20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Jethro leaned back in his chair, listening to the rest of the men talk. It was at times like this he had the advantage. With a clear head, not befuddled by spirits or excess wine, he could sometimes learn things that others let drop in their less guarded moments.

“Just a little hint,” said Mr Frampton, touching the side of his nose twice with his forefinger, “but there might be something new on the horizon of Frampton and Frampton.”

Nothing about Jethro’s demeanour suggested he was paying attention, but he was listening intently to every word.

“Is that all you’ll tell us?” asked one of the other men.

“I might be going up in the world.”

“Planning to put trade behind you and become a real gentleman at last?” another man said with a chortle.

“Something like that. If this works out, it might be possible. I’ll know after I’ve spoken to Mr Wade.”

Jethro tensed. What was his rival doing talking to his investor?

All his senses were on the alert as a murmur went around the table. Mr Wade’s name was well known in the business community. He had made the step up from trade to being accepted in the highest echelons of society—a dream that most of these men aspired to .

What was Frampton up to? Was this a speculative move on his behalf, or was there more to it?

“He’s visiting Weymouth next month and desires a meeting,” his rival continued. “Who knows where that will lead?”

Jethro had his answer. Mr Wade wanted to meet Frampton as well as him. That didn’t sound good. Not at all.

Perhaps Jethro’s plans to expand the business were not as secure as he thought. It would be a nuisance if he had to find another investor. Not impossible, but it would slow him down. Unless he could outplay his rival and obtain Mr Wade’s investment for himself.

“Come along, gentlemen,” Mr Frampton said, rising from his chair. “We’ve been at the bottle long enough and my wife will not be pleased if we delay any longer.”

He clapped Jethro on the back. “Got to keep the ladies happy, eh, Hunt?”

The man’s familiarity grated on him, but Jethro kept his irritation under control. If Cassandra could sweet talk the Framptons, so could he. They would win this battle.

“Yes, indeed. My wife’s happiness is of paramount importance to me, as I’m sure yours is to you.”

Mr Frampton replied with a cheerful nod and led the men back into the drawing room. “Why, what have we here, my love?” he asked his wife.

“We thought a little dancing would not go amiss. Please, say you’ll humour us. We have so few chances to dance now we’re married.”

Mr Frampton pinched her cheek. “Of course, my dear. Well, gentlemen. It seems the evening’s entertainment is far more active than I had expected. Who’s up for the first set?”

Jethro searched through the group of women until his gaze rested on his wife. He met her eyes and was concerned to see the nervousness—or was it panic?—in them.

Was she trying to convey some message to him? He was blowed if he knew what it was. Did she want him to dance with her or not?

Mrs Frampton grabbed Cassandra by the hand and brought her over to him. “You must head up the first set with your lovely wife, as you are the most recently married couple.”

He hesitated to take Cassandra’s hand, causing the look of panic in her eyes to intensify.

“Why, Mr Hunt? Don’t you want to stand up with your wife? I can assure you no one here will censure you, though none of us would normally partner our spouses. It would be shameful of you to decline, after we’ve taken such pains to convince her. She had some notion of it being too soon after her father’s death. Unless you would rather not dance with your wife for any reason.”

Mrs Frampton’s words hung in the air. What was her game? Did she think to reinforce the rumour that Cassandra was in a delicate condition because she believed he couldn’t dance?

Yes, that was it. She thought she had him, didn’t she? That she had put him in a spot, just because he didn’t normally attend such functions.

Cassandra looked as if she might pass out, but Jethro shot her a smile as he took her hand. “What a splendid suggestion, Mrs Frampton. I would love to dance with my wife.”

He led her into the centre of the room where a space had been cleared. The alarm on her face had not faded, and she raised her eyebrows at him slightly, so only he could see.

What was she asking him? Whatever the question, they needed to dance.

He stared into her eyes and gave her a reassuring nod. Her shoulders relaxed as the panic dissolved. It occurred to him that Mrs Frampton was not the only person who doubted his ability to dance. His mouth twitched with amusement. Did his wife really think he was such a peasant he had never learned?

They glided through the paces, and whenever the dance brought them together, Jethro revelled in her touch. She was as light on her feet as he could have wished for in a partner, and it gave him a mite of satisfaction to see Mrs Frampton stumbling in her steps as she tried to watch them, as if hoping he would make a mistake.

When the music drew to a close, they were supplied with tea and coffee, and took seats at the edge of the room to view the others taking their turn on the dancefloor. To his dismay, Mr Frampton and his irritating wife came and sat with them.

“Tell me, Mr Hunt. How did you court my dear friend, with none of us being the wiser?” Mrs Frampton asked, gazing up at him with a look of innocence in her expression that didn’t fool him for a minute. “I was shocked when I heard of the wedding. It was most unexpected.”

Cassandra’s hand rested on his knee, and he felt her grip tighten. He was tempted to tell the woman to mind her own business, but his wife’s touch restrained him.

“Does a man have to announce his courtship with a fanfare of trumpets? My wife was in mourning. It was not appropriate for her to appear in society. ”

Mrs Frampton would not let the subject drop. “But what was all the rush?”

“Must a man explain his eagerness to wed his bride?” Jethro asked, fixing her with such a knowing look that she turned red under his scrutiny.

“Exactly so. I’m sure your husband was as eager to marry you, Mrs Frampton. I did not want to wait any longer than necessary.”

“Rightly said, Hunt. There’s nothing like having a wife waiting for you at home to prise you away from your business.”

“Just so. And now, if you’ll excuse us, I wish to take my wife home.”

Mr Frampton chortled to himself as if it was a good joke and clapped him on the back for the second time that evening.

Jethro hoped they had done enough to suppress the gossip. Mr Frampton was no fool and would not stand any nonsense from his wife, particularly if he thought it might have ramifications for his business.

Jethro shook hands with him and, remembering the despairing look Cassandra had shot him earlier, he gave a respectful bow to Mrs Frampton. It was as well to keep the enemy happy. The woman dipped a curtsey in reply and smiled, implying they had reached a temporary truce.

He hoped he could protect Cassandra from any further unpleasantness—and unpleasantness there was likely to be.

For if Frampton was vying with him for Mr Wade’s investment money, then the enmity would not end with the gossip.

Seated in the carriage, Jethro took Cassandra’s hand and kept it in his.

It was a small thing, but it was significant to him. For the first time, they had acted like a team—and it felt good.