Page 35 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

“I could have, but why would I wish to take up such a role when Mr Hunt wanted me to marry him?”

“Is that how it was? Why, you sly creature, I can’t believe there was a romance taking place right under my nose without my knowledge.”

Eugenia’s eyes flicked to Cassandra’s stomach again and then back to her face. “How wise of you to marry Mr Hunt rather than coming to me for help.”

With this final jibe, Eugenia rose to her feet and the other ladies followed suit. Cheeks glowing with heat, Cassandra rang the bell and forced out her farewell greetings as Young arrived to show them out.

Once they had gone, Cassandra informed the footman she was no longer at home to visitors, and retreated to her bedroom. After shutting the door behind her, she stood, staring out of the window, wringing her hands as she relived the dreadful afternoon in her mind.

Part of her told her to ignore Eugenia’s snide comments, but the rest of her shrivelled up under their poisonous message.

Gone was the brave façade she had worn downstairs, as she had faced the humiliating insinuations alone. The spiteful creature would never have dared say such things if Jethro had been at her side as he should have been.

Would Cassandra ever be able to show her face in Weymouth society again? Had Eugenia convinced the others she was a fallen woman, thrown into the arms of a lover because she had rejected her help?

Only time would prove that her husband hadn’t been obliged to marry her, but it would be too late by then. Eugenia’s words would already have taken root and spread like a weed, causing damage wherever the gossip seeped.

The dam broke. She collapsed onto her bed as the tears began to fall, pouring down her cheeks and racking her body with sobs.

What would Jethro say when he heard? Would he be angry at the slur on his character and wish he’d never married her?

Chapter 18

Jethro dragged his feet upstairs to his bedroom to change his clothes for dinner. His conversation with Mr Barnes had unsettled him as much as what he had overheard from the drawing room doorway.

The curate blamed him for hustling Cassandra into marriage, and it niggled him, although he knew the accusation was unfair. Jethro had offered her an escape from a future she didn’t want, and she had accepted. It was not his fault that Mr Barnes had not been in a position to ask Cassandra to become his wife, but it was lowering to think she would have preferred the curate’s suit rather than his own.

He needed to put it behind him. Whatever her feelings, Cassandra had accepted him. Had promised to love and obey him. Not Mr Barnes.

Jethro entered his chamber and was about to ring for his valet when he heard a sound coming from his wife’s bedroom. Nearing the door, he deciphered what the noise was. Crying.

He ached to think he had caused any part of her tears. Or was she weeping for her lost love? Should he go to her, or would his presence just make things worse?

The quiet sobbing continued, and at every whimper, his chest tightened. This was the woman he had vowed to cherish, and he was aware of a deep longing to comfort her.

After a few moments of indecision, he could bear it no longer. He rapped his knuckles twice on the door and waited.

The sobbing stopped, and in the silence, his longing increased. “Cassandra? Are you all right?”

It was a foolish question to which he already knew the answer. Of course she was not all right. If she was, she would not be sobbing her heart out.

“No.”

“May I come in and speak with you?”

“Yes.”

With a sigh of relief, he opened the door and entered her bedchamber. It was the first time he had been in there with her since he had shown her the room, on the day they had married.

The space seemed unmistakeably Cassandra’s now. On the top of his mother’s dressing table were his wife’s brush and comb. Beside them stood an elegant ochre-coloured vase, decorated with swags and columns, filled with yellow and orange tulips. And on the table against the wall lay the embroidery she was working on.

Cassandra sat on the bed, her eyes and nose red from weeping. She swiped her hands across her cheeks, as if trying to eradicate the signs of her distress.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” she said.

“May I?” he asked, indicating the place on the bed next to her.

She nodded, and he sat down beside her.