”

  “Now, there will be no further discussion of dismissal—”

  “But, your Grace—”

  “Aah-aah!” she admonished, holding up a finger. “You are interrupting again. Not another word or it shall be your dismissal of which we speak.”

  A spark of malevolence flashed inside the housekeeper’s eyes. “You have no cause to mention dismissing me, nor the right. His Grace is the only one who can take such an action.”

  “His Grace, my husband, defers to me in all matters of domestic concern,” she brazened. “He will care nothing for your complaint.”

  The housekeeper began to visibly shake. “I’ll have you know I have faithfully served this household for over twenty-five years. I know how it ought to be run. I know what a house such as this needs in order to function properly and efficiently. You come here, a slip of a girl who knows nothing about managing a grand establishment like Winterlea, and think to give me orders. Don’t imagine I haven’t seen the way you coddle the servants. How you let them get by with all manner of indiscretion and frivolity. It is intolerable, unsupportable, offensive. You should be thankful for my advice and my interference.”

  Violet forced her chin up another notch, though her stomach had turned to jelly. She’d started this confrontation, she couldn’t afford to lose it now. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat.

  “Well,” she said, “it seems you have made your feelings quite clear. Now let me do the same. I have never liked you, Mrs Hardwick. I find you cold and inflexible, lacking in humour, and more importantly, in compassion. You may know how to run a house but you do not know how to manage people. It is obvious you find me unacceptable as a mistress. Therefore, given the fact of your twenty-five years of service, I shall furnish you with a character reference. You may count on it to be in your possession by tomorrow morning when you depart. That will be all.”

  “I shall go to the duke about this.” The housekeeper’s fists tightened at her sides, her face florid as a cherry.

  Violet knew Jeannette always matched one threat with another. She decided to follow her lead. “Go if you like. And when the interview is concluded, know that you will still find yourself dismissed. Only this time there will be no reference forthcoming.”

  Mrs Hardwick blanched, then coloured again as if she might explode from temper. She turned on her heel, stalked from the room.

  Violet’s shoulders slumped the moment the older woman was gone. “Dear heavens,” she murmured. Only afterward did she notice Kit and the young housemaid staring at her goggle-eyed, slack-jawed.

  Kit recovered first. “Bravo.”

  Tina sniffed, her eyes damp but no longer crying. She dipped a quick curtsey. “Oh, your Grace, thank you, thank you. I don’t know what to say. How to express my gratitude. And I wants you to know, I’ll repay every penny cost of that vase, no matter if it does take me my entire life to do it.”

  “Yes, well, it’s all right, Tina. Now go along and fetch a mop and dustpan to clear away this mess. We will discuss what is to be done about the other at a later time.”

  Tina curtseyed again, hurried from the room.

  “That was amazing,” Kit declared. “I’ve never seen anyone stand up to old Hard-Arse before. Oh, beg your pardon,” he hastened to add when her eyes widened at the crude nickname.

  “Then I’m not the only one to find her difficult and unpleasant?” she ventured.

  “Lord, no. She used to scare the liver out of my sisters and me growing up. And Adrian always steered well clear of her when he was home from school.”

  “Then why on earth has she been here so long?”

  “Father hired her. I think he did it to spite Maman after one of their more spectacular fights. Once Mrs H. was installed, no one ever had the nerve to remove her. Even Maman tiptoes lightly in her presence, and Maman doesn’t cavil easily.” He grinned. “I must say, Vi, you were bloody brilliant.”

  She shushed him. “I told you not to call me that, even when we’re alone.” She worried the corner of her lip between her teeth. “Do you think she’ll go to Adrian?”

  “Doubtful. She needs that reference too badly to risk it. No, she’ll be packed and waiting with outstretched hand in the morning.”

  “But Adrian will have to be informed.”

  “Undoubtedly. He’ll stand behind you on this one, though. He may even kiss you senseless for it.”

  “Kit!” she scolded, a pleased blush dusting her cheeks at the notion.

  “You’re top-o’-the-trees, sis.” He grinned. “You’ll take London by storm, just wait and see if you don’t.”

  For the first time since this whole nerve-splitting masquerade began, a surge of confident hope sprang to life inside her. If she could go toe-to-toe against a fishwife like Mrs Hardwick and win, then perhaps fooling the ne’er-do-wells of the Ton wouldn’t be so impossible, after all.

  Like Kit said, with the right combination of attitude and arrogance, a person could conquer the world.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Her hands began to perspire inside her gloves the moment the carriage crossed the city limits into London.

  Unseeing, she stared at the narrow streets and the teeming throngs that ranged beyond the small glass coach window, too focused on her own problems and concerns to notice the activity around her.

  Her day of reckoning was here at last.

  Despite her buoyant spirits of four days’ past, all her old fears and doubts came creeping back upon her, vicious as a mass of hideous fanged creatures. Acting for all she was worth, she put on a brave face, careful to let none of her trepidation show. Covering her dread with excitement. Smothering her anxiety in smiles.

  Their coach rolled to an easy stop before the ducal townhouse. Typically grand, the structure took up the entirety of a city block, as well as a second block beyond for the gardens and stables.

  With the exception of Agnes, Mr Wilcox and Kit’s man, Cherry, who travelled behind them in a separate conveyance, the rest of the household staff was already in residence in London.

  March threw open the front door, a dignified yet welcoming smile upon his face as they exited the coach and ascended the stairs. “Your Graces. My lord. How was your journey?”

  “Quite satisfactory.” Adrian drew off his gloves and hat as he crossed the threshold, handing them to the majordomo. A footman hurried forward to assist with everyone’s outer garments.

  March turned to her. “Your Grace, what a pleasure to welcome you to Raeburn House.”

  “Thank you, March.” She smiled.

  “You will be delighted to know your return has not gone unnoticed, your Grace,” March informed her. “Not even ten minutes after I installed the knocker this morning, a runner came by with an invitation. There have been six more since. Three of them, I am told, are for tomorrow evening. I have taken the liberty of arranging the cards for you in the salon.”

  Her stomach pitched like a ship on a rough sea. Valiantly, she pinned on a fresh smile. “How delightful. I will peruse them over some refreshments, if you would be so good as to alert the kitchen staff.”

  March bowed. “Immediately, your Grace. Oh, one additional item.”

  She paused, allowed Adrian and Kit to proceed her into the room.

  “I have made arrangements with a highly reputable agency here in the city.” At her confused frown, he explained in a
hushed voice, “Housekeeper interviews.”

  “Oh, of course.” Her lips curved upward, her smile genuine this time. “Thank you, March. Is there much gossip in the servants’ hall about the matter?”

  “Most definitely, and it is all running in your favour.” They shared a conspiratorial grin. “I’ll fetch that tea now, your Grace.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  “Thank the stars Raeburn’s seen fit to bring you to Town at last,” Christabel Morgan gushed, fanning herself against the ballroom’s warmth. “It’s been frightful dull here without you, as I’m certain it has been for you, withering away in the wilds of Derbyshire, as it were.”

  Violet stared down her nose at her sister’s boon companion.

  The lively brunette had rushed up to greet her less than a minute after she and Adrian and Kit exited the receiving line. At Kit’s whispered suggestion the day before, she’d chosen to attend Viscountess Braverly’s ball, a sad crush with some five hundred people in attendance. As he had pointed out, the more people, the less opportunity for extended conversation with any single individual.

  She lifted her lorgnette; another brilliant idea of Kit’s. She’d purchased the odd thing this morning. A fashionable affectation that would allow her to see more easily, especially once she had an optician fit the glass with her prescription.

  She peered through the lens. “There is much to be said for country living when it is done on as fine an estate as Winterlea. The grounds are some of the most beautiful to be found in the whole of England.”

  “Well, of course. I am certain they are,” Christabel agreed.

  “And the domestic management of the estate leaves little time for idleness now that I am Duchess. You would understand if you were married.” Another of Kit’s tricks, deflect unwanted comments or questions by the subtle use of criticism.

  Christabel bristled, full bottom lip thrusting into a small pout Violet was sure the girl must practice by the hour in front of her looking glass at home. “I have a large number of admirers.”

  “Of course you do. Tell me, who are your latest favourites?”

  She listened as Christabel waxed lyrical about her current matrimonial prospects, though it was the last thing she wanted to do. She took comfort, aware the subject totally occupied the other girl while giving herself a chance to stand quietly and observe the goings-on in the room.

  She wished Kit were at her side to help buoy her up. Or Adrian. She would have much preferred to remain at his side the entire evening. But Kit had strictly forbade her from taking refuge beneath the protection of her husband’s coattails.

  A trio of gentlemen appeared. They signed her dance card and Christabel’s, then stood chatting about the large number of attendees and the delicacies to be had at the refreshment tables. She let them talk, nodding or smiling at the appropriate moments.

  Adrian materialized at her elbow to claim the first dance. Still newlyweds, Society would think nothing of them spending a short while together before going their separate ways for the evening. With relief, she abandoned the now giggling Christabel, who was happily surrounded by men.

  As soon as the waltz began, she melted into Adrian’s strong, reassuring arms. Momentarily, she let herself forget the fear and strain she was under, Adrian’s familiarity a comfort as he whirled her around the room.

  All too soon the idyll ended. They strolled off the dance floor.

  “Look there,” he said, “I see a friend of mine.”

  He drew her toward a lean, brown-haired gentleman. Shorter than Adrian by half a head, the man’s features were pleasant, patrician, yet unremarkable. It was his amber eyes, though, that caught her attention, left her transfixed like a fox to a dove the instant he turned them upon her.

  She blinked to dispel the disturbing sensation. Strange, but for an instant she’d glimpsed intimacy in his look, as if he knew her. And knew her well. Then the look was gone, replaced by nothing more than casual, friendly interest.

  She wanted to give herself a shake. Her overactive nerves must be making her see things that were not there, she decided.

  “My dear,” Adrian began, “you remember Toddy Markham. Old friend of mine from my soldiering days.”

  At least one mystery was solved, she thought. Obviously Adrian had previously introduced the man to Jeannette, during their engagement, no doubt.

  She held out a gloved hand. “Yes, of course. Mr Markham, how are you finding the evening so far?”

  “Most enjoyable.” He clasped her palm, bowed over it. “With so many beautiful women in attendance, a man can’t help but enjoy himself.”

  He squeezed their joined hands, applying a firm, insistent pressure that lingered for a long, intense beat. Seconds passed, his face betraying none of the emotion expressed by his touch. Then he released her.

  She drew her arm away, curled her fingers protectively at her side. Imagining things, hah. She hadn’t imagined that touch.

  She slid a fraction of an inch closer to Adrian.

  The movement did not escape Markham’s notice, a dagger’s-edge glint winking at her out of those dangerous eyes.

  “Do you stay long in the city?” she inquired.

  “A while. My plans are of a fluid nature at the moment.”

  “Toddy abhors regimentation,” Adrian volunteered. “Never plans past his next meal.”

  Markham quirked a grin. “That’s right. I find that one misses out on far too many of life’s unexpected surprises otherwise. Much easier to simply let our passions take us where they may, and not dwell on the uncertainty of our futures.”

  “Yet there is much to be said for plans,” she countered, “as well as the good governance of one’s emotions. After all, without plans, wouldn’t we all still be living in caves?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could recall them. Jeannette would never have made such an intellectually provocative remark.

  Both men studied her, different expressions upon their faces: proud amusement on Adrian’s, surprised speculation on Markham’s.

  She moved quickly to correct her mistake, laughing. “Then again, what would I know of such matters? Parties, shopping, amusing extravagances, those are the sorts of plans ladies like to make.”

  Markham studied her for another long moment before he relaxed and smiled. “Quiet right, your Grace. Speaking of amusing extravagances, may I request the honour of a dance with you this evening?” He reached out a hand.

  Before he could grasp the dance card dangling from her wrist, she slipped it out of reach. “Ordinarily I would be enchanted, but my entire card has already been filled.”

  His face hardened. “Every dance? Perhaps you are in error and there is one that has slipped your notice.” He reached forward again for the card.

  She stepped away, eluding his touch. “No, I am quite certain. Not fifteen minutes past, Mr Hughes remarked upon his disappointment at being turned away for the very same reason.”

  Markham gave a stiff bow. “Perhaps you shall have a set available next time we meet.” He turned to the duke. “Raeburn. A game of cards later on this evening?”

  “Sounds good. I shall find you in the card room after a while.”

  “Your Grace.” Markham bowed once more to her, then turned on his heel and departed.

  “What was that all about?” Adrian asked as soon as the other man was out of earshot.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You and Markham. I got the distinct impression you were brushing him off. Is your dance card really full tonight?”

  “Yes, of course it is,” she dissembled, aware there were one or two blank spots remaining. “Just because I am married now doesn’t mean I lack for admirers.”

  “So long as admiring is all they do,” he warned with a teasing growl. He sighed. “I suppose that means you already have a partner for the supper dance? I was hoping the two of us could share it.”

  She’d hoped the same. How easy, how blissful, to pass the evening in Adrian’s arms, at h
is side, sharing his table and his conversation during the elaborate midnight supper to come. But such exclusivity would draw unwelcome comment and attention, and she’d already taken one too many risks tonight as it was.

  She tapped her closed fan playfully against his shoulder. “You know it wouldn’t do. A husband and wife mustn’t live in each other’s pockets. There shall be plenty of time to see each other later. At home.”

  Lambent light flashed fire inside his dark eyes, the timber of his voice dropping low, whiskey deep. “I’ll hold you to that promise. Don’t dance too much and tire yourself out.”

  A faint answering flush tinged her cheeks. “I’ll do my best.”

  A wave of melancholy washed over her, drowning her beneath its force as she watched him stroll away moments later. She wanted to call him back, bury her face against his shoulder and beg him to take her home. She hated the pretence, the brittle superficiality of it all. Even inside the lies she’d spun, when she was alone with Adrian some part of her true self remained. Here, there was nothing left of her. Everything falsehood and fabrication. As if she were only a shadow, a reflection without form or substance. As if the real her, the real Violet, didn’t exist.

  Sudden panic drained the blood from her head, leaving her dizzy, disoriented. Somehow she straightened, strengthened, as she remembered. She was here to make Adrian proud. She must convince everyone she was Jeannette, the woman he’d chosen as his wife.

  A gentleman appeared at her side; her next partner.

  Pasting a bright smile upon her lips, she let him lead her into the dance.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The days to follow passed in a whirlwind of activity: morning calls, luncheon parties, afternoon teas, dinner parties, fêtes, soirées, balls and routs. Ices at Gunter’s, promenades in the park, the theatre, the opera and the ballet. There was scarcely a moment to breathe and even less time to rest. She danced until dawn. Slept until noon. And spent the rest of the time encircled by friends and acquaintances who buzzed around her like bees attending the queen in her hive.

  Jeannette would have thrived on the attention.