Page 69 of To Have and to Hoax
“It would be nice if I could confide in my dearest friend without her encouraging me to destroy my marriage.”
Diana’s face flushed with anger, which was unusual; despite her quick tongue, it was rare that she grew truly angry. She never seemed to think it worth the energy. But Violet had clearly struck a nerve.
“You’ve done quite enough to destroy your marriage without any help from me,” she said in a clipped tone that evidenced nothing of her usual languid demeanor. “You’re behaving like a child, and so is your husband.” She crossed her arms. “It’s absurd that you’ve ever tried to claim your indifference to him, in fact. People don’t try so desperately to needle someone they’re indifferent to.”
Violet was sorely tempted at that moment to ask how that particular theory applied to Diana’s perpetual spat with Jeremy, but resisted the temptation with some difficulty, deciding that it would only make matters worse.
“I’m going to take my leave of you now, Violet,” Diana said decisively, gathering up her reticule and making for the doorway. “Do please let me know when all this nonsense is at an end and we might have a normal conversation once more.” With that, she departed, leaving Violet, Emily, and Jeremy staring at the empty space she’d just vacated.
“You know,” Jeremy said thoughtfully, “I think I might rather admire Lady Templeton after all.”
Fourteen
That morning, James had done what he always did in moments ofdoubt: taken to his horse.
He’d felt like the very devil upon awakening, his mouth dry and head pounding, but he’d dragged himself out of bed nonetheless; he was going to feel like hell regardless—he might as well do it in the open air. And, in truth, he needed to think, and he had always thought better out of doors. He recalled his years at Oxford—whenever he had become stuck on some sort of thorny mathematical problem, a good, hard ride had usually sorted him out.
He had languished in bed long past his usual hour, courtesy of the aforementioned throbbing head, but still arrived at the park hours before five, when thetonturned out in force. It was, therefore, something of a surprise when he heard another rider hailing him as soon as he turned onto Rotten Row.
It was an even greater surprise when he discovered that said rider was his father.
As James had grown from boy to man, his father had seemed to shrink—he was still a tall, imposing man, but he no longer towered over James as he had in James’s boyhood, nor was he a towering figure in James’s imagination, one to be feared at all costs. However, he still made no effort to see the duke more than was absolutely necessary—and when one was a second son and not the cherished heir, “absolutely necessary” was rather less than one might think. Or it had been prior to West’s accident.
Since that day, the duke had taken rather more of an interest in his second son. There had been the gift of Audley House as a wedding present and that frightful morning when James had returned home to find his father and Violet deep in conversation—a conversation that James was beginning to think he might have badly misunderstood. Still, despite the fact that the duke’s hopes for the future of the dukedom focused rather more on James than James might have wished, he had managed to put as much distance as was seemly between himself and his father. They weren’t openly feuding—they kept up appearances—but . . .
Well, but James didn’t relish the idea of his father interrupting a much-needed ride. Especially on a day when his head felt as though a hammer were pounding at his temples.
“Father,” he said stiffly, having reined in his horse and allowed his father to catch up. “This is rather early for you, is it not?”
“Quite,” his father said dryly, with a telling glance at the less-than-crowded park around him. “I’ve never understood your fascination with these morning rides.”
“It’s after noon,” James felt compelled to point out.
“Regardless.” His father waved a dismissive hand.
“Riding clears my head.”
“Judging by what I’ve heard, it needs clearing.”
James clenched his jaw. “What, precisely, does that mean?” he asked, though he was fairly certain he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“I heard some rather interesting talk last night at my club,” the duke said casually as he spurred his horse into a gentle trot. “The general impression I received was that you and your wife have been making a spectacle of yourselves.”
“And that is your concern . . . how?” James asked tightly.
“You are my son,” the duke said, clearly enunciating each word, his voice taking on a sharp staccato rhythm. “If your brother is as . . . troubled as he claims, you will be responsible for providing an heir to the dukedom. What you do reflects on me.”
“Then perhaps,” James said, trying to keep the fury surging through him absent from his voice, “you should have considered that when you ignored meevery single dayfor years.” The duke opened his mouth to respond, but James wasn’t finished yet. “Perhaps you should have considered that when you meddled in my life and hand-selected me a bride, assuming, I suppose, that I was too much of an idiot to accomplish the task myself.”
“And yet I heard no complaints from you about my selection,” his father said, his eyes on the path before them. “I rather think a thank-you is in order, all things considered.” He paused pointedly, then added, “Though I understand your marriage has been less than happy of late. But that is a fact, my boy, that has nothing to do with me.”
“It has everything to do with you!” James said, the resentment of all of his previous eight-and-twenty years—and most particularly the past four—boiling up within him. “My marriage—which is none of your concern, for the record—has had its rough spots only because of your interference. It isalways you.”
The duke reined his horse in hard, causing the animal to buck before settling. When James followed in kind and looked at his father head-on, he saw the duke’s eyes were sparkling with anger, even as his countenance remained calm. Like father, like son.
“I have never understood, James, why it is that you think I have wronged you so terribly.” Even if James had not already been paying attention, his father’s rare use of his Christian name would certainly have attracted his notice. His father had called him Audley, just like everyone else, for as long as James could remember. “I am a duke. You are my son. You know precisely what that entails, what a reputation we have to uphold, and everything I have ever done to and for you has been in pursuit of that aim.
“You say I ignored you as a child. You might be correct. West is my heir; it was my duty to guide him to manhood, to make him understand the responsibility that would one day fall on his shoulders. I gave you tutors and riding lessons, I sent you to Eton and Oxford, and, when the time came and I realized the question of your marriage and children might have a rather greater bearing on the future of the dukedom than I had originally thought, I arranged them to my satisfaction. Although”—and here the duke smiled briefly—“I do not imagine how you think I possibly could have induced you to marry Violet Grey if she had not suited you. You are unlike me in many ways, but you do seem to have inherited my stubborn streak.”
