The Husband Trap (36 page)

An idea sprang fully formed into her mind, fear and desperation adding inspiration. No, she told herself as the thought took hold, she couldn’t. But she had to look after herself now, didn’t she? Adrian had made it clear he wanted nothing further to do with her. Once he returned, she would be dead to him. And she knew her family would feel the same.

Acting on instinct, she gave his portrait one last wistful look, then spun on her heel and hurried from the room.

“You may, of course, count upon my utmost discretion in this matter, your Grace. I shall file the appropriate motions once her Grace…that is, once Miss Brantford signs the annulment papers.” Horace Jaxon of Jaxon, Jaxon and Pritchard, attorneys-at-law to the Dukes of Raeburn for three generations, handed a thick packet of documents across Adrian’s desk to him.

“Legally the annulment shouldn’t constitute a great deal of difficulty. From what you’ve told me, your marriage was invalid from the start. A true name must be given during the reading of the banns, which in this case clearly did not occur. However, since there was a true signature made in the register at St. Paul’s—I went to the cathedral myself just two days past to examine the document—her Grace…pardon me again, your Grace…Miss Brantford must agree to the annulment.”

“And if she refuses?”

“Then the issue would need to be argued before the court. A closed session with a single judge should suffice. Either way, the marriage will be dissolved with her consent or without.”

Jaxon closed his leather satchel with steady fingers, little slowed by age. “The ecclesiastical courts must also be consulted in this matter. I’ve taken the liberty of broaching the subject with Bishop Canterly, a most knowledgeable and trustworthy individual. You’ve only to give your consent and he’ll begin the annulment process.”

Adrian nodded. “You may advise him of my consent.”

“That concludes our business for today, then, your Grace. I’ll leave you to your work.” Jaxon rose from his chair, smoothed a palm over his thinning white hair. “If I may, your Grace, please allow me to convey my condolences on this sorry state of affairs. Most unfortunate, most unfortunate indeed.”

Adrian gave him an implacable stare. “Thank you for your time, Jaxon. I shall be in touch. Smythe will show you to the door.”

The attorney bowed, satchel clutched in a tight grip. He followed the servant, who appeared wraithlike at the office door.

Adrian shoved the packet of papers aside after Jaxon had gone.

Intolerable, he thought. Forced to discuss his personal life with a gaggle of bishops and lawyers. Compelled to reveal intimate details of his sham of a marriage, publicly expose his own gullibility and shame. Once the annulment was complete, he would be forced to endure worse. There would be little chance of concealing the news that he was not, and never had been, legally wed to either of the Brantford sisters.

All of Society would be agog. Astonished by the twins’ deception, tittering over his inability to tell one woman from the other. He could only imagine the ribald jests it would spawn in the clubs and elsewhere. His hands curled into fists as fresh anger flooded through him. God, what a mess.

Jeannette and Violet would be ruined, of course. Particularly Violet, since she was indisputably damaged goods. He could almost pity her if he didn’t know firsthand what she’d done. If he hadn’t witnessed the brazen acts and deliberate falsehoods she’d perpetrated with such consummate skill.

He still couldn’t fathom how she’d done it. She’d fooled not only him but everyone else, even her own parents. She’d deceived Society as well. A fact the Ton would not soon forget or forgive.

As for himself, he’d buried whatever love he’d once believed he felt. If a wound lingered, leaking a bit of blood now and again, it would heal. In time.

He would forget her too. In time.

He could always keep her, he supposed, to avoid the stigma of scandal. Marry her in a secret ceremony. Pay off the lawyers and ministers to keep their silence, then bundle her off to some remote location where she could live out the rest of her days in obscurity and solitude. Perhaps that would be the more prudent path. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to give her that sort of satisfaction. To let her reap any kind of reward for the disgrace and pain she had wrought.

As for her sister, the beautiful, mendacious Jeannette, she would do well never to let him set eyes upon her again. If she was really smart, she’d stay in Italy and lure Markham into marrying her. Toddy didn’t have a farthing to his name, it was true, but under the circumstances perhaps money would matter less to her mercenary little soul than respectability.

He groaned and laid his head in his hands. Why had Violet done it? Had she really thought she could dupe him forever? She claimed to love him, but he couldn’t let himself believe her. How could he believe anything she’d said or would ever say again?

Well, soon it wouldn’t matter. Once she signed the papers—and by God, he would see to it she signed them—he’d pack her off to her family. Let them decide what was to become of her.

After that, he’d begin putting his life back together. Maybe he’d travel for a while. He owned a sugar plantation in the Caribbean. A few months baking beneath the hot, tropical sun might be exactly what he needed. He could sail. He’d heard glowing reports about the place. Crystal clear waters, magnificent blue skies and beaches lined in soft, pink sand.

There, England and all its misery would be a world away.

She would be a world away too.

Chapter Twenty

Adrian returned to Winterlea at the end of a two-week absence.

In his possession he carried the annulment papers from both the Church of England and the English courts. His visit would be brief, only long enough for Violet to sign the documents, pack her belongings and accompany him to her parents’ estate in Surrey. Once there, he would explain the situation, then depart. Any further legal matters concerning the disposition of the marriage settlement could be argued over among their respective solicitors.

Upon his arrival, he changed clothes, ate a light meal and flipped through the stack of correspondence that had collected while he’d been away. When he could delay the interview no longer, he rang for March.

“Would you be good enough to ask my…um…wife to join me in the drawing room,” he ordered.

Posture rigid, utterly formal, the majordomo fixed his gaze on a spot just past Adrian’s shoulder. “I am afraid I cannot do that, your Grace.”

Adrian scowled. “What do you mean you can’t do it?”

Disapproval radiated off the servant in an icy wave.

In fact, since his arrival, he had noticed a distinct coolness emanating in his direction from the entire staff.

“I mean that the duchess is not in residence at present, your Grace.”

“Beg pardon? What did you say?”

“Her Grace is not in residence—”

“Yes, yes, I heard that. Where did she go? Is she out visiting someone in the neighborhood?”

“No, your Grace.”

“Then where the devil is she?”

“As I informed you, I do not know. Her Grace packed some of her belongings nearly a fortnight ago and left with her maid and her dog.”

“A fortnight! And she took Horatio?”

“Indeed. She requested a carriage and had Warton drive her to a coaching inn in Derby.”

His scowl deepened. “Then what?”

“She ordered him to leave. He, being rightly concerned for her well-being, insisted upon waiting until she and her maid were safely aboard the mail coach. Apparently there was a small difficulty about the dog, but she resolved it by purchasing all the seats.”

“And he let her go?”

“Yes, your Grace. Short of manhandling her, there was little he could do to prevent her departure.”

His blood raced with fury and something else, something worse.

Fear.

Where could she have gone? Unfortunately, he didn’t need to ask why she had gone.

“In which direction was she traveling?” he demanded.

“South, I believe. Bristol was the destination her driver mentioned.”

Bristol? Who could she know in Bristol? But, of course, she didn’t know anyone there, he realized, the town was merely an embarkation point. From such a busy hub, she could journey anywhere in England. Anywhere at all.

“Why was I not contacted immediately?”

March hesitated for the first time. “She most specifically requested that I
not
contact you. Perhaps it is not my place to say, but the recent difficulties between you and her Grace have not gone unnoticed by the staff.”

“You’re right, it’s not your place. You know nothing about the nature of our difficulties.”

March straightened. “I know the duchess was near tears when she left. I know she has been abjectly despondent since that day she had to be escorted from your office. She requested that I give this to you.” He brought forth a letter.

Adrian seized it. “I arrived here nearly two hours ago. What in the world took you so long to produce this?”

March turned a baleful eye upon him. “I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice that her Grace had left.” He gave a clipped bow, then departed.

If good old March hadn’t worked for the family since his father’s day, Adrian might have dismissed him on the spot for his insolence. Instead he turned on his heel and stalked into the drawing room, where he’d planned to present Violet with the annulment papers.

He went to the window, stood where the sunshine provided the best light. He opened the letter.

Adrian,

When you read this I shall be gone. I have taken Agnes and Horatio with me; they shall provide adequate protection during my journey. I shan’t tell you my destination, although I presume you no longer care where I go so long as it is away from you. Do not worry that I shall presume upon you again. I know you must hate me now. I hate myself for deceiving you, for bringing shame upon you and your family. It was never my intention to cause you harm. I know what I did is unforgivable and that I shall spend the rest of my life trying to atone for the wrong I have caused. Yet I would be lying if I claimed to be wholly repentant. Love is what led me to make the choices I did, and for that alone, I cannot regret the time I shared with you. There are far too many beautiful memories to cherish for that.

I hope my father will repay the marriage portion, though to my further shame I must warn you it is likely spent. I have taken only a few personal belongings. The rest I have left, including my wedding and engagement rings. If we are not married, as you believe, then they were never mine to wear at all.

Please be happy.

Violet

He read the letter twice, finding not so much as a hint of where she might have gone.

He crushed the note in his palm, stalked to the drawing room door. “March!” he bellowed. “Assemble the staff. I wish to speak to them. Every single one.”

Six weeks later, as Adrian walked through London, he was no closer to locating Violet than the day he’d learned of her disappearance.

Like a man possessed, he’d searched everywhere for clues, starting with the servants. He’d questioned them all, even the gardeners and the scullery maids. But no one knew anything relevant, each and every one volunteering how much they adored the duchess, how they were praying for her safe, speedy return.

He’d rifled her rooms, pawing through every drawer and cabinet and wardrobe. He found her rings, remembering the way they’d looked upon her slender hand. And the necklace he’d purchased for her, the one he’d once dreamed of seeing around her lovely neck as she lay in his bed. As she’d stated, she had taken very few possessions: a few clothes, a hairbrush, a toothbrush and other assorted toiletries. If he’d needed any additional proof of her identity, seeing all the beautiful gowns arrayed like a rainbow in her wardrobe was enough. The real Jeannette could never have countenanced leaving such elegant garments behind.

Frustrated, he’d driven to Derby, to the inn from which she’d departed. He questioned the hostlers, the innkeeper, a server who had brought her and her maid tea while they waited for the mail coach to arrive. They remembered her; not many ladies of quality stopped by, especially ones with dogs near the size of a small horse. Not a single one of them, though, had any notion where she’d gone.

Greasing a few palms over the next two weeks—including that of the mail-coach driver who’d taken the noteworthy trio on board—he managed to trace her as far as London.

After that, she’d vanished like a wraith.

He’d spent several days in London, visiting all her usual haunts, despite the futility of the attempt. Dolefully, he realized the places were mostly Jeannette’s haunts and not Violet’s. Without giving away his true intent, he’d probed a few of her friends—Jeannette’s friends—for information. Nothing again. He’d even sent a query to her parents, concocting a tale about her calling upon friends in the Surrey area, and had she dropped by for a visit? Of course, she had not.

Finally, after swallowing a rather large measure of pride, he’d made a return visit to Oxfordshire to see his brother. Kit had given him a laconic stare, demanded details, then shook his head in sad derision.