Lady Traveller's Guide To Happily Ever After. Victoria Alexander
words at all like them—to any other woman.
“Why no, my lord, I don’t believe you have.” Violet Branham followed his lead flawlessly. Westmont was an excellent dancer but then so was she. She flashed him a knowing smile. “At least not tonight. Although you might have mentioned it last year when we danced together at this very ball. And I believe the year before that, as well.”
His eyes widened in surprise. Poor Evan never would have expected a woman—a mere woman no doubt—to be so horribly honest. It was not how the game was played. But then Violet was tired of playing games by other people’s rules.
A stunned moment later, he laughed. “Lady Ellsworth, you are as outspoken as ever. I don’t know why I didn’t notice how truly delightful you are years ago.”
“Years ago, I wasn’t particularly delightful. But you don’t recall meeting me years ago, do you?”
The most charming look of panic crossed his face.
“Goodness, Evan, we met some nine years ago during my first season and again during my second and third seasons, as well. You simply weren’t, oh, aware of me, I would say.”
He frowned. “That’s a dreadful accusation.”
“My apologies.” She widened her eyes in an innocent manner. “Was I supposed to be kind?”
“I’m beginning to suspect I don’t deserve kindness,” he said slowly.
“Not in that respect. It was indeed a dreadful thing to do, you know. At least it seemed so at the time.” She shrugged. “Although you were not alone in your complete lack of acknowledgment of my very existence.”
He winced. “My apologies, Violet. All I can say in my defense is that I was much younger, rather full of myself and somewhat stupid. Well, extremely stupid.” He paused. “You may object, should you feel the need.”
“Oh, no, please continue.”
It was rather fun, making Evan pay, as it were, for the rudeness of his youth. There was a time when she never would have thrown his vile behavior back in his face. But she was not the same girl he had ignored all those years ago. It wasn’t so much that she had blossomed as she had simply come into her own, aged like a fine wine. When she had first come out in society, she had been one of those vast numbers of girls who were not so pretty as to catch the eye of every available gentleman, but not so dull as to be considered a true wallflower. Admittedly, that changed with every passing season as her prospects for marriage grew dimmer. There was hope for Violet, her mother had often said, if only Violet would pay more attention to her appearance and at least pretend to enjoy flirtatious chatter and social occasions even if she thought such things inane. No, much to Mother’s annoyance, Violet preferred her own company and the solitude to write bad poetry or read Lord Byron’s works or ride alone. No wonder men like Lord Westmont tended to overlook her.
Those days were past. Years of travel abroad, meeting fascinating people and having assorted adventures had polished her. Provided her with the kind of confidence one could only acquire from living life. And she knew it. She was not the girl she used to be. Nearly six years of a separated marriage was enough to change anyone. As well as force them to grow up and discard silly thoughts of love and romance and other such nonsense.
“And I was rather shallow as well it appears.” Genuine regret shone in his eyes. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who had changed. “Once again, my apologies for my thoughtless behavior. But tonight, I do think you are the loveliest, as well as most interesting, woman in the room.”
“And tonight, my lord,” she said, and smiled up at him, “I will believe you.”
“Am I forgiven then?”
“Perhaps.”
He laughed then sobered. “Why don’t you come back to England more often? Allow me to make up for the past.”
“I am considering it.”
He gazed into her eyes and smiled. “Good.”
She returned his smile but was not so foolish as to believe his words. Evan was an outrageous flirt and Violet had no intention of becoming any man’s conquest.
In spite of any number of admittedly silly concerns, it was good to be back in London. It was always good to come home. Although the house in Mayfair she resided in when she was in the city was scarcely home. But as it was her husband’s house, it was hers, as well. She refused to stay with her parents. Returning to the house of her girlhood would be an admission that her marriage was a dreadful failure. It was true, of course, and everyone in London knew it, but she had no desire to listen to her mother tell her exactly what she had done wrong.
Violet knew all too well that she had allowed a bit of foolish girlhood longing and a remarkable kiss to sweep aside all reason, overcoming good sense and any sort of primal instinct of self-preservation.
The music faded. She stepped out of Evan’s arms, and he escorted her off the dance floor.
“In spite of your painful candor—” Evan raised her hand to his lips “—I would very much like to call on you. I would be honored if you would allow me the opportunity to make amends for my past stupidity.” He grinned. “I do so like a challenge.”
“You do realize I’m a married woman.”
He gasped in an overly dramatic manner. She doubted if anyone in London was not aware of her sham of a marriage. How she and James had married and then gone their separate ways. It was a long time ago but society had a very long memory. “Violet, you misunderstand. I only wish to further our friendship.”
“You are no more than a breath away from becoming a true cad, aren’t you, Evan?”
He grinned, then caught sight of something over her shoulder and froze like a frightened bunny. And she knew.
“Lord Westmont,” the voice that shouldn’t be at all familiar and yet was recognized somewhere in the vicinity of her soul, sounded behind her. Her heart clenched.
“Ellsworth,” Evan said with far more composure than she would have thought he had a moment ago.
Violet summoned the most awful sense of determination. She had anticipated this moment, planned for it ever since she had finally accepted he had absolutely no interest in her whatsoever. She turned and smiled politely, ignoring the hitch in her throat. He had always been the handsomest man in the room with his dark hair and deep blue eyes. No doubt if she’d stayed with him, he would have broken her heart. Again. The man didn’t have a faithful bone in his body. “Lord Ellsworth.”
His gaze bore into hers. She refused to flinch.
“Lady Ellsworth.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his gaze never faltering from hers. If she were a fanciful sort, she would have thought a hush fell over the entire ballroom, all eyes on the estranged Lord and Lady Ellsworth. Once, the very thought would have terrified her. Now, she didn’t care. “Never is a very long time.”
“Apparently, not long enough.”
The look in his eyes was an interesting mix of caution, curiosity and challenge. But then they hadn’t seen each other face-to-face in close to six years. God knew what her eyes were saying to him. “I believe this is our dance.”
“Is it?” She tilted her head. He appeared exactly as she remembered. His shoulders were as broad, his gaze as endless, his hair as thick and dark and just the tiniest bit disarrayed—as if it was the last stronghold of the rebellious nature of his youth.
Oh, certainly, over the years she’d seen him on occasion from the window of her room as he was leaving the London house, scampering off to the country or wherever he went so as to avoid her during her visits home, thus keeping a promise he’d made long ago. But this was the closest they’d been to each other since the day after their wedding. On further consideration, he wasn’t entirely unchanged. There were a few creases around the corners of his eyes but beyond that, something had