Page 30 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
Perhaps it was the sheer exhaustion of fighting constantly, or perhaps it was the presence of others in the household who assumed them to be happily wed, but for once, she and Max managed to share a meal without metaphorically stabbing one another with their cutlery.
Which was progress.
The roasted pheasant was perfectly cooked, the wine was pleasantly mellow, and though they had not engaged in any meaningful conversation, there had been something oddly comfortable about the quiet between them. But of course, peace never lasted long where they were concerned.
The footman entered midway through the meal, a folded letter balanced neatly on a silver salver, his expression neutral, but expectant.
“Your Grace,” he murmured, extending the tray toward Max.
Violet watched as Max took the letter, broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment. She had expected him to glance at it with disinterest and set it aside, as he so often did with correspondence he deemed unworthy of immediate attention.
But instead, his jaw tightened.
The muscles in his forearm flexed as he gripped the letter just a fraction too tightly.
Violet’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”
Max did not immediately answer. He read the letter twice, his expression darkening with each pass of his eyes over the words.
“Max?” she pressed, more firmly now.
At last, he set the letter down, lifted his wine glass, and took a slow sip—as though whatever he had just read had left a foul taste in his mouth. Then, he met her gaze with a look so even, so deceptively composed, that it sent a shiver down her spine. “The Bishop of York has written to us,” he said simply.
Violet blinked. “The bishop?”
“Yes.” Max tilted his head slightly, his voice carrying the unmistakable edge of amusement, laced with irritation. “It seems your dear, devoted relations have taken it upon themselves to petition the Ecclesiastical Court for an annulment.”
Violet’s stomach dropped. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, her grip so firm that she feared the delicate crystal might shatter.
“An annulment,” she repeated, her voice deadly quiet.
Max inclined his head. “Yes.”
She let out a sharp breath, a humorless laugh bubbling to the surface. “And on what grounds do they seek to undo my marriage?”
Max lifted the letter once more, reading with mock disinterest. “They claim that you entered into matrimony without the consent of your family?—”
Violet let out a disbelieving scoff. “That is preposterous. I am well past the age of consent, and they are hardly my guardians.”
Max nodded. “Indeed. That argument holds no weight. However…” He set the letter aside again, his expression shifting into something more deliberate. “They are also attempting to claim that fraud may have been committed in the execution of our vows.”
Violet frowned. “Fraud? What sort of fraud?”
Max took another sip of his wine before answering, his voice perfectly casual.
“That, my dear wife, is the rather interesting part.” He set down his glass and leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “They wish to argue that our marriage was obtained under false pretenses. That it was not entered into in good faith, and that, should an inquiry be made, it may be deemed… invalid.”
Violet went very still.
“Invalid,” she echoed.
Max nodded once. “Yes.”
“How can they claim it is invalid?”
“It seems,” Max said, the words bitten off with quiet fury, “that Mrs. Cavender was deeply interested in the possibility that our union had not been consummated.”
She exhaled sharply, setting her own glass down with far more force than necessary. “And how do you propose we remedy this grave accusation?”
