Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,89
about what had happened.
They had to dress for the water party, and that took longer than it should have done. The trouble was, they hadn’t yet found a replacement for Gosney, and Colson, the maid Cassandra shared with her sister, had twice as much to do in the same amount of time.
As a result, nothing went as smoothly as it ought, and the sisters had no opportunity to talk privately until they returned, late that night. By then, Cassandra was too weary and out of sorts to do more than climb into her bed.
At least Hyacinth had enjoyed the entertainment. Though they didn’t travel on the Lord Mayor’s barge, they sailed near enough, on Lord Eddingham’s yacht, to share in the water procession to Richmond.
There was music and a banquet, but the noise made Cassandra’s head ache, and she had no appetite. She spent most of her time taking in the pretty views along the river of great houses and villas, many of whose gardens had been lit for the occasion.
Parties seemed to be in progress all along the route. The evening was beautiful, but she couldn’t enjoy it. Her mind was filled with images from Bleeding Heart Yard: Ashmont going after Crummock . . . the way Mrs. Pooley had looked at Ashmont, as though he were a guardian angel . . . Ashmont panicking about the toddler, yet taking up the trusting child.
Trust.
Cassandra wanted to be home and quiet, making sense of it. She wanted to be doing something further for the Pooleys. She wanted to talk to Ashmont. Instead, she shared a luxurious boat with people to whom she had nothing to say.
The following day didn’t improve her mood. Lady Bartham called, with Mr. Owsley in tow.
After shredding the reputations of various persons at the gatherings she’d attended in recent days, the countess said, “I understand the Duke of Ashmont did not join your party yesterday. I should have thought he would have taken you on one of his boats. But no, I forget, he has a great deal to do, preparing to leave London.”
Cassandra took care not to react during morning calls. The only way to get through them without committing a social crime was to hold her tongue and keep her driving face firmly in place. With Lady Bartham this was crucial. Like so many discontented persons, she hated to see those about her happy.
“Naturally a duke has a great deal to do,” Mama said. She did not try to catch Cassandra’s eye. She was not a politician’s wife for nothing.
“I’m told he intends to set out for Southampton for the regatta,” Lady Bartham said. “My son Humphrey happened to mention it last night when he stopped by Lady Thurlow’s ball. I gather he will accompany the duke.”
Translation: Your daughters’ suitors are abandoning them for boat races.
If the countess was hoping for signs of dismay, she was disappointed. Cassandra, Hyacinth, and her mother merely regarded her with mild interest.
“How pleasant for them,” Mama said. “Regattas can be so exciting. We must wish them every success.”
“I’m sure it’s a harmless pastime,” Mr. Owsley said. “Healthful exercise in the sea air. Competition in itself is by no means unwholesome. As I understand, the wagering at regattas is not nearly so egregious as it is at horse races. Sadly, the criminal element has infected those to a distressing extent.”
Lady Bartham shot him a warning look. “I believe the duke and Humphrey mean to continue from Southampton to Goodwood,” she said.
The Goodwood races, held at the Duke of Richmond’s estate in Sussex, would begin at the end of the month and continue for four days.
Owsley took the hint. “Naturally one assumes the Duke of Richmond will ensure fair play and keep out the undesirable element.”
Then why would he let in Ashmont? Cassandra wanted to say. She exchanged glances with Hyacinth, who must have read her mind, because her blue eyes sparkled with amusement.
She was enjoying herself, Cassandra realized. To Hyacinth, this sort of verbal sparring was a game. Small wonder she fit into the beau monde so well. She let the pettiness, jealousies, and ill will wash over her, as she’d said. It was a gift Cassandra didn’t possess.
“How devoted Mr. Morris is, to keep his mama apprised in so much detail of his plans,” Hyacinth said.
“Humphrey always tells me everything,” Lady Bartham said. “Indeed, it can become difficult, keeping abreast of his many activities and interests. They change so often.”
Translation: You are no more than a passing fancy.