Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,117
out to me on many occasions, we do not treat women justly. We expect a great deal too much or else a great deal too little, and we judge them far more harshly than we judge men. This is so. But this is the way of the world, child, and that I cannot change.”
She only nodded. Her throat hurt. She’d wept once already and couldn’t bear to do it again. She did not want pity or even sympathy. He’d given her understanding, and that was more than enough.
“So.” He bowed his head and studied the floor for a time.
She waited.
He looked up. “Do you truly love the rakehell?”
“Yes. That’s why I went to his house. To tell him so.”
“And I daresay you believe he’s reformed.”
She considered. “To a point. He’s in the process, at any rate.”
“But enough to be acceptable.”
“Yes.” She wanted to tell him about Bleeding Heart Yard, but her father had had enough upheaval for one day. Another time. Maybe in a year or two.
“You know, my dear, I only wish for you to be happy. I fear you will be hurt.”
“Papa.” She let out a small sigh. “Really. Do consider. Of the two of us, who is more likely to be hurt, in the event Ashmont behaves badly?”
“Promise me,” he said. “Promise me you will not suffer him to show you any less regard than I show your mother. Promise me.”
She smiled. “That’s an exceedingly high standard.”
“It’s the only standard I can tolerate. Promise.”
“I promise, Papa.”
“Very well. You may send him to me. I might as well try to accomplish something while your mother does whatever it is she means to do.”
“You don’t know, Papa?”
He lifted his shoulders. “You know as much as I do. Yet I find myself feeling, quite strongly, that I would not be in Lady Bartham’s shoes this day, for any consideration.”
It did not occur to Lady Bartham that Cassandra Pomfret would do the sensible thing and admit her shocking behavior to family members. Being everything but straightforward herself, the countess failed to imagine any other route but guilty secrecy.
She was enjoying the picture her mind painted, of the rebellious hoyden suffering in silence, squirming in shame and misery, when a servant told her that Lady deGriffith had called and wished to see her.
She had a moment’s instinctive alarm, that the lady had come on her daughter’s business. But this was so unlikely as to be laughable. Meanwhile, the prospect of carrying on a conversation with her dear friend, all the while privately chortling over what she knew and what she’d done and the power she held over the family, was too delicious to resist.
She found her friend waiting in the entrance hall, having declined to be taken to the drawing room.
After the usual exchange of greetings, Lady deGriffith invited her to drive out with her.
“Drive?” said Lady Bartham.
“A turn in the park. I realize you will wish to prepare to dine at Lady Jersey’s tonight, but it’s early yet, and I shan’t make a great claim on your time.” Lady deGriffith lowered her voice. “I wish to consult you on a delicate matter.”
Delicate matters were Lady Bartham’s stock-in-trade, and this was irresistible: more secrets to do with Lord deGriffith’s family. Her cup overflowed.
She sent for her hat and shawl, and in short order she sat in her friend’s barouche, en route to Hyde Park.
They passed the first few minutes of the journey in ordinary chitchat, as etiquette required. Lady deGriffith talked about her weekly tea with her sisters. She would miss these gatherings, she said, when the family returned to Hertfordshire after Parliament rose. But then, she had other family get-togethers to look forward to in the autumn and winter.
Lady Bartham didn’t hurry her to the point. She had plenty to entertain her: what she knew and what Lady deGriffith didn’t. The future, when all her friend’s schemes would explode right under her nose, and her daughters would return to Hertfordshire husbandless. That was only the beginning of the countess’s happy fantasies.
“But to the business that brought me here,” Lady deGriffith said. “A painful business, I am sorry to say.”
“I pray you will not hesitate to tell me. What are friends for?”
“What, indeed? We have known each other for how long, my dear?”
“Why, we were girls together at Miss Biddleton’s School for Young Ladies.”
“So we were. It’s for the sake of that long friendship that I called on you today. About my daughter.”
Lady Bartham felt a momentary uncertainty, a prickling of concern,