Page 39 of To Have and to Hoax
“Lord James,” she murmured. “It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?”
“Indeed it has, my lady,” he agreed. “I do hope you’ll allow me to express my condolences on your husband’s passing.”
“Thank you.” Lady Fitzwilliam’s lips pursed slightly, then softened back into their usual smooth curve.
“You must be pleased to be back out in society,” Violet said.
“Yes,” Lady Fitzwilliam said after the merest hesitation. “It’s very . . . invigorating.”
“Lord Willingham’s company does tend to have that effect,” James said dryly; the flush that swept over her face made him immediately regret his words. In truth, he was surprised to see her with Jeremy today—from what precious little Jeremy had told him, he’d been under the impression that their liaison was drawing to an end. Not that he was terribly surprised by that development—she really didn’t seem at all in the usual line of Jeremy’s lovers. She in fact seemed far more like someone James himself would take up with, were he the trysting sort.
And, just like that, he had an idea.
A brilliant idea.
A brilliant,awfulidea.
Did he dare? He glanced sideways at his wife, the memory of her patently false cough echoing in his mind.
Oh, he did dare.
“My lady,” he said, all of these thoughts coalescing within him in an instant. “Should you ever have need of anything, you know that you must call upon . . . us.” He paused for a fraction of a second before saying the wordus, just long enough for all present to realize that what he really meant wasme.
Jeremy frowned at him.
Violet stiffened.
And Lady Fitzwilliam . . . She arched a brow, her gaze flicking between him and Violet lightning-fast. She must certainly have heard the rumors swirling about the state of their marriage—said rumors being quite numerous, of course. While one could never credit thetonwith an extraordinary amount of collective intelligence, it could not help but notice when one of the great love matches of the past decade turned into a chilly marriage of cordial strangers instead.
“Thank you, my lord,” Lady Fitzwilliam said after a moment, since it was, in truth, the only polite thing she could have said. Jeremy was still staring at James as though he were a particularly tricky puzzle that he was attempting to work out. James shot him a speaking glance—or, rather, he very muchhopedit was a speaking glance. And he very much hoped that the message it spoke was,I’ll explain later, please don’t make a fuss, and not,Please make a scene here in the middle of Hyde Park.
Whatever message Jeremy took from said glance, it was enough to keep him silent. This in and of itself was quite an achievement. James felt rather pleased with himself.
And, feeling pleased with himself, he decided to test his luck.
“In fact,” he proclaimed, “you should dine with us. Next week.”
There was, of course, nothing soveryimproper about a dinner invitation—and yet, James did his best to make it so. He’d inched his horse forward as he spoke, making it so that Violet’s view of Lady Fitzwilliam was blocked slightly by his shoulder. And his voice had dropped a register as he murmured the invitation, making it all seem rather more . . . intimate than it should have.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Wheezle ride past in the company of a groom and turn her head to stare at their little tableau.
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Fitzwilliam asked, clearly perplexed by whatever undercurrents she detected between himself and Violet as he made this invitation.
“Dine with us,” he repeated, flashing her the winning smile that had served him so well in his bachelor days, on the select occasions he had chosen to deploy it. “We could celebrate your reentry into society.”
“When have you ever given a deuce for society?” Jeremy asked grumpily, his hands twitching on the reins he held. James was certain that, were they not in a public park, Jeremy would have reached across to lay an entirely inappropriate hand on some part of Lady Fitzwilliam’s person, like an animal marking its territory. However, since theywerein a public park, he contented himself with repeated fist-clenching.
“Darling,” Violet cut in, and never had the worddarlingsounded more menacing, “I believe you’re forgetting the state of my health.”
“I assure you I wasn’t,” he said, turning to his wife. “After all, was it not you who insisted that we ride in the park this afternoon?” He blinked innocently at her.
Her eyes narrowed.
“I can’t say how I shall be feeling next week,” she said, and James nearly laughed aloud at the look on her face, which rather resembled that of someone who had just been served an extremely unpleasant dish by one she didn’t wish to offend.
“If Lady James is unwell—” Lady Fitzwilliam started to say, but James and Violet both ignored her.
“Then let us assume you shall be perfectly well,” James said, his eyes never once leaving his wife’s face.
