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“Harry, you will drop this lawsuit. We all know it’s ludicrous.”
Bolderwood took a painted enamel snuffbox from the desk and helped himself to a pinch. He snorted it and did not offer any to Joshua.
“I cannot do that, Cassandra,” he said. “Justice must be served.”
“Whatever financial trouble you have gotten yourself into, you must not solve it with such distasteful lies.”
Bolderwood shut the snuffbox and studied it. Painted on each side were scenes of naked men and women, doing what naked men and women did best. Cassandra must have noticed the erotic artwork, but she ignored the insult of it beautifully. Joshua resisted the urge to shove the snuffbox down the insolent coxcomb’s throat. He was fairly sure Cassandra would object to that.
Had she truly loved this despicable idiot? She had been nineteen, then. People could believe all sorts of stupid things at nineteen. That must be why they married women off so young. If they waited until women were old enough to get some common sense, they’d never get them married off at all.
“Lies?” Bolderwood said finally, rocking back on his heels, a faint, sneering smile playing around his lips. “But there’s evidence of an affair. Lots of evidence.”
Joshua grabbed the snuffbox, slammed it onto the desk. “There cannot be any evidence, because it never bloody well happened.”
Cassandra was there at his side, her shoulder pressed to his arm. She looked Bolderwood in the eye. “Harry, you and I both know that this never happened.”
The smile only broadened. “Doesn’t matter what you and Iknow. Only matters what the jury believes.” He folded his arms over his chest. “We don’t expect the full fifty thousand, you know. We’ll be content with twenty or thirty.”
“We?” Cassandra repeated sharply. “You mean you and your wife.”
Bolderwood’s smile slipped: That was as good as a confession.
Cassandra sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. “This is not like you, Harry. To drag your wife’s name through the mud. Your respected title, your family name, the name of your children. And to do this to me, and Lucy and Emily.”
Bolderwood’s ears were turning pink and he picked up his snuffbox again, opening it and closing it, eyes on the box and not on the woman scolding him. Maybe this was not such a stupid idea, Joshua thought; Bolderwood’s better nature might be regretting it, and if anyone could reach a person’s better nature, it was Cassandra.
“You are better than this, Harry,” she went on. “To disgrace your name and mine—for what? For the sake of money?”
“That’s rich!” When Bolderwood looked up, his eyes were hard and flat, his better nature gone. “Judgingmefor what I’d do for money.” He slammed down the box. “What about you, going out each evening dripping with jewels? You let your father sell you tohim—” This with a wave of a hand at Joshua “Everyone knew Lord Charles had money problems, and you don’t mind where that money comes from.”
Joshua was already pulling back his fist but Cassandra slapped a hand on his arm and stepped between him and Bolderwood with a stiffness unlike her usual grace. Society expected ladies to hide their emotions, especially the uglier ones like anger, but he saw it anyway, in the way she flattened those lovely lips, the sharp breath through her flared nostrils, the way her mouth worked before she spoke. He was glad she was angry, after what she had revealed last night.
“How dare you!” she hissed at Bolderwood. “You aren’t good enough to mention my father’s name, let alone judge what he did or did not do.” She shook her head at him, disgust curling her lip. “This is not like you. The Harry Willoughby I knew was kind and honest.”
“Maybe you never knew me.”
She had said she was outgrowing her naivety, and Joshua fancied he saw her shed a bit of it there.
“If this is the kind of thing you do and say,” she said, “then I don’t want to know you at all.” She whirled about and marched for the door, her color high, her head higher. She pulled open the door and Smith tumbled in.
“Take me to Lady Bolderwood,” she said. “Now!”
The butler jumped to attention and obeyed.
* * *
The moment the door shut,Joshua turned back to Bolderwood and rubbed his hands together.
“Now she’s gone, we can discuss this properly,” he said.
“Properly!” Bolderwood spluttered. “You swindled me, you bastard. You had this coming.”
“You beetle-brained, muttonheaded numbskull!” To keep from throwing any punches, Joshua paced. Dark, painting-shaped patches stained the wall, the bookshelves were mostly empty, and no ornaments adorned the mantelpiece. “I warned you it was speculation and not to risk what you cannot lose. And what do you do? You go to a bloody moneylender!”
“But you prime everyone first, don’t you? We hear about how much you made here, or how much your friend Dammerton made there, until we’re all begging you to take our money. You’re like one of those gaming hells that plant people to say they always win big there, so off the bubble goes, expecting to win, only to get fleeced instead.”
“No one else is complaining. You know why? Because they’re not whining children.”
