Page 92 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

Her voice wavered and Jethro took her hand and squeezed it as she blinked back the tears.

There it was again. The love in her eyes as she spoke of her brother. Would she feel that much pain if he had been injured rather than Alexander?

“Go. Your brother is waiting for your letter.”

“Thank you.”

Cassandra slipped into the adjoining room, leaving Jethro alone with his reflections.

He stared at the door, wishing he’d been brave enough to tell his wife how he felt.

Should he go after her? No—it was too late. All her thoughts were for Alexander now, and when he arrived, their quiet routine would be disrupted for an indefinite length of time.

And there was nothing Jethro could do about it.

“I love you,” he whispered at the door.

Chapter 50

The day arrived at last. After putting the date off twice, Mr Wade was finally coming to visit.

Cassandra had planned to hold a grand dinner party, to introduce him to Weymouth society, but she’d been forced to change her plans. At Mr Wade’s request, there were to be no other guests. Just them. It was a daunting prospect. They would both be on show.

Would she make the right impression on him? Would Jethro?

Her breath hitched at the thought of her husband. Ever since the day he’d agreed Xander could live with them, he had seemed to withdraw. It was as if that one decision had changed everything between them, and her brother was yet to arrive.

Cassandra knew it was not his fault, but she could not help wishing that Xander had not been injured. And that he wasn’t coming home to disrupt their lives.

He was the silent visitor even before he returned, and soon he would be here.

It was not surprising her nerves were on edge. No time with Jethro. The long-awaited dinner party with his investor. And Xander arriving the next day, in what shape Cassandra didn’t care to surmise.

She felt more nervous than when she’d made her debut in Bath. She knew how important this meeting was to her husband, and her stomach was tied in knots, dreading something going wrong. Afraid of letting him down.

That afternoon, Jethro came home early from the warehouse, and changed into a fashionable dark blue coat of superfine and buff-coloured pantaloons that had lately arrived from his tailor. She had instructed his valet to tie his neckcloth in the Oriental fashion that Mr Barnes sometimes adopted, to give her husband a more stylish air.

Cassandra’s dress was white silk trimmed with silver, made in the Grecian style, so Bridget had informed her. Over this, she wore a purple satin tunic, with silver buttons, and her hair was confined in a caul of silver net. The amethyst necklace Jethro had given her hung around her neck. She had never been so elegantly dressed in her life.

She hoped Mr Wade approved of her appearance, but more importantly, she desired her husband’s praise.

“You look lovely, Cassandra,” Jethro said as she joined him in the drawing room, but as he swiftly turned away, she did not feel the words were worth saying, and she had to bite back her disappointment.

The door opened, and the butler announced Mr Wade.

The gentleman was of middling height, with sparse grey hair on the top of his head, thick side whiskers, and a strong, square chin. There was nothing about him to attract—until he spoke, and from that moment, Cassandra supposed he must draw the attention of anyone within his reach.

“Mr Hunt,” he said, extending his arm toward Jethro, and shaking his hand. “How wonderful to meet you, after all these years.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Jethro replied. “Cassandra, this is Mr Wade, who has invested in my business since—well, since it began. Mr Wade, may I present my wife?”

Cassandra dipped into a curtsey and received a deep bow in return. The gentleman must be intent on making a good impression on her, to give her such a token of respect.

As he recovered from his bow, their gazes met, and a gasp caught in her throat. Those dark grey eyes of his were unusual, and she’d seen them before—she was almost certain. They reminded her of the face in the miniature she’d found in the locked drawer of the writing desk.

If the portrait was of Mr Wade, it meant Jethro’s mother had known him well, and that the man’s investment in her husband’s business was not based on merit alone, as he’d always believed.

Oh dear. What a blow to Jethro’s pride.