Page 34 of Enticing Odds
“Beyond indeed.”
It took a moment before Mrs. Brenchley recovered, snapping her mouth shut into a hard line of ire and loathing.
“You grossly exaggerate. There’s nothing untoward about a convivial evening spent amongst peers.”
Mrs. Brenchley’s reaction was even more than she could have hoped for. The woman’s barely concealed fear betrayed a deeper attachment than Cressida had initially supposed. Why, Mrs. Brenchley appeared to fancy herselfin lovewith this useless marquess. Cressida silentlytsked to herself.A beginner’s gaffe.
“And what of clandestine arrangements? Perhaps someone observed you and Silwood.” Cressida lifted her brows in challenge.
Mrs. Brenchley dropped her gaze and paled, making her long, lovely face appear wan and sickly. Cressida knew she hadn’t the spine to withstand being called out. The fight had gone out of her; her entire bearing spoke of defeat and despair, from the slouch of her shoulders to the loose, listless way her hands lay upon her lap.
“Who else knows?” she whispered, looking up to Cressida with true fear in her eyes. “My husband? Does my husband—”
“By Jove, no. Heavens, no.” Cressida pulled a face. “As if I would ever provide a fool such as him with such information,” she chuckled. “Why, in any other circumstance I would be congratulating you, darling, for pulling the wool over his eyes sosplendidly. If any man deserves an unfaithful wife, it would be him, I’m afraid.”
A hint of color returned to Mrs. Brenchley’s cheeks, though her gaze remained wary.
“If you wish, I will make it so no one else breathes a word of this.” Cressida watched as Mrs. Brenchley perked up slightly, her hopes rising. Cressida scoffed at such a naïve display. “But honestly, Ada,”—she casually used Mrs. Brenchley’s Christian name, relishing the sight of her thrown off-balance again—“you were awfully sloppy with the entire thing. If you must remain married to such an oaf—”
“Lady Caplin! Remain married?” Mrs. Brenchley gasped, shocked to the core. “Are you suggesting that—”
“Of course not,” Cressida lied, and waved her concerns away. “If you must marry such a nasty, possessive creature as William Brenchley, you must be cannier about it all, do you follow? A shooting party at which your beastly husband isalsoin attendance is no place for an assignation with one’s lover.”
“I gather that now,” Mrs. Brenchley muttered, crossing her arms. She’d regained most of her composure, save the glassiness in her eyes.
Oh dear, had she nearly been in tears? Cressida could scarcely believe it. And this was to be her society rival. She nearly snorted with derision.
The carriage began to slow; they were coming to a stop.
“And if I do wish to keep this… matter… between ourselves?” Mrs. Brenchley asked in a small voice.
“Right, as to that.” Cressida tilted her head, blessing her vanquished opponent with a gracious smile. “You might wish to instruct your nephew, Wormleigh, about the consequences of spreading lies.”
Mrs. Brenchley frowned and looked askance. Then realization dawned upon her, and she had the decency to appear mortified.
“My lady, I—allow me to explain.”
“Explain what?” Cressida raised a brow. “I don’t recall mentioning anyparticularfalsehoods, and I’ll thank you to do the same.”
Mrs. Brenchley clapped her mouth shut and nodded, properly cowed.
A footman opened the door to the carriage. Cressida waited for Mrs. Brenchley to exit, then followed her out. At the sound of the carriage door slamming shut behind her, she donned a treacly smile.
“I pray we understand each other, then.”
Mrs. Brenchley looked away, her face embarrassingly red.
“Good,” said Cressida, her tone clipped. “I expect I shall see you at the next meeting.” She turned and began ascending the steps to where Wardle waited with the door open.
“But, my lady, the daylilies?”
Cressida paused, waiting to hear the carriage pull away. Once she heard the crunch of the wheels rolling, she pivoted slowly, menacingly. From Cressida’s vantage point partway up the stairs, Mrs. Brenchley’s hunched, guilty form appeared so small.
Cressida stared at her for a long moment, drawing it out, enjoying the flush that grew upon the younger, fairer lady’s cheeks.
“My dear Ada, I have no daylilies.”
“But you said you grew—”
