Page 23 of Enticing Odds
“Well, we’d been playing cassino all night, and I’d been trounced. Lost every hand, all my markers.”
“You must be joking,” Cressida scoffed. “Surely not every hand?”
“Mama,” Henry groaned, bringing both hands to his head. “You don’t understand.”
“I certainly understand the rules of cassino, but I fail to see how any son of mine could be ruined by several hands of it. Why, it’s a child’s game, Henry!”
He sulked.
“I was sporting about it, too. I didn’t protest, I restrained myself from making a sore remark.”
Cressida doubted that very much, but bit her tongue.
“But then Wormleigh commented that I ought to resign myself to losing, as that would be my lot in life, always finishing behind…” He paused and looked down.
He didn’t have to say it, for she knew exactly what this Wormleigh had said.Behind your brother.Always second to Arthur, the Viscount Caplin.
Cressida set the unfinished rock cake aside again. Harsh though it may be, the sentiment was true. Henry had no title, and his inheritance would be paltry compared to his elder brother’s. He could ill afford to be a mark at cards.
“And then you hit him?”
Henry laughed ruefully. “No. Well, not at that point.”
“What happened, then, darling?” she coaxed.
Henry flushed, still staring into his lap. He laced his fingers together, then anxiously pulled them apart, making fists that rested atop each knee.
At last he spoke. “I dare not say, Mama.”
“Go on, then. I would like to know.”
“He said…” Henry drew a breath and looked up, eyes glassy. “He said it was just as well that Arthur was Father’s heir, for everyone suspected me a bas—” He paused to bite his lower lip, then continued, calmer. “Everyone thinks me someone else’s son, and that Father died before I was born.ThenI hit him.”
Whatever Cressida had expected, that was not it. She reeled. The air rushed out of her; it felt an age before she could breathe once more.
“Mama?”
“I’m glad you hit him.”
Cressida reached for the rock cake she’d discarded. She took a large bite, relishing its decadent texture as she chewed.
Henry stared at her in disbelief. “Truly?”
Cressida swallowed, then nodded. “Of course. You are your father’s son, darling. I don’t want you to ever fear on that count. It was only right of you to defend your good name from this pathetic little sod.”
Henry’s eyes widened at her language. “But why would Wormleigh suggest—”
“Wormleigh, you say?” Anger burned all over, but Cressida held her back straight, her head high. She’d root out the source of this slander and make the blackguard pay. “What is his family name?”
“Viscount Wormleigh?” Henry wrinkled his nose. “I think his full name is… Brenchley. Augustus Brenchley.” He added sourly, “Hisfather’s an earl.”
“Ah. I see.” Cold fury rushed through her veins, chilling her to the core. She drew in a long breath and put on a smile. “Don’tworry, darling. I’ll make short work of him, for I’m quite adept at dealing with spoiled little lordlings. And as it so happens, I believe I’m acquainted with your Wormleigh’s uncle.”And aunt, she added to herself.
“Please! Don’t do anything, don’t say anything! Mama, I’m begging you!”
“And why not? Henry, you shan’t be back for next term. We’ll have to find another situation for you. Perhaps Eton.” She sighed, looking down at the last bit of rock cake she held. “You needn’t see the little worm for years.”
“ButMama,” he begged, “everyone will know if you do something! They’ll…” His face fell, along with his shoulders. Elbows on his knees, his chin came to rest upon his hands. “They’ll mock me. Just as they did when I lost at cassino.”
