own throat and hastily dropped her hand. She decided that, whatever Arabella said, Lady Bolderwood was pretty, and they made an ideal couple, and Cassandra was a big enough person to wish them well.
Besides, seeing Harry again confirmed that she hadn’t a shred of feeling left for him. How odd love and romance were. Once, his attentions had left her giddy with delight and his kisses had thrilled her. Now, the idea of kissing him seemed ridiculous, whereas the idea of kissing her husband seemed…
Also ridiculous. For he was dreadful and she disliked him and he had made that depraved suggestion.
What about these two? Did they do that thing that Mr. DeWitt wanted? And how did they…Did she…Or did he…? Oh heavens, was she to spend all night wondering such things about her fellow guests?
The rout took on rather a different appearance.
“Such a pleasure to meet you, Lady Bolderwood,” she said graciously.
“Everyone is thrilled to see you in town, Mrs. DeWitt,” that lady said. “Rumor was your husband kept you hidden away so you could not curtail his…excesses.”
Maybe Arabella was right, and Lady Bolderwood wasn’t very pretty after all.
“The only excess I observe in my husband is his excessive generosity,” Cassandra said.
Harry snorted. “He can afford to be generous. Just don’t ask where he gets his money from.”
“Do you refer to the Belgian investment, Lord Bolderwood?” Cassandra said. “I do hope you aren’t going to punch him over it again.”
“Baltic investment,” Harry corrected her absently. “And that’s not the half of it.”
His expression was dark and clouded, as she had never seen on him, but before she could ask what he meant, his wife was hugging his arm, pressing her bosom against him, and gazing adoringly into his face.
“Now, now, Harry, my sweet,” she said. “Mrs. DeWitt is right. This is neither the time nor place.”
The couple exchanged an intimate look, shutting out the world. Harry ran his fingers down his wife’s arm and she responded with a pinch of his chin.
Cassandra averted her eyes. Impoliteness took a variety of forms, she thought crossly, and curled her fingers around her fan.
She began to excuse herself, but Harry interrupted her, saying, “I always did admire your fortitude, Cassandra, that is, Mrs. DeWitt. I daresay you need it, with a husband like that.”
“Some ladies will tolerate anything for the sake of luxury,” his wife chimed in, oh-so-sweetly. “But why not, if one hasn’t the fortune to find true love, like us.”
No, Lady Bolderwood definitely was not pretty, Cassandra decided. She had sly eyes and nasty ears, and her teeth were too small.
Harry’s ears turned pink again. “I trust you’ve put that whole matter behind us, Mrs. DeWitt.”
“Oh, do say you’ve forgiven us for running away together.” Lady Bolderwood’s blue eyes were wide as she pressed her bosom more firmly against Harry’s arm. “But love and passion overcame us so, we were powerless to resist.”
Cassandra clenched her teeth and smiled, and somehow found enough air left in her tight chest to respond. “Of course I don’t mind. I couldn’t be more content. Obviously, it has turned out well for all of us.”
“It will work out well,” Lady Bolderwood said. “My darling Harry is seeing to that.”
The couple exchanged another intimate look and secret smile. Cassandra willed herself to get away from them, but her feet didn’t move.
“Whatever do you mean?” she said.
Harry glanced back at her, shrugged one shoulder. “Merely that one has a right to take control of one’s affairs,” he said. “Take justice into one’s own hands, as it were.”
“Heavens,” Cassandra said. “If you are still angry with my husband—”
“Please!” Lady Bolderwood fairly shoved her face in Cassandra’s. “We must not discuss Mr. DeWitt. You know what he’s like.”
“Yes, I do.” Cassandra lifted her chin and refused to step back. “Joshua is brilliant, energetic, amusing, generous, and kind. You did me a favor, Lady Bolderwood. Joshua DeWitt is the best husband I could ever have.”
She held the other woman’s eye, determined not to look away first, but then came the loud sound of a glass smashing, and they both looked around at once.
A hush fell over the crowd. Angry male voices rose through the quiet.
Cassandra and a score of other guests peered over the balcony at the crowded gallery below. A small space had opened up around a spreading pool of orange, fruity punch.
And in that space stood two men, snarling at each other like a pair of fighting dogs. The older man, robust with thick gray hair, was her father-in-law,