Page 41 of The Lady's Last Mistake
Grant ignored the warning. “Is your wife in labor yet?”
James had seen through that question too. “Don’t hinge all your hope on my child being a boy. You’ll only be disappointed.”
Grant knew it wasn’t wise to bargain everything on that child. But last Saturday, Mr. Mansouri’s visit with Amir had only demonstrated just how essential the clinic was. Without proper cleaning and sutures and bandaging, Amir’s wound would have become infected. In the end, he could have lost his leg. Or his life.
Cassie set her unfinished glass of champagne on a tray held by another statue servant, this one liveried in all red, with a tomato-colored wig and matching red powder on his face.
“Hope House doesn’t need a benefactress,” she said without meeting his gaze. “I have enough to keep it afloat.”
Grant didn’t know how much her per annum was from the duke, but the state of her ledgers had not shown thriving numbers.
“You are nearly insolvent, Cassie,” he said. At her contemptuous glare, he admitted to his snooping in her office.
“You wretched, devious, interfering man!” she exploded, drawing some interested looks from around them. Thankfully, these were the kind of people who did not mind shows of impropriety. They generally looked forward to them.
“Do you have any other colorful adjectives to sling at me, or can I introduce you to Madame Archambeau?”
He understood her upset; he’d been snooping, and it had been completely out of line. Cassie had every right to upbraid him for it, however, just then he caught sight of the benefactress standing near another sculpture. Her usual white hair, powdered light blue, was piled atop her head in a regal Marie Antoinette fashion, and her gown was an array of all the different colors of the liveried servants scattered around the gallery. She was an eccentric, and proudly so. She was also unfailingly supportive of anything society frowned upon.
Cassie crossed her arms in a huff. She wouldn’t look at him. “You had no right looking into my finances. My annuity is sufficient. I shall see a replenishment soon.”
It would be paid out to her by Fournier near her birthday, most likely. A bank note that she would then turn in for ready cash.
“You’re cutting it fine,” he commented. “I sorely hope you weren’t considering approaching a moneylender to tide you over.”
She all but gnashed her teeth at him. “I am not that foolish, Lord Thornton.”
The use of his title exposed her frustration. He exhaled and vowed not to rile her further.
“Just let me introduce you to Madame Archambeau.” He held out his arm, and she shifted her jaw before assenting with a stiff nod.
Had the older woman been interested in men, he might have planned to charm her into funding the free clinic. But as it was common knowledge that her chosen companion was Miss Stone, who was never far from her side, Grant couldn’t employ that tactic to his advantage. No, if she was going tolend her assistance, he would have to appeal to her based on the value of the charity alone.
At their approach, Madame Archambeau’s mouth twitched into a curious grin.
“My, my, Lord Thornton. It has been ages since I’ve seen you at one of my exhibitions,” she said, casting aside the conversation she’d been having with another guest.
“Madame,” Grant said, sketching a bow. Then also bowed to her companion, who wore a far more understated gown. “Miss Stone, it’s a pleasure.”
She was the unmarried daughter of a gentry landholder, about ten years Madame Archambeau’s junior, and almost completely devoid of facial expressions. How someone so serious and bland could have captured the affection of one of the demimonde’s most eccentric personalities was a mystery. On the surface, they appeared to be complete opposites.
“And who is this magnificent creature on your arm, Thornton?” Madame Archambeau inquired, turning her interest toward Cassie.
He was nearly certain the woman already knew but made the proper introduction just the same.
“Ah, yes, Lady Cassandra of the three waltzes,” she said with a fanciful wave of her gloved fingers. She turned toward Miss Stone. “It seems our wayward physician has stumbled out of the dark wood and found his way onto a well-trodden road at last.”
Cassie’s arm stiffened around his. Being likened to a “well-trodden road” could certainly come across as an insult, though he was rather hoping Madame Archambeau was referring to the road many take toward marriage.
“What fortunate artist has convinced you to display theirsculptures tonight?” Grant asked to redirect the conversation.
“Miss Constance Plumly. Isn’t her work divine? I can introduce you if you like.”
While he’d enjoyed seeing Cassie blush at the erotic sculpture, the art had not been his reason for attending tonight.
“Is it all…” Cassie began to say as she peered toward the closest statue. That one, carved of alabaster, resembled a lily, however the closer Grant looked, the more it appeared to be a representation of the female genitalia.
“All what, my lady?” Madame Archambeau said with a knowing smirk. “Indecent?”
