Free Newport: A Novel by Jill Morrow Page B

doorknob. “Yes,” she said. “You have.”
    He’d left the S.S. New York with every intention of quickly travelinghome to Poughkeepsie. A chance meeting with friends, a comradely supper in the city—even the women who’d joined them during the course of the lengthening evening—had all seemed logical at the time. His parents had expected him home for dinner, but now, in the warm kitchen of his family’s estate, the clock above the pantry showed that it was half past two in the morning. There was no point in trying to justify his actions to Cassie in the face of such damning evidence.
    Instead he accepted the tea towel she presented and wiped the remaining rivulets of water from his face and hair. Then he sank into a chair at the kitchen table and propped his chin in one hand. “Very well, Cassie Walsh. There are some years between us now, but we’ve always been straight with each other. Should I cower at the thought of meeting with my father this morning?”
    Cassie lit the flame beneath the kettle before standing on tiptoe to lift a teapot down from a shelf. “You’ve returned from Europe only because he ordered you home at once. What do you think?”
    Adrian’s cheeks burned. Even the help knew of his disgrace. But of course they would: gossip crossed the ocean faster than any bird could fly. His biggest mistake had been believing that his stellar academic record would shield him against wagging tongues. Even he had to admit that his European achievements had had more to do with drinking and carousing than with intellect and potential. He’d suspected that fact as he’d escorted the Comptesse de-What’s-Her-Name through the theaters of Paris, ignored it while drinking his way through Rome, and embraced it thoroughly as he’d gambled away a ridiculous sum of money in London.
    “I see,” he managed to say. “Well. Perhaps I’ll be off after I’ve had some tea, then. Father and I can talk later, once I’ve had thechance to redeem myself a bit. I’ll leave a note to let my parents know I’ve returned safely to the country.”
    “Off? You’ve just arrived.”
    “I’m invited to a wedding in Newport this weekend, a friend of mine from Harvard. I’d planned to leave this afternoon, but perhaps it would be wise to postpone my reunion with my parents just a little longer. I’ll have my things sent.”
    Cassie lifted the cover from a cake plate and there it was, the fragrant Madeira cake Adrian had craved for so long. The thought of it warmed him even more than did the steaming radiator in the corner.
    He jumped as Cassie sank a knife into the cake with more vigor than necessary. She slapped a piece onto a plate and thrust a fork in his direction, tines pointed straight at his chest.
    “You infuriate me,” she said.
    He fell against the back of his chair, startled. “I’ve only just come home. What could I possibly have done to you?”
    Her cheeks flamed red. The cake plate trembled in her hands. “You’ve got everything—wealth, education, a sure position with your father’s firm—and you don’t care. You’re willing to fritter it all away in scandals. And such scandals! Good grief. They were third-rate at best.”
    The skin beneath Adrian’s collar burned hot. “I’d remember your place,” he began in a low voice.
    “And I’d remember yours.” The plate clattered onto the table before him, the noise slicing through his head. Cassie spun around to the kettle, lifting it from the stove to the teapot in one smooth, easy arc. “To think I once looked up to you,” she murmured beneath her breath. “To think I once believed you might help me.”
    Adrian sat frozen in his seat, longing to humble her with a few harsh words. She was insolent beyond belief.
    But she was also right.
    “You don’t want what I have, Cassie,” he answered quietly. “The benefits of my station come with too many expectations.”
    Her back remained rigid as she poured boiling water into the teapot. “Poor