Page 1 of Duchess By Condition
CHAPTER 1
“Now, when she arrives,” said Lord Andrew Hartwell, Viscount of Barchester, “you are to be on your best behavior, Violet. I hope I have made that abundantly clear.”
“You have.” Lady Violet closed her eyes briefly and set down her novel, allowing her father’s words to wash over her. He had been talking about the imminent arrival of the woman he was to marry for weeks now, and Violet was tired of the whole topic. She didn’t relish the idea of a stranger coming to live in this house with them. Though she had never felt close with her father, no matter how hard she tried to win his affection—or at the very least, his tolerance—at least this house was a place she could call her own, a place she felt safe and at home.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” her father said sharply. “And for goodness’ sake, sit up straight. You have to make a good impression on Lady Trevet.”
Laura Trevet was not a lady. She was a commoner—a singer who performed on the stage, as a matter of fact. That wasn’t a fact that particularly bothered Violet, but she did notice the way her father persisted in applying the title to the woman he had chosen to marry, as if he was trying to convince himself—or someone else—that she was a worthy choice. Violet didn’t bother to correct him, but she did take note of it. “You would think,” she said sharply, obliging her father by sitting up a little straighter, “that she would be the one to try to impressme,since she is coming to live in my home.”
“This home belongs to me,” her father snapped. “You had better remember that, girl. You live here at my permission, nothing more.”
Of course, that was true. Her father had the power and authority to make her life miserable, so she had to accommodate him.
She got to her feet and smoothed her skirts, forcing a smile onto her face. “I’m sure it will be lovely having Lady Trevet here with us,” she said.
Her father gave her a suspicious look. “It will if you know what’s good for you,” he said. “Remember what we discussed. You are to treat her politely—affectionately, even, for she is your mother now.”
She is not my mother and never will be.Laura Trevet was only about ten years older than Violet. The two had met a handful of times, and there had been no affection whatsoever between the two of them, no matter how strongly her father mighthave wished to make it so. Violet had never been very good at pretense, unfortunately. Perhaps her father would have liked her better if she were. As for Miss Trevet, she made no attempt to disguise the fact that she disliked the fact that her husband-to-be had a daughter.
Though she ought to be happy with what she can get. For a woman of her station to marry a viscount is a rare thing.
Violet shook her head at herself. Such thoughts were beneath her. She took no issue with her father marrying a commoner. It wasn’t her station in society that made her unworthy of this marriage. It was her character. Her air of entitlement. The way she walked into every situation as though she belonged there—and nobody else did.
She still recalled the day they had first met. Her father had brought Miss Trevet over to the house for dinner, accompanied by her cousin. The cousin had been silent the whole time, watching, taking things in without making any comments. It was Miss Trevet who had done most of the talking, though not at all to Violet, who she had all but ignored. She had ordered the servants around, made remarks about the food not being up to her standards, and given advice on the decor that nobody had asked for. Somehow, her father had not been put off by the whole thing—indeed, he’d spent the night smiling from ear to ear, as if this was something he wanted.
Well, she is very pretty. And he probably never believed he would marry again, after the death of my mother. He must love her. It’s the only thing that makes sense…though I’d besurprised if her feelings for him are as strong. I’m more willing to believe that she’s in this for social advancement than for love.
“Ah,” her father said, turning away at the sound of a knock at the door. “That’s her now. Remember not to shame me in any way, Violet.” He strode out into the foyer to greet their guest, leaving Violet alone in the sitting room. She knew her father would likely have wanted her to go along, to say good morning to the woman who was to be joining their family, but he hadn’t asked for that. If he wasn’t going to ask, she wasn’t going to feel compelled to offer.
She returned to her seat instead and picked up the book she had been reading. A moment later, she heard the loud, shrill tones of Miss Trevet’s voice coming from the foyer, drawing closer. She steeled her nerves. She would have to get through this—there was no alternative.
She kept her head down as the footsteps of her father and Miss Trevet entered the room. They stopped walking. Their voices stopped, too, and an air of expectation settled around Violet. She couldn’t help feeling that the two of them were waiting for something.
Well, she wouldn’t give it to them. They could speak to her first, or, preferably, not at all. She had done nothing wrong to either of them.
It was Miss Trevet who broke the silence, in her usual imperious tone. “Andrew,” she said sharply, “I thought you and I had discussed this. I thought we had come to an agreement.”
“We—well, we have.”
“And so what is she still doing here?” Miss Trevet demanded.
Violet’s head rose at that—it was impossible, now to pretend she wasn’t listening. “Are you speaking of me?”
“Of course we’re speaking of you,” Miss Trevet said disdainfully. “Who else did you think we might have been discussing? And perhaps you can answer the question, if your father is unable to do so. What are you still doing here?”
“I live here.” Violet was mystified. “And for that matter, Miss Trevet, you do not yer call this house your home, so to question my presence seems a bit much.”
“I will be lady of the house before long,” Miss Trevet said. “Andrew—I can’t understand this. You and I did have an agreement. Am I to believe you aren’t good for your word?”
“Violet,” her father said, “you and I had better talk.”
“Yes, I think that would be wise,” Violet agreed, doing her best to hide the way her heart was pounding. She didn’t want him to know that she was nervous, that Miss Trevet’s words had had the desired effect on her. She set her book aside, rose from her chair, and went to her father.
Miss Trevet stayed where she was.
Violet refused to so much as look in her direction. “Father,” she said, “if you wish to have a discussion with me then let us take it somewhere private. I know you and Miss Trevet are to be married, but at present she is not a part of our family. If you have made a promise to her that I need to know about, you owe it to me to tell me privately.”
Her father scowled. “I don’t know how you can speak about me owing you anything. Haven’t I given you everything you have? I’ve fed you and kept you all your life—well beyond when I should have been able to see you married to someone who would take you off my hands, by the way.”
