Page 36 of To Have and to Hoax
“I’m getting on a bloody horse this afternoon whether you think it’s a good idea or not,” Violet said through gritted teeth, and James was surprised into silence. While Violet was certainly no shrinking, well,violet, swearing was still a bit much even from her, aside from the occasional muttered curse when she thought no one could hear. Although he supposed, upon a moment’s reflection, that hadhebeen confined to his bed for three days, he might have had a choice word or two to offer as well.
“I am going to drink my tea, and I am going to have a groom make Persephone ready, and then I am going to go riding in Hyde Park. I am entirely uninterested in your thoughts on the matter.”
After this little speech, she dedicated her attention to the cup of tea at—or rather, in—hand, as though she’d never seen anything quite so fascinating, leaving James to make a valiant effort to force back the many questions that rose in his throat, begging to be voiced.
As was so often the case in matters concerning his wife, his will-power failed him.
“Do you recall our wedding day?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and lacing his hands over his stomach. Violet, he was pleased to see, choked slightly on her tea.
“With unfortunate clarity,” she said once she had dislodged the liquid from her windpipe.
“Why unfortunate?” he asked, arching a brow.
Violet straightened in her seat. “It’s difficult to think back so clearly on a day that was such a massive mistake.”
A beat of silence. Then:
“A hit,” he said coolly. “A palpable hit.” He kept his voice bored and disinterested, hoping that it wasn’t obvious that her barb had, in fact, landed. “I myself recollect it a bit differently.”
“Not a mistake, then?”
“No,” he said, his gaze steady on hers. He couldn’t read the look in her dark eyes, but something flickered through them in response to that one word—was it relief? “It is safe to say that many mistakes have been made since, but I do not believe the events of that day can be counted among the tally.” He spoke the words before he entirely knew what he was saying, but realized in an instant that they were true: despite everything, he did not regret marrying Violet. This knowledge felt like a sudden revelation, and one that he did not have the time to examine at present.
She cleared her throat.
“Why do you ask?”
Whyhadhe asked? He mentally floundered for a moment, feeling rather as though he’d waded out into a marsh and was now seeking to find solid ground once more. Ah, yes, there it was. “I was merely curious,” he said, “whether you remembered the part of the vows that mentioned obeying.”
It was remarkable, really, how fast that soft look in her eyes vanished, likely not to be seen again for another four years. It was replaced by a flash of anger equally satisfying to observe, though in an entirely different way.
“Are you going to forbid me to ride in the park, then, husband?” she asked, her voice low and deadly. James knew that that was precisely what she wished him to do, if only so that she might have the pleasure of defying him.
“Not at all,” he said, kicking one heel up to rest upon his desk. “I am merely going to come with you.”
Less than an hour later, James found himself cantering down Rotten Row, Violet at his side. It was not yet the five o’clock hour, meaning that the park wasn’t bursting with aristocrats out to see and be seen the way it would be in a couple of hours, but the weather was fine enough that they were far from alone. Since entering the park, James had seen several acquaintances—men he knew from his club on horseback, married couples in phaetons, and a few clusters of ladies on foot, tiny dogs accompanying them, led by their footmen, of course, not by the ladies themselves.
He and Violet had been largely silent for the duration of their ride, offering little comment other than a few stilted remarks about the weather and their pace. It was so easy, when they were together, for him to weaken, to soak in the simple enjoyment of being in her company once more. But then there would be a moment like this, in which she stifled a cough in her sleeve that he was almost certain was feigned, and he would recollect all at once the game that was afoot, and he would be awash in anger once more. Anger and disappointment—disappointment that she was lying to him again, that she was proving to be just as deceitful as he had accused her of being all those years ago.
No, he amended. That wasn’t fair, either. He’d been very angry that day, had felt very betrayed, and he’d be the first to admit—though never had he admitted this to Violet, he realized—that he’d spoken too harshly. Once his anger had cooled, he’d realized that he’d reacted somewhat out of proportion to the facts. On the day of their argument, he had learned that she had been involved in her mother and his father’s plot to meet him out on that damned balcony at that long-ago ball.
And it had stung—still did sting, if he were being entirely truthful. He had worked hard for his entire adult life, which at that point was admittedly relatively brief, to distance himself from his father, to become an independent man, in control of his own life and destiny. And yet, in a matter of such importance as hismarriage, he had been manipulated like a pawn on a chessboard. But now, with some distance, he could admit that his accusations of Violet that day—that she was a conniving girl who’d married him for his position—had been unfair. She had been eighteen, in her very first Season, and he knew from personal experience how domineering Lady Worthington could be. It stung that he had been deceived in such a fashion, but it was not so unforgivable as he had once believed.
No, what was unforgivable was her refusal to admit to her own complicity. She had first disavowed any knowledge of his father and her mother’s scheme, before changing her story, claiming that she’d scarcely known about their ruse longer than he had. By that point, her words hadn’t mattered; he didn’t trust her to tell him the truth, and even if she were being honest now, the fact remained that she had still kept her knowledge secret from him, no matter the duration of her deception—and that her first instinct, upon being accused of doing so, was to lie. That was what maintained that rift between them, as far as he was concerned. Perhaps he was a fool, but he believed that by the time they had wed, Violet had truly come to love him—no one was as good an actress as all that. And he thought that he could have forgiven her for betraying his trust—once. But when she had lied in the face of discovery, had denied all knowledge of their parents’ plotting—that was what he could not forgive.
And that was why this fresh deceit of hers, with its bloody coughing and swooning and malingering, was so damned irritating.
And he was determined to get even.
“Is Willingham planning to host his hunting party next month?” Violet broke into his thoughts, not looking at him as she spoke, keeping her attention focused firmly ahead of her. This gave James the luxury of admiring her profile, which was so lovely it made his heart clench. Her cheeks were flushed by the fresh air, and tiny wisps of dark hair had escaped her braids to curl against her fair cheeks and throat. He was suddenly possessed by so strong a desire to reach out and stroke his finger down her cheek that he tightened his fist around the reins, causing his horse to shy slightly at the pressure. He hastily loosened his grip and saw her glance sideways at him, still awaiting an answer.
“Yes,” he said belatedly. “I believe he is. I trust you will be accompanying us, as usual?”
Violet’s refusal to visit the country didn’t extend to all country houses, merely their own; it was James’s distinct impression that she had no objection to being at a country house party, full of friends, other ladies with whom she might converse—it was just the idea of visiting Audley House with only her husband for company that she found distasteful. She had accompanied him to Jeremy’s estate each August for a visit that usually stretched at least a week longer than planned. For all his other faults, Jeremy was an excellent host, and his shooting parties were among the more coveted invitations among theton.
Violet hesitated. “I don’t know. I suppose it all depends on my health.” She gave a small cough at the end of this sentence, stifling it so quickly that James might not have noticed it at all if he hadn’t been looking.
Which she was clearly aware that he had been.
