Page 9 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place (The Honeywells #1)

Chapter Eight

V iolet had expected many things upon embarking on her first full day as the new Duchess of Alstead. Some lingering awkwardness with her husband, for one. Perhaps even some biting remarks exchanged over breakfast, as was their custom. What she had not expected, however, was to be fussed over by the household staff like some treasured jewel.

Mrs. Rutledge, the cook, was practically glowing as she oversaw the setting of the breakfast table, her usual no-nonsense demeanor replaced by something almost giddy.

“Such a grand occasion,” she said, beaming at Violet. “A duchess in the house at last. And to think, we all saw it coming long before the two of you did.”

Violet, who had just lifted her teacup to her lips, choked.

Max, seated at the head of the table, raised a brow over the rim of his own teacup. “Is that so, Mrs. Rutledge?”

“Oh, aye,” the housekeeper said, giving him an indulgent look. “No two people have ever bickered quite like the pair of you do without a bit of fondness underneath it. You might have fooled yourselves, but you never fooled us.”

Max let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You presume much, Mrs. Rutledge.”

“Do I?” she asked, arching a brow. “And yet here you are, married to the one woman who’s been keeping you on your toes since you were naught but a wee lad.”

“I didn’t realize ‘keeping me on my toes’ was synonymous with making me miserable,” Max replied.

Violet, having finally regained control of her breathing, set her teacup down with great delicacy. “If I were truly intent on making your life miserable, I’d have found far more creative ways of doing so by now.”

Mrs. Rutledge chuckled, nudging one of the footmen to bring out another dish. “Aye, no doubt about that, Your Grace.”

Violet could feel the servants watching them, some of them openly grinning as if they were observing a play in which they already knew the ending.

Good heavens. Did everyone in the county think they were meant for each other?

She stole a glance at Max, who was looking far too comfortable, sipping his tea like a man utterly unbothered by the household’s meddling. But then he caught her looking. Their gazes locked and suddenly there was this strange tension between them. For a moment it seemed as though there was something between them beyond just their endless needling of one another. Nervously, she licked her lips and she felt his eyes tracking the movement of her tongue, focusing intently on her mouth. A strong heat bloomed in her belly and she had to fight the urge to squirm in her seat. Abruptly, she looked away.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she muttered.

“It’s torment,” he admitted. “Of the sweetest variety.”

Before she could gather herself to deliver a truly cutting response, the Harris appeared in the doorway. It was clear the man was displeased about something.

“Your Grace,” he said, addressing Max. “There are visitors.”

Max barely lifted a brow. “At this hour?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Mr. Cavender and Mrs. Cavender have arrived.”

Violet’s stomach dropped.

Of course, they had.

Max set his teacup down with exaggerated patience, glancing at Violet. “Well. That didn’t take long.”

She exhaled slowly, schooling her features into careful neutrality. “No, it did not.”

Mrs. Rutledge clucked her tongue. “Raining on the happy couple’s breakfast, are they? Well, they can wait. A duchess should never be rushed.”

Max chuckled, but his eyes remained sharp as they met Violet’s. “Shall we continue our breakfast before seeing what fresh hell they have come to unleash?”

Violet picked up her toast and began spreading marmalade liberally upon it. “Let’s.”

Nigel Cavender had never appeared more uncomfortable in his life. They’d been there for nearly a quarter of an hour. No refreshment had been offered. They had not been welcomed as guests but were left to stew like tradesmen attempting to sell their wares.

He stood stiffly, his expression caught somewhere between unease and frustration, as if he were cursing the heavens for having to be here at all. Ethella, on the other hand, was seated primly on the settee, her hands folded neatly in her lap, looking entirely composed—save for the sharp gleam in her eyes.

Max and Violet entered together, presenting a united front, and Ethella rose immediately, her lips curving into a thin, serpentine smile.

“My dearest niece,” she said. “What an unexpected turn of events.”

Violet returned her smile with one of her own. “Why, Aunt Ethella, I should think you’d have been expecting this for years, given how often you’ve lamented my unmarried state.”

Ethella’s eyes narrowed, just slightly.

Max inclined his head toward Nigel, who had not yet spoken. “Cavender. How unfortunate to see you again so soon.”

Nigel gritted his teeth. “Your Grace.”

Violet turned toward her cousin, arching a delicate brow. “You do not appear overly pleased by my happy news, dear cousin. Are you not relieved to know I am now under the protection of a man who does not gamble away his inheritance?”

Nigel’s jaw clenched, his gaze flicking toward Max, who was watching him with a lazy sort of amusement.

Ethella exhaled lightly, as if all this was beneath her notice. “No one is suggesting that your marriage is anything but a remarkable achievement, my dear. After all, it is quite the leap in social status, is it not? However, it was all rather… sudden, don’t you think?”

Max’s voice was pure silk. “The best marriages often are. I doubt anyone else would think it sudden, of course. Violet and I have known one another for years… and if, as you have said, James is gone, it is my duty to see to the care and safety of his beloved sister. What better way to do that than as her husband?”

Ethella’s lips twitched at that, as though she were attempting to hold some vitriol at bay. Finally, after regaining her composure, she continued, “I merely wish to understand,” her gaze flicking toward Violet. “After all, not a fortnight ago, you declared quite openly that you had no intention of ever marrying. And now, here you are. A duchess.”

Violet tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Perhaps I misspoke. I only meant that I had no expectation of marriage, aunt. Not that I had a lack of desire to do so. In truth, I cannot imagine that I would have ever been content to marry anyone other than Max. We have known one another for so long, you see?”

Before Ethella could respond, the doors swung open once more, and an imperious female voice filled the room.

“Well. I see the vipers have already arrived.”

Max’s shoulders tensed.

Violet turned, startled, just in time to see Max’s mother sweep into the room.

The Dowager Duchess of Alstead, Regina Able, was not a woman to be ignored. Tall, formidable, with a presence that could silence an entire ballroom, she strode forward like a general arriving to assess her troops. Her sharp gaze immediately fixed on Max, and her nostrils flared with displeasure.

“You married, and I was not informed?”

Max sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Mother?—”

“Do not ‘Mother’ me, Maxwell Constantine Able!” She planted herself directly in front of him, eyes blazing. “I had to hear of my own son’s wedding from a chambermaid, of all people!”

Violet’s lips twitched despite herself.

Regina turned on her, her expression softening immediately.

“Violet, darling,” she said, clasping her hands. “At least you have some sense.”

Violet blinked. “I do?”

“Oh, of course. You married him. Which means I can finally stop waiting for the pair of you to recognize what the rest of us have known for years.”

Max groaned.

Violet blinked rapidly. “I—what?”

Regina waved a hand, ignoring their bewilderment. “Never mind. We shall discuss it later. For now, we have other matters to attend to.”

She turned, pinning Ethella and Nigel with a stare that could have shattered glass.

“And I should very much like to know,” she said, voice cold, “what precisely you two are doing here.”

Silence descended over the room.

Violet bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

Max, meanwhile, merely smirked at his mother.

Because, if there was one person in the world who could outmaneuver Ethella Cavender?—

It was Lady Regina Able.