Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,73
the Queen herself might sit, looking over the royal dominions. Far from humbled by her disgrace, Miss Pomfret had dismissed out of hand Owsley and anything he had to say.
He would fight this, he vowed. He would not let a senseless infatuation get the better of him.
All the same, he longed to close his hands round the Duke of Ashmont’s neck and throttle him.
After the entertainment, the duke had arranged for his party to join Cassandra’s parents for supper at the Clarendon Hotel. Humphrey Morris was a last-minute addition to the party because he’d assisted Ashmont in escorting the ladies safely out of the Adelphi, through the disorderly after-theater crowd.
Once they’d made their way through the throng, they had to negotiate the thicket of carriages. Then came the long parade of vehicles progressing at a snail’s pace along the Strand.
But the duke’s party made better speed than most. He was, after all, the man to whom non-suicidal persons gave a wide berth. He had servants in place as well, to ease the way. His group reached the hotel in a reasonable time, only minutes after Mama and Papa.
There Aunt Julia gave a succinct account of their experience at the Adelphi. Though she didn’t spare Ashmont’s quick-thinking and wise action more than a few words, Papa understood, clearly, because he sat back and gave Ashmont a considering look, as though seeing him for the first time.
After a while, and a few glasses of wine, Humphrey Morris overcame his highly unusual reticence and told some stories. Cassandra noticed Hyacinth listening intently, smiling and nodding while he talked.
Humphrey Morris? Really?
“Humphrey Morris?” Cassandra said. “Really?”
The two sisters sat on Cassandra’s bed, talking over the evening.
“He’s interesting,” Hyacinth said. “He seems to know everything about everybody.”
“Like his mother.”
“It’s different. I think Papa noticed. If I did, surely he did, though I’d never blame him for being engrossed with the Duke of Ashmont. But Papa has mastered the art of listening to several persons clamoring for attention at the same time. No doubt he’s accustomed to taking in different opinions at meetings and such. He must have noticed.”
“All I noticed was Mr. Morris’s tongue finally untied itself in your presence.”
“Papa knows how to encourage men to speak. He knows he can be intimidating.”
“My love, he is intimidating on purpose.”
“But he only uses it as a tool.”
It occurred to Cassandra that the tool worked with his sons as well as other politicians. The method had not worked quite so well with his daughters.
“I believe Mr. Morris could be of great use to him,” Hyacinth said. “I feel reasonably certain that this has occurred to Papa as well.”
Cassandra stared at her sister.
Hyacinth laughed. “You’re preoccupied with the duke. You can’t be expected to attend to anything else. You can’t have noticed the way Papa spoke to Mr. Morris or the way he listened. For my part, I have been most agreeably surprised by the duke’s friend. I look forward to getting to know him better.”
“But, Hyacinth, his mother!”
Her sister shrugged. “For all her complaints, Mama manages her well enough. Some ancient history there, I believe. Aunt Julia hinted at it. I’m not quite clear, and one can’t ask Mama directly—but I suspect an old rivalry, to do with Papa.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Cassandra said, after she recovered from the initial surprise. One didn’t think of one’s parents in that way. “Lady Bartham seems to regard most women as deadly rivals, and it isn’t hard to imagine her always being that way. Some women are. One finds them in every year’s crop of debutantes.”
“I ought to feel sorry for her,” Hyacinth said. “It must be dreadful to live with so much bile. But she can be tiresome. I needn’t wonder what she’ll make of our theater excursion.”
“She won’t be pleased. Supper went smoothly. No explosions. No screaming. No constables summoned.”
They’d got everybody at the Adelphi talking. The supper party would add to the speculation.
The Curtain Scene would be forgiven when it seemed the prelude to a family-approved engagement. If all went according to plan, by the time the alleged engagement ended, not much of Society would be left in London to talk about it.
Parliament would rise sometime in August, according to her father. A matter of weeks. Then Cassandra would go abroad again, back to her grandparents. Her latest outrage against propriety would fade in importance, merely another in a long line of misbehaviors.
And Hyacinth could enjoy the next Season without her sister’s dark shadow spoiling everything.