The Husband Trap

by Warren, Tracy Anne

  At Winterlea, the estate bustled from dawn to dusk. Gardeners and undergardeners tended the grounds, caring for old trees and young spring plants alike. Carpenters, painters and masons covered the great house like an industrious team of ants, making various small repairs to keep the property in its usual tip-top condition. While, inside, Mrs Litton commanded the staff, sending them forth like a small army to do a thorough spring cleaning for the upcoming festivities.

  In only four days’ time, guests would begin to arrive for the house party Violet was throwing. Invitations had been sent out to neighbours, family and a few dozen close friends—most of whom would be in attendance only for the spectacular ball taking place on the final night. The celebration was being held in honour of Adrian’s thirty-third birthday, and would mark Violet’s very first solo foray into formal entertaining.

  She listened now to the murmur and bustle of housemaids as she passed near the main ballroom. Several maids were down on hands and knees scrubbing and polishing the intricate parquet floors. While others unhooked the heavy midnight blue velvet draperies, carrying them outside into the fresh air to beat them free of dust.

  She couldn’t deny a certain jittery fluttering every time she thought about the coming event. But hosting such an ambitious undertaking had been her idea.

  All her idea.

  When she’d broached the notion to Adrian, he’d urged her in a gentle voice to wait a few months. Begin with a small party at summer’s end, he’d said. When the gentlemen could shoot, and the ladies might amuse themselves out-of-doors, dabbling at watercolour painting or practicing their archery.

  But Jeannette would already have hosted one party by now, if not more. And although she was under no pressure to do the same, Violet wanted to prove she could—to Adrian and to herself.

  He said he didn’t care about entertaining, and she believed him. But she was his duchess, and being the Duchess of Raeburn came with certain social duties and obligations. She needed to live up to those responsibilities. Particularly now that he knew who she really was. She never wanted to give him reason to regret his choice. Above all, she wanted to make him proud.

  And there was one more reason as well.

  If what she suspected was true, she might not feel like hosting a party in late summer. If what she hoped was true, she would, by that time, be growing round with Adrian’s child.

  She put a hand to her belly, wondering, dreaming. She’d missed her flow at the end of last month and was now almost three weeks late. Always in the past, it had come quite regularly, like clockwork. If she went another week, it would be twice missed and she would know for certain.

  Only then would she tell Adrian.

  Of course, she was dying to tell him now. But if it turned out to be a false alarm, she didn’t want to disappoint him by having to say there was no baby, after all. Besides, she’d decided the news would make a wonderful birthday present. If everything went as hoped, she planned to share her glad tidings with him the final night of the ball.

  She hugged the knowledge to herself. Her thoughts drifting away into daydreams as they were wont to do these days, a silly grin lighting her face.

  A half hour later, just as she and François were finishing their final review of the menus, a knock sounded on her study door.

  She lifted her gaze toward March, who waited in the open doorway.

  “Visitors have arrived, your Grace. Your family is here.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  “Dearest, it’s so wonderful to see you,” her mother declared, enfolding her in a warm, gardenia-scented hug.

  March had put them in the family salon upstairs, all four of them: her parents, Darrin, who stood by the window wearing his usual expression of boredom, and Jeannette—or rather, “Violet”—whose appearance came as a small shock.

  Fashionably dressed, though still more conservatively garbed than the real Jeannette would ever have chosen for herself, her twin looked distinctly unhappy. Subdued, mouth turned downward at the corners, her eyes dull and sullen, half-hidden behind the square-cut spectacles perched on her nose.

  And that came as the most surprising sight of all. Jeannette was still wearing “Violet’s” glasses.

  Violet returned her mother’s embrace for a long moment, then pulled away. “It’s good to see you too. Adrian and I weren’t expecting you for a few more days.”

  The countess moved to take a seat on the wide sofa. “Well, that was our original plan, but it’s done nothing but rain in London for the past week. So we decided to come up early and surprise you. Are you surprised?”

  “Yes, very. But pleasantly so. Let me ring for tea and have your rooms prepared. You must be tired from your journey.” She crossed to the bellpull.

  “Fair number of ruts in the road,” her father complained from where he sat sprawled in one of the wing chairs. “Must remember to have a word with Raeburn about that. Can’t have people’s coaches rattling apart on the way to and fro.”

  “As you say, it has been a wet spring.” She knew firsthand that Adrian kept his own road in excellent condition. He’d had teams of men out only a few days past filling holes in the driveway with dirt, sand and rocks. She decided not to remark that Adrian had no control over the main roads, since she knew her father would only scowl and grow more irritable. He got that way when he was hungry.

  “How is London?” she inquired as she took a chair across from the sofa. “I’ve been quite anxious for news of all the goings-on.”

  Jeannette moved silently into place beside their mother. Darrin maintained his stance at the window, brooding outward.

  “The Season’s been off to a slow start this year, though I can’t say why,” her mother began. “Hilary Asquith’s chit is out. Whey-faced girl, shouldn’t think she’ll take at all. And the DeBrett child. Good complexion, tolerable eyes, but that voice. Lord, when she laughs it sends shudders down your spine. If her mother is wise, she’ll advise her to keep her mouth shut until she finds a good match.”

  “And Italy. You haven’t told me about all your grand adventures, Violet.”

  “Violet” looked up, an odd glint sparking in her gaze. “Italy was very pleasant. Aunt Agatha sends her regards.”

  And that was all.

  What had happened in Italy? She wondered. Jeannette’s first few letters from the Continent had been glowing. Then Toddy Markham had learned the truth, left for the Continent. There’d been no letters since. Had it gone badly between them? Was that the reason for Jeannette’s less than sunny demeanour?

  The countess patted Jeannette’s hand. “I have great hopes for our Violet this year. Several gentlemen have seemed quite taken with her. And she’s finally decided to show some interest in her wardrobe. Isn’t this colour most becoming?” Their mother nodded toward the peach-and-white-spotted India muslin Jeannette wore.

  “Exquisite.” She forced a further show of interest. “What modiste did you employ?”

  “Lord save me from all this feminine folderol,” her father cursed, scowling. “Where is that husband of yours?”

  “Adrian rode out this morning with his estate agent, Papa. To inspect some tenant properties, I understand. He said he would try to return in time for tea, which I believe has just arrived.”

  A pair of maids entered the room, bearing two heavy silver trays stacked with refreshments.

  “About time,” the earl grumbled, perking up at the sight of food.

  Darrin wandered over to take a plate.

  Jeannette accepted a cup of tea and a single wafer-thin slice of Westphalia ham on a tiny biscuit. Nothing more.

  “Not hungry,” Jeannette murmured at Violet’s questioning gaze.

  Violet sipped at her own cup, her stomach lurching at the scents of deviled eggs and cold beef pie, which everyone else proclaimed delicious.

  Further proof, she decided, that she might be in the family way.

  Then Adrian arrived.

  She shared a broad smile of welcome with him. He’d chang
ed clothes, she saw. When he bent to press a brief kiss upon her lips, she caught the pleasant scent of shaving soap that lingered on his skin.

  He turned to greet her family.

  He went first to her mother, exchanging a warm, familial hug and words of welcome. Next, he shook hands with her father, then her brother. Both men managed somehow to tear themselves away from their plates long enough to obey the dictates of good manners.

  Finally, he turned to Jeannette.

  Adrian hesitated, shoulders stiff. Violet didn’t believe anyone else noticed his reluctant displeasure.

  Jeannette held out her hand.

  He bowed over it, quick and perfunctory. “Lady Violet.”

  If Jeannette heard the razor-edged tone as he said her “name,” she gave no indication, her smile pretty and sweet. “Your Grace. Or may I call you Adrian? We are brother and sister now, after all.”

  “As you will, my lady.”

  Duty done, he accepted the cup of tea Violet prepared for him, moved to take a seat on the sofa directly opposite the one on which Jeannette and the countess sat.

  Adrian played the polite host, entertaining them all. As he spoke, smiled and laughed, Violet noticed he barely glanced at Jeannette.

  By the time Mrs Litton arrived to escort them to their rooms, a line had settled between Jeannette’s brows. She might be pretending to be Violet, but if there was one thing Jeannette could not abide, it was being ignored.

  Thankfully, Jeannette held her tongue.

  As the family moved after the housekeeper into the hallway, Jeannette slipped up next to Violet. “Come to my room this evening,” she whispered. “We need to talk.”

  She met her twin’s eyes for an instant, nodded a quick agreement before Jeannette moved away.

  A familiar hand slid over Violet’s shoulder moments later. “What did she want?” Adrian asked.

  “To speak to me in private.”

  “No doubt she chafes beneath her role. Perhaps we should simply confess the truth to your family and end this farce.”

  She turned, gazed up at him. “No. All will be well, you’ll see. Something happened in Italy. She’s unhappy in a way I’ve never seen her.”

  “Hmm, that’s exactly what worries me. Your sister is just spoiled and selfish enough to find a way to take her misery out on you. I don’t want her ruining your enjoyment of this entertainment you’ve worked so hard to arrange.”

  “She won’t. I won’t let her.” She rested her hands on his chest. “I love you. You love me. And nothing she says can disrupt our happiness.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, but very well.” He sighed. “I suppose she is your sister, and I’ll have to resign myself to seeing her upon occasion.”

  “Yes, you will. And do your best not to ignore her completely. It only incites her ire.”

  “Good. She deserves feeling a bit of ire now and again.” He leaned down, pressed his lips to hers, slow and sweet. “Still, I suppose I should be grateful to her.”

  “How so?”

  “If she hadn’t convinced you to switch places, I might be married to her now.” He gave an exaggerated shudder.

  She laughed, and looped her arms around his neck to bring his mouth back to hers for another long kiss.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  It was late, the house grown quiet for the night, when Violet knocked softly upon her twin’s bedroom door.

  Jeannette peeked out. “Where have you been? I thought perhaps you’d decided not to come.” She pulled the door wide for Violet to enter.

  “I was delayed,” Violet said as she crossed the threshold. “Mrs Litton needed to discuss arrangements for tomorrow’s breakfast. Then I had to change out of my evening gown.”

  They eyed each other. Both wore nightdresses and robes, their long hair brushed and tied back with ribbons. They were identical except for the colour of their attire; Violet in deep blue, Jeannette in creamy white.

  It brought back memories of their childhood days when they’d slept in the third-floor nursery, whispering together well after their bedtime. Often Nanny had to come in to shush them for their disobedience.

  But they were grown women now, free to do as they wished. The days of girlish camaraderie long since past.

  Jeannette gestured toward a chair. “Sit, sit. I have something for you.”

  Violet perched on the chair’s edge and waited. “You didn’t need to bring me anything.”

  Jeannette burrowed through some of the clothes in her portmanteau. “Don’t be silly, of course I did. I wanted to. Here.” She thrust out a small box, tied with a length of jonquil-coloured ribbon.

  Violet paused briefly, then accepted it. She opened the box, to reveal an intricately carved pin nested on a bed of velvet. “A cameo. It’s beautiful.”

  “You like it?”

  She traced a finger over a tableau of tiny birds and flowers carved into the carnelian oval. “It’s exquisite. How could I help but like it.”

  “I knew you would.” Jeannette beamed. “I found it in a small shop in Tuscany and immediately thought of you. I barely haggled with the shopkeeper over the price, I just had to have it.”

  “Well, thank you. It’s gorgeous. Truly.” She rose and gave her sister a hug. “I love it.”

  “Let’s see how it looks.” Jeannette fastened the brooch onto Violet’s robe. “Perfect.”

  Silence fell between them.

  “So, is the gift why you asked me here?” Violet asked after a time.

  “Of course. And to visit,” Jeannette added.

  “Visit?”

  “Yes, it’s been almost a year since we’ve seen each other. I thought we’d chat. Can’t a sister just want to chat?”

  The notion took Violet by surprise since she and Jeannette had stopped sharing late-night confidences many years ago. “All right. What should we discuss? Italy, perhaps? You’ve barely mentioned your trip.”

  Jeannette sighed. “I haven’t mentioned it because there’s little to say. Except for some tolerable shopping, there’s virtually nothing to do there. Aunt Agatha and I travelled around, looked at ruin after ruin, castle after castle. We ate strange foods with strange-sounding names like linguini and cannelloni. Half the time, we sat fanning ourselves against the heat and beating the pollen off our skirts from all the odious olive trees.”

  “From what you said in your letters, you seemed to be enjoying yourself. I thought there were a great number of parties and entertainments for you to attend.”

  “There were, and at first I did enjoy myself. But the novelty soon wore thin.”

  “No fascinating suitors? What about that prince you mentioned?”

  Jeannette fluttered a dismissive hand. “I had plenty of suitors—even pretending to be you. They prowled around my feet like a pack of yowling tomcats.”

  “But you weren’t interested?”

  “I have no wish to inure myself permanently in such a hothouse of a country.”

  “So you missed England?”

  “Of course I missed England.”

  “And nothing else occurred?”

  “What do you mean?” Jeannette demanded, her eyes narrowed.

  “Toddy Markham. I know he went to Italy to find you. Did he?”

  Her twin rounded on her. “Pray don’t mention that cad’s name in my presence ever again. He’s a contemptible swine. He’s so low he doesn’t even deserve to lick the bottom of my shoes. He…he—” She broke off, unable to continue. A tear trailed down her cheek.

  Violet hurried to wrap an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Shh, you must tell me what he did to hurt you. Is that why you seem so unhappy? I couldn’t help but notice.”

  They sank together onto the bed.

  “I thought he loved me,” Jeannette cried. “He said he couldn’t live without me. Then he met her.” She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her robe. “The Contessa d’Venetizzo. Overblown Italian cow. She arrived at a masquerade Markham and I were attending, and she seduced him aw
ay.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would he suddenly change his mind, switch his affections so abruptly?”

  “I don’t know,” Jeannette moaned. “Because he’s a beast, a black-hearted, money-hungry beast. I can’t remember all the particulars now, but I may have mentioned the fact that, as you, I would receive almost nothing for a dowry. And as myself it wouldn’t be much better. Apparently he didn’t realize Papa’s pockets are so badly to let. He envisioned a large settlement if we were to marry. I said there would be none. After that, well, his eye began to roam, and it landed upon her.”

  “Jeannette, I’m sorry.” She reached out to lay a comforting hand over her sister’s.

  Jeannette shook off her touch, jumped to her feet. “She’s a rich widow. Young, and some claim, beautiful—though I could never see the attraction myself—with masses of dark hair, and breasts like overripe melons. I suppose some men like that sort of thing.”

  She paced, working herself into a lather. “Well, he can have her, and I hope they make each other thoroughly miserable. I hope she tires of him and kicks him out into the streets to beg with the paupers. And to think I gave myself to him,” she wailed, tears starting again. “Oh, how could I have been such a fool?”

  Violet moved again to offer a consoling touch. “Shh, it will be all right, you’ll see. In time, you’ll forget him and find someone better. Someone you love who truly loves you back.”

  “No, there’ll never be anyone better. Nothing will ever be right again.” Jeannette sniffed, blew her nose into a handkerchief, her tears gradually drying. “Which is why I’ve come to a decision.”

  “What sort of decision?” Violet ventured, suddenly wary.

  “The things I did—leaving Raeburn at the altar, forcing you to switch places with me, forcing you to live my life in my stead. Well, it was wrong. The selfish and immature act of a foolish, desperate woman. So I’ve decided to make it right.”

  Jeannette straightened her shoulders, faced her. “I know how perfectly dreadful these past months must have been for you. How you must have suffered. Managing a household, coping with Society and the demands of being married to one of the most influential men in England. I know what a strain our deception has been for me. I can only imagine the nightmare ordeal you’ve had to endure.”