Page 28 of A Wicked Kind of Husband

Cassandra’s cheeks burned. “Mr. DeWitt suggested that I…But I…Oh, stop laughing.”

But Arabella only straightened, her shoulders shaking with the effort to repress her mirth. The astonishing sight of Lady Hardbury laughing drew unwanted attention. It also drew Lord Hardbury, bemusement replacing his usual scowl.

“Whatever are you two up to?” he asked. “Mrs. DeWitt, you look overheated. Do you need some air?”

Too embarrassed to look at him, Cassandra seized her first opportunity to escape. “Oh, there’s Leo with Sir Gordon,” she said brightly, and hurried away from her unhelpful friend.

If her color was still high when she reached the Duke of Dammerton and Sir Gordon Bell, they were too polite to comment. After some pleasant chatter, the heat mercifully subsided, and by the time Sir Gordon bowed and moved away, she felt like herself again.

“I see you brought that dreadful husband of yours,” the duke said. “You remember what he looks like, then?”

She smiled at his good-natured teasing. “He is not really so dreadful, is he?”

“Good heart, bad manners. Better than the alternative, I always say,” he said. “I never expected to see him here at Lord and Lady Morecambe’s party, though.”

“Lord Morecambe is my uncle.”

“I know but…Lord Treyford is here, and DeWitt and his father do not get along.”

“But he won’t make a scene here.”

His Grace’s smile faltered. He started to speak, stopped, and then excused himself to talk to someone else.

Oh dear. Cassandra decided she had better go in search of her husband, although heaven knew what she was supposed to do when she found him. She nudged her way toward the balcony overlooking the main gallery, but before she could search for him, she came face to face with—

“Harry!”

“Cassandra!”

Harry Willoughby, Lord Bolderwood, looked as fair and handsome as the day they got engaged, three years ago now. His purse may be suffering, but his face, at least, betrayed no ill effects of his marriage to—

“Do introduce us, Harry, my sweet.”

“My wife, Phyllis, Lady Bolderwood.”

The tips of Harry’s ears turned pink and he didn’t meet Cassandra’s eye. The two ladies subtly inspected each other. Lady Bolderwood’s blue silk gown was elaborate and expensive, but her only adornment was a ribbon around her throat. Cassandra caught herself fingering the rubies at her own throat and hastily dropped her hand. She decided that, whatever Arabella said, Lady Bolderwoodwaspretty, and they made an ideal couple, and Cassandra was a big enough person to wish them well.

Besides, seeing Harry again confirmed that she hadn’t a shred of feeling left for him. How odd love and romance were. Once, his attentions had left her giddy with delight and his kisses had thrilled her. Now, the idea of kissing him seemed ridiculous, whereas the idea of kissing her husband seemed…

Also ridiculous. For he was dreadful and she disliked him and he had made that depraved suggestion.

What about these two? Did they do that thing that Mr. DeWitt wanted? And how did they…Did she…Or did he…? Oh heavens, was she to spend all night wondering such things about her fellow guests?

The rout took on rather a different appearance.

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Lady Bolderwood,” she said graciously.

“Everyone is thrilled to see you in town, Mrs. DeWitt,” that lady said. “Rumor was your husband kept you hidden away so you could not curtail his…excesses.”

Maybe Arabella was right, and Lady Bolderwood wasn’t very pretty after all.

“The only excess I observe in my husband is his excessive generosity,” Cassandra said.

Harry snorted. “He can afford to be generous. Just don’t ask where he gets his money from.”

“Do you refer to the Belgian investment, Lord Bolderwood?” Cassandra said. “I do hope you aren’t going to punch him over it again.”

“Baltic investment,” Harry corrected her absently. “And that’s not the half of it.”

---