Lady Whittaker Wages War

Chapter 3: Daphne and Cassius

Really, it was just a coincidence that her bedroom faced the street and she could see into Cassius' front lawn from her reading chair next to the window. It was just that the light was best at this angle. For reading.

Her book?

Well, she was sure it was around here somewhere. She'd bought one last month, hadn't she? Sensible Sensibility or Prideful Prejudice or something like that. She had been meaning to get herself into reading, it was such a dignified and refined pastime. And the window also provided her with such a lovely vista while she was embroidering.

Daphne could not help but gaze across the street -very coincidentally, mind you- and observe what was doubtlessly a great trial for her neighbor. He was sitting outside with a small table set up for tea....while his daughter pretended he did not exist. And he was in the company of Miss Cecily Sherrill, Jemma's former paid companion. And it seemed as if she were giving him a lecture, and ordering his servants about.

Daphne felt indignant on Cassius' behalf. Of all the audacious things, she thought she could just come here and act as if she were mistress of his house. Granted, she, Honoria, and Jemma had occupied that house for most of the year and Cecily was very familiar with them. Still, as another employee of the Godwin's, Cecily was not altogether too far above the servants that she was commanding. No matter what privileges she enjoyed while Jemma was alive.

Daphne's mouth curled into a sneer at the thought of Jemma and Cecily.

And the way they had made a fool of Cassius. Made a villain of him, just to justify their own betrayal. The way that had made Daphne out to be a scapegoat, made Cassius think that she was a liar. And to think she stood there, bold as you please, living in a cottage on Cassius' goodwill.

Cecily Sherrill was...

"Come back to bed, darling," a husky voice broke her out of her vigil with a start. "It's so early."

"It is almost past three, George," she observed wryly, turning her attention to the exquisitely handsome twenty-something brunet who was currently stretching in her bed, the sheet slipping to his waist, revealing his chiseled abdomen. He looked like something out of a museum.

If only Daphne was in her typical spirits, she would leap into bed with him now and put Cassius Godwin from her mind, just as she'd been doing since William's passing. But she cast another look out the window and saw the way his posture was strained and his shoulders were drooping. She could not find it in herself to muster the good cheer to flirt.

This would not do. It was obvious to her that the poor man needed her help very desperately.

.....It was a bad idea. Getting involved with Cassius had always, always ended poorly for her. Like when she had pursued him during her first season, or when she had tried to expose Jemma's perfidy to him before they got married. She was always turned into a hysterical, immature brat.

And yet, she could not help it. If she could, she would have stopped loving him so very long ago. She would have stopped caring for him, she would have sold this house and moved far, far away.

And yet she was still here.

She had a young man with an impeccable physique in her bed but all she could think about was the forty-year-old man next door, whose stomach she was sure looked nothing like George's and whose hair had started showing some flecks of grey. But that bit of grey was ever so charming.

She could weep with despair at her own idiocy.

"George?"

"Yes, darling?" he purred, beckoning her over with a finger. She just shook her head.

"Darling, I think we ought to stop seeing each other."