Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,64

unexpectedly upon her chance for revenge, with no effort whatsoever, made it all the more delightful.

She put on her best commiserating face. To her disappointment, Lady deGriffith didn’t crumple. On the contrary, she sat straighter and smiled and said, “Well, well, young men can be so insistent, can they not? But as one would expect, the duke spoke to Lord deGriffith immediately when they returned.”

“Spoke?”

“Naturally, you had no way of knowing matters had progressed so far,” Lady deGriffith said. “As it turns out, you were right about the flirtation at the fancy fair. I had no idea, and Cassandra is the last girl on earth to boast of her conquests.”

I should hope so, Lady Bartham thought, the girl having none to boast of. She said, “Indeed, she is only the second gentlewoman he’s ever pursued, to my knowledge. As I understand it, the first one took him months. He has known Miss Pomfret, what? A few days? Or perhaps they are better acquainted than I realized.”

“Oh, they’ve known each other this age,” said her friend. “Since childhood. They met at Camberley Place on several occasions over the years. Still, it seems to have grown serious quite suddenly.” She shook her head. “These impetuous young men. How is one to withstand them? And a duke, no less. Accustomed to having his own way and willing to give whatever is necessary to get it.”

Without mentioning anything so vulgar as money, she reminded Lady Bartham how very much of that article the duke had, and how wealth covered a multitude of sins—in his case, literally.

“It is a trial to a mother’s nerves, I’ll admit,” she went on. “I was shocked indeed to learn of the depth of his regard for Cassandra and how impatient he was to make her his duchess. Even Lord deGriffith could not withstand so much ardor. How lucky you are, my dear, in having daughters who haven’t been subjected to such determined suitors.”

Having been made to look like a fool, having had her daughters thus neatly depreciated, and foreseeing unpleasant conversations when she encountered her other friends again, Lady Bartham soon took her leave.

She was furious. They were lying, the lot of them, Lady deGriffith especially. So manipulative. Since they were girls together, making their debut. So clever at getting what she wanted, including other girls’ beaux.

Who could wonder at her producing monstrous females? And to think of one of those monsters marrying a duke, however debauched he might be! It was not to be borne.

Adelphi Theater

Saturday 6 July

“We’ll get them talking about something else,” was the way the duke had explained his plan for the evening.

Cassandra certainly hoped so. She knew her mother had put Lady Bartham in her place today, but damage had already been done. Caricatures had appeared in print shop windows by late afternoon. The artists, according to Aunt Julia, had portrayed Cassandra, in classical dress, prophesying the loss of her maidenhead. They’d also depicted her and Ashmont’s presumably naked persons partly concealed by the curtain in which they were entangled. The usual witticisms. The usual bad puns. Jokes about athletic activities at the Stadium.

Cassandra had been a butt of their jokes before this, and she would have found it more amusing if she hadn’t her family to consider.

Poor Papa! So embarrassing for him. She had to admire his forbearance.

But Ashmont deserved some applause, too. His idea was already bearing fruit.

The Adelphi in the Strand was half the size of Covent Garden Theater. Its audiences had received Mr. William Bayle Bernard’s new play, The Long Finn, with delight. His farce, The Mummy, had theatergoers returning again and again. The seats not currently occupied would be filled as the night wore on and the latecomers and seekers of cheaper prices trickled in.

It was a fine night to create a sensation, and the duke had arranged everything to that end, quite as though he put on a play of his own.

One of the two private boxes above the stage doors, his was stage right. He sat in the shadow of the curtains, in the seat farthest left facing the stage—as inconspicuous as possible, in other words.

Cassandra watched the playgoers opposite train their glasses on his box and discover—good heavens!—three actual ladies therein. And not merely ladies, but famous ones.

Beside him sat Medusa, deGriffith’s Gorgon, in all her finery of shimmering light blue silk. Next to her, in palest pink, perched the Debutante of the Season, returned to the world. Yes, he’d done it. Hyacinth had been released