Page 18 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
Regina turned on her, her expression softening immediately.
“Violet, darling,” she said, clasping her hands. “At least you have some sense.”
Violet blinked. “I do?”
“Oh, of course. You married him. Which means I can finally stop waiting for the pair of you to recognize what the rest of us have known for years.”
Max groaned.
Violet blinked rapidly. “I—what?”
Regina waved a hand, ignoring their bewilderment. “Never mind. We shall discuss it later. For now, we have other matters to attend to.”
She turned, pinning Ethella and Nigel with a stare that could have shattered glass.
“And I should very much like to know,” she said, voice cold, “what precisely you two are doing here.”
Silence descended over the room.
Violet bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
Max, meanwhile, merely smirked at his mother.
Because, if there was one person in the world who could outmaneuver Ethella Cavender?—
It was Lady Regina Able.
Chapter Nine
The storm that had been brewing all morning finally broke as Lord Eddington’s carriage thundered up the drive of Wellston Hall, the iron-grey sky splitting with the first rumblings of thunder. The servants, wisely, scurried out of sight as the vehicle rattled to a halt, and the footman hastily unfolded the steps. There was simply something about the man, with his pitch black carriage and his preference for wearing all black, that set people on edge. Which, in truth, was likely his intent.
Ethella and Nigel, who had only just arrived back at the house after their humiliating visit to Alstead Manor, exchanged a worried glance. Neither of them could be certain how he would take the news.
“Well,” Nigel muttered, reaching for the brandy that had been poured the moment they crossed the threshold. “This should be a thoroughly uncomfortable conversation.”
Ethella said nothing, merely smoothing her skirts as the front doors swung open, revealing the imposing figure of Lord Bertram Eddington, a man whose appearance was as revolting as his character.
He was not, as some men were, quietly sinister in his depravity. No, Eddington wore his villainy proudly, as one might a badge of honor. He was a relic of an older generation of debauchery, a man who reveled in excess and depravity with no concern for decorum. He had the look of a lizard, his skin pasty, his thinning hair greased back from a high, receding brow, and while he was painfully thin, his stomach protruded ever so slightly—a testament to his love of drink.
Still, none of that, disturbing as it all was, made the man truly revolting. It was his eyes that were the worst. Sharp. Calculating. Hungry. Always darting to and fro, always watchful.
Nigel, who had never been particularly brave, immediately took a large gulp of his brandy. Ethella, ever composed, greeted him with a tight smile.
“My lord,” she said smoothly. “You have traveled with such haste! I trust the journey was not too tiresome?”
Eddington stepped inside, his black greatcoat dripping with rain, and snarled in response. “Do not play the gracious hostess, madam. I have come for what is mine.”
Nigel coughed in his brandy.
Ethella merely folded her hands before her, tilting her head as though addressing an unruly child. “I regret to inform you, my lord, that there has been a most… unfortunate development.”
Eddington’s beady eyes narrowed. “What development?”
Ethella did not look away, nor did she blink when she delivered the words that she knew would send him into a violent rage. “She is married, my lord.”
Silence.
And then?—
