by Mia Vincy
She slipped her fingers around his arm. “I have no idea what a muns is, but please refrain from clicking anyone there. We are going to be polite, reasonable, and civilized, and persuade them to stop this nonsense.”
“I still say this is a stupid idea.”
“And I still say you should help me down from the carriage, but it seems neither of us will get what we want today.”
At the door, she waited for him to knock. Rather than do so, however, he twiddled his thumbs and began to whistle. She looked at him. He looked at her.
“Are we going to stand here all day?” he asked.
“It is more appropriate for you to knock, as the gentleman.”
He studied the brass lion head on the door. “Too heavy for you to lift, is it? Is this to do with your long skirts and corset? Or are your female fingers too delicate?”
“We should have brought Mr. Newell, to do this for you,” she said, amusement warring with exasperation. She lifted the brass ring and knocked sharply. “Heaven forbid you should have to lift a finger.”
He grinned. “I don’t see why I should do everything around here, when you are perfectly capable of doing things yourself.”
Before she could reply, the door swung open to reveal a remarkably handsome man who was dressed like a butler, but who was much too young and unkempt for a butler in an aristocratic house. Perhaps it was Lord Bolderwood’s financial situation, she mused, that meant he could not even afford proper servants.
The inappropriate butler ignored Cassandra and looked at Joshua.
“Yes, sir? How may I help you?”
Joshua made no reply. Cassandra gave him a pointed look.
“What?” he said to her. “Forgotten how to speak, have you? Must I do everything?”
“The conduct books would have it so.”
“I’ve never read any.”
“You astonish me.”
She held out her card and finally the butler noticed her. “Mr. and Mrs. Joshua DeWitt to see Lord and Lady Bolderwood,” she said.
He continued to block the doorway as he peered at the card. Taking advantage of his distraction and presumed inexperience, Cassandra moved straight at him. He instinctively stepped out of her way, thus granting them entrance. Joshua finally did something useful and kicked the door shut.
The handsome young butler did not even seem to notice that he had failed in his first duty of guarding the door. He looked from one to the other.
“Is this a business call or a social one?” he asked.
“Both,” Joshua said with a laugh. “Does it matter?”
The butler scratched his cheek. “Well, do you wish to see Lord Bolderwood in the library, or Lady Bolderwood in the drawing room?”
“How about Lady Bolderwood in her bedchamber? I understand she entertains there.”
“Joshua!” Cassandra elbowed him and fought her urge to laugh. “Behave!”
“What?” He turned to her with exaggerated affront. “He asked a stupid question. Why the blazes should I put up with incompetent butlers asking stupid questions?”
“He is merely trying to arrange us properly.”
“You can take your ‘properly’ and put it in—”
“Hush.”
The butler was rubbing his forehead, clearly unsure what to do next, and apparently unaware that he had revealed that both master and mistress were in the house.
Cassandra knew exactly how to proceed. “Ideally—Ah, what is your name?”
“Smith, madam.”
“Smith.” She repeated the word as if it were the best name in the world. “Now, ideally, Smith, my husband and I would meet with both the viscount and his wife simultaneously.”
“That means at the same time,” Joshua added helpfully.
“I’m sure a young man of your obvious talent could organize to have both of them in the same room.”
“Herd them there, as it were.”
“Herd them?” Cassandra turned on Joshua, eyes wide with mock outrage. “You must not speak of our hosts as if they were recalcitrant goats.”
“Whyever not?”
“The conduct books are very clear on that point.”
“Right. Do not call Bolderwood a goat. I shall endeavor to remember that.”
“Please do.”
He grinned and she felt peculiarly pleased with herself.
“Perhaps, Smith,” she went on, “we could begin by seeing Lord Bolderwood in his library, and Lady Bolderwood could join us there.” She recalled those sly, smirking eyes. “I am certain she would not want to miss this.”
Smith did not look as certain, but she gave him no time to argue, as memory guided her steps straight toward the library. Smith scuttled past her and planted himself in front of the door.
His eyes swung wildly from one to the other. “I should check first, his lordship said.”
“No need, Smith. You have done your job beautifully. Your mother must be very proud.”
She advanced without hesitation, again forcing him to back away to avoid touching her. When she reached out a hand, he leaped aside, exposing the handle, which she gripped.
“My husband is teaching me to open doors all by myself,” she said to the butler. “It is very liberating.”
And enjoying the chuckle from behind, she pushed open the door to Lord Bolderwood’s library and swept in.
Joshua tipped the hapless butler and sauntered after Cassandra, eager to see what she came up with next.
“Harry,” Cassandra said warmly, as though she were happy to see him. Joshua glared at her back. That pushed politeness a bit too far.
Or maybe she was happy to see him.
Bolderwood leaped to his feet.
“Cassandra! And…” Bolderwood’s face dropped when he saw Joshua. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m astonished you must ask, you insolent pup.” Joshua sauntered to the middle of the room, enjoying the feeling of his wife by his side. He was used to fighting his battles alone; it was strangely warming to have an ally. “You seem to be making free with my name, putting it on legal documents and so forth.”
“Joshua. Restrain yourself, please.”
She was delightful when she became stern and he could be absurd. He was coming to enjoy her nagging. He suspected she was secretly coming to enjoy his teasing.
“What? You said I must not call him a goat. You never said I couldn’t call him a dog.”
“Please refrain from likening him to any animals.” Mischief glinted in her eyes. “A man of your talents can find much better names.”
“I did not wish to upset your delicate ears.”
“Oh, now you’re concerned about my delicate ears.” She turned back to Bolderwood. “We have come to deal with this nonsense, Harry.”
Bolderwood looked right at Joshua. “You bring your wife to do this? What kind of man hides behind his wife’s skirts?”
“But they are such lovely skirts.” He grinned at her. “Although generally I prefer to hide under them.”
She slapped a hand to his chest, her eyes on his. “Behave, darling.”
Darling? Ah, a game for Bolderwood’s sake. For Harry.
“Anything for you, my little poppet,” he said.
On impulse, he brushed his knuckles over her jaw. Her eyes darkened ever so slightly; perhaps she could be made to desire him after all.
Somewhere, a man cleared his throat and they jumped apart.
“Ah, Bolderwood, it’s you, is it?” Joshua said. “Forgot you were there.”
“We are in my library,” Bolderwood said indignantly. “Of course I’m here.”
“So easy to forget about you. My wife is so charming.”
“Yes, I remember.”
That smirk was going to earn the fellow a punch soon, despite Cassandra’s rule against it. These two had probably kissed at some point. Maybe more than kisses. Not that Joshua was jealous, as such, because there was no way he could ever be jealous of an insipid idiot like Bolderwood. It w
as simply that Cassandra seemed to think that Bolderwood was what a gentleman ought to be, and if Joshua kissed her properly, she’d change her tune on that fast enough. But he wasn’t going to kiss her. Go around kissing your lovely wife and the whole world could come crashing down.
“Harry, you will drop this lawsuit. We all know it’s ludicrous.”
Bolderwood took a painted enamel snuffbox from the desk and helped himself to a pinch. He snorted it and did not offer any to Joshua.
“I cannot do that, Cassandra,” he said. “Justice must be served.”
“Whatever financial trouble you have gotten yourself into, you must not solve it with such distasteful lies.”
Bolderwood shut the snuffbox and studied it. Painted on each side were scenes of naked men and women, doing what naked men and women did best. Cassandra must have noticed the erotic artwork, but she ignored the insult of it beautifully. Joshua resisted the urge to shove the snuffbox down the insolent coxcomb’s throat. He was fairly sure Cassandra would object to that.
Had she truly loved this despicable idiot? She had been nineteen, then. People could believe all sorts of stupid things at nineteen. That must be why they married women off so young. If they waited until women were old enough to get some common sense, they’d never get them married off at all.
“Lies?” Bolderwood said finally, rocking back on his heels, a faint, sneering smile playing around his lips. “But there’s evidence of an affair. Lots of evidence.”
Joshua grabbed the snuffbox, slammed it onto the desk. “There cannot be any evidence, because it never bloody well happened.”
Cassandra was there at his side, her shoulder pressed to his arm. She looked Bolderwood in the eye. “Harry, you and I both know that this never happened.”
The smile only broadened. “Doesn’t matter what you and I know. Only matters what the jury believes.” He folded his arms over his chest. “We don’t expect the full fifty thousand, you know. We’ll be content with twenty or thirty.”
“We?” Cassandra repeated sharply. “You mean you and your wife.”
Bolderwood’s smile slipped: That was as good as a confession.
Cassandra sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. “This is not like you, Harry. To drag your wife’s name through the mud. Your respected title, your family name, the name of your children. And to do this to me, and Lucy and Emily.”
Bolderwood’s ears were turning pink and he picked up his snuffbox again, opening it and closing it, eyes on the box and not on the woman scolding him. Maybe this was not such a stupid idea, Joshua thought; Bolderwood’s better nature might be regretting it, and if anyone could reach a person’s better nature, it was Cassandra.
“You are better than this, Harry,” she went on. “To disgrace your name and mine—for what? For the sake of money?”
“That’s rich!” When Bolderwood looked up, his eyes were hard and flat, his better nature gone. “Judging me for what I’d do for money.” He slammed down the box. “What about you, going out each evening dripping with jewels? You let your father sell you to him—” This with a wave of a hand at Joshua “Everyone knew Lord Charles had money problems, and you don’t mind where that money comes from.”
Joshua was already pulling back his fist but Cassandra slapped a hand on his arm and stepped between him and Bolderwood with a stiffness unlike her usual grace. Society expected ladies to hide their emotions, especially the uglier ones like anger, but he saw it anyway, in the way she flattened those lovely lips, the sharp breath through her flared nostrils, the way her mouth worked before she spoke. He was glad she was angry, after what she had revealed last night.
“How dare you!” she hissed at Bolderwood. “You aren’t good enough to mention my father’s name, let alone judge what he did or did not do.” She shook her head at him, disgust curling her lip. “This is not like you. The Harry Willoughby I knew was kind and honest.”
“Maybe you never knew me.”
She had said she was outgrowing her naivety, and Joshua fancied he saw her shed a bit of it there.
“If this is the kind of thing you do and say,” she said, “then I don’t want to know you at all.” She whirled about and marched for the door, her color high, her head higher. She pulled open the door and Smith tumbled in.
“Take me to Lady Bolderwood,” she said. “Now!”
The butler jumped to attention and obeyed.
The moment the door shut, Joshua turned back to Bolderwood and rubbed his hands together.
“Now she’s gone, we can discuss this properly,” he said.
“Properly!” Bolderwood spluttered. “You swindled me, you bastard. You had this coming.”
“You beetle-brained, muttonheaded numbskull!” To keep from throwing any punches, Joshua paced. Dark, painting-shaped patches stained the wall, the bookshelves were mostly empty, and no ornaments adorned the mantelpiece. “I warned you it was speculation and not to risk what you cannot lose. And what do you do? You go to a bloody moneylender!”
“But you prime everyone first, don’t you? We hear about how much you made here, or how much your friend Dammerton made there, until we’re all begging you to take our money. You’re like one of those gaming hells that plant people to say they always win big there, so off the bubble goes, expecting to win, only to get fleeced instead.”
“No one else is complaining. You know why? Because they’re not whining children.”
“They’re scared of you, but we are not. You bedded those other men’s wives, and everyone will believe you bedded mine too. Everyone except naive, gullible Cassandra.”
“You greedy, selfish p—poxed pizzle.”
There was little point arguing. The muttonhead had convinced himself that he had been swindled. Probably easier than facing the fact that he had made some bad decisions.
Joshua shook his head, disgust unfurling in him. “You and your wife deserve each other. The worst part of this is that people might think I am so devoid of taste that I would ever look twice at that woman. No, the worst part is the insult to Cassandra. She deserves better.” He picked up the snuffbox, examined the bawdy pictures on each side. “I’m amazed you haven’t pawned this, along with everything else.”
“That was a gift from my wife,” Bolderwood said.
Joshua dropped the snuffbox as though it had bitten him.
“Women have desires too,” Bolderwood added. “Sinful desires to do sinful things, and if my wife finds her way into another man’s bed every now and then…”
His voice trailed off. A hazy glint in his eye, a crooked twist to his parted lips, a hint of a flush. Bloody hell. Bolderwood was aroused by it! By the thought of his wife with another man. And if that was what they got up to…No wonder this adultery accusation made sense in their minds.
The presence of the extremely handsome, extremely unqualified butler took on a whole new meaning.
Joshua wiped his hand over his forehead as if he could wipe away the thought. Some things he did not need to know.
Meanwhile, Bolderwood was laughing softly, as if to himself. “And of course, I forgive her, because I love her.”
“Did you ever think what this would do to Cassandra and her family?”
“She’s an uptight prude, anyway, and boring. That’s why you bed other men’s wives, isn’t it? Because your own wife is—Aargh,” he finished on a gurgle, as Joshua buried his hand in the man’s neckcloth and shoved him hard against the wall.
“You were saying?”
Bolderwood’s face went red and he forgot the rest of his sentence.
“You will drop this lawsuit,” Joshua said. “You end this now, or so help me, I’ll make you sorry.”
He loosened his grip to allow the man to speak. Unfortunately, Bolderwood had not grasped the lesson.
“By the time this is done, you’ll be a laughing stock and we’ll be rich,” he rasped out. “We’ll drop the lawsuit if you pay us now. Protect your sweet wife that way.”
The door opened.
Joshua turned his head, Bolderwood still pinned to the wall.
“What?” Joshua said to the butler. “What?”
Smith gulped, looking at his employer helplessly. Joshua hoped the lad made a good plaything, because he made a rotten butler.
“Mrs. DeWitt would like to go home now,” Smith finally said.
Joshua dropped Bolderwood like a poisonous snake and adjusted his sleeves.
“We’ll ruin you, Bolderwood,” he said, while the younger man coughed and rubbed at his throat. He liked the “we,” he decided, and went off to find his wife.
Cassandra stood by the front door, so tense she was almost quivering, her mouth pinched as she fiddled with the buttons on her glove.
“You were right,” she said when she saw him. “This was a stupid idea.”
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all marriage.”
She tried a smile, failed. Joshua was tempted to go back and pound Bolderwood to a pulp. But more than that, he wanted to restore her good mood. Those people had no right to take that from her, when she was worth a hundred thousand of them.
So he did what he could: He opened the door when Smith failed to appear, he proffered his elbow, he handed her up into the carriage before him.
He got his first reward when the carriage lurched off: She offered a hint of a genuine smile.
“Thank you for assisting me into the carriage,” she said. “That was nicely done.”
“I can behave,” he said. “I behaved myself with Lord B. I didn’t hit him. Not even once. I might have choked him a bit, but I didn’t hit him.”
A flicker of amusement. “How admirable you are.”
“And I was going to call him a pig, but I remembered your ban on likening him to animals.”
“Well done.”
“So instead I called him a poxed pizzle.”
She made an unladylike sound—repressed laughter, if he wasn’t mistaken. He was succeeding. He would play the clown and make her laugh. It was bad enough that he hurt her so much, without letting scum like them do it too.
He beamed at her. “Are you proud of me?”
“Immensely.”