Page 1 of The Lady's Last Mistake
Chapter
One
December 1823
Cassie sipped her second glass of champagne as she peered through the fronds of a potted palm. The ballroom had been a crush when she’d arrived, and yet somehow, he’d still spotted her. Mr. Hunt was here, somewhere, and if she valued her sanity, she needed to avoid him.
This ball was an unmitigated disaster. She had expected no less, since nothing good ever came of anything associated with Lady Minerva Dutton. The woman was brash, unyielding, and an incurable gossip, and no event she hosted ever concluded without at least one debutante erupting into tears. It was rather unfortunate then, when Cassie’s good friend Marianna had accepted the hand of the dowager viscountess’s youngest son.
“I told you not to marry him,” Cassie said to a ratherweepy Marianna. Her dragon of a mother-in-law had just roundly criticized her, saying she looked like an overripe tomato in her gown.
Marianna sniffled. “But Gerald is sweet. He is nothing like his mother.”
Her husband might not have been conniving or cruel, but he was terribly dull. Which Cassie thought might be worse.
“If you say so,” she replied, her gaze still scouring the crowd.
“You’re looking for Mr. Hunt, aren’t you?”
“I am not looking for him, I amwatchingfor him. There is a difference.”
Had she known that Mr. Horace Hunt would be in attendance and would descend like a hawk upon her arrival, she would have given her regrets. She hadn’t wished to attend the ball in the first place. But Marianna’s increasingly desperate pleas had swayed her. The poor girl was terrified of her mother-in-law. So was Gerald, leaving them both little more than quivery lumps of nerves whenever forced to be in the dowager viscountess’s company. What Cassie’s presence could do to shield them was not entirely clear; Marianna had clung to her arm all evening, and Lady Dutton had still closed in for a smattering of verbal cuts. Gerald, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found.
What a hero.
“Mr. Hunt isn’t so bad,” Marianna said, joining Cassie in her perusal of the evening’s guests through the green fronds. It seemed all of London was here. “He reminds me of a river otter.”
Cassie lowered her champagne. “How is thatnot so bad?”
“River otters are adorable little creatures!”
Cassie sighed and finished the last of her champagne. Her older brother, Michael, the Duke of Fournier, had introduced her to Mr. Hunt the previous week while strolling through Hyde Park. Michael had arrived at his former Grosvenor Square home, which Cassie now occupied, and suggested a brisk walk. She’d been suspicious and had considered giving an excuse that she was on her way out. However, Michael might have asked her destination, and she wasn’t prepared with a good lie.
She certainly could not tell him the truth.
So, she’d gone for the stroll, and there Mr. Hunt had been, waiting by the steely gray Serpentine. The two men had pretended surprise at running into one another, but Michael was a horrible actor, and Mr. Hunt even more atrocious. Her brother had not yet given up in his quest to find her a suitable husband, and it seemed every time she requested that he stop, he lost the ability to hear. Tonight, Mr. Hunt had swept up to her and declared his intention to have her first dance of the evening. Her swift fib that she was not dancing due to a twisted ankle had not deterred him. Instead, he’d asked for the honor of fetching her some punch. When he’d gone for the refreshments table, Cassie slipped away. She’d been avoiding him ever since.
Marianna clutched her arm. “Don’t turn your head, but there is a man who keeps looking at you.”
“If it is Mr. Hunt, I am climbing into this plant and living there forever. Send my belongings.”
“No, no, it’s not him. This man is different. He’s handsome.Quitehandsome,” she said a little too breathily. “It is one of Lord Lindstrom’s sons if I’m not mistaken.”
Cassie’s spine went rigid. “Which one?”
“I have no idea. They all look alike.”
Slowly, Cassie glimpsed over her shoulder and through the palm fronds. The man Marianna had noticed stood a good head taller than the other men in the ballroom. His broad shoulders filled out the black superfine of his jacket with irritating precision when compared to the artful looseness of his cravat. Thick midnight black hair fell forward over his brow, reaching toward pale green eyes that had already spied her behind the potted palm. He formed a sly grin and tipped his drink to her in acknowledgement.
She immediately turned her back. “Blast.”
“Do you know the gentleman?” Marianna asked, still staring at him in open admiration.
“Unfortunately. It is the Marquess of Lindstrom’s fourth son, Lord Grant Thornton.”
It had been nearly two years since she’d last seen him, and as always, there had been friction between them. They’d been at Lord and Lady Neatham’s home on Berkeley Square during the birth of Hugh and Audrey’s first child. Lord Thornton had been there to support his closest friend, and as Audrey’s former sister-in-law, Cassie had been there too. Seeing Audrey and Hugh hold their little girl for the first time had brought tears to her eyes. However, it wasn’t until she’d slipped away into the small morning room that she’d allowed the veil of joy to drop, and the sobs to take over. After a few ugly wails, drawn up as if from the pit of her soul, a throat had cleared.
“If those are tears of happiness, I do not want to imagine what your tears of sorrow must sound like.”
