by Pamela Clare
She hadn’t even been able to thank him for saving her life.
“Come back here, young man,” Cassie reached for Jamie, who stood against the carriage door, his head stuck precariously out the window. “You don’t want to fall out, do you?”
Jamie frowned and would probably have stood his ground had a sudden rut in the road not tossed him into Cassie’s lap, making her point for her.
“Will there be calf’s head, Missy?” Elly’s face was alight with excitement.
“Aye, and joints of venison and beef. Perhaps a suckling pig—though I doubt Master Crichton will feed the servants such fare.” Cassie had already explained to Elly that redemptioners and slaves would have their own celebrations outside with their own meals. Though the food would be better than that normally prepared, it would not equal the board in the great house.
“And cakes?”
“Aye, white cakes frosted with almond paste, plum cakes, pies, and puddings, too.”
Elly’s eyes grew round in amazement, her heart-shaped face glowing. Cassie was suddenly reminded of how young the girl was. Only seventeen and completely alone. It was Elly’s youth that had prompted Cassie to buy her indenture. With no parents to watch over her, she’d likely have ended up with a babe in her belly by some thoughtless rake before the first year of her service was out. Cassie hadn’t wanted to let that happen. “If you’d like, I will try to bring some food back to my chamber for you.”
“Oh, please, Mistress! Thank you!”
Cassie returned her infectious smile. It was easy to see why Zach was so smitten with her. Petite, with long golden hair and delicately carved features, she looked like a porcelain doll. Cassie felt not the least bit dainty, being taller than most women, taller even than many men. Would that Cole looked at her the way Zach looked at Elly. Why Elly did not return the sawyer’s affection was a mystery to Cassie. Elly had barely acknowledged his presence when he’d come to see her off this morning.
Jamie had inched his way over to the door again and stood looking out at the passing scenery. Cassie was about to reprimand him when she heard the sound of an approaching rider.
Jamie smiled and squealed. “Debaron!”
Cassie’s heart leapt.
“Good day, young sir!”
Abruptly she pulled Jamie aside and reached out the window, tapping on the side of the carriage as a signal to the driver to stop, irritation warring with the pleasure she felt at seeing Cole so unexpectedly. “You seem to have a habit of following me, Mr. Braden.”
He gave her a jaunty grin, his white teeth flashing, as Aldebaran pranced restlessly beneath him. “Did you forget that you asked me to ride Aldebaran in tomorrow’s race?”
“I never—”
“Must be that blow on the head. I was wondering why you’d left without me.”
Cassie glared at him, biting back a retort. She knew full well she’d never asked him to race in her father’s stead. What kind of game was he playing?
Cole urged Aldebaran closer to the coach and lowered his voice, speaking for her ears alone. “Fear not, my dear, my intentions are honest. I mean to settle your father’s score with Crichton by proving this is the fastest stallion in the county once and for all. Unless you are prepared to shoot me in the back, nothing is going to stop me. I love a good horse race as much as the next man, and this will be one to remember.”
For a moment, Cassie could only gape at him. “Are you mad? To them you’re a lowly convict, or had you forgotten? You’ll insult them. They’d never allow it!”
“Leave that to me.” His lips curled in a smile.
“You are going to be the death of me, Cole Braden!”
“I certainly hope not.” His blue eyes twinkled with amusement.
As uninterested in horse racing as she was, she knew she would enjoy watching Aldebaran win. Two years ago the stallion had beaten every racehorse in the county, and the senior Master Crichton had been clamoring for a chance to even the score ever since, all but accusing her father of cheating. When her father failed to attend last year’s race, Master Crichton had viewed it as cowardice and told everyone within earshot that Abraham Blakewell was afraid of losing.
“Very well, but do nothing to cause my family embarrassment, or I will have you dragged home by your ears.”
Jamie pushed his way to the window and reached out to pat the stallion’s neck.
“Come here, tadpole.” Cole pulled Jamie through the window and into the saddle in front of him.
“What—”
“He’ll be fine.”
With a click of Cole’s tongue and a kick from his heels, Aldebaran sprang forward.
When they arrived at Crichton Hall an hour later, Jamie was ready for his nap, having had all the excitement he could manage for one morning. Cassie’s head was throbbing terribly, and Elly, unaccustomed to modern conveyances, was feeling queasy.
“Catherine!” Geoffrey called from the doorway.
But his smile vanished the moment he saw Cole, who had tethered Aldebaran to the carriage and was helping Cassie to the ground.
“Geoffrey.” Cassie fought to quell a wave of dizziness. How she longed for a cool drink. She willed herself to stand without Cole’s support. She didn’t want to antagonize Geoffrey by arousing his jealousy.
“Are you well? You look terribly pale.”
“Aye. A bit dizzy perhaps.”
Cole stood protectively beside her. “She struck her head on a branch two days ago and fell from her horse.”
Geoffrey glared at him. “What is this piece of filth doing here?”
“He—”
“I’ve come to prove once and for all that Aldebaran is the swiftest stallion in Lancaster County.”
“My father—”
“You, a convict, race against gentlemen?” Geoffrey’s laughter was devoid of warmth or humor.
“Geoffrey! Mr. Braden! Please—”
“I race in Blakewell’s stead at his request, unless, of course, you and your father don’t feel equal to the challenge, Crichton.”
Geoffrey’s face became pinched, and a muscle in his cheek began to tic.
Cassie found herself holding her breath. Then it came to her.
“Ooh!” She moaned, allowing her knees to buckle and sagging toward the ground in a false swoon. She’d not let this come to blows.
It was Cole who caught her.
“Get your hands off her, convict!”
“She needs a quiet place to rest.” Cole lifted her gently into his arms.
For a moment neither man spoke.
“Very well. This way,” Geoffrey said at last.
Cassie heard Jamie begin to cry and call her name. He sounded so small and frightened, she at once regretted having begun this deception. She hadn’t considered its effect on him.
“She’s going to be fine, tadpole. She’s just asleep,” Cole said.
“Would you like to help me settle Aldebaran in his stall?”
“Uh-huh,” Jamie answered.
“Then wait for me here. I’ll be but a minute.”
She felt Cole climb the front steps and knew they had passed through the doors into the foyer when the warm sunlight left her face and was replaced by the smell of freshly cut roses and newly washed parquet floors. She knew Crichton Hall well, having played there since she was a small child and was able to discern where Geoffrey was leading them. Up the central staircase they went, then to the right, toward the guest chambers.
She allowed her head to roll so that her cheek fell against Cole’s chest. The scent of leather and pine soap tickled her nose. She could hear his heartbeat, could feel the warmth of his skin through the linen of his shirt. Her stolen ride in his arms was nearly over. She heard Geoffrey open the door to one of the guest chambers, then felt Cole lay her gently on the bed.
“She’ll need something cool to drink when she awakens,” Cole said.
“You’re fortunate my concern for Miss Blakewell’s safety surpasses my desire to see you
punished. Defy me again, convict, and you’ll know the meaning of regret!” Geoffrey’s voice was ragged with fury. “Now get out!”
“Take care of her, Crichton.”
Cassie tensed. Why did Cole insist on provoking Geoffrey? Did he not understand he could come to harm by such insolence? Oh, curse men! She had just fainted—in dramatic fashion, too—and the two of them were still vying to insult each other. How much longer could they keep this up?
* * *
When Cassie emerged from her bedchamber an hour later, she felt much better. Her headache was all but gone, and the lemonade that had been sent up from the kitchen had left her feeling refreshed. Even her irritation with Geoffrey and Cole had ebbed somewhat. She’d taken the time to change into her light green muslin gown and had tried in vain to hide the bruise that had spread to her forehead. Thank goodness the cut and stitches were hidden beneath her hair.
She followed the sound of chamber music and conversation downstairs and outside to the veranda, which, thanks to Master Crichton’s determination to expand Crichton Hall until it rivaled the governor’s mansion, now spanned the rear of the manor. There, bewigged guests—mostly Carters, Pages, and their relations—sat sheltered from the afternoon sun, sipping lemonade, awaiting the arrival of others.
“Catherine.” Geoffrey excused himself and strode forward to take her arm in his. “Are you sure you should be up and about, my dear?”
“I’m fine, Geoffrey. Thank you.”
“I don’t understand why you decided to travel so soon after your accident.” He led her out the wide casement doors onto the veranda. “Are you sure you’re quite ready?”
“She’s crazy as her father,” muttered a male voice in the background. Cassie suspected it was one of the Harrison brothers. It was not the first time someone had insulted her or her father in her presence. Her father had often been the butt of unkind remarks.
“You know very well, Geoffrey, that nothing can change my mind once it’s made up.” She settled herself on a painted wooden settee next to Lucy Carter and smoothed her skirts. “I was determined to attend your birthday celebration, and nothing, certainly not a silly bump on the head, could keep me away.”
“Bump on the head? What happened, Cassie, dear?” Lucy asked.
The youngest of Robert “King” Carter’s five daughters, Lucy was one of the few young women Cassie looked forward to seeing. She and her elder sister Mary, though both younger than Cassie, had always shown her kindness, never turning up their noses at her less fashionable attire or her unorthodox upbringing. She hadn’t seen them more than two or three times a year in the entire time they were growing up, but she considered them true friends. Their mother had died at a very young age, and they had been a source of solace for Cassie after her own mother passed away.
“I struck my head on a branch while riding and was knocked from my horse.”
A collective gasp went up from the women. Lucy raised one smooth white hand to her lightly rouged lips in a gesture of dismay. Cassie’s own hands were freckled from working in the sun, her nails neither long nor manicured. The difference had never seemed important before. Why should she care now?
“You’re damned lucky to be alive, young lady,” said King Carter, who sat otherwise engrossed in a game of whist with Geoffrey’s father.
“I’m afraid she fainted this afternoon just after she arrived.” Geoffrey’s words provoked another round of gasps. “She’s fortunate I was there, or she might have struck herself again on our front stairs.”
“Yes, Geoffrey. Thank you for your gallant kindness.” Cassie fought to keep the censure from her voice at Geoffrey’s lie. It had been Cole, not he, who had caught her and carried her indoors, though she was not supposed to know that.
“Does it hurt?” Lucy brushed her cool fingers gently over the bruise on Cassie’s temple.
“A little.”
“How is your father faring these days?” asked the senior Geoffrey Crichton. “Still looking for new breeding stock?”
She heard someone snicker and forced herself to ignore the double entendre. “He is doing well, though his search is not going as smoothly as he’d hoped.”
“Did I mention, Father, that Blakewell sent his convict to race Aldebaran?” said Geoffrey, flicking the lace at his wrists.
Master Crichton’s head snapped up from his cards, and he fixed Cassie with a glare. “What’s this?”
“He didn’t want to be falsely accused of cowardice again.” She lifted her chin higher. She’d never liked Geoffrey’s father. He’d always frightened her.
Carter laughed. “Sounds to me like the man is tired of your insults.”
Master Crichton murmured something Cassie couldn’t make out and returned to his cards.
“Hello, I say!” came a voice from inside the manor.
It was the younger Robert Carter, lately of Nomini Hall, and his wife, Priscilla. Lucy squealed with delight and ran in a swish of blue skirts to greet them. Cassie sighed with relief, grateful she was no longer the center of attention.
The afternoon passed without further incident, the remaining guests drifting in slowly: the Braxtons, the Randolphs of Turkey Island, the Fitzhughs, the Lees, the Byrds, the Nicholases, the Ludwells of Green Springs. Cassie spent most of her time getting the news from Lucy and Mary, who had much to report. Judith, their elder sister, was still in mourning, her husband having died suddenly in January. She had remained at home, as custom demanded, with her six children. Lucy and Mary had met Governor Gooch and his sister-in-law, Anne Staunton, in February and found them good-natured and hospitable. Their older brother, Landon, now a handsome young man of twenty, was lately smitten with young Elizabeth Wormley, but no one expected this infatuation to last any longer than the others. Most exciting, Lucy was to wed William Fitzhugh next spring.
Cassie was genuinely happy for her friend and had congratulated her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. But, rather than feeling uplifted by the good news, Cassie felt her spirits fall. She’d had little to share with them. What could she say? That her father was wasting away before her eyes? That she’d been deceiving them all for more than a year? That she thought night and day of a man society deemed unworthy even of simple compassion?
She picked at her food during dinner. When she went to the nursery to tuck Jamie in for the night, she was so distracted she repeated the same verse of his favorite lullaby until he grew impatient and corrected her. At least he’d had an exciting day, helping Cole with Aldebaran in the stables and playing with the other children in the hayloft.
She kissed Jamie goodnight, then made her way to her chamber.
What was Cole doing now?
Probably adjusting to his first night of sleeping with horses. Whether he was Cole Braden or Alec Kenleigh, his character spoke of a man accustomed to feather beds and fine brandy, not blankets spread over hay and corn whiskey. The image of him bedded down in the stables made her want to laugh.
She opened the door, expecting to find Elly asleep on her pallet. Instead the girl was twirling about in front of the looking glass, lost in a daydream, holding Cassie’s finest gown to her chin.
“Oh!” Elly froze and dropped the gown to the floor. Remembering herself, she picked it up and clumsily hung it in the armoire.
“I brought these from the kitchen.” Cassie pretended not to have seen and opened her handkerchief on the dressing table. Inside were several morsels from her own plate, including a sliver of roast veal and a piece of sugared white cake.
Elly moved shyly toward the food, then grabbed the entire handkerchief and ate greedily.
“Do you like it?” Cassie sat before the looking glass and pulled the pins from her hair.
“Mmm.”
“I’ll bring more tomorrow.” She gave Elly her warmest smile.
Despite everything Cassie had tried to do for her, Elly still seemed to dislike her. Cassie had no idea why. Perhaps their stay at Crichton Hall would be the beginning of a more comfortable rela
tionship. Cassie certainly hoped so.
Her head had begun to throb again, and she found herself longing for the comfort of her bed. What she needed was a good night’s sleep. She ran the brush carefully through her hair. Tomorrow she would awaken refreshed, her spirits restored, her mind unburdened by thoughts of a dark-haired felon.
For Cole Braden was, indeed, a felon, even if his real name turned out to be Alec Kenleigh. He had stolen her heart.
* * *
Elly took the last bite of cake and watched from her seat on the windowsill as Miss Cassie brushed her hair and dressed for bed. She’d never tasted anything like this before. It was so sweet—and fluffy, like a cloud.
If she were a wealthy planter’s wife, she’d eat cakes like this every day. Though it was kind of Miss Cassie to remember her, Elly could not bring herself to say even one word of thanks. Miss Cassie still thought her a silly servant girl. But Elly was growing tired of being ordered about. Miss Cassie was not as important as she liked everyone to believe.
Nor was she the lady she pretended to be. Elly had seen the Carter sisters this afternoon. They were true gentlewomen, with silk gowns fit for princesses, fair faces, beautifully styled blond hair. Oh, to be one of them! They never walked barefoot in mud like Miss Cassie, or washed dishes or worked in the fields. So many things were not as Elly had first believed, but her eyes were beginning to open.
She’d thought Blakewell’s Neck grand when she had first arrived in Virginia. But Crichton Hall made Miss Cassie’s home seem a hovel. With ceilings so high you could not see the cobwebs, polished wooden floors that could have been mirrors, and stairways so tall they seemed to go straight to heaven, Crichton Hall was a palace.
Elly might one day be the mistress of this grand place. Geoffrey loved her now. He’d told her so this afternoon. When she’d gone to fetch lemonade for Miss Cassie, he’d found her and pulled her with him into an empty room. She’d protested at first when he tried to kiss her. But then he’d told her he truly loved her, that he’d loved her since the first time he’d seen her. If the kiss had not made her burn the way Zach’s kisses did, it was only because Geoffrey was a gentleman and had not set out to arouse her so. What mattered was that Geoffrey loved her.
