A Wicked Kind of Husband - Mia Vincy Page 0,108

Park was at its most full. Which meant, Cassandra thought, feeling faint again, there were tens of thousands of people to stare at her. But on the upside, it also made it easier to hide.

Arabella was not wrong. No one gave Cassandra the cut, but neither did they rush to approach, waiting to see what others did first. But she did receive cordial nods to go with the speculative looks.

Lucy, Emily, and Isaac stayed apart but within sight. Lucy was also getting speculative looks, especially of the male variety, but Isaac’s scowls and threatening manner with his cane kept them all at bay.

And of the ladies who did approach, not all were friendly. One lady, Mrs. Peale, a former Bolderwood supporter, was almost belligerent.

“What is this absurd story that throwing glasses is a Warwickshire tradition?” Mrs. Peale said. “I never heard of such a thing.”

Arabella’s look was cool. “And? The tradition has existed happily for centuries without your knowledge or approval.”

“But Miss Lightwell said she wished that man to marry her!”

“Really! The depth of ignorance among the so-called educated classes,” Arabella muttered. “How tedious to explain yet again.” She sighed impatiently. “The young woman flings the glass and makes a wish for the future. But each wish will come true only if the glass is caught. Miss Lightwell wished that she would get married, not that that particular man would marry her. Good grief, Mrs. Peale, is Hampshire so dull that you have no traditions of your own? Or is it that you are so dull that you cannot comprehend them?”

“Of course I understand traditions, my lady,” Mrs. Peale protested, fairly quivering with indignation. “But it seems to me that Miss Lightwell was…That is, she appeared…”

Arabella’s eyebrows rose.

“I mean to say, she looked…”

Arabella’s eyebrows climbed higher.

“Everyone thought she was…”

“Beautiful,” Arabella finished. “Miss Lightwell is uncommonly beautiful. A curse of such beauty is that it inspires petty jealousy in certain women and leads to spiteful gossip. I have no time for such women. Don’t you agree, Mrs. Peale?”

At which point, Mrs. Peale apparently remembered who Arabella was and realized that, upon reflection, she truly did agree.

“Terrible thing, petty jealousy, spiteful gossip,” she said. “Not me! Ha ha. And such a lovely tradition, this wishing on flying glasses. Perhaps my Frances can do that at her come-out.”

Arabella widened her eyes. “That would be marvelous.”

Somehow, Cassandra managed not to speak until she was sure they were out of earshot. “Arabella, you are wicked. You are deliberately distorting the truth.”

Amusement lit Arabella’s face. “Hardbury has bought me a publishing house. He says I must not use it for mischief, but it is so tempting to fill volumes with arrant nonsense and see how much people believe.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I don’t see why that’s wrong. Men have been doing that for centuries, the only difference being that they won’t acknowledge that it’s nonsense.”

“The idea of you owning a publishing house is terrifying.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Arabella smiled with satisfaction. “What do you mean to do about Lucy? Give her a thousand pounds and put her on a boat to Brazil?”

“As tempting as that is, I agree with Joshua that she must make her own decisions. I still do not understand what she wants, or why she is determined to ruin herself, but all we can do is try to stop her from putting herself in any real danger. For now, I suppose she’ll return to Sunne Park with Emily and me.”

“And Mr. DeWitt?”

“Will return to his life in Birmingham.”

She heard her own clipped tone and avoided Arabella’s look.

“One of the many things people are saying,” Arabella said after a lengthy pause, “is that Mr. and Mrs. DeWitt are devoted to each other.”

“Clearly, that is not so,” Cassandra said briskly. “Or if it is, we are about to be devoted to each other from a distance.” She stopped short, her legs suddenly not working any more, her lungs suddenly short of air. “It is as though…My whole life was a simple five-note tune and he has turned it into a symphony. This is what knowing him has done to me, and now I cannot imagine experiencing the world any other way. And to think…” She shook her head bitterly at the fine people swirling around them. “A few weeks ago, we strolled in this park and I wished I could be married to any of these other gentlemen and now—I would rather have no one if I cannot have him, while he counts the

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