Page 72 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

Jethro inhaled deeply, trying to keep his temper under control. Yet another jibe about his status in society. This time, questioning if he would have obtained their father’s permission to wed Cassandra. That they would never know.

“You are under a misapprehension.” A wilful one at that. “Our attachment is recent.”

“I salute you. You must have been very much in love to pursue a lady in mourning. How on earth did you further your suit? Perhaps I should take note, for the next time I decide to propose marriage.”

Jethro’s defences were crumbling. He didn’t care what Alexander said about his humble background or his role as a merchant. He was a businessman, through and through, and proud to have risen to his current position through his own hard work.

But when the captain made such unhelpful comments about his marriage, his attack got under his guard. Each barb pricked at his conscience until the guilt threatened to overwhelm him.

“Our courtship was brief,” Jethro said. Non-existent, more like.

Alexander leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. “Ah well, you know what they say: marry in haste and repent at leisure—but then, I am sure you will have no cause to repent.”

That barb hit its mark. Again. He wouldn’t let Jethro forget. He believed his sister regretted her hasty nuptials, and he blamed Jethro for presuming upon her precarious situation to secure an advantageous marriage for himself.

And no matter how Jethro dressed it up with excuses, he knew it was true, and that realisation provoked him to breaking point, prompting him to retaliate in kind.

“How fortunate you did not make that mistake. You did not marry in haste—in fact, you did not marry at all. But if you had, I guarantee you would have spent the rest of your life repenting of the unwisdom of your choice.”

Alexander sneered. “Oh yes. Kick me while I’m down. I will soon be back at sea, serving my country. I can walk away from your cold-heartedness.”

His words hit their mark again. Cassandra could not walk away from her marriage. But did she want to?

Jethro glanced at his wife to gauge her reaction to their conversation, and his heart sank. She was biting her bottom lip, her expression so full of disappointment that it made him cringe.

Unable to bear the reproach in her eyes, he uttered a feeble excuse to leave them, and retreated to his study.

Jethro needed to avoid Alexander as much as possible for the rest of his stay. It was the only way he could prevent further conflict, which risked upsetting his wife even more.

He would apologise to her for his harsh words to her brother just as soon as the opportunity arose.

But that chance did not come. The captain commandeered his sister’s company from morning till night, and by staying away from him, Jethro was deprived of seeing Cassandra as well. It was hard not to begrudge the hold Alexander had over her affections.

He missed her presence and her conversation more than he had supposed possible for a man who not so many months ago had regularly chosen to spend his evenings in solitude.

Every night, Jethro stared at the door that connected his chamber to his wife’s. All he wanted was to talk to her. To say he was sorry—to reassure her he would try to make her happy—but he could not find the courage to knock.

When Sunday came round again, Jethro went down early for breakfast, hoping to steal enough time with his wife to apologise—without an audience. It was a risk. If Alexander joined him before she did, there was bound to be a confrontation.

The door opened just before ten o’clock, and Jethro’s lips relaxed into a smile as he saw it was, as he had hoped, Cassandra, and not her brother, entering the breakfast parlour. He put down his newspaper and rose to meet her.

Jethro had paid scant attention to fashion before his marriage, but he always noticed what Cassandra was wearing. Today, she was dressed with her usual elegance in a white morning gown, with long sleeves and a high neckline, and a profusion of lace on her head that passed for a cap.

“Good morning,” he said, bestowing his now customary peck on her cheek. That was one thing he could thank Alexander for—poking at his lack of affection toward his wife, prompting him to start greeting Cassandra with a kiss.

“You are looking very fine today. I used to think it a pity that married women took to wearing caps, but I have to admit they suit you.”

“Thank you, Jethro. A good morning to you, too.”

She blushed pink, but whether from her pleasure at the compliment or the kiss he had dared to give her when there wasn’t an audience to impress, he couldn’t tell. Either way, he liked it. The colour in her cheeks was most becoming.

He would not let his eyes stray to her mouth. It was enough, for now, that she allowed him this sign of intimacy—and even more so, because her brother was not watching.

The thought of her lips distracted him, and it was a few moments before he recalled his need to get his apology out while they were still alone. “I am sor—”

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, Cassy,” said Alexander, strolling into the breakfast parlour as if it was his own.

He smacked a kiss on his sister’s cheek and urged her to sit before ordering Jethro’s servant to bring toast.