Chapter 104

From the sour glare Hester shot her, it was clear the jab at her marriage had struck a nerve. She preferred her targets not to bite back, to simply endure every one of her verbal attacks without protest. She could dish out insults freely, but she had little stomach for receiving them in return.

Georgina tutted. "That’s quite enough. That’s quite enough, you two. In a few years, when we are all dead and buried, none of us will care who was married, when they married, or how long it took them to do it. And when that time comes, I would much rather be remembered for my own accomplishments than simply as a man’s wife."

Of all the ways Georgina could have diffused the brewing argument, she had chosen the most grim. Cassandra could not have been more grateful for her intervention.

Constance lowered her gaze, hiding what looked suspiciously like the beginning of a smile.

Hester stared at Cassandra for another tense moment before taking a delicate bite of cake.

The exchange ended there but the pleasantness that had existed between the women had already been disturbed and it would be tough to recreate it. Though attempts were still made. Constance revived their earlier conversation for that reason.

Cassandra had no desire to quarrel with Hester. She had far more important reasons for being here.

Her gaze wandered again toward the men.

Lord Frederick Harrington, Georgiana’s husband, stood with Lord Rupert Cavendish and Arthur Fenwick some distance away, each taking turns at the targets. Their coats had been removed and handed to servants, leaving them in shirtsleeves and waistcoats as they argued amiably over the quality of their shots.

A figure was making his way across the field, calling out as he waved in their direction.

At first, Cassandra assumed he was merely someone passing through. But as he drew closer, she realised her mistake. It was a smartly dressed man, and he was coming straight towards them.

Hester suddenly sprang to her feet, a broad grin lighting up her face.

"Mr. Ravenshire!" She raised one hand and waved enthusiastically.

The approaching gentleman raised his hat in acknowledgment and quickened his pace into a light jog.

Cassandra’s heart stopped.

John Ravenshire.

For one terrible instant, she lost the ability to breathe.

He came toward them flushed from exertion, hair wind blown and slightly tousled, his hat in one hand. When he reached the blanket, he stopped and bent over as he caught his breath, then tilted his hat with a sheepish smile and dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief.

"My apologies," he said lightly. "I fear I have made rather an undignified entrance."

The women giggled and fawned over him.

Georgiana greeted him warmly, even though she appeared shocked to see him there. Constance did the same. Hester was positively delighted, welcoming him as though he were a long-awaited guest rather than an unexpected arrival.

Everyone was standing around him. Everyone except Cassandra.

She remained frozen where she sat, staring at the man before her as if he had emerged from one of her nightmares.

John’s gaze moved across the group before finding hers. There was something knowing in his smile. Something taunting.

It suddenly struck her that he had known she would be here, while she had been entirely unaware that he was coming. It felt like cruel jest, one deliberately arranged at her expense.

The thought infuriated her beyond measure.

How dare he?

How dare he appear here like he had every right to re-enter her life whenever he pleased?

She had thought herself free of him.

She broke off the engagement, severed every tie that once connected them. Even distanced herself from her family when they sided with him.

She was rebuilding her life carefully, piece by piece, and had gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure that the man who once controlled so much of her existence would never again have that power.

Yet there he stood, intruding in her life once more. In a gathering Georgiana herself had arranged.

And Cassandra knew for certain John came for ulterior motives.

Hester was watching John with a smile.

Then, just before she turned back toward the others, Cassandra caught it. That tiny, smug curve at the corner of her mouth.

Just as swiftly as it had appeared, it vanished, but Cassandra had seen it. Now she knew exactly who was responsible for bringing this upon her.

Hester. Of course.

She was the one who invited him.

Cassandra’s simmering rage reached a boiling point.

She could leave.

The thought came first, tempting and immediate. There was nothing to gain from suffering through this.

She could stand, excuse herself, and return to her carriage. No one could reasonably force her to remain in the company of a man she abhorred when their engagement had ended so disastrously.

But they would all know why she had gone.

The gossip would begin before her carriage reached the main road.

She could already imagine them.

Lady Cassandra could not bear to see Mr. Ravenshire.

How sensitive she must be.

How she was unable to conduct herself properly.

And worse, it would be rude to Georgiana.

Cassandra came because she valued the woman’s goodwill. To leave abruptly now would make her look childish and petty.

Hester would win.

Cassandra would not give her that satisfaction.

So she stayed and gritted her teeth.

John made himself comfortable, dropping onto the blanket and taking advantage of his knack for fitting seamlessly into any crowd.

That was one of his talents.

He knew how to make himself beloved.

He spoke to Georgiana warmly, asked Constance about her latest interests and teased Hester until she laughed.

He had a way of making people feel relaxed in his presence, and before long the women were smiling and responding to him like he had been part of the gathering from the beginning.

Cassandra silently seethed. Every time he directed that charming grin at her, she felt the growing urge to scratch out his eye. Only common sense kept her from doing just that. It wouldn’t end well for her.

She forced herself to take deep calming breaths, lest she do something she would truly regret. Every instinct in her recoiled whenever John’s attention came near her.

She could feel her hatred sitting beneath her skin like a fever.

If anyone looked too closely, they would see the burning resentment in her eyes.