Page 96 of A Wicked Kind of Husband

Newell played his card. Cassandra considered her own hand. Isaac poured a drink. Joshua chewed on a piece of candied lemon. Emily hunched her shoulders and whispered, “Your turn, Lu.”

Lucy did not even look at her cards.

“I spent hours practicing my curtsy and waltz today,” Lucy said brightly. “My poor legs aresotired. A lotion would relieve them, if I could find someone to rub it in.”

Isaac coughed and tossed back his drink. Joshua poked through the nuts in search of one he liked. No one said a word.

Until Lucy started to talk again, and Cassandra cut her off.

“How was your visit to the boys’ home?” Cassandra asked. “Did you see Martin? Has he learned how to fly?”

Joshua did not turn around, because he still had not found a suitable nut, and he could not answer questions about dead boys if he did not have a suitable nut.

Isaac stepped in to fill the silence, talking as he poured another drink. “We have four alibis now, which Sir G. has verified. Tomorrow we’ll get a statement from the woman whom Joshua visits, and then it is all done.”

Oh hell. Oh bloody, bloody hell.

Isaac’s words ricocheted around the room like an echo in a tomb, and left a cold, still silence in their wake.

Moving so slowly that he almost creaked, Joshua turned around.

Cassandra was studying her cards intently, tapping a finger on her lips as though she faced a life-or-death decision. Newell wore a pained smile, and Emily, who was so sensitive to atmosphere the Navy could hire her as a barometer, looked ready to shatter.

Only Lucy seemed happy.

“The woman whom Joshua visits?” she repeated. “What woman?”

“Did I say ‘woman’?” Isaac said hurriedly. “I meant ‘wombat’, which is an odd badger-like animal found in the colony of New South Wales. There’s a specimen at the Royal Society, did you know? Dead, of course, but most things at the Royal Society are. So, wombat. Only a wombat. Ignore what I say. I’m just a drunken sailor.” He gulped his brandy. “See? Drunken sailor.” He poured and gulped another.

“Do tell us about this woman,” Lucy said. “She sounds most intriguing. Joshua, is this woman—”

“Lucy! Enough!” Cassandra slapped the card table, which was not sturdy enough to withstand a battle between the Lightwell sisters, for it shook and shuddered and Lucy’s sherry tumbled over. Newell rushed to clean up the spill; Cassandra and Lucy, eyes locked on each other, did not even notice. “For one blessed moment in your life, can you have enough regard for others to quell your need to be the center of attention.”

The two sisters stared at each other like hissing cats. No one else moved, but for Newell mopping up the sherry.

Then Cassandra sat back in her chair, considered her cards, and said, “It’s your turn, Lucy.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and sat back too. “Marriage changed you, Mother Cassandra.” She tossed a card onto the pile. “You’re no fun any more.”

“I was never much fun. You and Miranda were always the fun ones, making trouble and taking attention.”

“So you’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

All the while, she had not looked at him. She did not look at him now.

Joshua tossed a walnut from hand to hand and Cassandra kept on not looking at him.

They played on in silence, without Lucy trying to provoke a scandal, or Isaac talking about Joshua visiting women, or anyone asking awkward questions about dead boys or fathers’ mistresses.

As soon as the last card hit the pile, Lucy rose and shook out her skirts.

“I need my rest,” she said. “It’s such hard work, being the center of attention.” She glared at Cassandra. “I shall be spectacular at the ball, you’ll see, and the day I go to live with Grandmother will be the best day of my life.”

“Mine too. I shall hold my own ball to celebrate the fact that you are gone.”

Lucy tossed her head and stalked out.

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