Lady Traveller's Guide To Happily Ever After. Victoria Alexander
about the past.” It was his turn to adopt an offhand manner, as if none of this was of any significance. “What’s done is done.”
“Nonetheless, I would like to know what you have heard.”
“I doubt that.” He turned and strode toward the library. This was not the sort of talk a man had with his wife without the benefit of spirits.
“You cannot make vague, unsubstantiated charges and then just walk away,” she called after him.
“Actually, I can.” He stepped into the library, snapped the door closed behind him and crossed the room to the cabinet where Uncle Richard kept convenient bottles of brandy, whiskey and assorted spirits.
A moment later the door crashed open and he tried not to grin. He’d suspected this new Violet wouldn’t be able to resist continuing the conversation.
“If you want to start something like this at least have the courage to finish it!”
James took a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass. “Would you like a glass?”
“Goodness, James, it’s barely past noon.”
“If we’re going to start the first day of the next three years reliving our sordid pasts, I for one am going to need fortification.”
“No doubt.” She moved to him, plucked the glass from his hand and took a sip. “My past is not the least bit sordid, thank you very much.”
He eyed the glass. “I believe that’s mine.”
“Not anymore.” She smirked and took another sip. “And I prefer to think of it as clearing the air. If we’re going to spend the next three years together as a happy couple in public, I daresay it’s best to get everything out in the open. To alleviate the possibility of untoward surprises.”
“We wouldn’t want that.” He poured a glass for himself.
“I’d rather not appear shocked when some well-meaning acquaintance decides it’s time I was informed of all of my husband’s indiscretions.”
He sipped his drink and studied her. As curious as he was about the rumors regarding her behavior, he wasn’t at all sure confessing his own transgressions was wise. Fuel on the fire and that sort of thing. “It seems to me, we have a great deal to discuss regarding the past six years. Are you certain you wish to start with this particular topic?”
“Why not?” A distinct challenge shone in her eyes. “I must say I’m surprised you’ve had the time to pay any attention to rumors about me when there’s been so much gossip about you.”
His tone sharpened. “One does tend to note gossip about one’s wife.”
“As one tends to note rumors about one’s husband.” Her voice hardened. “Something like, oh, say, his dalliance with an opera singer.”
“Or her liaison with a French count.”
Her teeth clenched. “His affair with an American actress.”
“Hers with an Italian sculptor,” he said sharply. That tidbit came straight from Welles.
“His with any number of merry widows!”
“Hers with some talentless Greek poet!”
Her eyes widened. Apparently he’d hit the mark with that charge. Not that it gave him any satisfaction. Until now, he wasn’t sure he really believed any of the rumors. This was Violet, after all.
She choked back a laugh.
Although she had certainly changed. “You find this amusing?”
“Yes, actually I do.” She grinned. “Don’t you?”
“No!” he snapped. “I don’t find any of this amusing.”
“You used to find much of life amusing.”
“I am not the same man I used to be.”
She snorted in disbelief.
“I shall make a deal with you, Violet,” he said evenly. “I won’t throw your affairs in your face if you don’t throw my affairs in mine. We’ll leave the past in the past.”
“I don’t know. Throwing your indiscretions in your face sounds rather enjoyable to me.” She sipped her whiskey and considered him. Apparently, she was not going to make this easy.
“What I’m proposing is a truce.”
“I was unaware we were engaged in battle.”
His gaze met hers directly. “We have been engaged in a game of warfare since the night I kissed you on a darkened terrace.”
“Nonsense.” She scoffed. “We haven’t even seen each other.”
“Am I wrong?”
“I suppose it has been something of a battle albeit a silent one.”
He sipped his drink. “Perhaps we could be, well, friends again.”
“Unwilling partners perhaps but friends?” She tossed back the rest of her whiskey in a manner any man would be proud of. “I don’t think I can be your friend.”
“Nonetheless, you are my wife.”
“Six years ago, you didn’t want a wife.”
Six years ago I was an idiot. “And yet I have one who now apparently has to act like a wife.” He drew a deep breath. “As I intend to act like a husband.”
Her brow arched upward. “Do you?”
“It’s what Uncle Richard wanted.” He paused. “We were friends once, Violet, you and I.”
“Once was a very long time ago, James.” She set her glass down on a nearby table and headed for the door. “Lady Higginbotham and her friends will be here for dinner at half-past seven. Don’t be late. And do dress appropriately.”
“That sounded very much like a wife to me,” he called after her.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, my dear James, that’s just the beginning.”
“EXCELLENT DINNER, LORD ELLSWORTH,” Lady Blodgett said with a pleasant smile. “Do give my compliments to your cook.”
“Mrs. Clarke will be pleased to hear you enjoyed it.” James smiled.
Lady Blodgett and Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore were the friends of Mrs. Higginbotham’s she’d said were going to help her oversee the conditions of the will. All three ladies were of advanced years although one could see they must have been quite lovely in their younger days. Marcus and Mrs. Ryland completed their company. Marcus had noted privately earlier in the evening how he and James were horribly outnumbered and they should be on their toes. If this was indeed a game there were three distinct factions as evidenced by the seating at the table. James sat at the head at the table, Violet opposite at the far end. Mrs. Ryland sat next to Violet and beside Marcus who was on James’s right. The three older ladies sat on the other side.
Mrs. Higginbotham proclaimed before they were seated that there would be no discussion of Uncle Richard’s will until after dinner. Both James and Marcus spent the better part of the meal doing their best to charm the females at the table. Which did seem to work well with the exception of Violet—who even while she directed the conversation around the table was cool and aloof at least toward James—and Mrs. Ryland, whose distaste for James was only barely concealed. Although she did not appear entirely immune to Marcus’s charms even if it did seem the widow was trying to resist the engaging solicitor. Apparently, she was reluctant to throw her lot in with the enemy.
All in all the meal was pleasant enough if one ignored the superficial nature of the conversation and the currents eddying just