“Tell me I did something stupid.”
Violet’s right hand lifted to calm her. “Cass—”
Cass grabbed Violet’s hand in midair as she sat down next to her on the settee in the Alton drawing room. “No, I need you to stop me before I do something entirely regrettable, Violet. Something entirely idiotic. I had an idea that was a flash of lightning and then I was speaking it out loud to Lord Vandestile before I had time to truly consider it.”
“Lord Vandestile? So he did manage to convince you to speak with him in the park? What idea did you have?”
“An idea I know I should, but do not want to back away from.” Defeated, her hand holding Violet’s dropped to the silk of the cushion between them. “And that is why I need you to convince me this is idiocy.”
Violet chuckled. “Just how should I do that? You realize you will need to tell me what the idea was?”
“Yes. But first you need to tell me of Lord Vandestile. Maybe that is all I need to hear to dismiss the idea in full.” Cass’s eyes lit up. “You said he was trustworthy—tell me of that. Possibly you have misread him? You said he asked for your help after arriving in England?”
“He did, Cass, but I don’t think what I have to say will help you if you are looking for fault in the man.” Violet picked up her tea cup from the side table, her nose wrinkling as she turned back to Cass. “After the mess Rorrick’s brother—”
“You call Lord Vandestile by his given name?”
Violet nodded. “I do—mostly because he never answers to Lord Vandestile, much less my lord. Time and again I would talk to him for minutes before I realized I did not have his attention. But his consideration is always quick to me if I speak to him by his given name.” She flicked her hand in the air. “Regardless, after the mess his brother made of the Vandestile estate—in ruins again, as if my first husband hadn’t done enough to sink the ship when he died on me—Rorrick discovered that the last time the estate was truly solvent was when I was handling its affairs.”
“Well, of course.”
Violet nodded. “So he came to me for guidance. It was soon after he arrived in England. A week at most. Rorrick had said he had hoped for honest answers from me, since all he had received from the solicitor and far-flung Vandestile relatives were spotty answers that dodged the truth of matters. The cousins are devious with their machinations. If Rorrick dies without an heir, the line reverts back to that branch of the family and they are foaming at the mouth on the prospect.”
“If I remember,” Cass said, “you had always noted that they are the most dreadful lot—they would do more harm than Lord Vandestile’s brother did.”
“Exactly.” Violet sipped her tea. “So I recalled all of it that I could for Rorrick, how the Vandestile estate was solvent when his brother arrived, and how his brother tore it to pieces—without softening the truth.”
“I do not imagine you would have.” Cass reached for own tea cup. “It is just interesting that he approached you over all the men that must have been talking in his ear. Lord Vandestile does not think like other men, does he?”
“No. No, he does not. He is rather unusual. Rorrick actually approached me with a due amount of respect already in place.” Violet sighed. “None of which I saw in him in my ballroom two evenings past when I introduced you to him.”
“He did blunder it quite fabulously.”
Violet took a sip of tea. “He did. Up until that moment in the ballroom, I have been most impressed by the man. Theo has taken a liking to him as well. They speak for hours about mines and methods of extraction.”
Cass inhaled a deep breath, her jaw shifting to the side. “How is it that the man has so impressed you? I am shocked he has done so for my few interactions with him have been rather disastrous.” She set her tea cup onto the white marble top of the side table. “Except for this last meeting in the park when my idiotic flash of lightning struck. He offered the slightest shade of normalcy and my lunacy spiked.”
Violet offered a sympathetic frown. “I told you I would be of little help. It is possible, of course, that he is more duplicitous than I have perceived.”
Cass’s breath caught in her throat. “Do you think he is his brother?”
“No. Not in the slightest way have I witnessed any indication of that. Nor has Theo.” Her friend eyed her over the gold rim of the tea cup. “Now, are you going to tell me what this lightning idea was?”
Cass braced herself, her face cringing. “I asked him to take me to America.”
“You what?” The tea cup dropped from Violet’s mouth, the instant shriek echoing in the drawing room.
“In exchange for the Vandestile land he wants back for the estate, I asked him to take me to America. The words flew out of my mouth before I could fully consider them.” Cass paused, her left hand flattening on her stomach. “Not that I want to pull them back. Not that I could pull them back.”
Violet’s tea cup clattered onto the side table and her friend turned to her, grabbing both of her hands. “You can pull anything back, Cass. And this—this is one you need to do so.”
Cass took in the utter alarm in Violet’s deep blue eyes and then gave a slight shake of her head. “No. No, I don’t think it is Violet. I think this needs to happen.”
Violet’s grip on her hands tightened. “My dear, has Logan not been able to find another investigator after Mr. Peaton’s failure?”
“No. Not one that he trusts.”
“But why would you have to go? There is no reason for it. It could be dangerous, Cass.”
“Dangerous or not, I don’t trust anyone. At this juncture, the only one I am left to trust to find her is me.”
“But did you ask Logan? He would go. He would go in the drop of a feather.”
Cass’s head whipped back and forth in an emphatic shake. “No. I cannot. Logan does not know America. He has no contacts there and cannot navigate it as I need him to.” Her eyes dipped downward. “Aside from the fact…”
“That he would do anything for you.” Violet’s voice filled in the unspoken truth.
Cass looked up to Violet. “Yes. And I cannot ask this of him. It is not right. This is my responsibility.”
“Do you intend to even tell Logan what you are considering?”
“No.”
Violet leaned forward, clutching Cass’s knee. “But, Cass, to go to America? This is an extreme.”
“Yes. Which is why I needed you to convince me of the trustworthiness of Lord Vandestile.” She gave her friend a crooked smile. “And you succeeded.”
“I would not have done so if I had known this was what you were thinking.”
Cass chuckled. “Yet you did. And if Lord Vandestile agrees to my terms in the matter, I think…” She paused for several breaths, staring at the brass pendulums in the longcase clock in the corner of the room before slowly nodding. “Yes. I will hold up my end of the bargain.” Her gaze went back to her friend. “I have to do this, Violet. I have to. I have to find her.”
“I know you do.” The corners of Violet’s lips stayed down with an uneasy frown. “I just worry on you, my friend.”
Cass smiled. “I accept your worry—for I fear I will need lots of it if I am to go through with this.”
~~~
Rorrick set his forearms along the railing, leaning forward as he inhaled the air.
Salty. Clean.
It wasn’t pure like it was in the mountains, but it was closer. As close as he had smelled since setting foot on English soil two months previous.
He was, without a doubt, headed in the right direction.
He needed to get back to America. To ground himself again, if nothing else. To breathe air that wasn’t thick. To surround himself with people that didn’t look at him with unabashed greed in their eyes. To get back to his own kind—people he understood. People that didn’t want to control his every movement, his every thought—all the way from what jam he scraped across his toast, to what political party he should align with.<
br />
Away from English soil, if not but for a few months.
And if that meant dragging along a widowed countess on a fool’s errand in exchange for the land that was the key to the Vandestile estate—then a side trip home to the Carolinas was worth it.
Three months and he would have the Vandestile estate whole again. Plus, he would be graced with real air in his lungs again.
It was the best deal he had made in England.
He looked out at the receding cliffs. A beacon against the grey skies, stark, white jagged swathes of chalk and flint surged up from the crashing waves below. Angry. England wanted him no more than he wanted it. But he had a mess to clean up. His brother’s mess.
He glanced to his right. Lady Desmond had just made her way to the quarterdeck and she stood, smoothing the dusty blue woolen skirt of her carriage dress before tugging her matching velvet pelisse tightly closed over it. The color was light enough that it drew a striking contrast to her dark hair, though he figured the woman could be wearing a burlap sack and she would still be striking. She had foregone a hat, her black hair pinned in a simple chignon that the wind eagerly snatched strands from. Her look darted about, nervous until she spotted him.
Although he had been assured she was on board by a deckhand, Rorrick had yet to see her. He had wondered how long she would stay below deck, hiding in her stateroom. Her legs unsteady, she walked toward him with a wide gait. She stopped, aligning herself next to him and gripping the edge of the railing as her gaze went to the cliffs growing ever smaller.
“Have you sailed before?”
A cringe swept across her face, quickly disappearing, though it took her a full breath to restore composure to her honey-brown eyes. She nodded. “Once.”
The one word barked out curt, inviting no more conversation on the matter. Whatever the memory was, she was not about to revisit it with him.
He looked past her head, his eyes sweeping the deck.
“You didn’t bring a maid?”
Her look stayed locked on the cliffs. “No.”
Rorrick followed her gaze and watched the grey mist of the sea swallow the cliffs into oblivion. “I didn’t figure you for it.”
She glanced up at him as she shrugged. “I did not want to involve her. This trip…it has to remain private. I am perfectly capable of dressing myself.”
He nodded, suddenly questioning the whole of his agreement to take her to America. There were obviously layers of secrets she was intent on keeping from him. No good ever came from secrets.
He shifted on his feet, leaning forward on his forearms as he watched the last of the land fade.
He waited. Silence was the enemy of most people and he had learned long ago it was oftentimes his best asset. Eventually, people always talked. They couldn’t hold against it.
Ten minutes passed in silence and the other passengers on the ship began dispersing and moving below deck. Still, he waited.
And waited.
She played this game much better than most.
He cleared his throat, looking to her. “For how much you said the other night at the Alton ball, you sure are quiet.”
Her bottom lip jutted upward, perplexed, but not quite falling into a full frown. She stiffened slightly, her kidskin-gloved hands tightening on the railing. “I am quiet. I always have been. I am unsure much of the time.”
“You weren’t unsure about setting me straight about the Revelry’s Tempest. You weren’t unsure about this journey. About your demands of me.” He turned his body fully to her, keeping his left arm long along the railing to lean on. He studied her profile. “Foxfire is what I would call that. Bursts of incredible light appearing in the darkest woods, fire suddenly jutting out of nowhere, nothing. So unsure?” He shook his head. “No. Not you.”
The smallest smile turned the corners of her lips upward. She glanced at him. “No?”
“No.”
“Foxfire—that is an actual thing? Fire?”
“Truth told, it is something that grows from decaying wood. But that doesn’t make it any less startling—or magical to behold.”
She chuckled, a slight pink starting to tinge her cheekbones. “I am not usually so forthright. It has been a long journey for me just to open my mouth in public. And I still do not take to it.” She gave him a sideways glance. “But for some reason, I find it incredibly easy to make demands of you, Lord Vandestile.”
He laughed.
“I don’t understand why it has been so effortless.” Her hands curved over the top of the railing, rubbing it, and then she met his look directly. “But I do apologize if I have been insufferably rude.”
“I believe I am the one that must own the rudeness between us. Our association began with grievous errors in judgement on my part.” His hand slapped on the railing. “But let me make a demand of you, Foxfire, and all will be forgiven. A new beginning.”
Her left eyebrow cocked. “Demand?”
“I am weary of this Lord Vandestile nonsense.”
“Your title? You are? Is it the address of the title or everything that comes with the title?”
“Yes and yes—I could never have imagined the whole of it would wear upon me so.”
She turned to him, her right hand remaining tight on the security of the railing. “So your demand?”
“Simple. Call me Rorrick. It is who I have been my whole life to anyone that mattered. And I think I lost much of who I am in that hunk of land back there.” He pointed out in the direction of England. “So I’m looking to recollect all of who I am again on this journey.”
“But you were only in England for two months.”
“It doesn’t take long for a man to change, Foxfire.”
Her eyebrows drew together as she studied him. After a long moment, she nodded. “Then you should call me Cassandra or Cass. It would only be right, as we are travelling as brother and sister, after all.”
His forehead dipped to her. “I would be honored.”
A deck hand walked past them and Cass’s gaze flicked to him, waiting until he passed before she looked to Rorrick, her voice low. “The captain did believe we are siblings?”
He shrugged. “As much as any captain would. I doubt he has the time to ponder on the relations of his passengers. As long as his ship is paid well for our staterooms below, I imagine that is the extent of his concern.”
Her lips drew to the side. “It is easy for you, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“To reduce people to simplified designations.”
He blinked, his attention fully on her. “You think that is what I do, Cass?”
“Yes. You appear to see everyone in a role, and there they shall stay.”
“It is my experience that people rarely act outside the bounds of their circumstances, and as long as they can maintain what is comfortable around them—such as the captain receiving fair payment—they rarely strive for more.”
“Hmmm.” She turned to the railing and her look drifted out to the sea.
“You disagree?”
For a long moment, she didn’t answer him. She hadn’t lied—hesitation was her nature. He set himself frozen in place, waiting.
After another long minute, she snuck a glance at him, her eyes immediately returning to the expanse of ocean. “I tend to think every person I meet has something going on in their minds that I don’t understand.” She shook her head slightly and a dark strand of hair along her temple fell from her upsweep to curl along the line of her jaw. “Love, hate, pride, shame, temper, fear, humiliation—human frailties that they seek to cover in some fashion. Do we not all have them? Do we not all have them running rampant in our minds, influencing our actions?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “But with all of that going on in our minds, do most people have time to worry on strangers?”
A slow smile came to her face as she watched the rolling waves. She looked up at him, the smile stretching wide into a grin. “Well argued, Rorrick.” Her hand lifted from the wood
en railing and she stepped away from him. “I must excuse myself and go below.”
He offered her a slight bow and she escaped below deck.
Rorrick stared at the stairwell that she disappeared down into for a long moment. For a woman he had thought he had deciphered within minutes of their first meeting, Lady Desmond was turning into a complex entity.
Foxfire fit her too well. An unexpected spark in the dark. Beauty that transfixed.
But just how many layers—how many secrets—was Lady Desmond hiding from him?
{ Chapter 5 }
He repeated his knock on the door. This time harder, three sharp pounds.
Rorrick hadn’t seen Cass in three days. At first he thought she was hiding away from the people on the ship—from him. Nestled near the captain’s quarters, their staterooms offered privacy enough from the other passengers on this deck of the ship, and the rooms were rather spacious as compared to the usual private cabins. So it was very possible Cass was just removing herself from any interactions, taking her meals behind her door and reading and sleeping in the peace of her own company.
She did say she was a quiet one.
But after the second day when he had not seen her above deck or in the common area for dining—nor had he witnessed any trays of food going to or from her room—his alarm spiked.
The ocean had been raucous in that time, winter winds frothing the seas, but the waves had not reached a drastic state.
He pounded one last time. “Cass?”
No response.
He jiggled the doorknob. Locked. Dammit.
Rorrick paused for a moment, debating. The locks were rather weak—and any splintered wood could be easily fixed. Truly, the worst that could happen was that he looked a lunatic.
He stepped backward until his shoulder blades bumped into the wall of the walkway and then he rushed forward, ramming the door with his shoulder. The short door broke free and swung open, his momentum thrusting him into the cabin.
Slipping, his feet out of control, he staggered backward to the doorway, gagging, the stench in the room a brick wall smashing into him.
Of Risk & Redemption: A Revelry’s Tempest Novel Page 4
