Page 37 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

“You could accompany me on some visits,” Cassandra said tentatively. “Make it clear you are supporting me. That you are not bored with me already.” She paused, and added in a whisper, “That I am not some plaything you have cast aside.”

Jethro winced at her words. The accusations were so far from the truth, they were ridiculous. But he didn’t feel inclined to laugh. How could anyone be so cruel to his wife?

He hated to see her cry and he would do his utmost to ensure it didn’t happen again. It was his job to put this right. Cassandra was his responsibility. If he needed to sacrifice some of his precious time to accompany her on social visits, then so be it.

It was what he should have been doing already. It was why he had married her, wasn’t it? To help him enter genteel society. To ensure he was gentlemanlike enough for Mr Wade.

If only the thought of such visits didn’t fill him with dread. Perhaps it was as well his wife needed his support. It gave him a greater incentive to dive into a world where he didn’t belong, and he would much rather avoid.

“Very well. We will accept the first invitation we receive and show the gentry of Weymouth we are no different from other newly married couples. The rumours will be routed before they become ingrained, and everything will be as it was.”

But he didn’t believe his own words.

Though he hoped to eliminate the gossip, something had changed in him when he had heard Cassandra crying.

It was as if her soul was calling, asking to be loved.

But she wasn’t calling out to him—and he wished she was.

Chapter 19

Cassandra glanced in the hall mirror before taking her husband’s arm and walking out the door to the carriage. It was not quite six months since her father’s death—too early for colours—so she had chosen to wear grey for her first evening engagement as a married woman, as befitted a period of lighter mourning.

Bridget had created a matching turban, decorated with silver and white feathers, to complete the ensemble, and Cassandra had to admit it suited her. Though she did not feel precisely beautiful, she felt regal, and as ready to face Eugenia as she would ever be.

There would be no avoiding the woman tonight. Jethro had been true to his word, and they had accepted the first invitation they received. Cassandra just wished it hadn’t been from the Framptons. Her husband had assured her it was wise to attack the source of the issue, but she would much rather have cried off.

As they travelled the short distance to the Framptons’ house, Cassandra thought back to the last time she had seen Eugenia.

Strangely, it was not the woman’s hateful words that had stayed with her, but what followed. Cassandra had not expected Jethro to show such gentleness when he had found her crying.

If only they could have remained in that moment instead of reverting to the way they had been. Two people who slept in the same house and ate at the same table, joined by marital vows, but nothing more.

Perhaps good would come out of Eugenia’s spitefulness if it forced Jethro to spend more time with his wife. And if the malicious woman repeated her unkindness, Cassandra realised she wouldn’t mind quite so much, if it meant Jethro comforted her again.

They arrived at Eugenia’s house and were shown into the drawing room where their hosts welcomed them. Jethro shook hands with Mr Frampton, but his bow toward the man’s wife was markedly restrained, making Cassandra cringe with embarrassment.

Didn’t he know that in society, you were supposed to act as if you were on the best of terms with your greatest enemy? She thought she saw a faint blush on Eugenia’s face as she moved on to greet another guest and hoped it would not give her a fresh reason to attack her.

It was a vain hope.

They had only taken a few steps when Eugenia joined them, with one of the ladies who had heard her veiled accusations about Cassandra’s marriage by her side.

“Well?” she asked. “How do you like it? Elegant, is it not?”

Cassandra gazed around the drawing room with begrudging admiration. Although Eugenia was a despicable person in other respects, there was no doubt she had a talent for decorating. The walls were painted in a delicate green with marble pillars on either side of each door. An imposing portrait of Mr and Mrs Frampton hung over the marble fireplace, and a series of capriccios of Rome and Naples, all in elaborate frames, adorned the other walls. The carpet was floral in design and the ceiling decorated to reflect it.

“Exquisite. Were you inspired by the work of the renowned architect Robert Adam? The way the ceiling mirrors the carpet reminds me of a room I once visited at Saltram.”

Eugenia ignored her comments. Perhaps she had believed the idea was unique. What a disappointment for her.

“And the furniture? Is that to your taste?”

The sofas and chairs had elegantly carved legs and backs and were covered in a deep green material that sat well with the rest of the room. The side-tables and nicknack stands were in the same mellow hue of oak.

“It is very fine.”

“And you, Mr Hunt? What do you think?”