by Sophia James
For ever.
‘I used to get sick like this when I was little, so I know exactly what to do and you will soon feel a lot better.’
‘Did you come from France?’
‘Pardon?’ Was confusion a part of this sickness?
‘No, Jamie. Your papa lives in London now so you may see him when you want to.’
‘Can you stay here now?’
‘Can I?’ Nat looked over at Cassandra and smiled when she nodded. ‘It seems that I can.’
‘Good.’ With that Jamie simply closed his eyes and went to sleep, his breathing even and the fever that had ravaged his body less than a few moments past, broken.
The silence stretched around them all, the gratitude of seeing a small child’s recovery being a big part of that. His wife clasped Jamie’s hand on one side of the bed and he held the other, a link of family and vigilance and concern. Outside distant bells chimed the hour of twelve, as the night softened into quiet.
‘Would you like a cup of tea? I could go down to the kitchens and make it and then bring it back here.’
Tea? Nat would have far rather had a stiff brandy, but he wondered how she might feel about drinking in a child’s room so he nodded at the offered drink. He felt as if he had been plunged into a different world where everything was altered and extraordinary. But right somehow. He smiled at that fact.
Left alone with his son, Nathaniel observed every feature, every part of a child who had been conceived out of love. He was sleeping now, his lashes dark against his cheeks and one arm curled beneath his head. He had slept like that, too, as a child, he remembered, and smiled as he noticed a ragged teddy bear on the floor, a well-loved companion by the looks of it. Picking it up, he tucked it beside his son. Just another one of all the small moments of a childhood he had missed, he thought, and resolved not to lose more.
When Cassandra bustled back a few moments later with a tray in hand she gestured to him to follow her into a sitting room close by and then proceeded to set out the cups, sugar and milk on a table.
‘I thought if we had our tea here it would not disturb Jamie and yet we are still near enough to hear if he calls out.’ She tipped her head to listen, but no noise was forthcoming. ‘His nanny and the servants are all in their beds and I did not wish to wake them again so if you need something to eat...?’
‘Just tea would be lovely.’
A flash of humour answered him as she understood his meaning. ‘Papa does not drink at all and so our house isn’t well stocked with liquor. But I will make certain that some is brought in for you next time.’
‘Next time?’
‘Jamie wants you in his life. Even being so sick he told you he did.’
‘And what of you? Do you want me here?’
She lifted her cup carefully and looked at him directly. ‘I do.’
‘Then let us begin with that.’
The tea tasted like an elixir the way she made it with a dollop of milk and sugar. It was steadying after a night of emotion. He wondered why he had never taken to the brew before and resolved to instruct his staff to get this particular leaf into his house for drinking. Everything seemed heightened somehow: the scent of Cassandra’s perfume, the colour of her hair. The small touch of her skin against his thumb as she had handed him the cup and the earthy aroma of tea.
Tonight lust did not rule as it usually did when they met, although in truth it simmered beneath the conversation. No, this evening a shared responsibility had engendered new emotions. Contentment. Peace. Gratitude. The quieter humours that Nat had seldom experienced before. The joy of sitting in a room with family around him and being a part of a tradition that stretched back through the ages.
‘I could buy him a horse, a small one with a good temperament. One that did not kick. A safe steed.’
She smiled. ‘You cannot protect him from everything, Nathaniel. What was your first horse like?’
‘Wild. A real hellion. I learnt almost immediately where to stand and where not to.’
‘The lessons of life. These are what Jamie needs to know from you.’
‘Is it always this hard? Being a parent, I mean.’
‘From the very first moment when the midwife handed him to me my heart ceased to be my own.’
‘You had others there with you?’
‘No.’
He swore softly so that the sound of it would not inadvertently reach the ears of his son. ‘I wish I had been present.’
‘I did, too, but I thought you were dead. I looked for you in Paris and asked after you. No one had ever heard your name, of course, and you were probably already back in England. But I did not know any of that then.’
‘When you came to London you did not arrive as Mrs Colbert?’
‘I thought it too dangerous. I had no idea as to what had happened to Guy Lebansart and his men and I wanted to keep Jamie as safely away from them as I could. I thought placing your name within his would be enough for you to know what had happened if anything should go wrong with me and you were still alive to find him.’
‘And you were condemned for not using the name of your husband because of it?’
‘Oh, that was an easy sufferance for I seldom strayed into society and finally the gossip lessened.’
‘If you had used Colbert I might have found you earlier.’
‘Then that would be my only regret.’
‘Come with me to St Auburn when Jamie is better. I can show you both the beauty of it, the solidness.’
‘You said your grandfather was there.’
‘Come as my family and he can meet you.’
* * *
Nathaniel wanted Jamie and her to go to St Auburn. He wanted things that she could not promise just yet with the scars at her breast and the guilt in her heart.
Tonight it had been easy to pretend with Jamie between them. Tonight he had come like a knight in shining armour through the darkness to rescue her. But tomorrow...?
Reality would creep back with the anger and then she would be at the mercy of pity again. She needed to make sure that the feelings in France could be translated here away from any pressures before she followed him into a place that neither of them could come back from. She needed him to love her wholly with his body just as he had done once in the southern mountains and she wanted to love him back in the same way. But could she risk asking that of him? Now, after Jamie’s sickness and the care he had shown, would the scars ruin everything?
The thrall of memory took her breath away. ‘Do you live alone at your town house?’
‘Yes.’ His voice was quiet, underlaced with question.
‘Then perhaps I could come there first. Just me...’
She left the rest unsaid, but he had picked up on the implications instantly.
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow night. At eight.’ That gave her a day to make certain that Jamie was fully recovered.
‘I would like that.’
‘And it will only be us?’
‘Yes.’
‘I will need a carriage later...to bring me home before the morning.’
‘It shall be at your disposal.’
‘I am half sick of shadows,’ said The Lady of Shalott.
Cassie just hoped that by leaving her sanctuary and following her heart into the arms of her Lancelot the result would be much happier than the one in the poem.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
T
he mirror crack’d from side to side;
‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried
The Lady of Shalott.
The three scars from Lebansart’s blade burnt like hot ribbons of shame upon her breast.
* * *
After such a night Nathaniel was unable to sleep and so he sat at the desk in his office and worked on the case of the girls found near the river. Rearranging scraps of paper before him, he took away this one and replaced with that.
The list contained the names of every member of the Venus Club. The clues had to be here somewhere, he knew, the intuition that had served him so well in his years of working with the Service honed and on high alert.
Scrivener Weeks would be here somewhere hiding amongst the detail, he just had to find out where he was concealed. Removing each member who was neither tall nor dark, he was left with the names of fifteen men. Reginald Northrup’s name caught his attention, but so did the name of Christopher Hanley.
Another thought occurred. It was Hanley who had told the world that he had seen Cassandra in the environs of Whitechapel Road and Hanley who had been disparaging about the role of the Daughters of the Poor trying to save every wayward girl in London. Could the existence of Cassandra’s charity be threatening him in some way; threatening his preference for sexual experiences with very young women?
Placing the name in the very centre of all the others, Nat determined to find out more about his family circumstances and his night-time habits. He would visit Hanley, too. Sometimes it just took a more direct approach to flush out a guilty quarry and make them run.
Meanwhile, he would make absolutely certain that Cassandra came nowhere near the vicinity of her uncle’s friend.
Chapter Twelve
Cassie could barely settle to anything for the whole of the next day, a sort of wild excitement that verged on panic underlying everything she did.
Jamie was so much better, leaving his bed and eating large plates of whatever the cook tempted him with. Maureen was astonished at how much improved he seemed, though it was another matter entirely that she quizzed Cassandra about.
‘There is word you had a visitor late last night, Cassie. Lord Nathaniel Lindsay was an unexpected caller?’
Cassandra knew her sister’s ways. Maureen obviously had found out a lot more about the unusual happening and was waiting for Cassandra to unravel it for her.
‘Lord Lindsay looks familiar somehow. I cannot quite put my finger on how I should know him, but...?’
At that precise moment Jamie ran past playing with a small train, and it was if a shutter had suddenly been raised.
‘Oh, my goodness, Lindsay is Jamie’s father? Nathanael is his second name?’
Horror stood where a humorous playfulness had lingered a moment before. ‘He ruined you?’
‘No. We were married, Reena. In France, almost five years ago. Everything is perfectly legal.’
‘Then why...?’ She could not even formulate her next question.
‘One day I will tell you everything, but not at this moment. If you could keep my confidence for a little while longer, I would be most appreciative.’
‘He will not break your heart again?’
‘Again?’ She could not quite understand what her sister alluded to.
‘You came home from Paris like a half person and never looked at another male with any thoughts of interest although there were many good men who were offering. I knew there was someone. I just thought he was dead.’
There are worse ways to be separated than in death, Cassie thought as Jamie came over to her to demand a cuddle. Her sister’s dark eyes watched carefully.
‘Kenyon likes him. I do, too.’
‘Who does he like?’ Jamie’s voice put paid to any further conversation.
* * *
In the late afternoon Cassie fussed about which gown to put on and finally decided on a dark yellow silk, a little outdated but beautifully cut. She fashioned her own hair into a bun at her nape, decorating the sides with two ornate tortoiseshell combs she had procured in the Marais. Cassie reasoned that if the night was to play out as she hoped she needed a style that would be easily unpinned and quickly redone when she left in the early hours of the next day.
Even the thought of it all made her apprehensive. Such a premeditated and deliberate choice. The hands of the clock seemed to race towards eight, and her stomach felt agitated and jittery.
She was twenty-three and she had had just one lover for only a short time. She did not count the Baudoins’ rough handling of her in the first days of Nay, preferring to forget about the violence and hurt of the place. No, all she remembered now were the weeks between Saint Estelle and Perpignan, and the utter need they had felt for each other, the desire and the passion.
Breathing, she held in her hope as an aching desperateness. Could this happen again or had she ruined it with her choice of sacrificing others so that they might live?
She turned to the mirror and looked at herself. She was not a bad person or a deceitful one. She had done her best ever since the betrayal at Perpignan to make amends for the harm that she had caused. Would Nathaniel see that of her? Would he be able to look beyond the past and see a future?
‘Please, God, let it be so,’ she whispered and hurried to find shoes, stockings and a coat to match her gown.
* * *
Cassandra arrived on the dot of eight-fifteen, the ornate clock in the corner of the front entrance still calling out the quarter-hour. She had come. Dismissing his man, Nat went out to the carriage to open the door, the large black cape she wore hiding much, though her eyes shone through in the dark, anxious and fearful.
‘Is Jamie better today?’ A topic other than this want that hung between them was welcomed, and she smiled.
‘He is, my lord.’ She allowed the Lindsay servant to take her cloak.
‘So formal, my lady.’
At that she blushed heavily, and would have tripped on the hem of her yellow gown had he not placed his hand beneath her arm. God, all he wanted to do was to snatch her up and take her to his bed, to assuage a pummelling need that was gaining more traction with every single second.
Friendship.
The word came back, loud with inherent meaning. He needed to slow down and calm down, for Cassandra Northrup deserved so much more than a quick tumble of lust, devoid of chivalry and consideration.
‘Dinner is waiting in the dining room. After that I shall dismiss the servants and...’ He did not finish.
‘A meal sounds lovely.’ She smiled at him then, as though she understood in his unfinished sentence some shared disquiet.
‘The French chef from St Auburn followed me down to London and is very competent. I hope you will enjoy the fare.’ Lord, why was he rambling on like this? He sounded like a green youth in the first throes of pleasing a girl, so he bit down for silence. He hardly recognised himself in his concern for making the right impression.
When he had visited Hawk earlier in the afternoon to tell him his worries about Hanley he had also mentioned the proposed dinner with Cassandra Northrup. With all good intentions Stephen had instructed him to smile a lot and be most attentive, but for the life of him Nat couldn’t seem to make his lips curl upwards and empty compliments had never been his style.
Instead, he pulled the chair from the table and invited Cassandra to sit and then he took his own place a good few feet away. Distance made him less edgy and the procession
of kitchen staff with tureens of soup and entrées turned his mind for a moment from the reason as to why she was here alone tonight.
‘I don’t think I thanked you properly for your help with Jamie the other night, Nathaniel. I do not normally panic.’
‘I was glad that you called me, and if he is anything like me and has another fit it should be months away.’
‘You only had three episodes, you said.’
‘Indeed. I outgrew them exactly as the St Auburn physician had predicted that I would.’
‘A family trait, then?’
‘My father was prone to the same as a child. He did not have brothers or sisters, however, so I am not certain if it would have been something that ran through the whole line.’
‘Well, it is reassuring to know that you recovered.’ She drew a spoon of soup to her mouth and sighed. ‘Onion soup. This is a taste I remember, though I have not had it since Paris.’
‘You did not think to send word to your father after Perpignan and ask him to help?’
She shook her head, the red-gold catching the light from the chandelier above in a sparkling cascade of colour. ‘Papa would have found the situation trying, and as a family we attempt to shelter him from anything that is difficult. After Mama died he was...brittle and I am not certain if he will ever be truly happy again.’
‘So you managed alone?’
‘I did.’
‘You do that often.’
Her spoon hovered above the plate. ‘I believe in myself more now.’
‘I am glad for it.’
‘I believe that atonement goes a certain way in alleviating past mistakes, and that what was, is not always the same as what will be.’
‘Wise of you.’
‘I have made errors, Nathaniel, big ones that I wish every single day I had not, but in the end one cannot wish life away. One has to confront it with courage and go on.’
