London, 1882
RICHARD BRANHAM, THE EARL OF ELLSWORTH, stood at the window in his library gazing at the back gardens, his hands clasped behind his back. One could tell by the set of his shoulders this was to be one of those discussions. Said discussions usually centered around his nephew’s—his heir’s—poor behavior, lack of responsibility and questionable future. Although James Branham thought his future had been rather firmly settled yesterday.
“Uncle Richard?” James braced himself. “You asked to see me?”
Uncle Richard turned from the window, the late-morning light emphasizing the lines of aging in his face. But then the man had passed his seventy-fifth year. “I thought we should talk.”
“It seems to me we’ve done nothing but talk the last few days.”
His uncle studied him for a long moment. “I’m proud of you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Not exactly what James had expected.
“You did the right thing.” Uncle Richard crossed the room and took his usual seat behind his ancient mahogany desk. “It wasn’t easy.”
James shrugged and sat in the equally old wingback chair in front of the desk. They’d faced each other countless times across this desk since James had come to live with his uncle at the age of nine when his parents had died. Fifteen years later, James’s behavior was still a matter that warranted discussion.
“There wasn’t much of a choice.” It seemed to James it came down to his future, or hers. He would survive a scandal. Men with money and titles always did. Violet would have been ruined. And it was entirely his fault.
“You saved that girl from scandal and probably a life alone. A young woman’s fate rests on her reputation.”
“I am well aware of that.” It didn’t seem at all fair that Violet should have to suffer for his mistake. What had he been thinking? Or had he been thinking at all? Apparently, there was a great deal of guilt that went along with selfish errors of judgment, even when one ultimately did the right thing.
“Public indiscretions, even those we might deem minor, are rarely forgiven by society. Being kissed by a man whose engagement to another woman is about to be announced is not something that is easily forgotten.”
“She did slap me,” James pointed out. “Hard.”
“Yes, I saw that as did everyone else.” Uncle Richard’s lips twitched as if he were holding back a smile. He met his nephew’s gaze directly. “It was a mistake, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, of course.” James nodded, perhaps a bit too vehemently. There was no need to change his story now. He had kissed Violet Hagen on a dark terrace at the ball where his engagement to Marie Fredericks was to be announced. Admittedly, in the light of day, one would never confuse Violet with Marie, but then it hadn’t been the light of day. And he had possibly drunk more than was wise. And...
And marrying Marie had looked more and more like a fate worse than death. He should have come up with a better way to escape marriage to her but he’d tried to convince himself he was simply experiencing the kind of apprehension most men felt when coming face-to-face with an eternity tied to the same woman. Regardless, that night, with his engagement moments from being publicly announced, he could feel a noose tightening around his neck. A wiser man, a better man, would have simply called it off. Only a true idiot would have seen the silly challenge of his friends to kiss his almost-fiancée as a chance for escape. Only a stupid ass—or a coward—would have allowed the world to think he had mistakenly kissed the wrong woman, knowing full well that very public mistake would lead to calling off any engagement. It had seemed a brilliant idea.
He never for a moment thought it would also lead to a fast marriage with the mistake in question.
“Do you like her?” Uncle Richard said without warning.
James frowned in confusion. “Who?”
“Your wife?” A hard tone sounded in Richard’s voice. “The one you married yesterday?”
“Ah, Violet.” He nodded. “Well, yes, certainly. She’s quite pleasant. Quiet, rather shy I would say. But witty under that terribly reserved exterior, as well. And not unattractive.” Indeed, as he had been courting Marie he’d grown to know Violet. The idea of kissing her had not been an entirely new one. But then that particular idea occurred to him with most of the women he knew.
“What do you intend to do now?”
“Now? Honestly, Uncle Richard.” James shook his head. “I have no idea. I don’t think I am ready for marriage.”
VIOLET’S BREATH CAUGHT. She’d been about to enter the library to greet her new husband and his uncle. Obviously James had no idea she’d be up and about but then it was already late morning. She suspected James rarely rose before noon.
“And yet you are married,” Lord Ellsworth said.
What was one supposed to do when hearing one’s husband of less than a day proclaim he was not ready for marriage? Violet Hagen—now Branham—was not given to eavesdropping under ordinary circumstances. These were scarcely ordinary.
“Well, yes but...”
Uncle Richard’s voice hardened. “But?”
“None of this is Violet’s fault. She shouldn’t have to pay for it.” James paused. “I’ve legitimately made her my wife, given her my name. I was thinking Violet and I would have one of those modern marriages. You know, the sort where we go our separate ways for the most part.”
Violet bit back a gasp. Her heart twisted in her chest. No! Twenty-one years of quiet, reserved, proper behavior, of not standing up for herself, of doing what was expected up to and including marrying a man who had no desire to marry her, shattered with his words.
“She and I could—”
“She and I could what?” Violet swept into the room.
Both men jumped to their feet.
“Good morning, Violet,” Lord Ellsworth said pleasantly. “I trust you slept well?”
“Quite, thank you, my lord.” She moved closer. “I couldn’t help overhearing. As you and James are discussing my marriage and my future, don’t you think I should be present?”
“Of course.” James offered her a chair.
“I’d prefer to stand.” She braced herself. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re suggesting that you and I continue our lives as