The Conquest of Lady Cassandra

by Madeline Hunter

  His persistence made her ill ease increase. Her grip tightened on her reins. “You are too boring with your questions.”

  He laughed. “Forgive me. I will try to entertain you with different ones. For example, how long were you up on that rise, watching me disrobe?”

  He caught her off her guard completely. She flushed and stammered and acted just as she had scolded Lydia not to. “I am sure I do not know what you are talking about,” she finally choked out.

  His blue eyes twinkled. He enjoyed her disadvantage too obviously. “It was very naughty of you, but I do not mind. It relieves me of a difficult decision I was facing.”

  She was afraid to ask, but of course she had to. “What decision?”

  “Whether to add you to my conquests. The plain evidence that you are indeed a woman of the world absolves me of some irritating points of honor on the question that have made me hesitate.”

  She felt herself flush again. Thoroughly, down to her toes. “Do you always announce your intentions so boldly?”

  “Not usually. I thought it would save considerable time on this occasion.”

  She pulled herself together. The man was having too much fun at her expense. “Do you expect me to faint from anticipation, Ambury? Wait for your sly moves for weeks on end? You are not even serious. You are playing a game and trying to make a fool of me, as a way of expressing your disapproval and disdain.” She turned her horse. “Now I will take my leave of you. Perhaps you would be useful and see if you can find Lydia before it rains again. I will ride alone the rest of the way back.”

  He leaned and caught her horse’s bridle in his hand, keeping her in place. “I will call on you when I return to town.”

  “I prefer you not do that. Fighting off such a cynical seduction would be tedious.”

  “I will not call to seduce you. I do not announce my intentions that boldly. I need to settle about the earrings. Remember?”

  The earrings. Of course.

  “Perhaps your aunt will receive me too, for a short visit.”

  They were back to that now, were they? “She never receives now.”

  “I am sure that you can cajole her to make an exception for me.”

  “I can’t imagine why I would.” Indeed, she could think of several reasons why she would not. She jerked her horse free. “I have changed my mind. I will continue riding, and find Lydia myself. As for our business, I will expect to see you early next week in town.”

  Chapter 3

  Cassandra examined the garden, looking for the plain straw bonnet that her aunt wore when she tended the plants. She spied its deep brim bobbing up and down behind some high rosebushes.

  Both she and Aunt Sophie had modest incomes, but they could have a gardener if they chose. A man was hired in the spring and autumn to do the heavier work, but Aunt Sophie preferred to save his fees and devote herself to the daily maintenance. Since she no longer made morning calls or attended parties, she had plenty of time to do so.

  Cassandra made her way on the paths to that straw bonnet. As she drew closer, her aunt’s face showed with rhythmic regularity, framed by green leaves and red blooms. It was a handsome face still, despite its thinning skin and deepening lines. A little fuller now, just as Aunt Sophie’s body had thickened these last two years. The current styles did not hide that the way the corsets and stomachers of the past had done. Not that Cassandra expected to find her aunt in a stylish column of muslin and a high waist. Sophie had not updated her wardrobe in ten years, but she no longer bothered with bone and lacing.

  Did she only imagine that Sophie’s eyes appeared distracted by thoughts far away from these plantings? She wondered if her aunt’s mind dwelled in the past more vividly than normal memories would explain. That was what Gerald had said at that ugly meeting last week. That Aunt Sophie’s mind was not entirely with them anymore.

  Cassandra’s chest grew heavy again with the worry his words had planted. She hated that her brother had turned his cruelty on Sophie. Not only worry saddened her, however. Guilt did too, and not only for being the cause of trouble for her aunt.

  Ever since Gerald had raised the question, she found herself wondering if he were correct. Little things not noticed before—distant, vacant expressions such as Sophie wore now, loomed larger. Moments of forgetfulness carried more weight. Even Sophie’s choice to retire from society—Cassandra had never questioned the reasons in the past, but Gerald had her wondering about them now.

  She paced forward with determination. She would not allow Gerald to do this to her. To both of them. There was nothing wrong with Aunt Sophie’s mind or judgments. Gerald would be grateful to be so sharp when he was past sixty years in age.

  Turning around the roses, she found her aunt bending to pull out a vine that had assaulted the bed. Cassandra doubted a male gardener could have displayed more energy. Sophie’s work gloves grasped and entwined that long, green invader while one booted foot braced her weight into the effort. The roots gave way just as Cassandra arrived. Sophie nearly fell from the sudden surrender that burst through the soil.

  Sophie threw the vine into a basket, picked up her shears, and began eyeing the rosebushes.

  “Late summer is the best time for flowers,” she said, as if Cassandra had been by her side all morning. “I think I will ravish these bushes and fill the house with roses today. Autumn’s sad fading will be here all too soon.”

  “I will help. You cut, and I will put them in the basket.”

  Sophie began her snipping. A fussy woman when it came to objects of beauty, she did not take just any bloom. She considered and debated for a few moments before each cut.

  Cassandra laid each fragrant rose in the basket. The pile began growing.

  “I need your advice, Aunt Sophie,” she said. “I have done something on impulse that I regret.”

  Sophie eyed the bush, choosing her next trophy. “I hope you found pleasure in it at least. I have always thought impulsive pleasure was the best kind.”

  Cassandra glanced askance at her aunt. It was advice of this nature from Sophie that made her mother and brother want her to come home.

  “The impulse had nothing to do with—this is not about pleasure. Not in any way. I wrote a letter to someone that was indiscreet.”

  “Did I not tell you that letters can cause trouble? Words, once written, cannot be retracted. It is hard for them to even be forgotten. I warned you many times to never, ever, write when your emotions are stirred.”

  “You warned me, but you were speaking about affairs of the heart.”

  “If you want to call them that, I will not shock you by calling them something else. Please tell me that you did not either in this letter. I believe that a woman should be forward when necessary if she wants a man, but not on paper.”

  “I did not write to a man and declare my lust, let alone my love. Nor did I write to a lover already conquered and allude to our pleasure. I hope that I learned something from you all these years.”

  That made Sophie happier. She began to snip the next rose, but stopped. She suddenly appeared more substantial and alert. More there. “What was this letter you wrote, if not indiscretions to a lover?”

  “I had some business with a man, and he was slow to conclude it. In a fit of pique, I wrote to him and demanded just that.”

  Sophie dropped her shears into the basket. She pulled the gloves off her snowy white hands. “I suppose having a solicitor write would have been more delicate, but I do not think you need to feel you behaved badly.”

  “I made accusations that in hindsight were rash. I suggested the delay was no accident. I used words that he might consider insulting. It would be better if he did not read it. I have reason to think he has not yet. I am wondering if I should offer his servant a bribe to find the letter and return it to me.”

  “Do you have a particular sympathy with this servant?”

  “I do not know him at all.”

  Sophie strolled toward the house. “You should save your
money, and not become distraught over this. Tradesmen are often called names, by each other and by customers. A degree of insult goes with the profit. This one will not react as badly as you think, and will probably even still welcome your patronage.”

  “That would be good news, if this were a tradesman. I regret to admit it is a gentleman.”

  “I see. May I ask which gentleman?”

  “Does it matter to the advice you will give?”

  “Oh, yes. It matters a great deal. One can’t anticipate his reaction unless one knows his name. Hopefully it is a stupid fellow who will manage to read flattery into your insults out of a desperate desire to be pursued by a beautiful woman.”

  “I regret to say the gentleman is neither stupid nor desperate. It is Viscount Ambury.”

  Sophie’s eyebrows rose. “Highburton’s heir? That handsome young man with the blue eyes? Your dealings with him are financial in some way, and not those of lovers?”

  “Definitely not those of lovers.”

  “What a shame. He is delicious. Don’t look at me like that. The day I stop noticing is the day I hope someone shoots me.”

  “That letter will anger him. Bribing the servant is probably my only choice. How much will it take, do you think?”

  “His manservant will never accept a small bribe. Ambury’s good opinion and recommendation are too valuable to risk for less than twenty pounds, is my guess.”

  If she had an extra twenty pounds, she would not have written that letter to start. “Then I must do something else. Soon.”

  She held the door so her aunt could enter the house with her bounty of blooms. Sophie set the basket down on a worktable in the cool cellar kitchen, took several containers off a shelf, then sat down to arrange her flowers.

  Sophie eyed the composition she created in a French porcelain pitcher. With the precision of an artist, she broke the stem of one final rose and added it to the front, just so. She set the pitcher aside and pulled a fat round blue transfer vase toward her. Cassandra watched, and wondered if the topic of their conversation had drifted out of Aunt Sophie’s mind entirely.

  Finally her aunt had finished with the blue vase too. She sighed heavily as she reached for a pewter bowl.

  “Good heavens, Cassandra, what were you thinking in sending a missive full of insults to Highburton’s heir? If you are going to throw down a gauntlet before such a man, at least be sure there is an army positioned over the next hill to ride to the rescue.”

  Cassandra laughed. The evidence Sophie had been considering the dilemma heartened her. She hoped her aunt had concocted a solution while playing with all those roses. “Perhaps you know where I can find an army.”

  “In my youth, I could have summoned one with a smile,” Sophie said wistfully. “Now—there is no army, dear. There is only me.”

  “This is the first time you have left the house in almost a year, and you are going dressed like that?” Cassandra said when Sophie emerged from her chamber late that afternoon.

  Her aunt had been known for her style when she circulated in society, both at home and abroad. Today, however, she looked like an aging governess. Her old-fashioned gray dress lacked any adornments. She wore no jewelry. A large white cap with limited lace hid most of her hair.

  “I am not leaving the house. Not officially. I am going as your companion. Let him think I am a servant. You are not to introduce me. I will be a lady’s maid who is beneath his notice.”

  “I think it would be better if you were who you are. You could dazzle him so his brain is too numb to realize just how poor my bribe actually is.”

  “If I come at all, I come like this.”

  Wishing Aunt Sophie had primped more, Cassandra led the way down the stairs. A hired coach waited on the street. She helped Sophie in and settled across from her. She handed the coachman a piece of paper through the window.

  “You are sure this is where Ambury has his chambers?” she asked Sophie. Her aunt had ruminated for four hours before revealing her advice and her plan. Cassandra was not convinced it was a good one.

  They were to call on Ambury while he was still out of town, but pretend they believed him to be in residence. While insisting on an audience, Cassandra would broach the matter of the letter with a servant or whoever served as caretaker of the building. The hope was that a small bribe would be accepted and the letter produced merely to be rid of their presence.

  “I do not make calls or accept invitations, but I am not without friends,” Sophie said. “I obtained the address with one short letter.”

  The coach started to bump and roll on the lanes.

  “Do you remember that time in Saint Petersburg when we called on the Countess Petrovnik and you so impressed her?” Sophie asked.

  “Her brother was in attendance, as I remember.”

  “You captivated them both with your beauty and vivacity. They completely forgot I was in the chamber.”

  “You exaggerate.”

  “Not at all. I am not speaking with any resentment. I am reminding you that my days of dazzling anyone are over, and it will be up to you to impress whomever we confront today. I am only accompanying you because it might be seen as odd if I do not. We cannot have you entering Ambury’s chambers all alone, in broad daylight.”

  Cassandra wanted to say that a simple explanation would solve that problem, except it almost never did. There had been a perfectly logical explanation when she had been compromised by Lakewood. Everyone could see that her absence with Lakewood had been unavoidable, and not some assignation. All the same, they were both expected to snuff any flames of scandal by marrying.

  What a stupid world it was. Yet it was the world in which they lived, and Aunt Sophie was correct. Ambury was not in town, but if someone saw her visit his chambers alone today, there would be hell to pay.

  “Why are you smiling?” Aunt Sophie asked. “Something has put you in a merry mood.”

  “Just imagining what you alluded to makes me laugh. It would be a fine thing to end up compromised when the man isn’t even in the same town as I am.”

  “Odd for you, but odder for him. Picture him returning to learn he stands accused of something he never even had the pleasure of consummating.” Sophie’s expression mimicked Ambury’s confusion, then shocked surprise. They both laughed.

  “Maybe Gerald would call him out if he did not do the right thing,” Cassandra said. “I say, Ambury! I demand satisfaction!”

  “Damnation, sir, I was not even in the same county!” Sophie responded gruffly. “I know there may be celebratory rumors regarding my seductive powers, but even I can’t bed a woman in London when I am in Essex.”

  “Your excuses will not restore my family’s honor. Name your second, or be known as a coward!”

  “I’ll be damned if I will fight over her without having had her!”

  “Then have her, sir, and we will meet the following morning!”

  Cassandra wiped her eyes of tears brought on by her laughter. She found the exchange all the more hilarious because it was not entirely far-fetched.

  Aunt Sophie’s clever repartee also raised her spirits. This was the Aunt Sophie she knew and loved, the one who had given her a home after she had refused to marry Lakewood, the celebrated beauty who had taken her on a lengthy tour of the Continent’s capitals. There was nothing distracted or vague to her right now. She was still the vivacious and somewhat bawdy sophisticate who had entertained princes and their courts for decades.

  The coach stopped, and so did their fun. Sophie looked out at the house. “His chambers are said to be on the second level, carved out of the house’s public rooms when it was made into gentlemen’s apartments.”

  It appeared a nice enough building on a nice enough street, but one could tell that Ambury’s living situation was modest. “Not what one would expect for an earl’s heir.”

  “That is just Highburton’s pride punishing a son who will not fit the family mold, I expect,” Sophie said. “He will get it all in the end
, so he probably has lengthy tallies all over town awaiting that day.”

  No doubt Ambury’s expectations would allow a great deal of credit to accumulate. Perhaps he had assumed she would await that day, too, like all those tradesmen.

  The coachmen handed them out, and they approached the door. Aunt Sophie stayed two steps behind, assuming the role of a shadow.

  “My business with Lord Ambury cannot be delayed.” Cassandra spoke haughtily, hoping to awe the balding, tall, thin man peering at her through spectacles.

  He was having none of it. “As I explained, he is not at home.”

  “I have had reports of him being seen about town, so I know he is in residence here.”

  “I am his valet, and I think I know better where he is than whoever has given false reports.”

  “More likely he told you he wants to avoid me, and instructed you to help him do so. Go to him and explain that I will not be put off. It is time for him to give me satisfaction regarding his debt to me.”

  The word debt made him flush. “I cannot go to a man who is not in the building.”

  “Then I will wait for him to return.” She looked past him, to the doors that would lead to the apartment’s chambers. She felt Sophie at her back. A direct poke hit her spine. Taking the cue, she walked forward.

  “My dear lady, I fear that you will wait in vain,” the valet said as he scurried alongside her. “If you would leave your card—”

  “He will never return the call if he is avoiding me now. I will wait. He is in town even if it has not been noted in the papers, and I expect he must return here at some time today.”

  Aunt Sophie moved into sight on her other side. Dazzle, she mouthed while the servant looked to heaven for patience.

  Cassandra stopped before she reached the doors. She gazed in the valet’s eyes and tried to appear in need of sympathy. The valet flushed a deep red.

  “Might I know whom I am addressing, sir, since you have been kind enough to allow me to wait for Lord Ambury?”

  “Robert Higgins, at your service.” A half smile formed before the entirety of her statement penetrated. “As for your waiting, I did not—”