What did Octavia fear? Would His Grace ruin a lady in broad daylight? Whisper something so scandalous that she might faint dead away, helpless in the clutches of a villainous libertine?
The Duke of Wadebridge guided her across the clipped lawn to where a white marquee tent had been erected. They dipped beneath the peaked cover, which provided cool shade on this summer afternoon.
Guests gathered within the shelter. Cassandra recognized Mrs. Raines seated with her pretty daughter, Eugenie. The two women wore extravagant frocks more appropriate for London reception rooms than a country garden party. Surely, they perspired underneath yards of silk trimmed in fringe and dainty hats that offered little protection from the blistering rays of the sun. No wonder they hid beneath the tent, for the Raineses had made themselves prisoners to fashion.
His Grace introduced Cassandra and Honoria to the other woman in attendance—the Countess of Crewe, a pleasant lady in her early thirties. Though she wore a fashionable ensemble, she did not look out of place among the flowering trellises and boxwoods. Lady Crewe seemed more than happy to welcome Honoria into her confidence, and invited the youngest Staunton to sip lemonade on achaise longuein the shade.
Two gentlemen staggered to their feet and made tottering bows.
“Lord Crewe,” Wadebridge explained, gesturing first to the eldest of the two men. Cassandra curtseyed to the earl. “And Mr. Swygert,” the duke added, directing her to the younger fellow.
Both seemed warm and friendly, but hobbled from sour heads. They immediately retreated to cold flannels plucked from an ice bucket. With chilled fabric draped over their throbbing foreheads, the friends seemed more concerned with restful silence than flirtation.
Perhaps the presence of her escort kept the guests at bay. Any fool could see that the duke was loath to let her go.
“Would you care to walk the grounds?” His Grace asked, turning to her. “Caswell boasts a first-rate garden. We’d be in full view of the others, so you needn’t worry…”
Cassandra swore she could hear Mrs. Raines grinding her teeth. Doubtless, the matchmaking mama hoped her daughter might catch the duke’s eye, yet Wadebridge had not acknowledged Eugenie’s presence.
He saw only Cassandra.
He wanted only Cassandra.
Would it be so terrible to spend a few moments strolling in a rose garden with a handsome duke? She was in no danger of being seduced within full view of the party, and—Heaven forbid—if His Grace proposed marriage, Cassandra was in no danger of succumbing tothattemptation either.
“I should like that very much, Your Grace. Please, do lead the way.”
Arm-in-arm, they walked the length of sunny lawn. Cassandra was thankful for her airy sprigged muslin and broad-brimmed hat. The ensemble flattered her figure. The straw hat framed her head nicely—and while she had intended to hide beneath its width, Cassandra turned her face boldly toward the duke.
“You must’ve had quite the evening last night,” she said. “Your friend Mr. Swygert looked positively green.”
The gathering had an air of overindulgence. While His Grace did not stink of stale champagne, there were hollows beneath his black eyes.
“He’s not my friend,” Wadebridge replied. “He is Simon’s.”
“Simon?”
He cleared his throat. “Lord Althorne.”
“Oh, I see.” The duke was on a Christian-name basis with their host. “You two must be very close, then.”
“I’ve known Althorne since we were boys. He is my one true friend.”
“How fortunate you are to have someone to count on in the world. So many people have no one they can depend upon. I, myself, am also fortunate, as I’ve two sisters who would go to the ends of the earth for me.”
A gravel footpath meandered through the rose garden. It was barely wide enough to accommodate both her hoop skirts and his presence by her side. The duke offered her the path, while he hugged the grassy edge, where his costly sack coat might be snagged by thorns.
Wadebridge did not seem to notice or care. He kept his eyes on her and his hands a polite distance away. If he had any intention of debauching her, at least he gave her room to run.
Cassandra did not wish to run. Though there was a darkness in his eyes, her heart thrilled at the danger he posed. She’d never met a man that gave her butterflies, yet her stomach ran riot as she strolled by his side.
His gaze raked over her flushed cheeks. He must’ve known his effect on her, for he was an experienced, worldly man. She was a country maiden treading new and dangerous territory.
Wadebridge sought to put her at ease, saying, “I like your sister, the governess.”
“You mean Octavia?”
His Grace inclined his head. “She is good for Leah—and for Althorne, I think.”
