The Heiress In His Bed
Page 41
Dickon brightened instantly. “Oh, there’s to be a honeymoon, is there? Good! Good! I’m glad someone is thinking. When do you go?”
“After our presentation,” Viola said, looking at Julian with defiance.
Julian was staring at his wife. “What in God’s name makes you think I want to be Chancellor of the Exchequer? Chancellor of the Exchequer!” he said, beginning to laugh. “Madam, I think you might have me confused with someone else. Even if I were ambitious, such a position would never be offered to me. In case you haven’t noticed, you just married the most hated man in London. I am a leper, both politically and socially.”
“I’ve never found the animosity of fools to be much of an obstacle,” Viola replied. “Neither socially nor politically. Anyway, as my husband, you’ll always be acceptable to the Tories, and your father can sort you with the Opposition. Politically, you’re perfectly situated. When the time comes, it won’t even matter which party is in power.”
“Less talk of politics, please,” Dickon said severely. “More talk of honeymoon.”
“My father!” Julian protested. “He wouldn’t lift a finger to help me. He only came to my wedding because it was my brother’s wedding, too.”
“You’re wrong, Dev,” said Viola. “The baron and I have discussed the matter at length, and he’s all for it. He’s still not speaking to you, of course, but he’s all for your advancement.”
Julian displeasure was growing by the minute. “You’ve spoken to my father?” he said coldly. “About me?”
“At length. You are our favorite subject, hands down.”
“Oh, please don’t quarrel,” Dickon fretted. “It’s very bad for the baby.”
“No quarrel,” Julian said coolly. “I just realized something—I married Lady Macbeth.”
“What!” cried Dickon. “Well, sir! This is a most unwelcome complication. You might have said so before you married my sister!”
“I didn’t know until this moment,” said Julian, glaring at his bride.
“Odd sort of marriage,” Dickon observed.
“Isn’t it?” Julian said darkly, causing Viola to sigh.
“What’s to be done?” Dickon wondered, wringing his hands. “Dev, you can’t have two wives—there are laws! You’ll have to get rid of this Lady Macbeth person. Sad, of course, but there it is.”
“Why don’t you go and ask Lover to take care of that for us?” Viola suggested to her brother. “I think you’ll find him remarkably efficient. Dev, you’re being ridiculous,” she went on when her brother had left the room. “I’m not asking you to kill anyone. I’m only asking you to seek a position worthy of your talents.”
“That’s just what Lady Macbeth would say,” he insisted.
Viola gathered Bijou to her breast and hugged her. “Well, I was only trying to make you happy. Of course, if you don’t wish to be Chancellor…”
She looked at him inquiringly.
“All right,” he said, after a moment. “Let’s say I do. What’s the plan? First, you drag me to Court—”
“Where you will look absolutely delightful in your silk breeches,” she put in eagerly.
“Likewise in your hoop skirt and feathers!” he retaliated. “Then what?”
“Honeymoon,” she said innocently. “We mustn’t neglect one another.”
“Oh, yes? And where are we going?”
“Anywhere you like,” she answered warmly.
“Really?” he said suspiciously.
“Certainly. As long as it’s Paris.”
Julian hid a smile. “I suppose I could spend a few days away from London, and, as it happens, I have two tickets for the packet to Calais.”
Viola lifted a brow. “You just happen to have two tickets to Calais? What an amazing coincidence. Or did I marry Macchiavelli?”
“Neither. As it happens, I had been planning to elope with you to France, but since you upstaged me…Well, we might as well put them to good use. We can leave tonight.”
Viola shook her head. “No, Dev. First we must be presented at Court. Then we can go play on the Continent.”
“Can’t we do the Court thing after the honeymoon?” he suggested. “I shall be in a much better mood after the honeymoon.”
“Undoubtedly,” Viola agreed, “but I shall be too big.”
“Nonsense. You’ll be getting plenty of exercise. You could eat your way through Paris and still come back light as feather.”
“Of course I shall be light as a feather,” Viola answered impatiently. “It’s the baby that’s so disgustingly fat.”
Julian drew his breath in sharply, but seemed to forget to exhale. “Good God,” he murmured. “You don’t mean…”
Viola chuckled. “I wish you could see your face. You look absolutely terrified. Here, sit down,” she added gently, pushing his chair out with her foot. “It’s not all that shocking, I hope, when you consider that we have been rather naughty. I won’t say we’ve been going at it like minks, but others might. Given the fact that we are both young and in tip-top form, one might even say that a baby was inevitable. Sort of like the waiter showing up at the end of the meal.”
“Are you sure?” he demanded as, white-faced, he sank into his chair.
“No,” she admitted, “but I am absolutely certain.”
He stared at her. “What the devil does that mean?”
“It’s early days yet, but I have a strong feeling about it,” she explained. “And, when I was in Hampshire, I had the strangest dream.”
“Feelings! Dreams!” he said, rather contemptuously. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“I’m not sick,” she protested. “Of that I am certain and sure. And I don’t want my brother to know—not yet. He has some very silly ideas about what I ought to eat in order to breed a masculine child. If a doctor were to visit me now, I’d be looking at months of eel pie and God knows what else.” She paused as if something had unsettled her stomach. After a few deep breaths, she went on. “I’ll see a doctor in Paris if it will make you feel better. Incidentally, did you know that there was a stock exchange of sorts in Paris?”
“The Bourse?”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“Yes. It’s much older than our Exchange, you know.”
“I had no idea. You should definitely go and see it when we’re in Paris. You could stick your head in, couldn’t you, while I’m shopping or whatever?”
Julian snorted. “My God, you’re devious,” he accused. “And if I should happen to break a French bank while I’m sticking my head in the Bourse…?”
“So much the better,” said Viola. “If you did so, people here might forget all about what you did to Child’s Bank, you dreadful man.”
“It’s not that simple,” Julian warned her. “Something like that could take months. I can’t leave London for as long as that.”
“Of course you can. Hire a man of business to do your will. Paris is only two days away,” she reminded him. “If there’s an emergency, you can always go home. Darling, you really must learn to delegate.”
“I’ve always secretly wanted to study the Bourse,” Julian admitted.
Walking in upon this remark, the duke naturally was cheered. “Of course you have, Dev. You’re a man, aren’t you? It’s perfectly natural. And now you’re married, you can study it anytime you like. And no need to worry about the Macbeth situation. I talked to Lover, and, believe me, she’s as good as dead. He’s going to make it look like a suicide.”
“Well done,” Viola congratulated him.
Julian scraped back his chair again. “I have to go. I shan’t be home for tea.”
“Then you won’t miss me,” Viola told him. “Lucy and I are having tea with your mother. We’re going to thrash out once and for all which of us is to be her favorite daughter-in-law. I’ve a terrible, sinking feeling it’s going to be me. I’ll walk you out,” she offered, gathering up Bijou and climbing to her feet.
“But you will be home for dinner, won
’t you, Dev?” Dickon exclaimed. “It’s eel pie. I ordered it special.”
Viola hastily pressed the dog into Julian’s arms and ran from the room with her hand clapped over her mouth.
“What’s the matter with her?” Dickon wanted to know.
“Nothing, Duke,” said Julian. “She’s just happy, that’s all.”
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Copyright © 2009 by Tamara Lejeune
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