hysterical note creeping into his voice. “I hate the place, and nobody ever calls there but a lot of dreary, muddy squires and their horse-faced daughters. The maids are all crones, Mama will make me go services, and Clarice will drag me around to call on half the shire. I hate Tidemarsh.”
Della marched up to Chastain. “You’d best go with Portly, for between the Dornings and the Haddonfields, we will see to it that you will never again gamble in London. You will never again be admitted to a gentleman’s club, where you can prey on unsuspecting young fellows just down from university. You sought to sully the honor of widows, schoolboys, and those like myself, who suffer simple human failings. Be off with you.”
When Chastain simply stood before her, gaping and blinking, she served him a whacking good crack to his cheek, the sound particularly satisfying because it was followed by Chastain’s whimpering.
“You…” he said, his hand to his cheek. “You struck me. You slapped me. You…” He sniffed, he blinked, a tear rolled down his cheek. “Portly, see me to my room.”
Chastain tried to make a dash for the door, but Ash stepped in front of him. “What you tried to do to my wife was much more devastating than the single, well-deserved blow she just delivered. If I hear of you ever so much as glancing at another woman inappropriately, you will die slowly, painfully, and without the masculine organs you’ve indulged indiscriminately thus far.”
Sycamore came up on Chastain’s other side. “And if I hear that you are so much as playing Patience for farthing points with the footmen, I will take up where my brother leaves off, with compliments of Lady Tavistock and her step-son.”
Chastain looked as if he truly would be sick, while Ash was feeling, at least for the moment, quite in the pink.
“Take him away,” Ash said to Portly, “and see that he’s off the premises before sunrise.”
Portly nodded, took Chastain by the arm, and dragged him toward the door. “Come along, William. Clarice will be very disappointed in you, and you’d best reconcile yourself to doing a great deal of groveling over the next few years.”
“Years? Years, Portly?”
“Decades, if you are lucky, but one doesn’t hold out much hope you’ll live to see a peaceful old age.”
Sycamore closed the door behind them. “No, one doesn’t, but I just can’t seem to muster any sorrow when I contemplate a world without William Chastain in it.”
“Damn your skinny arse,” Ash said, crossing the library to drag Sycamore into a hug. “By God, Sycamore, you make a very fine second. The bit with the ice bucket was grand, and the list—you cheat at cards, you cheat the trades, you’ve already cheated on your wife—Drury Lane lost a fine actor when you decided to run the Coventry.” He scrubbed his knuckles over Cam’s crown for good measure, then let him go.
“That was great fun,” Sycamore said, brushing his fingers over his hair. “Serious, but fun. I predict by spring Chastain will have bolted for America. His father will either put him on remittance, or the colonials will do him in. I am off to bed, for this has been the most exhausting, interesting, trying house party I can recall attending.”
Della kissed his cheek. “We leave for Dorning Hall after breakfast. Be packed, or we will wait for you.”
He bowed, smiling bashfully. “You need not convince me to leave this place. I’ll see you in the morning.” He sauntered out the door, though Ash suspected Sycamore would not go straight up to bed. A night cap with the marchioness might yet await him.
And finally, at long last, Ash was alone with his wife. Della came to him, wrapped her arms about his waist, and gave him her weight.
“Did you mean it?” he asked, gathering her close. “You will put the whole business in writing to Chastain’s mother?”
“Yes, and I will send a letter to my brother Nicholas too. He has no idea about my panics. Only George does, and he has kept my confidences.”
A letter was a way to start, though Ash suspected the Haddonfields would find news of Della’s malady a difficult surprise. Too bloody bad, because Della deserved their support and compassion, and her husband was determined that she should have it.
“Will you take me to bed, Della?”
“I will join you in bed,” Della said, stepping back to take Ash’s hand and lead him toward the door. “This was hard for you, wasn’t it?”