“Hence the regret.”
“Understandable.” Marcus nodded. “But among all those things you’ve said about your ill-fated marriage, there’s one thing you’ve never said.”
“And what is that?”
Marcus met his gaze. “You’ve never once said it was a mistake.”
JAMES INSTRUCTED HIS driver, then climbed into the carriage. “I didn’t think you’d wait for me.”
“That would have been rude.” Violet smiled pleasantly. “I am never rude.”
“I wouldn’t think you were,” he said slowly.
“We have a decision to make.”
“I don’t see that we have a choice.”
“Of course we do,” she said. “There are always choices, some better than others. From what Uncle Richard has said about you in the last few years, you seem to have a talent for business. Should either of us decide not to abide by the terms of the will, you would have to seek employment.”
He had no doubt he could find employment of a sort. But if he’d learned nothing else about the world of business he had learned who you were was every bit as important as your skills or intelligence. A disinherited earl would not be especially sought after.
“I would indeed.” He shifted in his seat. It wasn’t just the fortune—although its loss would be painful—but losing the properties that had been in his family for generations twisted his soul. The country estate where his father had taught him to ride and to swim, as had his father before him. The London house Uncle Richard had made James’s haven. The places James had always called home. “My life would certainly change. As would yours.”
She hesitated. “Yes, of course.”
He had the oddest feeling there was something she didn’t wish to say.
“Although, as your husband, it would be my responsibility to provide your support.”
“You would have to find good employment.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “You’ve been very generous through the years.”
He shrugged off her comment. Generosity apparently went hand in hand with guilt.
“Was that at Uncle Richard’s urging?”
Did she think so little of him? He couldn’t blame her if she did but it was annoying nonetheless. “Would it matter if it was?”
“Perhaps not.” She paused. “But it is something I have always wondered.”
“You could have asked my uncle.”
“I’m not sure he would have told me,” she said with a sigh. “He was very fond of you and rather proud of the man you’ve become.”
Good to know. “No, your financial support had nothing to do with Uncle Richard.”
“I see.” For a long moment she was silent. “You’re asking for three more years of my life. It’s a very long time.”
“Perhaps it is better to think of it as two years, eleven months, one week and three days after all.”
“Not really.” She pinned him with a hard look. “You do realize the significance of two years, eleven months, one week and three days, don’t you?”
He scoffed. “Of course I do.” What the hell was she talking about?
“Oh?” She studied him closely. “Can you tell me why Uncle Richard stipulated two years, eleven months, one week and three days?”
“Of course I can.” At once the answer struck him and he wondered if Uncle Richard was looking after him from above. He leaned forward and met her gaze firmly. “Five years, ten months, two weeks and six days is—as of today—how long we’ve been married. Two years, eleven months, one week and three days is exactly half that. The stipulation was that the length of time be based on the date of today’s meeting.” He shrugged. “If you had returned to London sooner, the requirement would have been shorter.”
“Very good, James.” She nodded coolly. “Given your reaction in Mr. Davies’s office, one might have thought you didn’t realize that.”
“One would have been wrong,” he said in a superior manner and sent a silent prayer of gratitude to his uncle. “Still, it does seem excessive.”
“Uncle Richard probably considered it fitting. An appropriate penance of sorts.”
“Or a sentence?”
“Also appropriate, I suppose.” She shook her head. “Uncle Richard never failed to lecture me about the absurdity of our circumstances. Every time I saw him, he said this had gone on long enough and I should return to England to stay.” She met his gaze, and challenge shone in her eyes. “I told him I hadn’t been asked.”
“Would you have come back if I had?” It scarcely mattered now but it did seem important.
“It’s rather a pointless question. You didn’t ask.”
“But if I had?” he pressed.
She stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she said at last and shrugged. “It’s water under the bridge now. Nothing can be done about the past.”
“Better to move on from here, then,” he said. Still, there was a great deal of the past that remained to be resolved. “We should have expected something of this nature.” And really, hadn’t Uncle Richard warned him? Hadn’t he said on more than one occasion that if James wouldn’t do something about his marriage, someone should?
She smiled wryly. “He’s proving a point you know, even in death.”
James chuckled. “I am aware of that.”
“It seems that we have no choice.” She sighed. “Regardless, I shall have to consider this. If I agree to abide by the terms of the will, well, my life will be remarkably different.”
“Apparently my fate is now in your hands.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” She settled back in her seat. “Rather ironic when you think about it,” she said under her breath and turned toward the window.
Violet continued to gaze silently at the passing streets, apparently lost in thought. He had no idea what she was thinking. Every now and then he caught a glimpse of her expression, at once serene and determined. He suspected it did not bode well. Beyond that, there was something she wasn’t telling him. Violet was entirely too unconcerned about the potential loss of James’s inheritance. After all, if he lost everything, so did she.
The moment they entered the house they were met by a blonde woman Violet introduced as Mrs. Ryland, her companion and secretary. A few years older than Violet, she was quite lovely, or she would have been had she not glared at James as if he were the devil incarnate. Violet announced they had errands to run and would be back late in the afternoon.
“Will you be joining me for dinner tonight?” he asked.
Violet glanced at the other woman. “I think we’ll take dinner in our rooms tonight.”
He raised a brow. “Don’t we have a great deal to talk about?”
“And I have a great deal to think about.” She smiled politely, nodded at Mrs. Ryland, and the ladies took their leave.
He stared after them. This was not the Violet he remembered. Not the girl he had known. He had liked the old Violet. This new Violet was an unknown. And most intriguing.
Violet Branham was a woman any man would be proud to have by his side. She was strong and confident, independent