your debut and get married too.”
“Married woman, my foot!” Lucy sneered. “Do you two even talk to each other?”
“Why don’t you get a marriage of your own before you comment on mine?”
“I like Joshua,” Emily volunteered.
Good,” said Cassandra. “So do I.”
It was perplexing how much she liked him now. It had seemed so simple when she first suggested children: He would bed her, it would be unpleasant but she would get with child, and then they would return to their separate lives. That they would part was still inevitable, but she feared she would miss him. Perhaps he would visit her at Sunne Park. Perhaps they could meet in London each spring, and she could have a passionate affair with her own husband.
But he was giving her what she asked for; she had no right to ask for more. When the time came for them to part, she vowed, she would not say a word.
“Mr. Newell knows a clerk at Drury Lane,” Emily said abruptly. “He offered to take me backstage, and I could meet the actors and actresses and playwrights, and show someone my plays.”
Cassandra stared at her. “Meet actresses? Please wait a few years before you destroy your reputation. For now, stick to amateur dramatics and remember you are the granddaughter of a duchess.”
“Which does us no good at all,” Lucy said and sent another magazine skittering across the floor. “Where is this precious duchess anyway?”
Before Cassandra could find an answer, the butler appeared at the door.
“A caller, madam,” he said. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Sherbourne.”
“Good morning, Cassandra, my dear,” their grandmother said as she breezed in, stylish in a sky-blue gown and matching turban. She ignored Lucy and Emily, standing prettily, and immediately launched into a speech.
“You have gotten what you wanted: Congratulations,” the duchess said, with her pleasant smile. “Setting your husband on mine, so now Sherbourne says that I must abandon my own interests for you, for it’s only thanks to his investments with Mr. DeWitt that he can pay for them. I abhor this vulgar emphasis on money, but such are the times in which we live.”
“I don’t understand, Grandmother.”
“Oh, don’t feign ignorance, dear. You know what I’m talking about: Your husband demanded that I do your bidding or Sherbourne will be cut off. You are more cunning than I realized, and I concede it was well played, but I would rather you did not exercise such ploys against me.”
A sweet pleasure radiated through her as she understood: Joshua had secretly intervened to help her, and now, it seemed, her grandmother would take Lucy after all.
And Cassandra had promised to return to Sunne Park when that was done.
The pleasure faded, replaced by a hollow disappointment. By helping her, Joshua ensured that she and her sisters would be gone sooner and his life would go back to normal.
Well. This was what they had agreed. This was what she had wanted. She could not blame him if she kept changing what she wanted.
“My schedule is less busy anyway,” the duchess went on. “For now Sherbourne says I spend too much time with Sir Arthur. Where is she, then?” Her eyes fell on Emily. “Not that one, she’s too young.”
“I’m fourteen!” Emily protested.
“Hush, Em,” Cassandra said.
“You don’t look a day over eleven and ought to be in the schoolroom. Really, Cassandra, you should…” The duchess spread her fingers in a gesture of defeat. “No concern of mine. If I take an interest, you’ll expect me to drop everything for that one too. Do send the child away, though.”
Emily looked stricken and Cassandra silently cursed their grandmother. But this was Lucy’s moment. One sister at a time.
“Emily, dear,” she said. “Perhaps you can talk with Grandmother another time.”
“Why can’t I stay?” Emily looked around, hurt. “Lucy! Tell them I can stay.”
But Lucy was feasting her eyes on the duchess and said nothing.
“Fine.” Emily stalked to the door. “I shall be in the nursery playing with my dolls. Off with their heads!” she yelled and marched out.
Cassandra resisted the urge to go after her. She dared not leave Lucy alone with the duchess.
“You must be Lucy. I see you are a beauty, indeed.” With uncharacteristic demureness, Lucy sank into a deep, graceful curtsy. “With those looks, men will not notice if you speak gibberish. Is it too much to hope that you have some interest in the classical world?”
“Old Greek and Roman things?” Lucy said, with an eye-roll. “So boring.”
The duchess’s mouth tightened, and Cassandra repressed a sigh.