Chapter 12 #2
Had the older woman been interested in men, he might have planned to charm her into funding the free clinic.
But as it was common knowledge that her chosen companion was Miss Stone, who was never far from her side, Grant couldn’t employ that tactic to his advantage.
No, if she was going to lend her assistance, he would have to appeal to her based on the value of the charity alone.
At their approach, Madame Archambeau’s mouth twitched into a curious grin.
“My, my, Lord Thornton. It has been ages since I’ve seen you at one of my exhibitions,” she said, casting aside the conversation she’d been having with another guest.
“Madame,” Grant said, sketching a bow. Then also bowed to her companion, who wore a far more understated gown. “Miss Stone, it’s a pleasure.”
She was the unmarried daughter of a gentry landholder, about ten years Madame Archambeau’s junior, and almost completely devoid of facial expressions.
How someone so serious and bland could have captured the affection of one of the demimonde’s most eccentric personalities was a mystery.
On the surface, they appeared to be complete opposites.
“And who is this magnificent creature on your arm, Thornton?” Madame Archambeau inquired, turning her interest toward Cassie.
He was nearly certain the woman already knew but made the proper introduction just the same.
“Ah, yes, Lady Cassandra of the three waltzes,” she said with a fanciful wave of her gloved fingers. She turned toward Miss Stone. “It seems our wayward physician has stumbled out of the dark wood and found his way onto a well-trodden road at last.”
Cassie’s arm stiffened around his. Being likened to a “well-trodden road” could certainly come across as an insult, though he was rather hoping Madame Archambeau was referring to the road many take toward marriage.
“What fortunate artist has convinced you to display their sculptures tonight?” Grant asked to redirect the conversation.
“Miss Constance Plumly. Isn’t her work divine? I can introduce you if you like.”
While he’d enjoyed seeing Cassie blush at the erotic sculpture, the art had not been his reason for attending tonight.
“Is it all…” Cassie began to say as she peered toward the closest statue. That one, carved of alabaster, resembled a lily, however the closer Grant looked, the more it appeared to be a representation of the female genitalia.
“All what, my lady?” Madame Archambeau said with a knowing smirk. “Indecent?”
Cassie chose another word. “Forthright.”
Miss Stone’s dour expression cracked with a small twitch of her mouth. “Bravo,” she commented. “There is nothing indecent about the female form or the pleasure it can both give and receive. Only society and religious establishments try to convince us there is.”
It was the most Grant had heard Miss Stone say at one time. Even her companion looked slightly taken aback.
“And yes, Miss Plumly’s sculptures all follow the same theme,” Miss Stone went on, answering Cassie’s question.
Madame Archambeau shifted her inquisitive eye toward Cassie once again, as if wanting a second inspection of the person who had inspired Miss Stone to speak so passionately.
“Of course, magnifying such artistic talent is incredibly important,” Grant said, striking while the iron was hot, “however, have you ever given any thought to throwing support behind charities that benefit those who are willfully overlooked by high society? Say…” He paused as if trying to think of a charity.
“Vulnerable, unmarried lower-class women who are with child?”
He didn’t have to look at Cassie to imagine her clenched jaw and rolling eyes. Admittedly, it had been a clunky delivery, but it got the job done. Madame Archambeau snapped her fingers and a servant dressed head to toe in banana yellow brought her a new glass of champagne.
“You have a charity in mind, I presume,” she said.
“I do. Have you heard of Hope House?”
Cassie took a deep breath; he felt her ribs expand against his arm.
“I have not,” Madame Archambeau answered. “Tell us about it.”
Through his jacket, Grant felt Cassie’s fingers pinch him. “Yes, that sounds fascinating, Lord Thornton. Do tell us more.”
She couldn’t do the honors herself. To be knowledgeable about it would only indicate that she was involved. And while the two women bucked convention at every opportunity, they were also shameless gossips.
So, Grant laid out the premise of Hope House as he knew it: a safe house for unmarried women, either wanting to have their baby in private and arranging for parish nuns to place the babes with good families, or escaping from those who would harm them and their unborn child.
Cassie pinched him again, indicating he’d left something out. He had no idea what, however.
“I imagine such a place would serve women coming from many different situations,” she said for him a moment later. “Those who are frightened or ashamed or feel they’ve nowhere to turn.”
“How very true, Lady Cassandra,” Miss Stone said, her grave expression now one of concern.
“Where is this Hope House?” Madame Archambeau asked.
“Its location is private,” Grant answered. “Apparently, it is found via a sort of whisper network.”
Sparks of interest flared in both women’s eyes. The two exchanged a look and a nod. “Bring the organizer to us,” Madame Archambeau said. Then with an inquisitive glance, said, “How very fortunate for them that you’ve learned of their endeavor.”
He could have easily taken advantage of the moment to say he’d learned of Hope House through his free clinic, which also needed assistance. But their minds were trained on the safe house’s mission; to falter at this moment could dilute their interest.
“I help where I can,” he replied vaguely.
Madame Archambeau sipped her drink and gestured toward the rest of the gallery. “Do enjoy the rest of the art, Lady Cassandra.”
“In a most forthright way,” Miss Stone added with a playful smirk. The two women linked arms and moved along, ready to mingle with others.
Cassie turned her face toward his once they were alone again, wonderment dilating her pupils.
“Does that mean they want to help?” she whispered.
“I’d say so,” he answered, grinning at her expression of breathless delight. Cassie nearly sagged against his arm as they walked aimlessly across the gallery floor.
“This is so wonderful. Oh, Grant, I never thought… I’ll send Elyse! She can tell them everything, answer every question.” She hopped twice, giddily. “When will you take her? Should you go tomorrow? Maybe that’s too soon. But what if they forget about our conversation?”
“They won’t forget,” he assured her, pleased by her reaction.
Cassie’s bright and bubbly reaction was a salve against the lost opportunity to make his own pitch. But there would be another time. He’d see to it then.
“We don’t have to stay for the rest of the party,” he told her as they entered a thicker crowd in the center of the gallery. “Unless you have a secret yearning to see—”
The suggestive comment, which would have likely earned him a jab in the ribs, was cut off as another guest slammed into him.
Grant was solid and tall enough to not be spun around by the force of it, but it did send a splash of champagne over the lip of his glass.
It also shoved Cassie aside, for which he turned to spear the clumsy offender with a glare of annoyance.
He was met with a red-cheeked man who stood as tall as Grant, his cravat loose, his eyes unfocused from too much liquor.
“Ho, there, friend, sorry about that. Thornton, is that you?” the man said, clapping Grant on the shoulder.
It was then that Grant recognized him. He looked a bit sloppy and soft around the paunch and jowls.
But he was nearly certain this was Lord Renfry, the heir to the Bainbury earldom.
The sleazy cad had seduced his own stepmothers, both of whom had died.
Both murdered, in fact. The investigation had been one Hugh and Audrey had solved a handful of years ago, and Renfry’s reputation had spiraled into the gutter since then.
At Grant’s side, Cassie’s arm transformed into inflexible granite. So, she knew of the degenerate, did she?
“Think nothing of it,” he said, and then started away. Cassie’s feet, however, stuck to the floor. Renfry clapped his hand onto Grant’s forearm, this time to stop him.
He looked pointedly at the drunkard’s hand, then to Renfry’s face with the intent to sear him with reproach. But he was not paying attention to Grant. Renfry’s eyes were hinged on Cassie.
“Lady Cassandra?” A mischievous grin pulled his wet lips into a leer. “It’s been quite some time. You look well. Extremely well.”
Grant had the urge to punch that leer clean off his mouth, but when he looked to Cassie, he forgot the urge.
She’d lost all the pink coloring that had flooded her cheeks after leaving Madame Archambeau and Miss Stone.
Her lips were slack, her pupils pinpricks as she stared up at Renfry.
Her nostrils thinned as she took small, panicked breaths.
“My lady?” Grant whispered, alarm slowing his pulse.
Renfry chuffed a laugh, and instantly, Cassie averted her eyes. She turned her whole face away and loosened her grip on Grant’s arm, as if she was about to flee. He tightened his hold.
“We were just leaving, Renfry,” he said with more force and vitriol that necessary.
“Of course you were. Enjoy your evening, Thornton.” The man snorted again before moving off, but Grant and Cassie were already walking away, her gait stiff and awkward at his side. She clutched his arm.
“I’m not feeling well,” she said, breathless. “I’d like you to bring me home now.”
He murmured yes, of course he would, while his mind spun in circles.
It had not been difficult to interpret Renfry’s tone when he’d wished him a good evening.
The man believed Grant would be winning Cassie’s favors.
Why the hell would he suggest it? He clenched his jaw as they collected her pelisse and his coat and summoned the carriage.
He lost his patience as they waited outside on the crushed gravel drive, Cassie’s quick breaths fogging the crisp night air.
“When did you make Renfry’s acquaintance?”
She was no longer on his arm. Instead, she’d wrapped them around herself, her eyes on the drive, as if staring could make their carriage appear faster. She didn’t answer.
“Cassie,” he prodded.
“Some time ago.”
“How did you meet him?”
“I don’t recall.”
Her brief answers worked underneath his skin. He kept his mouth shut as his carriage and driver came forward. Once they were enclosed inside and Merryton was turning them back down the drive, Grant spoke.
“I’ve never seen you this rattled.”
“I’m not rattled. I told you—I’m not feeling well.”
Her voice was high and panicked. She wouldn’t look at him.
“What happened with Renfry?”
Cassie squeezed her eyes shut. “Please stop asking questions. Please.”
He rolled his shoulders, restless. Agitated.
The way Renfry had looked at her, as if remembering something satisfying, pricked like a briar.
Something had taken place between them. As they crossed out of Kensington and onto the well-lit King’s Road, to travel through Hyde Park, he recalled what Hugh had said to him at the Tennenbright ball.
He’d had cautioned Grant against hurting Cassie; that she had already been hurt before.
He curled his hands into fists where they rested on his thighs. It had been Renfry.
“What happened between the two of you?”
Unshed tears glistened in her eyes when she opened them again, the interior carriage lantern illuminating her beseeching expression. “It is none of your concern. We are not truly courting, so I don’t have to tell you anything.”
The tears slipped, cutting down her cheeks. Angrily, she swiped them away.
Grant’s whole body strung tight with the urge to pummel something. To leap from the carriage and go back to Archambeau Manor and hunt down the dissolute cretin.
“Did he harm you?” Vehemence pulled his voice low.
“Leave it alone. Grant, please,” she pleaded again.
“I won’t. Talk to me, Cassie. I know what Renfry is like. Did he…”
“Stop!” The word broke on a sob. She dropped her chin and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t. Please, just stop.”
Incandescent fury swarmed. It had been a long time since he’d felt this kind of rage. Unhinged. Directionless.
Grant dragged in a breath but said nothing more. If she wanted him to stop speaking, then he would stop. For now. But he would have answers. If Renfry had harmed her… The black thought drove him mad. Why hadn’t Hugh said anything? How could he have allowed the man to remain breathing?
The rest of the ride back to Grosvenor Square was silent. Cassie refused to look at him, and when Merryton pulled up to the residence and opened the door, she all but leaped out.
As soon as Cassie had been safely received through the front entrance by her footman, Grant knocked the carriage wall. “To the boxing club, Merryton.”
He wasn’t ready to go home, and he had the powerful desire to hit something.