Chapter 151

"Speaking of which," Lord Winthrop said suddenly, turning to the gentleman on his other side, "have you heard what people are saying about Nathaniel Ashford?"

Lord Wexford glanced at him. "Ashford? No. What about him?"

"Apparently, people have been getting injured in his mines, with the death toll in the dozens, if the rumours are to be believed. And now there are whispers that Ashford has been bribing officials to cover it up." Winthrop lifted his glass, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "It is the latest news going around."

"I have heard nothing of the sort." Wexford gave him a skeptical look. "Where did you get this information?"

Winthrop’s mouth curved. "One of the establishments you would never dare set foot inside, I imagine."

Wexford gave a short scoff. "So, one of those dens of sin you frequent?"

"Of course." Winthrop did not look remotely offended. "That is where I get most of my information. Forgive me, Wexford, but not all of us had the privilege of growing up as altar boys."

A few of them laughed.

Wexford shook his head, though there was amusement in his expression. "Your sources are questionable at best."

"And yet they are well informed."

Winthrop took another drink before turning his attention to Draven.

"What about you?" he asked. "Ashford is your fiancée’s father, is he not? Surely you have heard something about what is happening at his mines."

Draven shook his head. "There is nothing to tell. I am hearing this for the first time myself."

"Really?" The skepticism in Wexford’s voice was unmistakable. He glanced between them. "You have heard nothing?"

Draven just shrugged. "Nothing at all."

The looks exchanged around the group made it clear that none of them were entirely convinced.

They might not have accused him of lying, but neither had they believed him.

---

Cassandra knew from the instant Margaret approached her that escaping would prove difficult.

Margaret was one of Vivienne’s oldest acquaintances, a woman who visited Ashford House frequently throughout Cassandra’s childhood and still considered herself sufficiently close to the family to dispense advice whenever the mood seized her.

She was also the sort of woman who could say something outrageously insensitive in such a concerned tone that objecting to it somehow made the offended party look bad.

Cassandra never particularly liked her. Tonight, that dislike was becoming harder to conceal.

"You must remember, my dear, that marriage changes a woman’s circumstances," Margaret was saying. "You have enjoyed a great deal of freedom as an unmarried woman."

Cassandra smiled politely. She already knew where this conversation was going. She had heard versions of this speech before, dressed in different words but carrying the same tiresome message.

From the confidence in Margaret’s tone, Cassandra suspected she had repeated the same words to so many prospective brides that she could probably recite them in her sleep.

"You have been fortunate," Margaret continued. "You have pursued your interests, traveled when you pleased, and devoted yourself to all manner of little hobbies. Such freedoms are not always available to a married woman."

Little hobbies.

Cassandra felt her right eye twitch.

Margaret continued without noticing her poor choice of words. Or perhaps she noticed and simply did not care.

"And now you will not merely be a wife. You will be a duchess. That comes with responsibilities of its own. Your time cannot belong entirely to yourself."

Cassandra wondered whether Margaret had ever heard herself speak.

Apparently, marriage transformed a woman’s interests into frivolities overnight. An unnecessary indulgence that could be discarded the moment a husband entered the picture. A woman could spend years developing a mind of her own, only to marry and discover that there were people like Margaret who expected her to place it neatly aside.

Margaret lowered her voice as though she were about to impart some profound wisdom.

"You may even find that you must give up your hobbies altogether. After all, what use does a woman have for so many hobbies once she has a husband? Your mother may have failed you in many ways, but I have taken it upon myself to ensure you don’t go into marriage unprepared. A wife’s first duty is to her husband. And then, naturally, to the family she gives him. You will want to provide His Grace with strong heirs."

Cassandra’s smile became increasingly difficult to maintain.

The entirety of her life after marriage was to be reduced to tending to a husband, a household, and children.

Talking to this woman was its own special brand of torture. Cassandra tried to change the subject multiple times, but Margaret would not be deterred.

A servant passed with a wine tray, and Cassandra took a glass, her second one that evening.

She emptied it quickly and returned it to the servant’s tray, all while Margaret continued explaining the obligations of a duchess as though Cassandra were a particularly slow pupil in need of instruction.

A few minutes later, another servant passed with a tray.

Cassandra took another glass.

She drank that one just as quickly.

The wine sloshed in her stomach, warming her from within. A pleasant heat spread through her chest, though the effects remained subtle enough that she scarcely noticed them.

She ought to have been embarrassed by how much wine she consumed in such a short span of time, but she wasn’t.

At least the wine gave her something to occupy herself with besides screaming in frustration. It was also the only thing keeping her sane enough not to pick up the nearest heavy object and bash Margaret over the head right there in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

"Are you speaking from experience? Is that what you did when you married the Count?" Cassandra asked sweetly. "Because it clearly didn’t work. If it had, he wouldn’t have fathered quite so many bastards. How many were there again? I seem to have lost count."

There, that should shut her up.

Margaret’s expression tightened for the briefest moment, but before she could respond, Lady Beatrix Somers joined them, bringing with her a completely different topic of discussion and, in Cassandra’s opinion, a much-needed reprieve.

"Lady Waverly has quite outdone herself tonight," Beatrix said, looking around the ballroom. "I cannot remember seeing such a magnificent arrangement this season."

Margaret readily agreed but the moment Beatrix looked away, she directed a venomous glare at Cassandra, clearly expecting it to intimidate her into backing down.

Cassandra met her stare without flinching, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

The wine was beginning to make itself known, though not enough to cloud her judgment. She had not drunk nearly enough for that. Still, there was a pleasant looseness in her limbs now, a welcome contrast to the irritation that had been tightening every muscle in her body.

Then the music changed, signaling the beginning of the next quadrille, and couples began making their way toward the center of the ballroom.

Cassandra watched them with mild interest until she felt the light brush of a hand against her arm.

She turned and found Draven standing behind her. There was a look in his eyes she could not quite decipher.

"Ladies, if you would excuse me," he said. "I believe I am due a dance with my fiancée."