Page 86 of The Lady's Last Mistake
With a defeated sigh, Tris slapped his cap back on his head. “I’ll go out to the horses, my lady.”
He left the kitchen, and Cassie locked the door behind him. She felt Grant’s eyes on her back as she went to the stove.
“Tea?” she asked. When she picked up the kettle, her hand shook. Maybe from exhaustion or frustration. Or simply because they were alone.
“No, thank you.” He joined her at the stove. There was something he wanted to say. She could feel it. Though, she knew it would not be about tonight’s altercation, nor about Isabel or Mr. Youngdale.
She set the kettle down and blurted out, “I’m going to tell him.”
Grant frowned. “Tell who, what?”
“My brother. About Hope House and Jane Banks and that I’ve made my choice, and he can either support me or he can turn his back on me.” She dragged in a breath, suddenly short on it.
Grant cocked his head. “That is a bold move.”
It was. It also meant that it no longer mattered if he followed through with his threat.
“Cassie,” he began. She could not think of another way to stall him. “I’m an uncle again. James has a son.”
She stepped away from the stove, and from him. Her fingers twisted together as she floundered for what to say. There was only one acceptable thing. “That is wonderful.”
“It is,” he agreed.
She kept her back to him, her eyes burning all the sudden.
“The marquess will retract his ultimatum now, I imagine. You must be relieved. You’ve gotten what you hoped for.” She didn’t mean for it to sound bitter. Bitter wasn’t what she was feeling at all.
“That was the hope,” he said, agreeing again. It was getting on her nerves.
Cassie turned, stiffening her neck and shoulders. But she could not quite look him in the eye. “I will tell my brother that he no longer needs to discuss matters with you. And you can inform your family that I’ve cried off. Now that this charade is over, it would be best if we did not see each other again?—”
“Cassie.” He took a stride toward her. She backed up a step to compensate. Grant stopped and held still.
“As for Isabel,” she said. “Can I trust that you will take care of arrangements for her?”
Though she was still unable to look him in the eye, she felt his answering glower. “Of course. But there is no reason for such finality.”
“There is. You know there is.” She closed her stinging eyes, resolved to not let one singular tear slip free. “I haven’t been myself, and now, with Madame Archambeau’s support, there is so much to do. I need to get back to what matters most, and that’s Hope House. Please, Grant. Please go.”
He didn’t move. Not for several breaths. Not until she turned to the side and continued to refuse to look at him. From her peripheral vision, she saw him go to the door. He reached for the handle. Then paused.
“I was never going to tell your brother. I lied to you to getwhat I wanted. I used you. I said I was nothing like Renfry, but I am.”
Cassie whirled toward him, ready to refute that, but he held up his hand.
“At least do the me honor of despising me as much as I despise myself. I deserve no less, and it will make things more bearable for us both.” He opened the door. “Goodbye, Lady Cassandra.”
The door closed behind him, and Cassie’s legs folded. All strength depleted, she collapsed into a chair and wept.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
It was Christmas Eve, and as with most December twenty-fourths, Grant spent the bulk of it dreading the marquess’s annual fireside dinner. It was the one sentimental tradition his father had kept from the time Grant’s mother had been alive.
Though he’d been young when she’d passed, he still recalled how the servants would decorate the drawing room, dressing the hearth and mantel with greens and ribbons and pinecones, and how instead of dining around a table in any formal way, they would eat as they would a picnic, with plates on their laps or on small folding tables. It was always a messy affair, but Grant’s mother had thought it cozy and rustic and good fun. The marquess must have enjoyed it too, though he hardly ever let on that he remotely enjoyed anything at all.
However, this Christmas Eve, Lord Lindstrom was as chipper as a schoolboy, and all in thanks to the arrival of the grandson he’d been impatiently waiting for.
