Page 19 of Intolerable
“That is probably correct,” he said with a laugh. “No managing mama for you, however. That alone ought to make you the most popular young lady this Season. Being the daughter of a duke doesn’t hurt.”
In her case, it did. “My father doesn’t intimidate you?”
Glastonbury lifted a well-muscled shoulder. “Not particularly, but I have more relatives than I can count on both hands, so I’ve learned to be amenable to everyone.”
Cassandra didn’t know anything about his family, other than his father was dead since Glastonbury now held the primary title. “Is your family here in town?”
His eyes widened briefly in alarm. “Thankfully, no. That would be most distracting. They prefer Wiltshire, fortunately.”
He sounded relieved, but Cassandra thought a large family sounded rather nice. “I imagine it isn’t dull,” she said. “Perhaps you’ll tell me about them some time.”
“That will bore you beyond measure. When next we dance, I’ll tell you about my great-aunt Flora and her pursuit of drying plants and flowers. Yes, she took her name most seriously as a young girl.”
Cassandra laughed. “That doesn’t sound tedious at all. She sounds charming.”
“Oh, yes, quite. Right up until you find flowers drying underneath your mattress and in nearly every book in the library. And not interesting or unique specimens, mind you, but hundreds of ordinary violets.”
“I’m afraid I’m still charmed.”
Now, he let out a short laugh. Then his gaze settled on hers. “There is more to you than one expects, I think,” he said softly.
Cassandra wasn’t sure how to take that. “What does one expect?”
“I’m terribly sorry, but you must excuse me. I see someone I must speak with and then it’s on to the next engagement, I’m afraid. Perhaps I’ll see you in the park this week since the weather is so pleasant?” He bowed and was on his way before Cassandra could respond.
“That was a bit odd,” Cassandra remarked as she looked toward where he’d gone. He was now in conversation with an older gentleman.
“The way he left so quickly?” Prudence asked.
“And his comment about what one might expect from me.” Cassandra turned her head toward Prudence. “What could that mean? Is there some rumor about me?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Perhaps you should try to find out.” Cassandra frowned. If there was some rumor affecting her reputation, that may be the reason why she had no suitors. Here she’d thought it was her father’s fault.
What could it be? She’d behaved appropriately all Season—except for the day she and Fiona had stolen into the Phoenix Club. But no one knew about that. No one except Mrs. Renshaw, one of the club’s patronesses who’d helped them escape without being seen. And of course Wexford.
He reappeared as soon as she thought his name, his dark head visible above most others in the room. Perhaps he might be able to determine if there was a rumor about her.
“Let us go speak with Wexford,” she said to Prudence before starting in his direction.
Seeming to feel her approach, he turned his head and made eye contact. Then he walked toward them, intercepting them near the doorway.
He presented an elegant leg. “Good evening Lady Cassandra, Miss Lancaster.”
“Good evening, Lord Wexford. I’m pleased to run into you this evening. We’ve matters to discuss.”
He arched a brow. “Do we?”
She moved closer to him, keeping her voice low. “The call you paid me the other day?”
“Ah yes, that scintillating occasion when your father insulted me repeatedly.” He said this with a smile, but there was an edge to his tone that told her hehadbeen insulted. And why wouldn’t he have been? Her father had treated him awfully.
“Shall we promenade?” she asked.
“I understand there is more art displayed in the garden since it’s such a fine, warm evening. Let us investigate.” He offered her his arm.
Cassandra looked to Prudence. “Do you want to come along or wait here?”
