Page 22 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place (The Honeywells #1)
Chapter Twenty-One
B y the time they returned to Alstead Manor, the tension from the morning service had taken its toll on them both. To sit through an hour-long sermon and a cacophony of poorly pitched hymns while bearing the death stares of three individuals who could not be trusted even the house of the Lord had been an exhausting experience.
“I do not believe I have ever endured a longer sermon,” Violet declared as she removed her gloves with an exaggerated sigh. “I began to think the vicar would simply carry on until we all withered away in the pews.”
Max handed his hat to the waiting butler and arched a brow. “You could have paid closer attention. Then you might have found the content edifying rather than excruciating.”
“I was paying attention.” She swept past him, glancing over her shoulder with a look of mock injury. “I simply do not require an entire forty minutes to be reminded that avarice is a sin. I am related to Nigel and Ethella, after all. More’s the pity.”
Max merely hummed, his lips curving slightly as he followed her into the entrance hall.
“Your Grace,” a footman interrupted, stepping forward and offering a sealed letter on a silver tray. “A courier arrived while you were at church. The letter is marked urgent.”
Max took the letter and broke the dark red seal, his brows furrowing as he scanned its contents. And then, quite suddenly, he went utterly still.
Violet, having removed her bonnet and currently engaged in straightening a stray curl, noted the change in his demeanor instantly. The shift was subtle, but she had spent far too many years in his presence not to recognize when something had unsettled him. She stepped closer, all hint of teasing and humor gone. “Max?”
He did not answer at once. He simply stared at the parchment, his jaw tightening slightly before he folded the letter with deliberate precision.
Violet’s stomach twisted. James. Was it confirmation of his demise? The very thought of it filled her with dread. “What is it?”
He lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes now dark and unreadable. “There is no Major Smythe.”
For a moment, the words did not compute.
She frowned. “What?”
“No record of such a man exists.” He tapped the letter against his palm, his expression grim and set in stone. “There has never been a Major Smythe attached to any regiment that has served alongside James.”
A chill settled over her. The implications were immediate. The letter from the supposed officer confirming James’s death was simply a fabrication. Another of Ethella's and Nigel’s lies. The man who visited them yesterday, speaking in that calculated, somber tone had been a fraud.
Violet’s pulse began to race, but she forced herself to remain composed. “Which means…”
Max’s gaze did not waver. “Which means Ethella and Nigel have orchestrated all this without a legal leg to stand on. It’s no more than a confidence game.”
She inhaled sharply, her fingers curling into the folds of her gown as an icy rage unfurled in her chest. “They will not stop,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
“No,” Max agreed, his voice quiet, steady, and full of certainty. “They will not.”
A long silence settled between them, punctuated only by the distant crackling of the fire in the parlor.
Then, after a moment, Max sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “I will send a reply to the Bishop, confirming that we have received his warning and that there was no fraud in our union. If Ethella attempts to press the matter further, we will deal with it accordingly.”
Violet nodded absently, but her mind was already racing ahead.
If Ethella and Nigel were so bold as to fabricate a death notice for James, then qhat else were they willing to do? And perhaps more importantly, what were they planning next?