Page 102 of His Tempting Duchess

Margaret rose to her feet. “Do not invoke his name with me! Don’t youdare. You were just a child when he died, but I… Iknewhim like you never did. I know he wanted desperately to protect you, and I’m sure he told you what he thought was best. But my dear man, you cannot live like this.”

Cassian stood there, feeling—there was no other word for it—flabbergasted.

“How dare you speak to me like that?” he bit out.

Margaret gave a short laugh. “Oh, do give over. But let me tell you this, my dear. That girl cares for you, and you are taking it for granted. How can you not see what a gem you have in front of you?”

Cassian held her gaze for a long moment. Then, at last, his knees seemed to buckle, depositing him directly into a chair. He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.

“She left me, Margaret,” he whispered, his voice muffled. “She packed up her things and went back to her mother’s. What have I done? Is it already too late?”

Margaret sighed deeply. “I don’t know, Cassian. I hope not.”

“Uncle?”

He flinched, spinning around at Frances’s voice.

The girl stood in the doorway, sleep-rumpled and tired, staring at him. She looked younger than ever with her hair down and a loose, plain gown billowing around her.

“Frances, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he murmured.

She took a tentative step forward. “Did… did you say that you and Aunt Emily are quarreling?”

“Yes, we are. She is angry with me, and I suppose… I suppose I deserve it. I don’t know how to fix it. I could tell her that I care for her, but I am not sure that she would believe me. I… I don’t know what to do.”

Frances bit her lower lip, her brow furrowed in thought.

“You should make a grand gesture,” she said, nodding gently. “Do something to show her that you truly care.”

Cassian frowned. “A grand gesture?”

And then, not unlike a runaway cart crashing directly into him, an idea struck him.

CHAPTER31

It was close to noon. Emily had dragged herself out of her childhood bedroom and sprawled on a couch in the parlor, watching her mother through narrowed eyes.

Octavia was humming to herself, working on a piece of embroidery.

“You don’t seem very upset,” Emily remarked.

“Upset? Why would I be upset? The ball last night was a roaring triumph. The Prince Regent adores your art, which means that all of England adores your art, and you are a duchess, safely married. Why should I be upset?” Octavia snorted. “Few mothers can boast about marrying offthreedaughters to dukes. I considermyselfa success in that regard.”

Emily propped herself up on her elbows. “I have left my husband, Mama!”

Octavia clicked her tongue. “Let me tell you something, my dear. I have had both of your sisters lying on that couch at one time or another, crying or raging over something, blissfully unaware that they are madly in love with their husbands and that they are madly in love with them in return. Forgive me for not beingtooworried.”

Emily bit her lip. “This time is different. Cassian doesn’t love me. He never can.”

She waited for her mother to tear her eyes away from her embroidery, but Octavia only kept working, smiling mildly.

“When you live as long as I have, my dear,” she murmured, snipping off a thread, “you’ll learn to read people. You young people believe you’re so very discreet, so very clever, but I’m afraid that your thoughts are written plainly on your faces, just like everybody else.”

“What isthatsupposed to mean?” Emily demanded, a little snippily.

At that moment, the butler appeared at the doorway. “A Miss Rawdon for Her Grace, Your Ladyship,” he announced, looking faintly surprised.

Emily sat upright. “Frances? Show her in, please.”

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