Page 34 of The Damsel
Glancing up, she found that she had neared her destination—the home of her friend, the Widow Dane, on Half-Moon Street. Amaryllis had not been wrong; she did not have many friends. In truth, there were only a handful—Lady Olivia Gibbs and the other women who had been victimized by Bertram, Millicent … Robert.
Robert?
Could she consider him a friend? Thus far, she’d fucked him twice and spent every hour of the past sennight thinking of when they might repeat the experience. Their conversations had been strained and filled with pregnant silences. She felt certain she confounded him as much as she aroused him, which must be quite the muddling combination. And, she ought to know, because she’d been wrestling with those same conflicting feelings since their night at the White Cock. Thus her reason for visiting Millicent in the middle of the day. She’d taken care to arrive hours after noon, as her friend was known to keep late hours and sleep straight through the morning. By now, she could expect Millicent to be up and dressed, perhaps preparing to set out for Hyde Park. The Ravishing Widow loved nothing more than to drive her open air barouche down Rotten Row during the fashionable hour and scandalize thetonwith her presence. Unlike Cassandra, Millicent wore scandal like a badge of honor, eschewing the rules of polite society and doing as she pleased. While many hated her for it, others adored her, and she proved a popular figure amongst the beau monde, as well as a polarizing one.
Such a life wasn’t meant for Cassandra. She hadn’t enjoyed excessive attention before Bertram, and had discovered during the trial and resulting fallout that she was even more ill-suited for it. Retreating to Suffolk had been the best thing for her, and she’d come to enjoy the peace and quiet of the country, the invisibility it offered her.
Before she could climb the front steps of Millicent’s townhouse, the door swung open and Peter appeared on the threshold. He did not wear his footman’s livery, his dark hair covered by a hat, the hem of a greatcoat swirling about his legs. He smiled when he spotted her.
“Lady Cassandra, what a pleasant surprise,” he said as she ascended the steps. “Come for another sparring lesson? I was just on my way out to run an errand for my lady. But, I should return shortly.”
“Perhaps another time,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ve actually come to speak with Millicent. I assume she is in.”
“She is,” Peter replied, gesturing toward the half-open front door. “I just finished helping her dress, though there’s a bit of time yet before she’ll be on her way. I’ll send word for her to meet you in her drawing room.”
Cassandra didn’t bat an eyelash at Peter’s openness in allowing her to know he acted as a body servant of sorts to Millicent. Her friend’s eccentricities were known far and wide, though only her close friends were privy to all the scandalous details. Peter had come to Millicent as a servant, and despite their arrangement as lovers, he insisted on being allowed to continue serving her. And so, outside his duties as a footman, he dressed her the way a lady’s maid would—a convenient arrangement considering he spent most of his nights in her bed. While Cassandra couldn’t say she fully understood the mechanics of their relationship, she knew that her friend was happier with him than she’d ever been. In the end, that was all that mattered.
Peter ducked back inside to confer with another servant before turning back to her. “Go right in. Mistress will be down in a moment.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
With a tip of his hat, he was gone, his long legs carrying him down the steps. Cassandra made her way inside. Another footman in brilliant red and gold livery was there to greet her, a smile lighting up his handsome face. He was tall and well-built, his shoulders straining at the seams of his coat. Her friend liked to be surrounded by only the finest of things, and that included the best-looking footmen in all of London.
“Good afternoon, Lady Cassandra.”
The footman extended a gloved hand toward the open door to Millicent’s favorite drawing room.
“Her Ladyship will be with you in a moment.” “Thank you,” she said.
The room had shocked her to no end the first time she had entered it, but now it only felt familiar with its red walls and erotic art. The paintings and statuettes depicted men with women, men with men, women with women, and all manner of orgies. Her favorite pieces, a white marble sculpture near the hearth contained so many bodies in various positions that the limbs appeared like writhing snakes winding through and around one another.
She did not remain alone for long. After a few moments of warming her hands before the fire, Millicent entered the room dressed for her daily ride in Hyde Park. The widow looked as ravishing as ever, wearing a military-style spencer complete with frog fastenings across the bust, and gold braid coiling over one shoulder.
The high collar of her carriage dress caressed her jaw, and its ruffled sleeves showed at her wrists. Stylish nankeen half-boots peeked out from beneath her hem, and she wore a man’s bi-corn hat with a large purple plume draping to one side.
“Cass, my love,” she said, closing the door and coming across the room to embrace her. “I had no idea you were in Town.”
“I’ve only just arrived,” Cassandra replied, bussing her friend’s cheek. “Penrose House was as miserable as ever, and I much prefer your company.”
Carefully pulling a gigantic hat pin free of her hair, she removed her headwear and laid both upon the seat of an armchair. “Can I send for tea and cakes? You must be famished.”
“I am not hungry, thank you, and I think I need something a bit stronger than tea.”
Moving toward the sideboard, Millicent lifted one of several crystal decanters. “Brandy it is, then.”
Cassandra made herself comfortable and waited for Millicent to pour their spirits. Her friend joined her on the sofa, handing her one of the tumblers.
“Now, then, tell me how you’ve been getting on. Are you settling into your new home? Doesn’t it feel so delicious to live on what used to be Fairchild property and know it will never house one ofthemagain?”
Cassandra issued a dry snort. “It’s bloody fantastic, though Mother would call it unladylike to feel such glee over another family’s misfortune.”
“What nonsense. I would like to be left alone in a room with a locked door with your mother for five minutes. I’ll show her unladylike.”
That got a laugh out of her. “I should like to see that. Honestly, I do not know why I bothered to visit. It is Ophelia’s birthday, and of the four of them, I do not dislike her quite as much as the others. That is sure to change once she’s had a proper debut. At which point I will write them all off and continue to enjoy my solitary life as a wealthy spinster.”
“Enough about them,” Millicent declared with a wave of her hand. “Tell me what you’ve been up to since the White Cock. You did not tell me much about your evening with Mr. Stanley other than how enjoyable it was. I take it you’ve not been living as a monk since then?”
At Cassandra’s hesitation, her friend raised her eyebrows and clicked her tongue.
