TheWifeTrap by Unknown

opened O’Brien’s reply.
    Bold and rich as the lyrical timber of his voice, his words flowed
across the page…
    Lady Jeannette,
    I hope you enjoyed your extra rest this morning. Now that
you’ve had it, return what belongs to me. If you do so immediately, we’ll say
no more on the matter. If the plans are not in my possession by the end of the
day, I promise your days will henceforth begin very early indeed.
    Your Servant,
    O’Brien
     
    Beast,
she thought, crushing the vellum in her hand.
Trying to bully her, was he? Well, it wasn’t going to work.
    Or was it?
    She chewed the corner of her lip and thought of the long, thick
roll of architectural drawings hidden beneath the armoire. Should she give them
back?
    Closing her eyes, she listened to the lovely silence outside. How
could she give that up? Although when she considered it, she supposed her
solution was only a temporary one at best.
    Obviously he was quite angry.
    But without the plans, what could he do? Besides, his workers must
be enjoying the day off. Who was she to deny them their pleasure?
    Buoyed by the idea, she smiled. Let them have today and one more
morning besides. Tomorrow—after nine—she would have Betsy return the plans.
    Until then, she was going to savor the quiet.
    Despite her resolve, she decided it might be wisest to avoid
contact with Mr. O’Brien for the next day or so. A journey away from the house,
she mused, would be just the thing. Not only would it put her out of trouble’s
potential path but it would help alleviate the constant boredom from which she
suffered here in the Irish wilderness.
    With a little coaxing and several encouraging smiles, she jollied
Wilda into ordering the carriage so the two of them could drive into Inistioge.
Excited just to be out of the house, she entered the village in an optimistic
mood. Quaint and charmingly pretty, the little town was settled around a
square, many of the buildings quite old, their origin dating all the way back
to Norman times, or so Wilda informed her. A shame Violet couldn’t see the
place; her history-loving twin would have been in raptures.
    Yet attractive as the village might be, it was still only a
village. Having grown used to the immense array of goods available in London,
she found the shops sadly devoid of stock, not even up to the standard of the
English villages near Papa’s estate in Surrey.
    The local millinery sported a miserable selection of ribbons and
one of the ugliest groupings of bonnets she had ever seen. She had no better
luck at the village dressmakers, where the fashion book the proprietress
shuffled out contained patterns nearly two years out of date!
    Still, in the end she managed to come away with some beautiful
Irish lace, hand-crocheted by the nuns from a nearby convent. She purchased
several lengths that she planned to give as little gifts to her sister and
several female friends.
    Just about the time they were ready to leave for home, Wilda
spotted a pair of acquaintances, and Jeannette soon found herself invited to
share tea and a strong-tasting local confection, known as porter cake, in the
company of her cousin’s chatty friends.
    Evening was settling over the horizon when the carriage pulled
into the main drive at Brambleberry Hall. Due to the advanced hour, dinner
needed to be delayed, Wilda sending word to the kitchen about the last-minute
change. Cuthbert, as usual, was buried somewhere among his plants and research
and would barely notice the change, Wilda assured her with an affectionate
sigh. Wilda would send one of the footmen to collect dear Bertie at the
appropriate moment.
    Upstairs in her bedchamber, Jeannette drew off her bonnet and
gloves, then moved to show Betsy her purchases. Her mood indulgent, she decided
to give her maid a yard of the lace. “You can use it to trim a new hat or maybe
one of your best dresses.”
    “Oh, thank you ever so much, my lady,” Betsy declared, smiling as
she admired the delicate workmanship of the