A Wicked Kind of Husband

by Mia Vincy

  “Six?” Lucy said faintly. She didn’t look pleased. “Oh.”

  “And this evening, you will accompany Hardbury and me to the theater, where you will wear your finest jewels and wink at everyone while you sip champagne.”

  “Champagne? After last night?” Cassandra said. “Lucy and I were wearing champagne.”

  “Exactly. It will be more entertaining that way, and you do know how I like to be entertained.”

  “Oh, please, can we?” Emily said again. “But I suppose you’ll just say I’m too young to go out.”

  Again, everyone looked at Cassandra, waiting for her decision. She truly had ended up the head of their family, regardless of whether she could do it. She tried to figure out what was right, but she had no idea and was tired of doing the right thing anyway. Doing the right thing had not made anyone happy.

  “You are too young, so we shall simply have to dress you up,” Cassandra said. “If anyone asks, we shall say you are our seventeen-year-old third cousin Georgiana from York.”

  Emily clapped her hands with delight. “Or Rosalind. I should rather be called Rosalind. And I am a French emigrée who is spying—”

  “No.” Cassandra held up a silencing hand. “I am willing to bend the rules, but I draw the line at treason.”

  As it was Sunday afternoon, Hyde 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 days till we part.”

  “He cares about you, Cassandra.” Arabella placed a hand on her arm. “No one who saw you together last night could doubt it.”

  “I know that he cares, but not only for me,” she said quietly. “He cares for everyone and everything. He cares so much that he hurts himself, and so he denies that he cares, and gets himself into such a tangle over it! If I were to tell him I love him and want him to stay, he’ll say it’s because I want a baby or because I’m doing my duty. He insists on being alone, and why should he be alone when I am here to love him?”

  Arabella sighed. “For a man who claims to love honesty, he tells himself a lot of lies.”

  “Maybe they’re not all lies. He can care about me, and still prefer to live separately, because there are so many other things he cares about more.” She stared at the brown waters of the Serpentine. “I was lonely before and I thought that was awful. But to be with him and yet not be with him—this is the loneliest, most awful thing in the world.”

  A light breeze rippled the surface of the water. A duck glided past, followed by a line of ducklings. Before Cassandra could count them, they had disappeared into the reeds.

  “I wish I had answers,” Arabella said. “But my own experience has shown me that the most important things in life cannot be taught; we must learn them on our own.”

  “Sometimes I think there are the right words, if only I could find them. To prove to him that if we share pain, it gets smaller, and if we share joy, it gets bigger. But he doesn’t want to know. He’s going to leave me, Arabella. He’s going to leave me and I don’t know how to stop him.”

  Cassandra could have easily indulged her misery longer, but Arabella gently reminded her that London was watching, so she put away her feelings and sealed them with a smile.

  A quick look confirmed that Lucy still trailed behind, guarded by Isaac and Emily, and, marvel of marvels, she had not yet incited a single riot, duel, or brawl.

  Another look revealed the Duke and Duchess of Sherbourne, strolling arm in arm, the duke telling the world that he stood by his wife and cared nothing for vicious rumors started
by an unpleasant woman who had been forced to flee.

  In tacit agreement, Cassandra and Arabella drifted closer, feigning unawareness, hoping to be seen. A delicate dance: Cassandra could not approach the duchess, but must hope that the duchess approached her.

  The alternative was the cut direct, which would ruin her forever.

  The duchess saw Cassandra. Looked right at her. Met her eyes. Held them.

  Cassandra waited, like a prisoner awaiting a verdict.

  Then the duchess said a word to her husband, who followed her gaze, nodded graciously at Cassandra, and released his wife’s arm. She took a few steps toward Cassandra and stopped. Cassandra left Arabella and closed the gap, so they met each other like duelists, their seconds watching on.

  “You are looking well rested, Cassandra, my dear.”

  “The spring air agrees with you, Grandmother.”

  “It is beneficial to one’s health to take a turn.”

  “I daresay that is what keeps you looking young.”

  In fact, her grandmother looked tired. Cassandra knew she did too. But that was not the point.

  “I must apologize,” Cassandra said. “I have struggled all morning to find the words. My sister and I…”

  The duchess’s mouth tightened. She looked into the distance. “I must apologize too,” she said, with quiet dignity. “I should never have allowed Lord and Lady Bolderwood to attend the ball and not only because…Well, you know why. But you spoke in my defense anyway. That was…admirable and gracious. And I…I thank you.”

  The duchess was proud. Cassandra knew the words had cost her.

  “We are family,” Cassandra said.

  “Yes.”

  Her grandmother sighed. She glanced at her husband, who was in conversation with the Duke of Dammerton, and looked back at Cassandra.

  “Sherbourne and I have been married for more than forty years,” she said. “That is highly unusual, and I consider myself blessed. Last night, my husband told me that he feels the same. You young people cannot imagine what it means to have shared a life as we have. One can never understand the workings of another’s marriage; at times, one cannot even understand the workings of one’s own.” She began to walk, and Cassandra fell into step beside her. “Sherbourne says that we must not turn our backs on you, not when you stood by me. Last night demonstrates that we have a duty to step in as grandparents, as clearly you are not coping. He says that Lucy needs guidance and a firm hand, which I can provide better than you can. I cannot take her now, you understand, but perhaps she can stay with us in the autumn, when I do not have as many obligations.”

  “Thank you, Grandmother. Lucy is not bad or unkind, she simply…” What? The truth was, Cassandra had no idea what went on in Lucy’s mind.

  “My Susan was lively too,” Her Grace said. “She was only sixteen when she ran away with Treyford. It was not a bad match but I…I told her I wanted nothing more to do with her, and so she never came back to tell me she was alive. And your father too…” She breathed in sharply through her nose. “Charles and I often argued, for he never wanted my counsel. Perhaps that is one of life’s tragedies: We are all doomed to make mistakes, regardless of the advice we receive, and we are all doomed to watch those we love ignore our advice in turn. I have regrets, Cassandra. One cannot reach my age without them. But life goes on, and we must carry on too.”

  “And your…interests, Grandmother?”

  Her look was sharp. “Sherbourne permits me to continue my work with Sir Arthur, if that is your meaning.”

  “Lady Hardbury has acquired an interest in a publishing house,” Cassandra said. “Just now, she was telling me of her aspiration to publish Sir Arthur’s theories about his big old rocks, I mean, his belief that classical temples and statues were once painted.”

  It was a rotten fib, of course, but only what Arabella deserved.

  A gleam lit the duchess’s eye. “That would be greatly in the public interest. I shall mention it to Sir Arthur. I have some ideas for how he might best organize his thoughts.” Then, with a quick, pleasant smile, she was detaching herself and nodding her farewell. “Anyway, Cassandra, my dear, don’t let me keep you. I have a very full schedule, and I daresay you do too. I shall write you about the girl.”

  No sooner were their grandparents out of earshot, than Lucy bounded over.

  “Well?” Lucy demanded. “Am I to be transported to Botany Bay?”

  “We did consider it,” Cassandra replied. “But as Governor Macquarie has only recently restored order to the colony, we hesitate to incite another rebellion by sending you. She may invite you somewhere in the autumn, and for now we must call this London trip a failure, for we did not get you a husband.”

  “We got you one, though.”

  For the briefest moment, Cassandra entertained the possibility that Lucy had devised this whole drama for the sole purpose of bringing Cassandra and Joshua together—and then dismissed it. Lucy lived from moment to moment, along with whatever demon was driving her, and knew little of strategy.

  Besides, if that were her plan, she had failed as miserably as Cassandra had.

  “I like Joshua,” Lucy went on. “So does Emily. Will he live with us at Sunne Park?”

  “He will return to his life in Birmingham.”

  Lucy’s mouth fell open in a melodramatic show of shock. “Mother Cassandra! Can you not do anything right?”

  She flounced back to Isaac and Emily, leaving Cassandra alone to sigh.

  “Apparently not,” she said to no one.

  Then, finally taking her grandmother’s advice, she smiled and carried on.

  Chapter 28

  It was nearly two weeks before Joshua and Cassandra packed her sisters and cat into a carriage and, accompanied by Isaac, servants, and the contents of half the shops in London, started on the journey home.

  During those two weeks, they shied away from society, leaving the gossips unsatisfied and Lucy’s would-be suitors heartbroken. Instead, they visited every place in London worth visiting and, Joshua had been pleased to note, Cassandra also insisted that her sisters spend time at orphanages, under instruction from Miss Sampson.

  Despite his ongoing neglect of business, it struck Joshua that he ought to accompany them around town, and not only because he felt odd if Cassandra was not near.

  “It would be irresponsible not to come with you,” he said. “Let Lucy run around London unattended and next thing we know, there’ll be another Great Fire or Revolution.”

  Cassandra and Joshua dined with the physician who offered advice for helping Lady Charles, and with another physician who proposed the new and disparaged theory that disease was carried by water and that cleaner water in cities could save lives, a notion that Joshua found fascinating.

  They also joined Das and his wife for an enjoyable dinner, and when Cassandra referred to the two men as friends, rather than as employer and employee, Joshua found no reason to object. After that, Das returned to headquarters to temporarily take over the reins of the business, and perhaps, Joshua suggested in passing, Das might devise new job titles for the secretaries, as someone had declared the existing titles to be “stupid.” Newell rejoined his family in Birmingham, from where he continued his hunt for a governess.

  And on a sunny afternoon in May, the convoy of carriages trundled through the gates to Sunne Park.

  Lord Charles had always spoken of his estate with pride and love, as did Cassandra, and when the carriage swung around the drive, with the afternoon sunlight falling on the sprawling red-brick manse, Joshua understood.

  “Well?” Cassandra said, hugging his arm after he helped her down from the carriage. “Is it not splendid?”

  Joshua would not call it “splendid” so much as “jumbled.” The house boasted gables of various shapes and roofs of various pitches, with a profusion of pepper-pot chimneys and mullioned windows. Surrounding it were a moat—a moat!—and a line of fruit trees dressed in a riot of pink and white blossoms.

 
; It was full of character and life and, despite its size, had an air of welcome. One could be lulled into thinking of a place like this as home. The warm spring air washed over him and filled him with something suspiciously like hope.

  Nonsense. Nothing more than the effect of the sunlight, too much fresh air in his lungs, that sort of thing. The day was too bright, and the fragrant country air hummed with life, and such things did tend to give places a dreamy feel.

  And he did have a tendency to get confused sometimes, these days.

  Odd to think that legally, he owned this house, when he had not earned it. It was a gift bestowed upon him, along with his wife, by a man who hoped to make them happy when his own hope of happiness was gone. Lord Charles, you fool, he thought. It was a valiant attempt, but you had it wrong. This is not my house, and I am not that man.

  The fact was, this was all very pleasant and idyllic, but none of it would last. He had forged a life in Birmingham, he had forged himself in Birmingham. What he had built there was who he was and that, at least, could never be taken from him. That, at least, could never fall apart.

  Cassandra was looking at him expectantly, wanting him to be pleased, and he was pleased. Ridiculously so. But that didn’t feel real either.

  “It has a moat!” he said. “When are you expecting the invading hordes?”

  She gave him a pointed look. “Today, apparently.”

  “Mrs. DeWitt! Did you just call me an invading horde?”

  She laughed and led him over the bridge, her face bright with excitement.

  “It has more to do with drainage than defense,” she said. “Newer places have great ornamental lakes instead. But it is well stocked, if you like fishing, and I do like having somewhere to throw Lucy.”

  At the stone archway marking the entrance, Joshua paused to read the inscription: The year 1533 and the words “The sunne is new each day.”