“Ladies,” Lord Julian said, moving forward to bend first over Violet’s hand, then Diana’s. “It is truly a crime that two such lovely specimens of English beauty are only now being brought to my attention.” He had a reputation as a womanizer, and in this instant, Violet understood why.
“Specimens, sir?” Violet asked, raising an eyebrow. “You make us sound like organisms to be studied under a microscope.”
Diana shot her a quelling look. “I am certain Lord Julian did not intend to give offense,” she said.
“I didn’t say I was offended,” Violet said. “I was merely commenting on his interesting word choice.”
“Lady James,” Lord Julian said, straightening and staring at her with frank amusement. “It seems that everything I have heard about you is true.”
“As I cannot begin to imagine what that might be, I shall choose to take this as a compliment,” Violet said lightly. This was a lie—she had a very good idea of what he might have heard about her from other members of the ton. She had never made it a habit to maintain a demure silence; in fact, as her mother so often reminded her, it was very fortunate indeed that she had managed to—in Lady Worthington’s parlance—“snatch up” James in her first Season, because good looks didn’t make up for oddity; men didn’t want a woman who spoke her mind or read scandalous books, et cetera.
Et cetera.
Et cetera.
In any case, Violet had never been terribly bothered by it—and the fact was, slightly odd habits in a lady married to the son of a duke were far more permissible than in an unmarried miss, so she had never particularly felt the scorn of society. But she knew people did whisper. It was actually rather refreshing to meet someone like Lord Julian who addressed this matter head on.
“As well you should,” he said by way of reply, and grinned at her so charmingly that she could not help but smile back.
At that moment, the dinner gong sounded. Penvale escorted Violet into the dining room, allowing Lord Julian to fall back and take Diana’s arm, in utter disregard for the proper dinner entrance etiquette. Violet glanced over her shoulder and saw the two of them eyeing one another appraisingly. She felt rather as though she were at an auction.
Dinner itself was a slightly awkward affair—Penvale did his best to keep conversation afloat (for he could be charming when he tried), and Diana was all flirtatious invitation (indeed, Violet thought she might be taking on this role with a bit too much enthusiasm), but throughout the meal, Violet sensed an underlying strain. Lord Julian clearly wondered why he had been invited, and as the footmen cleared away the final course before withdrawing, Violet decided that the time had come to speak up.
“Lord Julian,” she said, and he focused that unwavering blue gaze on her instantly. It was absurd, she thought. Men shouldn’t be that handsome. “It was good of you to accept Lord Penvale’s invitation on such short notice, and I know you must be rather…” She faltered, searching for the proper adjective.
“Intrigued?” he suggested, a hint of laughter in his voice. Violet bit back a smile.
“Indeed,” she said primly, folding her napkin precisely and placing it on the table before her. “The truth is, I am in need of some assistance and I think you are just the man to provide it.”
“Lady James, I must confess, you have roused my curiosity,” he said, with a faint, suggestive pause before the last word.
Considering it best to ignore this, she continued. “I have an acting job for which I would like to hire you. It is… rather outside your usual line of work, and might pose some difficulties, but I was at a loss when considering to whom I could possibly turn.”
“What sort of acting job?” he asked, his tone casual, but Violet could sense his interest, could somehow feel the energy emanating from him.
“I should like you to pose as my personal physician,” she stated. “I am in the midst of a slight disagreement with my husband, and I need to convince him that I am extremely ill. He won’t believe my ruse for long if I refuse to consult a physician, so I have need of someone to pose as one who will visit me to give a dire prognosis.”
“What sort of prognosis did you have in mind?” he asked dryly.
“Consumption,” Violet said, as simply as if she were announcing her jam preference at the breakfast table.
Lord Julian stared, as if determining whether she spoke in earnest.
“I see,” he said at last, although he sounded very dubious indeed. “I must confess, I am at a loss for words.”
“With excitement, owing to your eagerness to assist me?” Violet ventured hopefully.
“Ah, no. It is more that I find myself unsure of where, precisely, to begin in my attempt to explain to you the foolishness of this plan.”
“Save your breath, Belfry, I’ve already tried,” Penvale said, taking a large sip from his wineglass.
“To begin, I believe the recommended treatment for consumption often involves a prolonged journey to a sanitarium in the Alps, or some other godforsaken Continental patch of nature, which I presume is a bit more lengthy a recovery than you have in mind.”
“Yes, but—”
“Secondly, I cannot imagine any man in his right mind reacting with anything other than anger upon discovering that he has been duped in so spectacular a fashion by his own wife, meaning that I cannot believe that this scheme will result in anything other than Audley slapping a glove in my face. And, alas, I fear I’m growing rather old for dueling.”
“Then I suggest you don’t let on that it’s you,” Violet said. “I was under the impression that you were a rather skilled actor. Or is your reputation inflated?” She could see that he was preparing to reject her, and hoped that pricking at his pride would motivate him where nothing else would.
Lord Julian, however, merely looked amused. “Well, my lady,” he replied lazily, leaning back in his chair, “as tempting as it is to assist you in this entirely half-baked scheme of yours, I’m afraid it shan’t be possible for a number of reasons. The most noteworthy being that I am acquainted with your husband, and therefore cannot possibly hope to pass myself off as an unknown physician.”
“Surely any good actor is adept at costuming himself,” Diana noted. Her silence apparently had its limits.
“This is true,” Lord Julian acknowledged reluctantly.
“Then it should be no trouble for you to do as I ask,” Violet said.
“I see no reason to play a role in your little marital game,” Lord Julian announced.
“It’s not—” Violet protested, but Lord Julian continued as though she hadn’t said anything.
“I’ve no great admiration for the institution of marriage, so please believe me, my lady, when I tell you that my objections do not stem from a concern about the felicity of your and Audley’s union. However, I see no possible advantage to me, and the mild possibility that your husband shall ask me to meet him with pistols at dawn. That is a risk I am willing to take only for the sake of more… pleasurable results, shall we say.” He took another sip of wine, then leaned back in his chair, as though he were a chess player awaiting her next move.
“I am willing to pay you for your time, of course,” Violet said stiffly—she generally scorned aristocratic mores, and yet she could not make herself comfortable speaking of pecuniary matters.
“I do not require your blunt, my lady.” Lord Julian sounded amused.
“Well, surely there must be something I can offer,” Violet said desperately. Lord Julian’s gaze raked her slowly, making her cheeks warm, and then his eyes shifted to Diana, whose figure he perused with similar thoroughness. After a moment, however, he straightened in his seat, his manner at once more businesslike. While Violet was relieved that she seemed not to have drawn his interest, she felt Diana stiffen imperceptibly next to her. Diana was used to men finding her hopelessly alluring, allowing her the pleasure of rejecting them.
“There is one thing you can give me,” Lord Julian conceded after another long moment of silence
.
“And what is that?” Violet asked, torn between curiosity and wariness.
“Your presence,” he said. “At my theater.” Violet wasn’t certain what she had been expecting, but it hadn’t been this. She exchanged a glance with Diana, hoping her shock didn’t show too plainly on her face. Diana, for her part, also looked surprised, though she hid her confusion fairly well, betraying it only by the slightest wrinkling of her brow.
“I understood your theater to be very successful,” Violet said. Indeed, the Belfry, as Lord Julian’s theater was aptly named, was frequently whispered of among members of the ton. While it was not seen as entirely respectable, Belfry’s aristocratic connections had enabled him to obtain a limited patent to stage drama during the summer months, and she knew that it was quite popular among aristocrats who wished to take their mistresses for an evening’s entertainment without running the risk of encountering their wives’ friends. She had, in her darker moments, wondered if James had ever squired a mistress there himself. She had no reason to believe he’d been unfaithful—but four years was a terribly long time.
“It is,” Belfry conceded, without a hint of modesty. “And it nets a pretty sum for me, make no mistake. But I’ve lately become a touch restless. I should like to test myself a bit. I want to elevate the overall tenor of my theater, and for that, I need respectable ladies to attend my shows.”
“Why would you wish for that?” Violet asked blankly, causing Belfry to grin and Penvale to make an odd choking noise that Violet believed was the sound that resulted from a meeting of laughter and claret. But her question was genuine. The Belfry had carved out a rather nice niche for itself in London society: a space designed by and for the aristocracy, but with a distinctly masculine bent. It was, as Jeremy had once said admiringly, as though a gentleman’s club had been transformed into a theater.
“I love my theater, Lady James,” Lord Julian said, and he was uncommonly serious as he spoke, his gaze meeting hers directly without a hint of mockery or teasing. “I am proud of the productions we put on, but I also believe that we can do better—but we won’t do so, and I won’t attract truly top-notch talent, until the theater is seen as an institution as respectable and lofty as Covent Garden and Drury Lane, and I am licensed to perform serious drama, as those theaters are. I need men to bring their wives to my shows, not their mistresses, and I don’t know how to convince them to do so other than to lead by example.
“So, I will take part in your little ruse—I shall put on false whiskers and mumble to your husband about your delicate state, and look very grim and concerned. But I shall do so only if you give me my word that you and Lady Templeton will attend one of my productions. Soon. And bring as many of your friends as you can.”
“Well,” Violet said slowly. It would be terribly scandalous to attend a show at the Belfry—she could already hear her mother’s screeches echoing in her ears—but she found the prospect somewhat appealing. As it so frequently did, Violet’s curiosity got the better of her.
“This is my final offer,” Lord Julian added, seeming to mistake her hesitation for an imminent denial. “Do we have a deal?”
Violet’s mind raced as she pondered the logistics—she would have to convince James to escort her, and that would be tricky in and of itself. And she needed to bring friends? Respectable friends? She thought of all the married ladies of her acquaintance; to a one, they were far too concerned with their reputations to consider attending. But then her thoughts turned to Emily—Emily, who was still unwed, but who had two married friends who were perfectly capable of serving as chaperones, especially if Emily’s mother was somewhat misled as to their destination.
“I’ll see your respectable wives, and raise you an eligible miss,” Violet said, making up her mind all at once.
“We have a deal, then?” Lord Julian asked, setting down his glass. He now gazed at her keenly, his blue eyes intent.
“Yes,” Violet said firmly, lifting her own glass in a silent toast. “I believe we do.”
Five
When James returned home at midday the next day, after yet another early-morning departure, he would have been hard-pressed to explain even to himself why he did so. He had plenty with which to occupy himself this afternoon, and yet all morning thoughts of his wife had not been far from his mind. He couldn’t possibly seize on any reasonable explanation for it, other than her illness of the previous week—which had apparently been naught but a trifle, as she’d been up and about as usual the following morning. But still, it had made him take more than his usual notice of her. All day, he’d had the image of her sitting by the fire, her hair in a girlish plait; mentally, he lingered on the soft swell of her breasts beneath the fabric of her gown, imagining how they would have felt in his hands.
It was disturbing; he had spent four years cultivating a carefully maintained coolness where Violet was concerned, and yet a faint cough and a fluttering handkerchief seemed enough to undo a composure that had been years in the crafting.
James was surprised, upon arriving in Curzon Street, to see the door open as he approached his home, and Wooton’s anxious face peeking round the wood, clearly looking for him. While James prided himself on having a well-trained staff, this degree of anticipation of his arrival seemed a bit excessive.
“My lord,” Wooton called as soon as James was within earshot. “I am glad you are returned.” This was alarming in the extreme; James could count on one hand the number of times he had ever heard Wooton’s voice containing emotion.
“What has happened?” James asked, mounting the steps and entering the house.
“A physician is here, my lord.”
“Worth?” James demanded, naming the physician he had consulted when in town since the days of his boyhood.
“No, my lord. A man called Briggs, I believe, and unknown to me,” Wooton said, and he gave James a significant sort of stare that made James take a second, longer look at his butler.
“Where is this Briggs, then?” he asked impatiently.
“I believe he is with Lady James—”
“You are sadly mistaken in your belief, my good man,” came a voice from the stairs. “As I am now here.”
James turned to the stairs and saw a gentleman of indeterminate years descending toward him. He was tall and broad of shoulder, dressed in plain black, carrying a case in one hand. He had a set of bushy gray whiskers that covered much of his face, and his eyes were hidden behind a thick pair of spectacles, but as he drew nearer, James could see that his skin was largely unlined, and he thought that this Briggs might be a fair bit younger than he appeared upon first glance.
“I’ve just been visiting her ladyship,” Briggs said after offering an exquisitely correct bow. There was nothing at all untoward in his behavior, so why did James, suddenly and without reason, wish to punch him in the face?
“Indeed?” James asked, arching a brow, pleased to hear that his voice sounded calm, regardless of his inner turmoil.
“Yes,” Briggs said, nodding. “She reports that she has been feeling poorly for some time now, and summoned me on the recommendation of her friend Lady Templeton.”
James relaxed his posture an infinitesimal amount; if Diana used the man, he must not be an utter quack.
“I was unaware that her ladyship was still unwell,” James said. “But I am glad she summoned you, regardless. Did you make any sort of diagnosis?”
“I am not precisely certain, my lord, and I of course do not wish to cause undue alarm—”
James’s stomach dropped unpleasantly. Violet was fine, he told himself; she was only three-and-twenty, for Christ’s sake. Nothing short of childbirth would slow her down—and that seemed an unlikely prospect at any time in the near future, given the current state of affairs between them.
“Out with it, man,” he said curtly, and even to his own ears his voice did not sound entirely steady.
“Yes, my lord,” Briggs said, bobbing another irritating bow. “I am not precisely c
ertain, given her symptoms, but it did seem to me somewhat possible that her ladyship… well… her ladyship might be in the early stages of consumption.”
If James made any reply, he was not conscious of it; indeed, he could hear nothing over the sound of the roaring in his own ears, as he all at once felt unsteady on his own feet. He reached out, for the first time in his life, for something to lean on. He, who prided himself on relying on nothing and no one, found himself grasping the banister quite gratefully, clinging to its reassuring firmness and strength. He felt an uncharacteristic wish to turn to someone, to seek their reassurance that all would be well. And yet, the idea of actually doing so—whether that someone be his brother, or Penvale and Jeremy, or even the presumably knowledgeable physician before him—felt so foreign to him as to be inconceivable.
Vaguely, he became aware that Briggs was staring at him, an unreadable expression upon his face; as James took a second look at said face, something niggled at the back of his mind, something familiar, just out of reach.
“I will take my leave of you now, my lord,” Briggs said, his voice sounding as though it were coming from a great distance. “I have another pressing appointment, and I must not keep the lady in question waiting. But I should be happy to answer any of your… er… questions at a later date. Let me give you my card.”
Briggs fumbled in his case, extracting a card and pressing it into James’s unresisting fingers. With a last long, concerned glance and another bow, he made his departure.
The sound of the door closing behind Briggs had the effect of bringing James back to himself; he was suddenly moving, without recalling instructing his feet to do so, crossing the brief space of the entryway, Wooton opening the door even as he approached. He stood, blinking in the sunlight, opening his mouth to shout after Briggs—but Briggs was gone.
Or, rather, Briggs as he had been a moment before was gone. In his place, striding away down Curzon Street, was a man holding a set of false whiskers in one hand, a physician’s case in the other, energetically making his way toward a waiting carriage.
To Have and to Hoax Page 8
