Page 35 of The Lady's Last Mistake
Without a word, Grant jerked his head in a terse bow as she left, admitting defeat. For the moment. The woman knew how to get under his skin and work him to a simmer. But he was not deterred. He would have his next two dances and secure the wagging of tongues across London by morning, even if he had to murder Forsythe and then stuff his body in the cloakroom to get him out of the way.
“What is it you think you are doing?”
Grant didn’t flinch this time as Hugh joined him. The viscount’s voice was low and serious.
“I merely asked the lady to dance,” Grant answered as he watched Cassie and Mr. Forsythe join the next set, which was, to Grant’s pleasure, a quadrille. Something she’d confessed to hating.
“You cannot dally with Cassandra, you idiot,” Hugh bit off.
Audrey kept a troubled eye on their conversation from where she and her sister, Lady Montague, stood with their hostess, Lady Tennenbright.
“I have no plans to.” He couldn’t dupe Cassie when she was informed of everything.
Hugh signaled a passing server and took a glass of wine. “I’ve been in Surrey too long. What is going on between the two of you?”
“I can’t share all my sordid secrets with you,” Grant said blithely, though it would not pass muster. Not with Hugh. He was entirely aware that he was on a collision course with his friend’s true anger.
“You are my closest friend, Thornton,” Hugh began. “But if you hurt Cassie, I will knock your teeth out.”
Grant split his attention from Cassie’s vexed expression as she spun in and out of line for the quadrille, changing partners here and there. He met Hugh’s unyielding stare. He was as serious as anything.
“You’re awfully protective.”
“Audrey adores her. She’s a sister to her.” Hugh took a breath, then a sip of wine. “And she’s been hurt before.”
Grant came alert, interest zinging along the back of his neck, up his scalp. “When? By whom?”
Hugh’s humorless expression changed to one of smug mischief. “I can’t share all my sordid secrets with you.”
He wasn’t amused. “What happened?”
“Not for me to say. Just mind yourself.” He started away, toward his wife. Then stopped and added, “If you aren’t serious about her, do not cross the line. I don’t want to have to be your second when Fournier calls you out.”
Chapter
Eleven
Thick curtains draped the windows in the sitting room at Hope House, blocking any natural sunlight. To protect the women from outsiders peering in, Elyse and Cassie had hung them in all the windows facing the street. It made visibility a challenge sometimes, especially when Sister Nan arrived from the church in Shadwell each week to give lessons in anything from lacemaking to darning to how to properly care for infants. Some of the women, like Caroline Rawling who already had children, didn’t need many lessons, but it did help her to stay busy. Others learned a great deal.
Cassie’s contribution was tutoring in letters and numbers. Most of the women didn’t know how to read, or did not read well, so if someone expressed an interest, Cassie helped. She’d brought some of the primers that had been boxed away in Violet House’s attics from when she was younger but had been careful to go through each to be sure there were no scribbles of names or anything that could reveal her identity. It was a precarioussituation; if anyone in society learned of her work, she’d be ridiculed and ruined. If the women here found out she was a lady, they wouldn’t trust her or feel comfortable around her. It was just the way of things. Elyse had advised her on that in the beginning, as gently as possible. She’d been right. Cassie’s privilege far outweighed that of these women, and they would feel it keenly. Hope House needed to be a place of refuge that they could trust. A place where they could be on equal footing.
Two afternoons following the Tennenbright ball, it felt more like a refuge than ever for Cassie. She’d arrived earlier than usual for the second morning in a row, in time to greet Elyse as she was returning from a birth in Stepney. It had been an all-night affair, and when Elyse came into the kitchen with dark circles under her eyes and a grimace, Cassie had quickly brought her a cup of tea.
“Was it a bad outcome?” she’d chanced asking after her friend had sipped the strong brew. At her solemn nod, Cassie reached for her arm.
“I’m sorry.” There was nothing else to be said that would make a difference. “I’ll go stoke the stove in your room while you have your tea. You need some rest.”
It was a small gesture of care, and though it didn’t feel like enough, it was all Cassie could do.
When noon arrived, ushered in by Sister Nan’s pert knock upon the back door, she had successfully avoided thinking of the ball, Lord Thornton, and their near kiss in his clinic by going through ledgers and compiling a list for the market stalls to give to Sister Agatha. The moment her mind veered toward a memory of Grant’s hand on her hip, or his thumb tugging her bottom lip as he stared covetously at it, or the unwelcome thunder bolt though her body when he’dstalked across the ballroom to ask her to dance, Cassie simply found something else to do. So, Sister Nan’s arrival was most welcome.
The older nun sat at the head of the sitting room with her knitting needles, showing Dorie and another young woman, Miranda, how to place the fragile stitches of fine cotton silk she’d brought for tatting lessons. Making lace could be a profitable endeavor for them after they returned home, or started fresh, away from their families. Caroline and Cassie sat a corner table, the primer open and a sheet of writing paper next to it.
“That’s excellent,” Cassie said as the older woman completed copying one of the sentences in the primer. “Really, you’ve a smooth hand for penmanship.”
Caroline sat back to view her work. Then placed a hand on the shelf of her round stomach. She winced.
“Is something happening?” Cassie asked. But she shook her head.
