though they might not take her meaning. “At her husband’s side,” she clarified. She cast James a sympathetic smile, as though they were long-suffering partners in crime.
James could practically see the rage rolling off of Violet, and quickly spoke before she could. “It is funny you should think so, Lady Worthington,” he said. “I’ve rather thought that, considering the great honor your daughter did me by agreeing to be my wife in the first place, the least I can do is dog her footsteps wherever she goes. I’m afraid I’ve been rather remiss in that matter.”
Violet watched him with a curious expression.
“You and I shall have to agree to disagree, Lord James,” Lady Worthington said icily.
“Something I’m certain James finds entirely acceptable,” Violet put in, and James had to smother a smile. “Mother, it’s been lovely to see you this evening—”
“I had something I particularly wished to discuss with you, Lady James,” Lady Worthington said with a severe look at her daughter. “Come to tea tomorrow.”
The invitation was, as was so often the case with Lady Worthington, a command, not a request.
“Of course,” Violet murmured, dipping the shallowest curtsey she could offer without seeming openly rude.
“Lady Worthington, you must allow me to steal your daughter away now,” James said. “I’m afraid her dance card is so full that she cannot afford to dawdle.”
Lady Worthington opened her mouth to reply, but James had already taken Violet’s arm once more and proceeded to steer her firmly away. Over his shoulder, he added, “Lady Worthington, next time you seek to scold my wife in a public place—or any place at all—I would advise you to reconsider.”
And with that, he and Violet made their retreat.
“I’m very tempted to turn around to see what the look on her face is like, but I don’t think I quite dare,” Violet said, a note of distinct satisfaction in her voice.
“Probably best not to tempt fate,” James agreed.
“Thank you,” Violet said, so softly that he nearly missed it, a gentle squeeze of his arm accompanying her words. He placed his free hand over hers and squeezed it in return.
“You don’t have to go to tea with her tomorrow, you know.”
Violet sighed. “It’s best just to go and let her say her bit.”
James frowned, but further conversation was forestalled by the fact that they had rejoined their party, though it had been reduced in number. Jeremy, Penvale, and Lady Fitzwilliam stood in a loose circle, making idle conversation; just as Violet and James approached, a gentleman—the younger brother of the Earl of Dunreedie, if James wasn’t mistaken—bowed to Diana and departed as she rejoined her friends. With a quick glance at her wrist, he could see that Diana’s dance card was already nearly entirely full.
“Where is Emily?” Violet asked, draining the rest of her glass of lemonade. Without thinking, James reached out and took the empty glass from her, handing it to a passing footman before turning to Lady Fitzwilliam and offering her the full glass in his hand with what he hoped was a not-at-all-flirtatious bow.
“Dancing with Belfry,” Diana said, in a tone of voice that James thought might be her attempt to sound casual. It was spoiled by the eager expression on her face.
“Is Mr. Cartham attending this evening?” Violet asked, craning her neck around to get a better look at the room. Even if Cartham were here, James thought, Violet would be lucky to spot him—it was quite a crush.
“I believe so, but I’ve yet to see him. I’ve instructed Penvale”—here Diana jerked her head at her brother, who was sipping a glass of champagne and looking bored—“to keep a sharp eye out for him, so that we might keep him away from Emily.”
“Playing matchmaker, are we?” James asked.
Diana sniffed. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to want to see Emily married to someone other than that vulgar boor.”
“You sound frightfully snobbish, Diana,” Penvale said, sounding amused. “Not such a rebel after all, are we?”
“You’re making a mistake if you think to match Belfry with Lady Emily,” Jeremy added. “A less likely man to marry I’ve never seen. Haven’t you heard anything of his reputation?”
“Mmm, yes,” Diana said sweetly, giving Jeremy a saccharine smile. “But I didn’t think it was any worse than yours, my lord.”
Rather than look offended, Jeremy appeared amused. “Touché. And yet I’ve no intention of marrying, either, so my point remains.”
“So you say,” Diana said, sounding skeptical. “But need I remind you that you are a marquess? At some point, you’ll