Page 76 of My Darling Mr. Darling
“As a matter of fact, I let myself in,” he said pleasantly, holding up a brass key. “Grey nicked it from Serena. Your butler did mutter something about summoning a constable when he discovered me here, but I should advise you that the authorities tend to get a bit twitchy about arresting dukes. So I would not expect much help from that quarter, were I you.” He waved a hand toward the low table before the sofa upon which he sat, which had been decked out in a fantastic array of pastries and cakes. Cook had outdone herself; it was a spread fit for a—
Well, fit for a bloodyduke, she supposed.
“Sit down; have something to eat. You look a bit peaked,” he said.
She waspiqued, notpeaked. “How kind of you to offer me a seat in my own home,” Violet muttered.
“Think nothing of it.” Again he gestured with a magnanimous wave of his hand, and Violet abandoned all pretenses of etiquette and rolled her eyes.
“For what purpose have you come?” she inquired shortly, snatching up a lemon tart. “Because I’ll thank you to be about your business, as you can have no reason to be sticking your exceptionally long nose into mine.”
“Are youcertainyou’re qualified to be teaching deportment?” the duke asked, though Violet noticed he couldn’t help but to flutter his fingers over his nose—which, while just the tiniest bit crooked, was not, in fact, overly long.
“More qualified than you to judge my qualifications at least, given that I know better than to sneak into someone else’s home uninvited, Your Grace,” Violet sneered.
“Do you,” the duke returned slyly. “Do youreally. Because I was led to believe otherwise.”
Violet felt a flush creep over her face. “It was my house, too,” she said defensively. John had shared that with the duke? How utterly mortifying.
“You mistake my meaning; I am not sitting in judgment. Merely offering a reminder that those who live in glass houses cannot afford to throw stones.” He gave a casual shrug, helping himself to another pastry. “You might as well call me Alex,” he said. “All thatYour Gracinggrows rather tiresome, if you must know. And as John’s wife, you’re practically my sister.”
“Not for much longer,” she said, and crammed the rest of the lemon tart into her mouth. “Despite what you may have read in the paper.”
“We’ll get to that,” the duke said, reaching for his teacup, a peculiar smile lurking about his mouth. “Much as I am loath to be placed in the position of matchmaker—”
“Matchmaker!”
“—Especiallygiven the fact that the two of you are—more or less—already married, sometimes being a good friend must needs take precedence over one’s general distaste of matrimony.” He gave a delicate shudder. “Last time I placed myself in this position, Serena threatened to marry me. May I just express my gratitude that you can make no such threat.”
“Atpresent,” Violet clarified tightly. “Your motherdidoffer. I will be a free woman once I am granted an annulment. I would not tempt fate, were I you. Perhaps I fancy being a duchess after all.” It took every ounce of Violet’s formidable self-control to pour tea into her cup rather than directly into the duke’s lap.
“Oh, Violet,” the duke said on a sigh so patronizing that Violet could only scowl in response. “You’re never going to get that annulment. John doesn’t want it.Youdon’t want it.”
Her tea turned bitter in her mouth. “Your Grace, I mean this with all due respect”—which was to say, very little indeed—“you couldn’t possibly know what I do or do not want.”
“Unless you are more fickle than you let on, I’d say it’s a reasonable assumption that your affections have not yet soured entirely,” the duke said, with an infuriating grin. “So I’ve come to deliver a simple message:Read the paper.” He selected a biscuit from a plate as he rose to his feet. “He said you would understand what it means.”
“I read the paper every day,” Violet snapped. “I don’t know what you intend—” But shedid. Shedidknow—she had just forgotten. She had fallen out of the habit of checking the advertisements, stopped searching for John’s notes in the paper, because he had had no need to write to her through it when he could simply speak to her in person.
What if she had misunderstood the purpose of that wedding announcement?” What if she had overlooked something even more important? Perhaps themostimportant thing?
“Ah,” the duke said, swiping yet another biscuit. “I can see that youdounderstand.” Another few biscuits disappeared into his pockets, and she couldn’t even bring herself to chastise him for it. “Would you mind terribly if I asked your cook for the recipe for these biscuits? They’re divine.” And with that he sketched an absent bow and left, crunching on a biscuit the whole while.
Violet patted her hot cheeks with shaking hands, blowing out a breath that felt cold and tasted stale—like she had just woken from a long, deep sleep into a reality built of equal parts dread and anticipation. For all that she had stood firm in her resolve to move on, it had taken just three words from the duke to send her heart racing through a frantic set of beats, afire with hope.
She had lived through too many disappointed hopes already, endured crushed dreams enough for several lifetimes. The duke had claimed that neither she nor John wished for an annulment, and she supposed that was true enough—but what did it even matter? She could never settle for less than love.
But that blossom of hope was a dandelion blooming her chest, brilliant yellow petals giving way to soft, fluffy seeds which scattered to the furthest, darkest, deepest regions of her heart. Hearty, like the weed it was—the bane of every proper English gardener’s existence. She feared she could stamp out that hope half a dozen times, and still it would return, blossoming anew whenever she let her guard down.
And she heard herself call out, “Davis? I need you to find me a copy of every edition ofThe Timesfrom the last week that you can lay hands on.”
∞∞∞
It took the whole of the afternoon for Davis to scavenge the papers, and longer still for Violet to comb through them. John’s messages had always been obscure little snippets, buried amongst hundreds of other inquiries for housemaids, laborers, boarders, and other positions.The Timeshad apparently been only too happy to take the fee required for the posting of a strange advertisement from a gentleman with more money than sense, and the advertisements had continued to run—and she had known they were for her, because they always used the initials of her most recent alias.
Now, for the first time, she saw herowninitials in use—in the same advertisement that had run every day for the past week. It was short and simple; vague enough to be noteworthy only to its intended recipient.
VTD: I should have trusted in your courage rather than wallowing in my fear. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me one last time? I’ll be waiting for you, now and always. JD.