Page 61 of My Darling Mr. Darling

“It doesn’t matter,” the earl said, with a careless wave of his hand. “I’ve acquired a bride for you. Bit shabby, but her family is rich as Croesus, and you’re no great prize yourself, what with your mother’s background.” He said it as casually as if he’d been discussing the weather, with just the barest tinge of arrogance—almost as if he had been expecting John’s gratitude for a favor benevolently bestowed. “The contracts have already been signed. You need only play your part at the church. The banns will be called beginning next month.”

John felt his teeth clamp together as a red hot rage swept over him. His knuckles popped as he clenched his fists, reminded himself that striking a man who had a good forty years over him would hardly be sporting by even the most generous interpretation. “You’ll have to call it off. You had no authority to agree on my behalf.”

“Authority! I am yourgrandfather; I had every right!” He gave an offended sniff. “You ought to be thanking me—you’ll not have to endure the indignity of the marriage mart. It is an advantageous match.”

“Advantageous towhom?” John inquired icily, and knew he had struck true when the earl backed up a step, some of the ruddy color bleaching from his face. “Yousoldme,” he accused, with a horrible sinking feeling in his chest. “Your estates have been foundering for years. You couldn’t pay your bills—and you knew I wouldn’t pay them on your behalf. So you leveraged the one asset you have remaining.” His grandson, who would someday come into his title.

“It’s the way of things,” the earl snapped. “It is how dynasties are born, how alliances are made. You were always going to have to marry.” Collecting himself, he pushed his chest out in an effort to recover his dignified demeanor, but in fact he resembled nothing so much as an overstuffed sausage in a well-tailored coat. “The least you could do is honor the arrangement that I went to great lengths to secure on your behalf. Really, I’ve saved you a great deal of trouble.”

“And no doubt received a great deal of money in the process,” John scoffed. “Which you had better have the funds to repay, for I will not be honoring an arrangement made without my consent. If you had hoped that I would simply follow through on your promise, then you are much mistaken.”

A moment later, the door burst open once again, and Violet tripped inside, gown half-buttoned, hair still damp from her bath, and barefoot. “John, have you seen—oh.” She stopped just inside the door, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to interrupt.”

“As it happens, you’ve got impeccable timing.” John rounded the desk, brushing past his grandfather without so much as a glance, and reached for her hand. “Vi, this is my grandfather. Grandfather, this is Violet. Mywife.” Her fingers flexed in his, surprised by the admission.

The earl made a choking noise. “Impossible. I was not consulted. My permission was never granted—”

“Your permission was unnecessary, and your opinion is unwanted.” Violet’s fingers squeezed free of his, and she recoiled from the disgusted glance the earl cast in her direction.

“My God, you only have to look at her to see that she is common,” the earl said between the tight clench of his teeth, his scornful gaze raking Violet up and down. “Who are her people? No one of note, to be sure. Bad blood will out, I’ve always said.”

“Often,” John muttered beneath his breath, “and with great relish.” To his relief, whatever discomfort the earl’s presence had inflicted upon Violet had fled in the wake of the ill-mannered critique of her suitability and lineage. Her chin tipped up in that charmingly endearing manner to which he had become accustomed, every pleasant air with which she had first come barreling into the room fading beneath the weight of her disdain to be so spoken of.

She bared her teeth in feral scowl, which caused the earl to reel back in shock.

“Good Lord. Is she touched in the head?” the earl inquired, his jowls quivering.

Violet snapped, “I can only assume, my lord, that given your concerns, you might wish to inspect my teeth.”

John let out a bark of laughter at the incredulity that wrenched the earl’s face into a peculiar expression, the overblown mustache twitching as if a family of rodents had made a nest within it. His palm found the small of Violet’s back, settling there with an ease that surprised the both of them. As if she had stood at his side for ages, presented a united front against the whole of the world.

With practiced grace, Violet lifted one hand in a resolute gesture toward the door. “The door is just there. You may see yourself out, my lord.”

A sneer tugged at the earl’s lips, and his contemptuous gaze slid over Violet before landing once more upon John, who failed to quail beneath it. “Clearly,” he said, “she has never had occasion to learn to respect her betters—”

“With all due respect, my lord, get the hell out of my house.” Violet smiled serenely, the placid lines of her face belied by the ferocity with which she had issued the demand.

“Inever,” the earl choked, his hand flying to his chest in mortal offense.

“You certainly will, should you ever darken my doorstep again,” Violet said with saccharine sweetness. “There is a special place in Hell reserved for people like you, my lord. Pray do not so tempt me to see you reach it sooner than the Lord intends.”

For a moment, the earl’s jaw worked in horror, but he managed no more than a few unintelligible gurgles before he turned about and fled through the door as if he suspected Violet might fall upon him like a rabid animal at the earliest opportunity.

Violet rolled her shoulders and sighed, as if routing an obnoxious nobleman was simply part and parcel of the lines of her life. “Could you do up the rest of my buttons?” she asked as she bent to retrieve her shoes and stockings, the mates of which she had found at the corner of the room, tucked beneath the window curtains.

There were only three that remained, marching up between her shoulder blades to just beneath the nape of her neck, but John lingered over them, relishing the clean, flowery scent of her skin. “You handled the old bastard well,” he said. “I thought the death threat was a nice touch.”

“Really? I thought it a trifle dramatic, but hedidlook as if he believed it.” Her nose wrinkled with amusement, and her fingers smoothed the damp curls that had been pinned in place, searching out loose strands. “What was all that about, then? Did it have something to do with—”

“Unfortunately, my uncle has predeceased my grandfather.” He rubbed a curl she’d missed between his fingers, relishing the smooth silk of it. “Unless and until my grandfather should produce another son”—Violet snorted her disbelief—“I will remain his heir presumptive. He came to blather on about my responsibilities and tender his opinion that I should marry.”

“Oh.” She took a breath, and nibbled her lower lip. “I suppose he had a lady in mind.”

“Yes.” The vague peevishness of her comment was somehow gratifying; it smacked of jealousy, of possessiveness, which suited him well enough. If only she could bring herself to accept it, they could have a good marriage, a solid marriage. “You needn’t concern yourself with him. He’s simply an old fool, clinging desperately to the past.” He kissed the smooth, soft swath of skin revealed above the modest neckline of her gown—another nondescript hue, somewhere between lavender and grey—and whispered, “Come back to me tonight.”

Chapter Twenty Three

Somehow, Violet had known that Serena would be waiting when she returned home—and true to her expectations, when Davis opened the door, he murmured that she was expected, and cocked his head toward the drawing room, where Serena stood in the doorway, a knowing expression scrawled across her face. As if she had divined for herself the nature of Violet’s absence down to the last detail.