Page 86 of Enticing Odds
She always did.
“And you!” Frederick spat the accusation at her, his expression as dark as his voice. “You said we wouldn’t suit! Implied she was barren or some such nonsense! And then she wed that bastard Brenchley.”
“Tch, Frederick,” Cressida said in mock pity. “If the depth of your mutual feeling was so great, I wonder at how easily a mere suggestion overcame it?”
He flushed, perhaps in anger, perhaps in admission.
“Well, it was a mistake on my part, to be sure. Given what Henry had to endure because of her duplicity, I daresay the two of you would have made an excellent pairing.”
“Hang it all, what do you mean?” Frederick paused. “Henry endured…”
“She fed some filthy lie to her unpleasant little nephew,” Cressida reached for her tea, bringing it to her lips before murmuring, “Viscount Wormleigh, I believe. An apt name, considering.”
“A lie? Her nephew? How do you…” Frederick squinted, trying to follow.
“A lie about Henry’s parentage. Fortunately, he did not allow it to pass unchallenged. Unfortunately, it led to a request for his removal from the school.”
“This… Wormleigh chap’s removal?”
“No, Frederick,” Cressida sighed. “Do keep up. Henry’s removal. Do you not recall?”
“Er… no. I don’t believe I do.”
Anger licked at her chest, and Cressida leveled her coldest glare, ready to deliver the most acidic set-down she could manage. But then she stopped.
She’d never told Frederick, had she?
She hardly ever spoke with her brother. When she had no choice but to, she always approached him cagily, offering only the minimum information necessary. She hadn’t been open with him about Dr. Collier’s favor to her. She’d simply said he’d done her a good turn.
Had she ever exchanged words with her brother in good faith? A quiet voice answered, from deep in the recesses of her mind.No, it whispered.Not since you wed.
“Well,” she said, setting down her cup and smoothing her skirts, attempting a graceful recovery. “It happened. And all ofthis transpired over a game of cards…” She sighed. Might as well have it all out now. “Cassino, if you can imagine. Which is why, then, I asked Dr. Collier to instruct Henry on such matters. Cards. Gaming.”
She prayed he’d not noticed the hitch in her voice as she spoke Matthew’s name. She hadn’t needed to say it, she realized, but she wanted to. Wanted to feel her lips form the sounds, wanted to feel the slice of pain it brought her. The pain reminded her it had been real.
“Ah…” Frederick said nervously, his fingers fidgeting. “I did wonder why you’d made him such a generous offer. I’d initially thought… well, pay it no mind.” He shook his head, then looked back at her, solemn. “Although, Dr. Collier is, unfortunately, the reason for my calling.”
Panic arrested her. She dared not move.He actually knows?
“And I feel even more monstrous, knowing now that the fellow has done Henry a service, yet… I do not believe I can put his name forth for election. Why, he’d be blackballed from every quarter. His tastes are so common, and his manners as well. Terribly so…” Frederick shook his head sadly. “Cressida, why did you ask such an insurmountable task of me? I’d surely suffer the same fate myself, were I to back him!”
The worry in her gut twisted, ignited into fury.
“Dr. Collier? Not good enough for your little club?” She nearly stood in indignation, but clenched her fists instead.
“Understand how it must be,” Frederick tried.
“I understand perfectly well,” she seethed. “I understand that I must pay a call down in St. James’s, and speak some sense into these arrogant asses in their precious little club.”
Frederick gasped.
Good. A wave of unbridled anger flooded through her. She needed a release, needed to yell, to scream, to upend the tea tray. She had kept this anger locked tightly away for so many years,hinting at it only sparingly through an underhanded comment here, an expertly executed set-down there.
“But the rules, Cresto! The rules explicitly forbid women—”
“Do not call me that,” she breathed, halting after each word.
“What?” Frederick seemed completely at sea, struggling to understand this extraordinary change in his cool, refined viscountess of a sister. “But Caplin always referred to—”
