of proof save a private conversation overheard by some tart your worthless son married.”
“That tart is now the Countess of Morwick,” Marissa reminded her. “She outranks you.”
“Sour grapes. She’d say anything to hurt Simon after he had to end their betrothal. What else was Simon to do? Especially after she debased herself with your son. No one will believe her. I can’t wait to drag her reputation through the mud now that I’m in town.”
“But Simon gave his word.” Marissa blinked, wide-eyed. “I can’t imagine. Your son is so incredibly honorable.” A snarl flitted about her lips. “Like his father.”
Lydia flinched. “You can do nothing to us. I won’t stand for your nonsense another minute, Marissa. I’m not sure what you hoped to accomplish with your little stunt. My husband has been dead for years, and you’ve no proof. The entire case will be thrown out of court.”
Marissa nodded as if agreeing. “Perhaps. Or maybe,” she moved closer to Lydia, “I’ll drag this dispute out for years. I’ve scores of solicitors who’d like nothing more than to waste my substantial fortune on such things. Whereas you can ill afford a lengthy court battle if the rapid pace at which you are selling off your valuables is any indication. Goodness, next you’ll be prying the Blue John from the fireplaces of Brushbriar.” She shook her head. “You should have told me, Lydia. I would have happily bought up the entire lot.”
“You—” Lydia’s eyes bulged dangerously again.
“Have the resources of my very powerful, wealthy family at my back. You always seem to forget I started life as the daughter of a duke,” Marissa said with false disbelief.
“An infamous one. Your family is reviled in London.”
“I prefer respected. Feared.” Marissa’s voice hardened. “And with good reason. You’d do well to remember that, Lydia.”
Lydia faltered slightly, her slender figure wavering as if buffeted by the wind. Spittle formed at the corner of her mouth as the scent of brandy and breath mints filled the air above her. “Is that your game, Marissa? Will you hide behind your nephew and hope to frighten me?”
Marissa shrugged. “Frighten you? Perish the thought. I’ve better things to do. By the way, how is your daughter’s pursuit of Mr. Kendicott progressing?”
Lydia paled until she resembled a bowl of day-old, curdled cream.
“Oh dear.” Marissa made a tutting sound. “Are you feeling well, Lydia? You look as if you could use a glass of brandy. I’m sure you assumed you could sneak a nip into your tea today, perhaps when Lady Higgins turns her back. Or are you planning to disappear for a moment to . . . collect yourself?” She nodded to the stylish reticule hanging from Lydia’s wrist. “Is there a tiny flask in there? You should be very discreet.” Marissa lowered her voice. “I understand Sir Richard is a teetotaler.”
“How dare you,” Lydia snarled.
“I’m only concerned as your former neighbor. Miss Higgins possesses an enormous dowry which you are in dire need of. Dear Lord, I hope nothing happens to scare her away as it did Kendicott.” A small laugh bubbled up. “I mean by something other than you, Lydia. I bid you good day, Lady Pendleton. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
Lydia’s eyes narrowed to slits, glittering with unrestrained malice. Had she a gun handy and a cave nearby, there wasn’t a doubt Marissa would be treated to the same fate Reggie had suffered.
But as Lydia was doubtless finding out, Marissa was possessed of the same malice and rage.
Lydia and her children deserved to live the remainder of their days in utter ruin. She felt not the least bit of guilt in destroying all of them.
Miss Higgins was overly absorbed in plucking a string from her skirts as Lady Higgins and Arabella conversed. The pitiable girl looked as if she wished to be anywhere but here. And who could blame her? Spending the day with Lydia had to be excruciating. Did Miss Higgins bear Simon any affection? Or was she only doing her duty?
Marissa thought the latter. Simon was a cold fish, much like his mother.
Arabella, finally running out of things to say about the opera, led Lady Higgins back to where Marissa and Lydia stood, Lady Higgins hanging on her niece’s every word.
“Lady Higgins, I fear I’ve taken you away from your guest. What poor manners I have. I hope you’ll forgive me.” Arabella took Lady Higgins’s hand. “But I’ve so enjoyed our conversation. You and your daughter must come for tea soon. We’ve so