Page 57 of The Damsel
“Mr. Stanley,” the dowager said with a practiced smile. “What a pleasant surprise. Please, sit down.”
Remaining on his feet, he narrowed his eyes at the dowager. “No, thank you, my lady. I am looking for Lady Cassandra.”
The girl’s face lit up with curiosity while the mother scowled, looking as if she’d just taken a sip of turpentine.
“Whatever for?” she spat.
He clenched his jaw to hold back the insults dancing on the edge of his tongue. After his long and tiring journey, he stood seconds away from throttling the woman.
“A private matter,” he snapped. “I only need to know if she is here.”
The dowager’s expression became downright cold as she rose to her feet, unfolding her limbs with a stiff sort of grace. “If she is in London, she has not seen fit to show her face here. You may try the home of the Widow Dane. It should hardly surprise you that a woman like Cassandra would keep company with such a strumpet.”
His fingernails bit into his palms as he turned away, needing to be out of this woman’s company before he did or said something he ought not.
“I will stop in there. Thank you.”
“Have a care, Mr. Stanley,” the dowager called out, halting him in the doorway. “My daughter has a certain reputation for snaring men into her trap. If you are not on your guard, she will drag your name through the mud, as well.”
That did it. Hang social niceties or good manners … he was now out of them when it came to this woman. He turned to face her, the force of his rage making him vibrate from the inside out.
“You, Lady Lane, might be the greatest bitch I’ve ever encountered.”
The dowager bristled, her spine snapping straight as her face drew into an expression of fury. Meanwhile, her daughter gasped, one hand clapping over her mouth.
“I beg your pardon?” the dowager huffed.
“You heard me quite well. Your daughter trapped no one, and Bertram Fairchild and his father deserved to carry the weight of every accusation leveled against them. Cassandra was a victim in need of love and understanding, and you gave her only scorn. You should have led the charge against her assailant rather than placing the blame upon her. You should have fought them rather than accept money as payment—money that is tainted with your daughter’s own blood and tears. You are a disgrace and a pitiful excuse for a mother.”
The dowager seethed, her face flushing as she approached him, fists balled up as if she meant to pummel him. He stood his ground, shoulders squared, chin raised.
“How dare you?” she ground out. “Leave this house, before I have you thrown out.”
He took a step forward, looming over her with a satisfied smirk at the way she backed down, uncertainty flashing in her eyes.
“Gladly. And Cassandra will never step foot over the threshold ever again, I will make sure of it.”
“Good,” she fired back with a vicious smile. “She is not welcome here, and neither are you. Now leave.”
“Go to Hell,” he muttered before turning to make his exit.
Long strides carried him into the corridor, where a flurry of servants rushed to be out of his way. They’d been listening in, and now went about their tasks while trying to pretend otherwise. The butler gave him a curious stare but said nothing as Robert barreled through the house. Without bothering to wait for a servant to see to the task, he threw the door open himself and burst out onto the front steps.
Anger at the dowager flamed hot in his belly but he pushed it down, his mind turning back to Cassandra. While he’d love nothing more than to go back into Penrose House and continue giving her a piece of his mind, his mission superseded all else. He had to find Cassandra and put a stop to whatever scheme she had cooked up.
His carriage remained where he had left it, idling in front of the townhouse.
“Where to now, sir?” the driver asked as Felix threw open the door and jumped down to place the steps for him.
“The home of the Widow Dane on Half-Moon Street,” he declared.
“Aye, sir … I know the place.”
He leaped into the carriage without another word, slamming the door shut once Felix had climbed in after him. Settling on the seat, he ground his teeth and stared out the window, impatient to be to his next destination. The city was coming alive for the day, Grosvenor Square teeming with people in carriages and on foot out to make their morning calls. The traffic had not thickened enough to slow their progress, and before long they had arrived at the home of Lady Millicent Dane.
Robert jumped down from the carriage without waiting for the steps and marched straight to the door. He gave no thought to the fact that they’d never been formally introduced and had no previous acquaintance. None of that mattered, not when finding Cassandra was more paramount than anything.
A footman with a Corinthian frame answered the door, giving him a curious look. Robert knew he must look like hell, his clothing rumpled from long hours in the carriage, hair tousled from tug of his fingers, his eyes darting and bloodshot.
