style="font-size:15px;"> She stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she said at last and shrugged. “It’s water under the bridge now. Nothing can be done about the past.”
“Better to move on from here, then,” he said. Still, there was a great deal of the past that remained to be resolved. “We should have expected something of this nature.” And really, hadn’t Uncle Richard warned him? Hadn’t he said on more than one occasion that if James wouldn’t do something about his marriage, someone should?
She smiled wryly. “He’s proving a point you know, even in death.”
James chuckled. “I am aware of that.”
“It seems that we have no choice.” She sighed. “Regardless, I shall have to consider this. If I agree to abide by the terms of the will, well, my life will be remarkably different.”
“Apparently my fate is now in your hands.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” She settled back in her seat. “Rather ironic when you think about it,” she said under her breath and turned toward the window.
Violet continued to gaze silently at the passing streets, apparently lost in thought. He had no idea what she was thinking. Every now and then he caught a glimpse of her expression, at once serene and determined. He suspected it did not bode well. Beyond that, there was something she wasn’t telling him. Violet was entirely too unconcerned about the potential loss of James’s inheritance. After all, if he lost everything, so did she.
The moment they entered the house they were met by a blonde woman Violet introduced as Mrs. Ryland, her companion and secretary. A few years older than Violet, she was quite lovely, or she would have been had she not glared at James as if he were the devil incarnate. Violet announced they had errands to run and would be back late in the afternoon.
“Will you be joining me for dinner tonight?” he asked.
Violet glanced at the other woman. “I think we’ll take dinner in our rooms tonight.”
He raised a brow. “Don’t we have a great deal to talk about?”
“And I have a great deal to think about.” She smiled politely, nodded at Mrs. Ryland, and the ladies took their leave.
He stared after them. This was not the Violet he remembered. Not the girl he had known. He had liked the old Violet. This new Violet was an unknown. And most intriguing.
Violet Branham was a woman any man would be proud to have by his side. She was strong and confident, independent and elegant—a woman of the world. And a challenge. Six years ago he hadn’t especially liked challenges but he was not the man he used to be, either. At the moment she didn’t seem to like him. It was entirely possible she wouldn’t agree to the terms of the will. But if she did... A lot could happen in the next two years, eleven months, one week and three days.
Violet Branham, the Countess of Ellsworth, his wife might indeed be the right woman for him. Six years ago he’d been too young or too stupid or too scared to realize it or possibly accept it. Now, however...
For a fleeting moment, he could have sworn he heard Uncle Richard chuckling in the distance.
“APPARENTLY, JAMES HAS a legitimate office.” Violet stirred a dollop of cream into the Turkish coffee she preferred that Richard’s—or rather James’s or now her cook, she supposed—always had on hand for her visits. Thanks to a restless night, Violet had slept later than usual and it was nearly noon before she came downstairs to join Cleo in the cozy breakfast room where the widow was sorting through Violet’s correspondence. “And keeps business hours.”
“Who would have thought.” Cleo bit back a smile. Apparently, her companion found the fact that Uncle Richard’s comments in recent years about how much James had changed, the responsibilities he’d taken on, his head for management and business and his accompanying maturity did have a basis in fact and were not simply the ramblings of a loving uncle, to be most amusing.
Cleo Ryland had been Violet’s companion, secretary and dear friend almost from the very day Violet had hired her. A scant three years older than Violet, the pretty young widow had been the first person to answer Violet’s advertisement when she had decided to use James’s financial support to travel. Violet liked her immediately and the feeling was mutual. Cleo was well-educated, intelligent with a clever wit and a desire to do something with her life other than marry the first man who came along simply for financial salvation. She was also tired of her family’s—particularly her mother’s—constant harping on how she needed to find a new husband before she was too old to do so. She and Violet had a great deal in common when it came to mothers. Within days, Violet had Cleo’s references checked and the two women were off to see the world.
“It’s most convenient, really. I’d prefer not to be around him every minute.” Especially as Violet had no desire to continue yesterday’s discussion quite yet. Still, it had remained on her mind throughout the long night. As much as she hated to admit it, James was right. There was little choice but to abide by the terms of Uncle Richard’s will. “Unless he was at one of his many clubs, my father was always in the house. Usually in his library.”
Violet glanced around the morning room. It could use a bit of freshening. In fact, the entire house could stand refurbishment. It had been a bachelor abode for entirely too long. That might be something she could take on during the next three years. She’d never been the mistress of a house and it sounded rather like fun. She had, after all, been trained for the position. It was the only thing she’d been expected to do with her life.
“In spite of the circumstances, I am glad to be back in London.” Violet sipped her coffee, savoring the hearty aroma and the deep flavor mellowed by the rich cream. “This time it feels different, as if I have indeed returned for good.”
“I suppose even the lure of the adventure to be found in travel pales in time.”
“Perhaps.” It had indeed been the grandest of adventures. “One does like to pause now and again. To catch one’s breath.”
“Three years is more than enough time to catch one’s breath.” Cleo studied her curiously. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”
Violet met her friend’s gaze. “I am.”
Cleo glanced at the door as if to make certain they were alone then lowered her voice. “What are you going to do about you-know-who?”
“Quite frankly,” Violet winced, “I haven’t given him a second thought.”
Cleo’s eyes widened. “That’s rather telling, isn’t it? I thought you and he were—”
“We’re not,” Violet said firmly. “Admittedly, we have discussed the possibility of something more, as well as the possibility of divorce, but there’s never really been anything more between us. I’ve been very clear about how I feel. He’s been a good friend and he’s a very nice man. And if I were free, well...” She shook her head. “I can’t ask him to wait three years in hopes that my feelings will become more significant than they are.”
“I see.” Cleo considered her. “But you are
