Page 22 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
So when his carriage thundered up the drive to Wellston Hall, his fury was a tangible thing, coiled tight in his gut, seething like a snake ready to strike.
Inside the grand hall, Ethella was already waiting. She sat serenely, hands folded elegantly in her lap, her expression one of infuriating calmness. As though her son wasn’t deeper in debt than he ever had hope of paying himself out of! As though they weren’t hovering on the brink of utter ruin.
Eddington stormed in, his boots pounding against the floor, his cravat askew from the force of his own temper. “The bishop declined?” he demanded, voice shaking the very walls.
Ethella merely lifted a delicate brow.
“Indeed.”
Eddington turned sharply, pacing the room like a caged animal. “That is all you have to say? Indeed? Mrs. Cavender, my patience is at an end! You told me she would be here. That she would be mine. I arrived to find nothing of the sort! Thenyou prattle on about an annulment which is now not going to happen.”
Ethella sighed, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her gown. “I miscalculated.”
Eddington whirled on her, eyes blazing. “Miscalculated?! I invested a fortune in this scheme, woman! I expect returns.”
“Then I suggest,” she said, voice velvet-soft, “that you reconsider your expectations.”
Eddington’s jaw ticked dangerously. “Return the funds.”
Ethella smiled, slow and dangerous. “There is another way.”
Nigel, who had been nursing a brandy in the corner, visibly paled. “Mother?—”
Ethella ignored him, turning her full attention to Eddington.
“The duke,” she said smoothly, “is an obstacle.”
Eddington smirked. “He is.”
“He is a man,” she continued, “and men—especially men like Alstead—are not invincible.”
Understanding dawned in Eddington’s eyes, slow and calculating.
“And should he suffer some… misfortune?”
Ethella’s lips curved into a slow, indulgent smile.
“Then his widow, the Duchess of Alstead, would require protection.”
“This could take months,” Eddingotn said. “Months of him rutting on her. I don’t want her when she’s fat with another man’s child!”
Ethella tilted her head. “I have it on good authority that they have not yet consummated their union. I bribed a housemaid to tell me everything. He slept on the floor on their wedding night. And has not been to her chamber since… but there are benefits to people not knowing that, and to people thinking Violet could already be carrying Alstead’s heir.”
“What benefits?”
“The child would inherit the dukedom.”
Eddington exhaled, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “And how, if he’s not tupping her, do we get an heir?”
Ethella’s brows lifted. “You’ve housemaids a plenty. Many of whom have already warmed your bed… get a bastard on one of them, my lord, and when the time is right, we shall act. And your son shall be passed off as Violet’s—poor Violet, driven mad with grief and locked in her chambers for her own safety. Chambers, my lord, that you may visit whenever you desire.”
Nigel set down his brandy with a sharp clink. “This is madness.”
Ethella’s eyes glittered. “No, my dear.”
She smoothed the lace at her wrist, voice silk-wrapped steel.
“This is strategy.”
