The Lady Travelers Guide to Happily Ever After

by Alexander, Victoria

  “Thank you for the reminder.” Violet had very nearly put the stipulation about appearing as a happy couple out of her head.

  She knew full well there was no possible way for the two of them to appear in public without causing a tidal wave of gossip. Violet Branham may be clever, confident and sophisticated when it came to the rest of the world but here in London, she had always feared she might slip back into the docile creature she used to be. That when presented with the unforgiving, unrelenting judgmental nature of London society—of her mother and people exactly like her—time would reverse itself and she would again be the unassuming wallflower she had once been. Precisely why she never stayed long in England. That would be yet another challenge of the next three years. “Let’s wait to decide what to accept until we speak to Mrs. Higginbotham and her friends tonight. I’m sure they will have some suggestions.”

  “Lady Ellsworth.” Andrews appeared at the door. “Lady Cranton is here.”

  Cleo winced.

  “Tell her I’m not at home,” Violet said.

  A distinct look of distress washed over the butler’s face.

  Violet grimaced. “She knows I’m here, doesn’t she?”

  “I’m afraid so, my lady.”

  “It can’t be helped I suppose.” Violet sighed. “Please show her into the parlor. Oh, and then ask the kitchen for tea and a tray of biscuits.” Violet glanced at Cleo. “You know how she’ll be if I don’t offer her something.”

  Cleo shuddered.

  “Anything else, my lady?” Andrews asked.

  “A pot of coffee as well, I think.” Violet nodded. “That will do. Thank you, Andrews.”

  The butler nodded and hurried off.

  “You do realize, living in England for the next three years, seeing her will be unavoidable.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Although that in itself is enough to make me change my mind,” Violet added and rose to her feet.

  “Are you sure you want to talk to her alone?”

  “Not really, but this is my house and I’m not going to put up with her nonsense in my own home.” She started toward the parlor. “But do say a little prayer for me, Cleo.”

  “I daresay a single prayer will not be nearly enough.” Cleo’s words trailed after her.

  Violet paused before the parlor doors, summoned every ounce of confidence she possessed, adopted a pleasant smile and pushed open the doors. “Good morning, Mother.”

  Margaret, Viscountess Cranton, was as tall as her daughter with hair a few shades darker. That, Violet had always thought, was where the similarities ended. While Mother was still a fine figure of a woman, she was stern and unrelenting in her pursuit of what she deemed to be required or proper. Mother’s unyielding nature was evident in her manner and her speech and showed on her face. Mother, Violet had long suspected, had never been especially happy. She would have felt sorry for Father but he didn’t seem to care.

  “Please God, Violet, have you at last come to your senses?”

  “Delightful to see you again, Mother.” Violet smiled coolly. “I thought I’d see you before now. Lady Brockwell’s ball was the day before yesterday, after all.”

  “I’ve been in the country. We returned last night.” Mother glared. “I demand to know what’s going on.”

  “Do be seated, Mother.” Violet waved at the sofa, then settled in a nearby chair.

  Mother glanced around the parlor, no doubt assessing the quality and cost of every item in the room. She probably hadn’t stepped foot in Ellsworth House since James’s ill-fated engagement party all those years ago.

  “Well, go on.”

  “I’m not sure what you want to know.”

  “Don’t be evasive.” Mother’s brows drew together. “You know exactly what I’m asking.”

  A discreet knock sounded at the parlor doors before they opened and Andrews rolled in a tea cart. Mother set her jaw impatiently. It would never do to be caught discussing private matters with servants present.

  “Would you like me to pour, my lady?” Andrews asked.

  “I’ll do it. Thank you, Andrews.” Violet smiled and nodded in dismissal.

  Andrews took his leave, no doubt grateful to escape.

  “Would you care for tea?” Violet said, even as she poured a cup.

  “At least you haven’t forgotten everything you were taught.” Mother accepted the cup and added sugar.

  “I assure you, Mother, I’ve forgotten absolutely nothing.” Violet poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “Is that coffee?” Disapproval furrowed Mother’s brow.

  “It is.” Violet widened her eyes innocently. “Oh, I do apologize. Did you prefer coffee?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Mother considered coffee a drink of the lower classes and therefore beneath her. “No doubt you picked up a taste for it in some godforsaken foreign coffeehouse.”

  “No doubt.”

  Mother cautiously selected two biscuits, as if she wanted to assure herself of their quality before indulging. Violet’s jaw tightened.

  “Why are you here, Mother?”

  “Instead of waiting for you to call on me?” Mother’s brow soared upward. “Who knows when that might happen.”

  “Come now, Mother. I join you and Father and Caroline for dinner whenever I’m in London.” As much as neither Violet nor her mother enjoyed it, Violet always paid an obligatory call on her family, which usually included dinner. An ordeal no one especially enjoyed. Conversation inevitably centered around what a perfect daughter twenty-year-old Caroline was with her brilliant prospects for a match and the disastrous state of Violet’s own marriage. A failure that was obviously her fault. Truth was never especially important to Mother.

  The fact of the matter was Mother had never forgiven Violet for being the subject of scandal, compounded by her not becoming the perfect Mrs. Branham, now Lady Ellsworth, she was expected to be. She should have been a force in society, a renowned hostess and mother of a respectable number of offspring. A daughter an ambitious mother could be proud of. And Violet had never forgiven her mother for leaping at the chance to marry her off. Not merely because of a relatively minor scandal but because she thought this was Violet’s only chance for an acceptable marriage. Which might well have been true but was beside the point nonetheless.

  No one ever said aloud what the real problem was between mother and daughter. The true crux of the difficulty between them was simply that the day after her wedding, for the first time in twenty-one years, Violet Branham had at last found her courage, her voice and—thanks to James—her independence. There was nothing Mother hated more than a daughter she could not control.

  “How is Father? And Caroline?”

  “Your father never changes.” Mother shrugged. Father was a good enough sort, Violet supposed, although she barely knew the man. He might have had more of an interest in his children had they been born sons but as they were female he had abdicated all decisions regarding Violet and her sister to Mother.

  “Caroline is about to be engaged to the son of a duke.” Mother paused. “Not his heir, mind you, but a younger son with three brothers ahead of him. Still, he has a significant income and one never knows what might happen in the future. Your sister could be a duchess one day.”

  “We can only hope,” Violet murmured. One did wonder if Caroline’s prospective fiancé’s family should be warned as Mother would cheerfully do away with an entire line of succession to achieve her ambitions. If she couldn’t be a duchess herself, a daughter for a duchess would do.

  “The engagement will be officially announced at a ball next month, as befitting such an august match. I expect you to attend.” Mother pinned her with a firm look. “Will you still be here?”

  “My plans are uncertain at the moment.” She was not about to tell her mother she would be staying in England before she told Ja
mes.

  “Your plans are always uncertain.” Disapproval rang in Mother’s voice. “You wander aimlessly around the world and rarely return to England—where you should be.”

  “On the contrary, Mother. It’s not the least bit aimless.”

  “It’s not the way a proper wife should behave.” Mother’s lips thinned. “There have been rumors you know.”

  “Yes, I know, Mother. You never fail to write me about every rumor or bit of gossip about my husband, for which I am most grateful.”

  “The rumors are not just about him.” A warning sounded in Mother’s voice.

  “Oh, good. I would hate for him to have all the fun.”

  For a long moment Mother glared and Violet glared right back. There was a time when Violet would have backed down. Said something placating and apologized. It was easier and peace would be restored. She’d stopped that years ago when she’d realized capitulating to her mother would make no difference in their relationship but would make a great deal of difference in how Violet felt about herself.

  “I assure you, Mother, any rumors about me are greatly exaggerated with no more than a morsel of truth in them at best.”

  “I should hope so!” Mother studied her intently. “You and Lord Ellsworth were seen dancing together.”

  “He’s an excellent dancer and he is my husband.”

  “That has never seemed to matter to you before.”

  Violet shrugged. “You wanted me to have a husband and I have one. You never particularly cared how he and I felt about one another.”

  Mother ignored her. “And you left the ball together.”

  “We are married and we do reside in the same house.”

  “No one has ever seen you together before.” Mother’s eyes narrowed as if she were trying to see into her daughter’s very soul. “Have you and your husband reconciled?”

  “It’s really none of your concern,” Violet said blithely.

  “Of course it’s my concern. I am your mother. I have only your best interests at heart.”

  Best interests? It was all Violet could do to keep her temper in check. “Really, Mother? When did you begin having my best interests at heart?”

  “I have always put you and your sister above all else,” Mother said in a lofty manner, which might have been most effective had Violet been able to recall even once when that was true.

  “Did you put my interest above all else when you forced me to marry a man who didn’t want to marry me?” And there it was. The charge she had avoided making for almost six years.

  “You were ruined!” Mother’s eyes widened in indignation. “My insistence on marriage saved you from a life of being alone.”

  “And what do you think my life has been thus far?” The words were out of Violet’s mouth before she could stop them. She wasn’t sure why she’d said that. She hadn’t been alone these past years. Far from it. She’d had Cleo and any number of friends abroad. Why, she was the least alone person she knew. And if she didn’t have a husband who cared for her, well, that was the price to be paid for independence.

  “Your life would have been perfect if you hadn’t been so headstrong.”

  “You know nothing about my life, Mother.”

  “I daresay I know far more than you suspect.” Mother stood. “Has your husband finally put his foot down and demanded you return home and pick up your responsibilities as his wife?”

  Violet rose to her feet. “My husband does not put his foot down nor would I allow him to do so.”

  “That might be one of the problems.” Mother sniffed.

  “You simply will not accept that you forfeited the right to ask me anything when you forced me into marriage.”

  “Nonetheless, I am asking if you and your husband—”

  “Why do you care? What possible difference does it make to you?”

  “People talk, Violet, and they’ve been talking about you for nearly six years. It’s a source of constant humiliation for the entire family. Why, we’re lucky your scandalous life hasn’t affected Caroline’s impending engagement!”

  “Well, he is only a younger son, Mother.”

  “If you and your husband would just come to your senses and—” Mother gasped. “Dear Lord, you’re here to ask for a divorce, aren’t you?”

  “That is no concern of yours.”

  Mother sucked in a sharp breath. “There has never been a divorce in this family. The scandal will ruin us all. I insist—”

  “For God’s sakes, Mother,” Violet snapped, “that’s quite enough. I am not asking for a divorce and yes, I am back to stay.” She drew a deep breath. Mother was an expert at the art of gossip and might well be useful at dissipating any untoward rumors about Violet and James’s apparent reconciliation. “After all these years apart, James and I have at last acknowledged we share the kind of mad, passionate love every woman dreams of! There now, are you happy?”

  “Not at all because that’s utter nonsense and I don’t believe you for a moment.” Mother huffed. “One doesn’t stay away for years then wake up one morning to discover true love was there all along.”

  “Actually, Mother...” Violet raised her chin. “One does.”

  “My dear, darling wife.” As if on cue, James strode into the room, pulled her into his arms and gazed deeply into her eyes. “It’s been but a few hours and yet it seems like an eternity since I left your side.”

  “Does it?” What on earth was he doing? Violet gazed up into his blue eyes, dark and endless and...amused?

  “When we’re apart, I count the minutes until we’re together again.” He lowered his head to hers as if he intended to kiss her.

  Violet’s breath caught.

  Mother cleared her throat.

  “Oh, I am sorry. I had no idea anyone else was here.” He released Violet, but slid one arm around her waist in a blatant display of affection. Blatant displays of affection were every bit as bad in Mother’s view as wives not being proper.

  “James, you remember my mother.”

  “Yes of course.” His arm tightened around her in a manner that could only be called possessive. It was oddly satisfying.

  “Lord Ellsworth.” Mother eyed him suspiciously. “I should take my leave.”

  “Delightful to see you again.” He nodded toward the door. “Andrews will see you out.”

  “Violet, I expect your attendance at your sister’s ball.”

  “Good day, Mother.”

  “Good day, Lady Cranton,” James said and nuzzled the side of Violet’s neck as if Mother wasn’t there. A shiver ran down her spine. She really should protest but how would that look?

  “Dear Lord,” Mother muttered and marched toward the door.

  Violet steeled herself against the melting sensation of James’s lips against that surprisingly sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder and waited until the parlor door closed behind her mother. Even then it was far harder to get the words out than one would expect. She drew a deep breath. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I’M CONVINCING YOUR mother as to our reconciliation.” James kissed that delicious juncture of neck and shoulder. Her scent—an arousing mix of jasmine and spice—wrapped around him and it was all he could do not to pull her tighter against him. “As she is one of the most notorious gossips in London, it seemed an excellent idea.”

  “Well, she’s gone now.” Violet pushed out of his arms. “You can stop that.”

  He grinned. “I rather enjoyed it.”

  “You would.”

  Given the charming flush on her cheeks and the look in her eyes, so did she, although she’d never admit it. Still, it was interesting. His grin widened.

  “Nonetheless, it was entirely inappropriate. This is a farce, James. Nothing more. You do need to remember that.” Her voice was f
irm even if there was the tiniest breathless quality to it. That too was interesting.

  “Did you say that just to annoy your mother?”

  “Probably.” Her brows drew together in confusion. “Say what?”

  “That you and I had reconciled. That after all these years we share a mad, passionate love.”

  “Surely I didn’t say anything of the sort.” A blush washed up her face. Oh, he liked that. “Did I?”

  “Your words exactly.”

  “One says all sort of things when one fails to give due consideration to one’s words.” She blew a long breath. “Yes, I suppose I did say some of it to annoy her. But really, what one says in the heat of—”

  “Passion?”

  “Annoyance cannot be taken as irrefutable.” She cast him a questioning look. “So you remember my mother?”

  “She continues to haunt my dreams.” He shivered. James would never forget how adamant Lady Cranton had been that they marry. How angry she’d been at him—justifiably—but how angry she’d been at Violet, as well. It wasn’t at all fair. As if any of this had been Violet’s fault.

  “There is nothing my mother finds more scandalous or improper than mad, passionate love.”

  “Actually, I was wondering about the rest of it.” He adopted a casual tone. “About staying in London. With your husband.” He held his breath. “Did you say that part to annoy her, as well?”

  “No. I had already come to that decision.” She squared her shoulders. “I like my life, James. Three years seems a small enough price to pay for my independence and my freedom.”

  “So you’ll do it for the money?” he said slowly. Relief mixed with a tinge of disappointment. Surely he couldn’t expect her to do it for any other reason. Still...it had been a long night and he’d done a great deal of thinking. All about her. Or rather, about them. Although he’d never not thought about her in one way or another through the years.