Chapter Nine
A Few Hours Earlier
Cassandra knew very little about the enigmatic woman once known as the Dowager Viscountess Everly, save for the whispers of the society gossips and what little the other widows had told her.
She’d expected to find opulence when she entered the former viscountess’s home, but the rich and vibrant hardwoods mixed well with the exquisite art.
Mrs. Gallagher embraced her style and taste with the pride of a man.
The moment Cassandra stepped into her parlor and glimpsed the infamous widow clad in red silk and black velvet, she knew they would be fast friends.
“Your Grace.” Mrs. Gallagher turned away from the fire and curtsied. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“I do hope I am not imposing.” Cassandra took in the rich, green hues of the room. Plants lined the window, and a wall of books bracketed the door she had just entered.
“Not at all.” Mrs. Gallagher gestured to the two chairs by the fire. “Shall I ring for tea?”
“That would be delightful. Thank you.” Cassandra sat while her hostess summoned a servant and made the request.
“Tea is on the way,” Mrs. Gallagher said, settling into the chair opposite.
“You have a lovely home,” Cassandra said, admiring the detailed scrollwork along the mantelpiece.
“Thank you, madam.” Mrs. Gallagher folded her hands in her lap. “I know you did not come all this way to discuss my choice in ornamentation.”
“They were right about you.”
“Who?” Mrs. Gallagher smirked. “The gossipmongers?”
“Lady Corby, Lady Amesbury, and Lady Winstead.”
“Ah,” her hostess remarked with a laugh. “The Mayfair Widows. A divine trio, to be sure, quite unlike the rest of the peerage.”
“Are they not friends of yours?” Cassandra asked, confused. “Lady Corby spoke quite highly of you on several occasions. I merely assumed…”
“Oh, yes, we are well acquainted. The four of us…” Mrs. Gallagher paused as the servant entered the room, placed the tray on the table, and left. “The four of us are patronesses of the Mayberry Academy for Young Ladies. Alas, since I met Warren, I have not been as active as I would like to be.”
“Well, they have invited me to join them in their philanthropic endeavors.” Cassandra elaborated as Mrs. Gallagher poured the tea.
“Excellent.” Mrs. Gallagher handed her the cup. “I can think of no one more suited to the task of ensuring the school is a success.”
“Well, that is one of the reasons I have come.” Cassandra cradled the teacup in her hands. “According to Lady Corby, we have encountered a bit of a complication with the building’s current landlord.”
Mrs. Gallagher frowned. “Yes, it is quite unfortunate.”
“She informs me that you have a solution for the problem at hand.”
“I do.” Mrs. Gallagher tapped her jaw. “But it seems you have reservations on my suggestion to purchase the building outright?”
“Once she explained the details, I admit is a wonderful idea.” Cassandra paused. “I have considered asking my son to take on the task personally, but Lady Corby says there is another potential benefactor aligned to make the purchase on behalf of the school. The Lord of Devil’s Acre, Mr. Simon Oh.”
Mrs. Gallagher sighed and shook her head. “Simon.” The simple word held a wealth of emotion. “They have finally decided to ask the Lord of Devil’s Acre for help.”
“How do you—?”
“We have a history.” Mrs. Gallagher stood, retrieving a box off the mantel.
What past did the former dowager viscountess share with this man? Cassandra’s curiosity grew exponentially.
“Do you mind if I partake?” Mrs. Gallagher held up a cigarette.
“Not at all.” Cassandra sat stunned, a million questions burning through her mind. “I do not mean to pry, but might I inquire as to the nature of your association with him?”
“It is a long and rather complicated tale, madam.” Mrs. Gallagher lit the tip and inhaled deeply, smoke curling around her head like a halo.
“For the sake of brevity, I shall say only this. Simon saved me—on multiple occasions—both literally and figuratively. Without his aid, I would not be alive today.”
“So, you trust him?”
“Implicitly.” She held Cassandra’s gaze, her eyes like sparkling jewels lit with flame. “There is not a man in the world I would place my trust in more than Simon—aside from Warren.”
“Your—”
“Her husband.” A deep voice rang behind her. “Pardon my interruption.”
The cultured American accent struck her first, but when Cassandra turned, her breath caught.
A handsome gentleman in a tailored suit with a silver waistcoat strode toward them.
His dark hair fell in waves around his face, and silver graced his temples, giving him an air of sophistication.
He carried himself with confidence, but Cassandra marked the roguish way he smiled at his wife.
“I shall only be a moment.” He placed his hand on Mrs. Gallagher’s waist and leaned close, whispering in her ear.
Her cheeks pinkened at his intimate attentions. “When I have finished here, I shall join you in the library.”
He straightened with a nod and turned toward Cassandra, extending his hand. “Mr. Warren Gallagher.”
“Cassandra Sterling, Duchess of Tolland.” She stared at his outstretched hand for a long moment before she realized he wanted her to shake it.
“Do not mark his bad manners, madam.” Mrs. Gallagher tutted with a smirk, nudging him with her hand. “He is American and has no patience for the rules of society.”
“With all due respect, I find it quite tedious and antiquated,” he said with a half-smile.
“And this is precisely why I first refused to marry you,” Mrs. Gallagher murmured softly. “Now, go. I shall join you shortly.”
Cassandra dropped her gaze to the fire and drank her tea, hiding her smile behind the cup. She envied their easy banter. It was quite obvious upon seeing them together that they were in love. Recklessly so.
For a titled widow to even consider another marriage to someone outside their social class, let alone a union with an American, well, it was unconventional, to be sure. But the threat of censure did not seem to deter Mrs. Gallagher.
The American tipped his head in respect. “Lovely to meet you, Your Grace.”
“Likewise, Mr. Gallagher.”
And with that, he left them.
“My apologies, madam.” Mrs. Gallagher stubbed out the cigarette. “He is still unaccustomed to our ways, and despite my efforts to teach him, he remains stubborn and spirited.”
“Yet you care deeply for him regardless,” Cassandra said softly.
“I do.” Mrs. Gallagher quickly recovered her composure. “Let us return to our previous conversation.”
“Yes, your association with the Lord of Devil’s Acre.” Cassandra leaned forward. “Do you see any reason why he could not be trusted to keep his word?”
“None,” Mrs. Gallagher vowed. “Despite his notorious and feared reputation, Simon is a man of his word and loyal to a fault. Any agreement made with him will be honored to the letter.”
Sincerity rang in her declaration. Cassandra could not deny the conviction in her voice. If both Lady Corby and Mrs. Gallagher were convinced of the wisdom to include this man, then she should harbor no concerns. And yet this was not merely about the school.
Cassandra’s bargain with the Lord of Devil’s Acre concerning her husband’s debts loomed like a dark cloud over her head.
Could she truly place her trust in this crime lord as easily as Mrs. Gallagher had?
There was more to that story, and she hoped this newfound friendship would allow her to learn more.
The dowager viscountess had a strong, independent spirit and passion.
It gave Cassandra hope of discovering her own.
“That certainly puts my mind at ease.” Cassandra stood. “I thank you for your time and counsel.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Gallagher rose to join her. “You are welcome to return anytime.”
Upon leaving the dowager, Cassandra pondered the exchange and the implications of this new information. When she returned home, she would speak with Evans. Confidence infused her as the carriage crept closer to her home.
They would work together to find a solution to this mess her husband had created.
She doubted her son would listen. He was quite stubborn.
If she was able to find adequate proof of her husband’s hidden sins, then perhaps she stood a chance of convincing Phillip.
There had been proof, but now it was gone.
Could there be anything equally damning to convince Phillip aside from that?
The thought of tarnishing her son’s memory of his father left her conflicted. He deserved to know the truth. James had been an absent father and a monstrous husband. How could she possibly reveal these things to her son and not expect him to lash out in disbelief and defiance?
Perhaps Reuben would have a solution. If only she had the documents he’d taken from the desk. Could she somehow persuade him to return them? Her face warmed at the thought of using a more… seductive method of persuasion.
Regardless of everything falling to pieces around her, she craved him. Desire never appealed to her, but now she had a taste of it—she longed for more.
By the time the carriage had reached the steps of her home, Cassandra needed the soft caress of the cold air to wash the heat from her skin. She ascended the stairs, taking measured breaths to keep from showing her impatience.
Inside the house, Cassandra nearly collided with Phillip in the entryway. He turned, pulling on his coat, his hat nearly slipping from his hand.
“Mother.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” she asked, flustered.
“I forgot, I have a previous engagement. I’m late.” He pulled open the door. “I shall return for dinner next week. We have much to discuss.”
“Very well,” she called after him, but he was already gone, the door slamming in his wake.