LITMIR.BIZ

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never particularly liked her.”

      “Are you staying at Ellsworth House?” he asked.

      “I always do.” She paused. “You had warning, I sent a telegram from Lisbon.” Whenever she headed toward London she sent a telegram to Andrews, James’s butler, to give the household notice as to her impending arrival. And give James the time he needed to escape.

      “Thoughtful of you as always.” He cast her his most charming smile. “Now, may I escort you home?”

      “I’m not sure I am ready to leave.”

      “Forgive me if it sounded like a question. It wasn’t.”

      She raised a brow. “Is that an order, then?”

      He hesitated then grimaced. “Of course not. Sorry, I’ve never dealt with a wife before.”

      “Not one of your own, you mean.”

      His eyes narrowed slightly, as if she had pushed him too far. Good.

      “And I’ve never dealt with a husband. But one dance and then we’re off?” She shook her head. “Won’t that set them all to talking? Why are Lord and Lady Ellsworth leaving so early? What do you think they’re up to? That sort of thing.”

      “Probably, but only until the next interesting tidbit comes along. Should be no more than a day or two.”

      It really was pointless to argue with him. And they did have things to talk about that were best discussed in private. She wasn’t sure she was prepared to do so tonight, however.

      The music ended and he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and steered her in a relaxed manner toward the door, stopping here and there to exchange a word with acquaintances. As if there was nothing at all out of the ordinary for Lord and Lady Ellsworth to be in the same room together let alone departing as a couple.

      Once they had settled in the carriage, Violet let out a resigned sigh. “You do realize my mother will hear of this and will probably be calling on us by morning.”

      “My apologies.”

      She chose her words carefully. “I’m not sure I would have attended the ball if I had known you were going to be there.”

      “Whereas I knew you were going to be there and thought it better to greet you in public.”

      “Oh?”

      “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said abruptly. “To London, I mean.”

      “I am here because of Uncle Richard, of course,” she said coolly, ignoring the catch in her throat. “I was so saddened to hear of his passing. I wish I had come to see him again.”

      Uncle Richard had never thought it necessary to vacate the premises upon her visits home. He and Violet had spent long hours together during her stays, playing cards or chess, attending plays or lectures, and discussing whatever happened to pass through their minds. He’d been ill for some time but on her last visit a year ago, she’d thought he had improved. He was the only person who had ever accepted her for who she was rather than who she used to be or who she should be. Sorrow stabbed her at the thought of never seeing him again.

      “You didn’t come when he died two months ago.”

      “It seemed pointless.”

      “I assume you received notice from his solicitor about tomorrow’s meeting?”

      She nodded. The letter had insisted she return to London as soon as possible, as per Uncle Richard’s instructions. It was followed by a telegram confirming her attendance at tomorrow’s meeting. “Do you know what it’s regarding?”

      “Uncle Richard’s final wishes.” He shrugged. “Beyond that, I have no idea.”

      “Then we shall both be surprised,” she said under her breath.

      While it did strike her as an ordinary conversation, tension fairly bounced off the walls of the carriage. Idle chatter seemed absurd. There was so much of importance to say, issues that needed to be resolved. And yet here and now, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. What did one say to a husband one hadn’t spoken to in nearly six years? Silence was far wiser at the moment. But it was past time. One of them had to be honest enough to do what needed to be done. It was more than likely to be her. Goodness, hadn’t she been working up her courage for years? Still, it might be better to hear what the solicitor had to say. Another day or two would make no real difference.

      James helped her from the carriage and escorted her into the grand house near Grosvenor Square. Andrews greeted them, handed her wrap to a footman and promptly vanished, no doubt within calling distance should he be needed. The butler was the very soul of discretion. Regardless, Violet suspected he and any number of other servants were observing them from some unseen location.

      “I usually have a glass of brandy in the library before bed,” James said in an offhand manner. “Would you care to join me?”

      “I’m afraid I’ve had a very long day. I would prefer to retire for the night.” She smiled politely and turned toward the stairs. Coward, a voice whispered in the back of her head. A civilized brandy in the comfort of Uncle Richard’s library would be the perfect opportunity for calm, rational discussion. Regardless, she simply wasn’t ready. She’d assumed she wouldn’t see him until they met in the solicitor’s office. She never imagined she’d see him, dance with him, tonight.

      “I had hoped we could talk.”

      She turned back to him. “Now?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

      “It just seems like an opportune time. That’s all.” He paused. “We’ve never really talked.”

      “No, we haven’t.” And whose fault is that? She bit back the words and heaved a weary sigh. “It’s been almost six years, James. Surely whatever you have to say can wait another day.”

      He gazed at her for a long moment then nodded. “Of course.” He paused. “That was very nice of you. Encouraging Westmont to dance with those girls.”

      “I am very nice.” Her gaze met his. “And I know how they feel.”

      “Yes, I suppose you do.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it. “Good night, Violet.”

      “Good night, James.” She nodded and started up the grand staircase, refusing to look back at him. She knew he watched her, felt his gaze on her as if his eyes were burning into her back.

      Her room was at the farthest end of the hall from his. Aside from a single night, she and James had never before slept under the same roof. That thought alone was enough to keep her from getting so much as a wink of sleep. Add to that, Uncle Richard’s mysterious final wishes and her own desire to at last resolve things between them and move on with their lives and anything approximating true rest was impossible.

      Beyond all else, she couldn’t get James’s comment out of her head. Was he truly ready to face his past mistakes? Did those mistakes include her?

      And how on earth did he intend to atone for that?

       CHAPTER TWO

      “AND SHE’S BACK,” Ophelia Higginbotham said under her breath and resisted the urge to slide under the covers and pull them up over her head.

      “How are you feeling, Effie?” Persephone Fitzhew-Wellmore sailed into the room like a ray of unrelenting sunshine. She glanced at Lady Guinevere Blodgett, sitting nearby in Effie’s bedroom and currently perusing the obituary section of the Times as she had done every day in recent years. “How is she?”

      Gwen didn’t look up from the page. After all, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been asked the question every time

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