To Have and to Hoax(91)

“He offered you money,” James said—it was a statement, rather than a question.

Jeremy shrugged helplessly. “He must have known how desperate I was—he offered me a sum that . . . well . . .” He trailed off, looking slightly embarrassed. “It was enough to keep me afloat until those investments could pay off. I wasn’t really in a position to say no.”

James had expected a rush of anger, but he felt oddly . . . detached.

“Audley,” Jeremy said, speaking more quickly now, “I want you to know—I never would have agreed to it if I’d realized it would actually work.”

“What?”

“What I mean to say is—well—we were only twenty-three! I never dreamed you’d take one look at Violet and become instantly besotted with her.”

“I think it took a bit more than one look,” James said, because a man did have his dignity to consider, after all.

“You say that,” Jeremy said with a trace of his usual smugness, “because you didn’t see your face that evening on the balcony.” He sighed, his levity evaporating once more. “I didn’t mean to trap you into anything, Audley. The past few years, seeing how unhappy you’ve been . . .” He trailed off again, then cleared his throat uncomfortably. James reflected that he had been friends with Jeremy for nearly twenty years, and yet this might be the most honest conversation they had ever had.

Violet, no doubt, would sniff and say this was typical of men. The thought made him smile—and God, it felt bloody marvelous to smile when he thought of Violet, rather than feel the peculiarly specific combination of anger and despair with which he had become so familiar over the past few years.

“We quarreled about that night,” he said in a rush, without pausing to even consider what he was doing.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The quarrel—this . . . distance.” He gestured before himself helplessly, as though his hands could encompass the four years of coldness, of slowly inching apart. “It started because I came home to find that my father had called on Violet. I overheard them discussing his and Violet’s mother’s arrangement of that encounter on the balcony.”

“You need to stop listening at doorways.”

“I assure you,” James said, nettled, “that these are the only two occasions on which I have ever done so in my entire life.”

“All the more reason to stop,” Jeremy said sagely, “since it seems you’ve truly abysmal timing.” He paused. “Or I suppose you could start doing it more frequently. If you listened at a doorway every day, you’d be bound to improve your odds of hearing something mundane and entirely uninteresting.”

“The point is,” James said, feeling that someone really ought to keep the conversation on topic, “that I leapt to conclusions. Violet seemed to already know about their scheming, so I assumed she had known all about it from the start. We quarreled over it—she told me I was being an ass, that I should trust her—which I was, and I should have—”

“You mean to tell me that this is the only reason you two have been doing a passable impression of my parents for the past four years?” Jeremy asked incredulously.

“It sounds utterly idiotic, doesn’t it?”

“Dear God, man!” Jeremy said, so animated at this point that he actually leapt to his feet. This attracted considerable attention from the other gentlemen in the room; half a dozen heads turned their way, and Jeremy, belatedly realizing that he was making a scene, waved at them in a way that, far from being reassuring, made him look slightly unhinged.

“I’ve been feeling guilty for years for tricking you into a marriage that made you unhappy,” Jeremy said, lowering his voice slightly as he resumed his seat.

“Indeed?” James arched a brow. “Yes, I can see that the guilt has truly been eating away at you. Put you off food and women, has it?”

“Well, I didn’t say I was in the midst of a bloody Shakespearean tragedy,” Jeremy said defensively. “But I have felt rather bad about it all. No more, though!”

“You do realize,” James said conversationally, “that since our quarrel was originally about the circumstances under which we met—circumstances which you helped orchestrate, I might remind you—it seems to me that now is when you should be feeling most guilty of all?”

Jeremy waved a hand dismissively. “Pish. I’ve spent all this time thinking you two were entirely unsuited and that Violet must secretly be an utter harpy when you’re alone.”

“Afraid not,” James said, feeling—improbably—rather cheerful.

“Indeed! It seems that it is you, in fact, who is the . . . er . . .”

“Harpy?” James suggested innocently.

“For lack of a better word.”

“Well,” James said, rising, “as illuminating as this conversation has been, I think it’s time I took my leave of you.”

“Going to grovel at your wife’s feet?”

“Something like that,” James said dryly. “Perhaps a bit more romantic and masculine.”

“I’d stick with groveling,” Jeremy said with the wisdom of a man who had soothed many an offended lady’s delicate sensibilities. “They can’t seem to resist it, bless them.” He paused for a moment, watching James gather his gloves and hat. “Audley—we are—that is to say—” He looked up at James with a look of uncharacteristic uncertainty. “You can forgive me for this?”