Page 13 of The Lady's Last Mistake
“If you aren’t going to marry,” Genie had recently told her, “you will need to do something with your time and energy.”
Cassie had bit her tongue. Telling her about Hope House was not an option. Genie was loyal to Michael and asking her to keep from him something as significant as that would have been a cruel request. Most likely, Genie would have supported the endeavor in theory. She would see the good itcould do. But to be a lady of the peerage, working in the poorest parts of London, and with ruined women, was nothing short of a reputational suicide.
That was, of course, a threat that Cassie had become accustomed to. It didn’t faze her as much as it might other ladies, like her friends Marianna and Jane, the latter of which had latched onto Michael’s mission to convince her to marry. At least once a week, Jane would join Cassie and Genie at Violet House for tea with some new invitation to extend to Cassie, where she might meet a suitable man. The morning after Grant Thornton’s discovery of her at Hope House, Cassie nearly sent her regrets to Genie for their weekly tea. But then, Jane would only come by Grosvenor Square after. So, she’d put down her head and vowed to get through the hour-long visit.
She’d slept wretchedly the previous night, beleaguered by thoughts of Lord Thornton. All night, she’d vacillated between spiraling dread that he would tell someone—probably Hugh—and crackling fury for his anger with her. The despot had no right to order her about! His command to stay away from Dorie had only made her more eager to care for the poor woman. She was ill. She needed help. What made Cassie more important than Mabel or Elyse? Why should she be shielded from potential sickness but not them?
She must have been wearing her simmering impatience on her expression, for the moment Jane sat across from her at the table in Genie’s morning room, she pleated her brow.
“Why are you scowling at me?”
Cassie snapped to attention. “I’m not scowling.”
Genie spread a napkin in her lap and signaled to the maidfor tea. “You most definitely are, dear. Is something on your mind?”
She took her napkin and fiddled with it. “I’m just not feeling well.”
Genie and Jane both arched their brows and peered at each other knowingly. Right away, Cassie knew she’d used that excuse for the last time. Headaches and stomach malaises could only be employed sparingly.
“You’re not feeling social, is what you mean to say,” Jane said.
Cassie kept her lips sealed. To agree would be rude; to deny it would not be believed.
“I do have some things on my mind, as it happens,” she said.
Genie brightened with interest. “Oh?”
“Last week’s lecture at the Lyceum,” she said, “on lepidopterology.”
Jane’s eyes sprang wide. “Leprosy?”
“No, lepidopterology. The study of butterflies.”
Her friend folded her hands in her lap. “Why do butterflies have you concerned?”
Cassie had not attended the lecture as she’d told Genie the week before, when her sister-in-law had caught her preparing to leave for the day. But it was the only thing she had been able to think of just now while the two women had been staring her down. Her every thought and concern seemed to revolve around Hope House and the work there, making it difficult to find anything substantive to say during these teas and luncheons.
“Well,” she said, attempting to find an answer to Jane’s question. “Some are becoming extinct.”
Jane narrowed her eyes in skepticism, but the maid returned with the tea service. Cassie silently thanked her for her excellent timing.
“There you are, darling!”
Michael appeared within the morning room’s open door, just behind the maid. An alarmingly pleased grin stretched his mouth. Cassie frowned. She’d never seen him smile like that. Gracious, had his teeth always been that big?
“Will you join us for tea?” Genie asked.
When a gentleman entered the room after Michael, Cassie smothered a groan.
“I’m afraid not, I only wanted to stop in and introduce a friend,” Michael said, his attention swerving toward Cassie. She met it with a flat stare.
Her brother ignored it and introduced Mr. Alaric Forsythe. Jane and Genie were perfectly amiable as they greeted the son of the Baron Forsythe, who was, Cassie admitted, somewhat handsome and without a single gray hair or wrinkle. Compared to a few other gentlemen Michael had gone out of his way to introduce her to, Mr. Forsythe was a gem.
“Oh, Mr. Forsythe, you must tell us all about your time to Egypt,” Genie said as soon as Michael announced he was just back from a stay of six months.
Mr. Forsythe bowed and, with a bashful smile, said he would love to. “However, you might find my account tedious. I spent most of my time in Cairo studying artifacts.”
“Artifacts?” Cassie asked, surprised by her own question. And at her intrigue.
