“Cavanagh is your husband,” snapped Mr Trent, offering his usual brooding stare. “The decision is his as to where you live. Jermyn Street is a perfectly acceptable location.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Cassandra forced a smile.
An uncomfortable silence ensued.
No doubt there were a host of things Mr Wycliff and Mr Trent wanted to say. Indeed, she almost wished they would as it might help to banish the tension in the air.
“I know you all think I am a terrible person,” she said, unable to cope with the oppressive silence a moment longer. “All I ask is that you do not judge me on past mistakes but give me a chance to show I can be a good wife to Benedict.”
It was Mrs Wycliff who reached out to her, who touched her gently on the arm and said, “None of us stand here as perfect exemplars of appropriate behaviour. I have made some dreadful decisions, some painful mistakes. We care about Benedict and cannot help but have grave concerns for his welfare.”
“There is no need to worry on my account. I’m sure we can all be friends,” Benedict said though his tone lacked conviction. “Given time.”
“Speaking of friends, I should thank mine for risking society’s wrath by attending today.” And it would give her another chance to probe them about the events surrounding Lord Craven’s ball. “If you’ll e
xcuse me.” Suppressing a sigh of relief, Cassandra took her leave.
“Oh, I’m sorry I arrived late.” Rosamund rushed to clasp Cassandra’s hands in a show of solidarity. “It was so difficult to slip away.” The beauty’s brown curls bobbed, and her green eyes begged for forgiveness. “If my aunt knew I was here, she’d have me transported to the country.”
“For keeping company with a shameless harlot?” Cassandra joked, but her friend’s cheeks flamed, and her gaze dropped to her boots. “That is what they call me now?”
Rosamund nodded. “The gossip making the rounds is vicious. People are saying terrible things.”
So, the comments were as vile as she imagined.
Nausea came upon her again.
“Pay it no heed, Cassandra.” Sybil cast Rosamund a look of reproach. “It’s your wedding day. Myopia is a disease common throughout the ton, and I’m afraid there is no cure.”
“Yes,” Rosamund said weakly. “I’m sure people will forget all about it in a year or two. Of course, it means you will miss Lady Casterberry’s ball, and Lady Forrester’s soirée held in support of Lord Forrester’s patronage of the arts.”
After the incident in the park, Cassandra hoped never to see Lord Forrester again. “Thank you for reminding me I am a social pariah.”
Rosamund blushed. “Forgive me. I’m utterly useless when dealing with those plagued by scandal. No doubt your social calendar will alter somewhat. They say Mr Cavanagh attends many of the demimonde’s disreputable functions. You will, too.”
Cassandra had heard about Benedict’s wild antics from her father. “The demimonde’s gatherings will be a welcome change. Besides, terrible things happen in respectable places. I am living proof of that.” She had already written to both ladies begging for information about that fateful night only to receive vague replies, but it wouldn’t hurt to press them both again now. “Have either of you remembered anything about what happened before you noticed I was missing?”
Sybil shook her head. “You asked me to watch your father in the card room and to let you know once he’d finished play.”
“You looked a little peaky,” Rosamund said, “but insisted on visiting the ladies’ retiring room alone. I assumed you were merely suffering from nerves and intended to sneak out into the garden to meet Lord Murray. We would have raised the alarm had we known of your predicament.”
A depressing silence descended.
“Despite your reluctance to marry,” Sybil said, “might I say you look beautiful today. Your complexion is positively glowing, and your dress is divine. Peacock blue is perfect for you.”
Sybil cared little for superficial things, which made her comments more endearing. She was more bluestocking than a diamond of the first water. Indeed, they might never have been friends had the earl not forced the issue for his own selfish gain.
Rosamund’s eyes widened, and she gasped. “Good Lord. Mr Cavanagh is looking directly at us. Do you think he might come over?” The lady sounded panicked. She stared at Benedict and his friends as if they were otherworldly beings. Monsters set to rip out the hearts of godly folk.
“Rosamund, you should assess a person’s character after making their acquaintance.” Sybil sighed. “Not make assumptions based on gossip.”
“Not all gossip is fabricated nonsense.” Rosamund’s bottom lip quivered. “Oh, Lord, he’s coming over. What do I say?”
Sybil clicked her tongue. “You could offer your felicitations.”
“But neither of them wanted to marry.”
That was untrue. Cassandra had always wanted to marry Benedict Cavanagh.