“Lady Jersey will take note of those who attend.” Daphne’s ice blue eyes narrowed meaningfully. “And those who do not.”
Edward ignored the jab. “I thought you wanted to be off to the country by Tuesday, Auntie.”
Aunt Chloe lifted one shoulder. “What’s a few days, one way or the other?”
Why did he feel he was being foxed again by these conniving women? What disaster did Daphne and Mrs. Harcrumb have in store for Cassandra?
Daphne broke into his thoughts. “Viscount Galloway is going. I thought it would be fun for us to all go together. Your carriage is large enough for Charles and me, Lady Pugh, Lady Wayte, and you."
“Charles is going as your escort? Is he pressing his suit then?”
Daphne’s laughter tinkled. “We’re only friends, but a lady likes to have a handsome man on her arm without having to commit to more than friendship. That’s one of the liberties widowhood affords me.”
What choice did he have? He couldn’t pass up an opportunity to influence Lady Jersey and, in the unlikely event Cassandra accepted Mrs. Harcrumb’s invitation, he’d have to be present to protect her.
He got to his feet. “Then it’s arranged. I thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Harcrumb, and accept with pleasure. We’ll all come as a party.”
Chapter 13
It’s finished.
Cassandra tossed her paintbrush aside and stepped back. The duke stared at her from the canvas. She’d always been critical of her work, finding some fault with every painting, but not this one.
This was her masterpiece.
Nobility cloaked every feature of the duke’s handsome face. Intelligence, kindness, charity showed in his eyes. The springy locks of his hair styled in the Windswept begged to be touched. The firm set of his chin bespoke determination.
The painting would hang here in her boudoir so she could glance at it from time to time as she read on the chaise lounge.
Among other things, her footman, Tom, was an expert carver. He would frame the portrait, but she couldn’t call on him tonight. She was already in her undress—satin wrapper, lacy nightgown and frilly nightcap.
She examined the painting as the moments stretched into minutes until she realized the foolishness of her thoughts. Why had she allowed herself to become so enamored of Edward Dalton? Because he lingered before her like a sumptuous dish, and she, like a starving woman, craved him? The silly metaphor brought a grin to her lips, and she turned to make her way to the bedroom.
He would marry you. Being an honorable man, that might be his intention. He admired her. Perhaps he’d invited her to Langsdale to propose marriage. How would she be able to refuse him?
After shedding her wrap, she slipped under the covers and hoped sleep would take her quickly. A vain hope. She was all too aware time was running out for her, as it was for Sir Harcrumb.
The invitation to the reception still lay unanswered. She’d have to send a reply in the morning, Saturday, the day of the event.
Edward was going because Lady Jersey would attend, and of course everyone, even the Duke of Langsdale, must bow down before the society ladies.
Last week Edward had surprised her by inviting her to church. She ought to have declined, but didn’t seem to be able to deny him. In any event, Gama insisted. They had gone to the little church nestled in the woods only one street over. She’d have expected the duke to attend services at St Paul’s where all the gentry went to see and be seen.
The elderly vicar hadn’t held her interest, and she couldn’t remember anything he’d said until near the end of his sermon.
Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.
She’d spent the rest of the service staring at her lap, wondering if the duke knew her secrets and deliberately brought her to hear that sermon. All week those words kept up a steady beat in her mind.
But God was a just god. He knew Sir Harcrumb should be executed, and since the law had failed— Didn’t God use his people as instruments to carry out His will on earth? Yes, she was certain God understood.
With a thump of her pillow, she tried to focus on more pleasant things. The past few days had flown like flower petals in the wind. Edward had been absent when she’d tutored Sarah Monday and Tuesday, but they’d ridden to the park Wednesday and along Rotten Row on Thursday. The gawkers were likely still suffering from neck strain.
She should never have become involved with the duke or Sarah, but the little girl captivated her as much as her brother. They were kindred spirits—she and Sarah—sharing a passion for painting. Sarah and she would remain friends no matter the outcome, which meant the duke would remain in her life. Yes, she’d continue to love Sarah even after Edward married someone else, as he must.
Before long he’d likely forget her and Lady Ashford. Sometime during the long Season, his social calendar would fill, and he’d find a suitable bride, as pure and untouched as the first snowfall. One who would, in time, produce the necessary heir. By then Cassandra would be able to wish him well. She might even give his bride the portrait as a wedding gift.
If she hadn’t gone to the gallows before then.
***
Edward fought for patience. The steady ticking of the library’s wall clock reminded him time was running out. Saturday morning and Charles hadn’t showed. Edward had sent him a request—no, a demand—for an appointment over an hour ago. Had Daphne swept Charles under her charms? Could he really trust the young viscount?
The book of Byron’s Sonnets fell from his hands onto the floor. Not that he’d been reading anyway. Too many thoughts churned his brain to concentrate on love poems. He’d selected the book to soothe his mind, and if he were honest, to help him find some words to woo Cassandra.
He couldn’t find the words to tell her all he felt, something that might make her fall in love. On those rare occasions when they were alone, he’d been as tongue-tied as a country yokel. As he retrieved the book, a knock sounded at the door.
“Enter.”
Charles breezed in as if this were a mere social call. “I slipped past your butler.”
“Why?”
“Habit, I suppose. When one gets used to stealthy practices, it seems the best way.” Charles laughed as he took the wingchair facing Edward and stretched out his long legs. “I finally discovered what Daphne, Lady Millicent Wayte, and Mrs. Harcrumb are about.”
Both relief and apprehension skidded through Edward. “Daphne told you?”
“Daphne wouldn’t tell me, nor would I ask her.” Charles slouched in the chair. With elbows on the arms, he brought his fingers together, and struck a pensive pose. “It’s important that Daphne and I remain friends. I couldn’t get anything out of her, but her ladies’ maid is a different kettle of fish.”
Edward frowned. “You trusted her maid?”
“Her maid detests her ladyship. That happens more frequently than you’d imagine. At any rate, with the right mix of flattery and bribery, she told me all she could.”
“Which was?”
Charles sat up, and with a glance that swept the room, leaned forward. “Sir Harcrumb is going to get Lady Wayte in a compromising position, and one of our scheming ladies, along with Lady Jersey, will walk in on them.”
“The devil, you say.”
“Just so.” Charles shifted in his chair.
Edward relaxed. “Then it matters not since Lady Wayte has refused the invitation.”
Charles jerked his head from side to side in a dramatic manner. “She has not. The lady sent her reply this morning. She’s accepted.”
With a start, Edward pulled himself up. “How do you know?” Before Charles could reply, he motioned with a flick of his hand. “I know…you bribed a servant.” Again he relaxed against the cushions. “In a way, this is welcome news. I can introduce Cassandra to Lady Jersey. It just means that one of us will have to keep careful watch over Cassandra and Harcrumb. Make certain they remain apart.”
Charles chuckled. “I can guess which one I’m assigned to keep
watch over.”
How right he was. Edward would insist Cassandra accompany his party to the reception, and he would stick by her side all evening, except—
He’d have to dance with Daphne at least once, but Charles would engage Cassandra for that same dance.
As to Harcrumb, that wastrel might reveal what connection he had with Cassandra.
***
Cassandra stood beside the gate at the back of her garden twisting a linen handkerchief in her hands. Everything had seemed so simple a week ago. She’d given Hilda a week to consider this plot, to weigh the consequences, to be sure, but time forced Cassandra to assess her situation as well.
Nerves chewed her insides. The girl was late. Perhaps she wouldn’t show, and all this worry would be for naught. She glanced to the duke’s residence. Sarah wasn’t watching from her tree today. Not that she couldn’t trust Sarah. True to her word, the child had said nothing. Yet Cassandra couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling that eyes peered and accused.
The only eyes that could see her were those of the martins tending their nests in her own trees.
She strained her ears as the sound of hoof beats and wheels on cobblestone came nearer. The driver’s bark confirmed that the conveyance stopped. She held her breath as voices filtered through the hedge. “What if they followed us?” The question came from an unknown female.
“Hush, no one followed us.” That was Hilda. Cassandra let the air from her lungs in a long sigh. The clip-clop of hooves and jingle of harness confirmed the conveyance went on its way.
Footsteps crunched dead leaves just outside the gate, and Cassandra unlatched it, opening it only far enough to allow the young women to pass through.
Hilda addressed her friend. “See, I told you Lady Wayte would be here.”
Cassandra didn’t wait for introductions. She latched the gate. “Come with me.” Pivoting, she marched with wide strides toward the house and didn’t stop until they’d entered her study.
“This is Milly Wilton.”
For the first time Cassandra looked at Hilda’s friend. The girl wore a hooded cape that all but hid her curly brown hair. She visibly shook under Cassandra’s scrutiny and stared at her feet.
“Welcome, Milly.”
The girl refused to raise her eyes. “Thank you, ma’am, I mean, your ladyship.” The mumbled words were barely audible.
Hilda didn’t waste time on polite conversation. She pierced Cassandra with her glare. “What are we to do?”
Cassandra liked that in Hilda. She paced back and forth in front of the two, measuring her words. “At six of the clock in the morning you will leave for a posting inn in Scotland where you will be given employment as serving maids. You will forget everything that has happened since coming to London. You will forget this meeting or indeed, that you’ve even known me. If anyone should ask, you will reply that you’ve just come from home.”
“But what about—” Hilda’s brows rose.
Cassandra interrupted, raising her voice. “Your luggage has been packed with suitable clothing for your new situations. You’ll share a room tonight and find a nightgown apiece as well as traveling gowns for the morrow.” She continued pacing.
“But why so—”
“In your valise, you’ll find enough money for your expenses.” Cassandra came to a halt and smiled. “You’ll like Scotland. The air is so clean, the scenery beautiful.” She rushed to the bell pull and gave it a yank.
After returning to the desk, she plucked two identical books from the center drawer. “Take these with you and keep them always.” She held one out to each girl.
They examined the black leather books, curiosity written on their faces. Even Milly glanced up.
“What are they?” Hilda asked.
“Bibles…actually a portion of the Bible. The Psalms, Proverbs, and the Gospels.” Cassandra laced her fingers together behind her as the girls sent her questioning glances. “My late husband gave one of these books to each person he rescued to set them on the road to a better life—if you read them.” It crossed Cassandra’s mind she’d neglected reading the scriptures for a long time.
Hilda thumbed through the pages and sent her a sly glance from under her lashes. “Has it helped you?”
“I…I admit to being remiss in reading the Bible, so I can’t say it’s helped me, but the books may provide you with a barrier to the past. Do you know how to read?”
“I do,” Hilda replied, but Milly shook her head.
“Perhaps you could read to Milly, Hilda, but in any event, keep the books with you. Their very presence may make a difference.”
The door swooshed open, and Cassandra turned to the sound.
“You called, m’lady?” Hetty dipped a curtsey.
“Yes, these are the young women I spoke about earlier. Take Milly up to the room and send them a repast for tea as well as dinner later.”
Milly threw Hilda a worried glance.
Cassandra laid a hand on Milly’s shoulder when the girl made no effort to move. “It’s quite all right. I’ll send Hilda to join you later. You’re a guest here tonight, and I think a bath is in order for both our guests, Hetty.” She gave Milly a pat and dropped her hand. “I wish to speak to Hilda in private, but I’ll send her along shortly.”
“Come with me, Miss.” Hetty held the door wide, and with one backward worried glance, Milly went through the opening, followed by Hetty.
With a deep sigh, Cassandra turned to Hilda whose brows rose in a question. “I know why you didn’t want to speak in front of Milly, but now you’re going to tell me how I’m to kill Harcrumb.”
Hilda wasn’t one to mince words, but Cassandra had been in polite society too long to be so abrupt. “Let’s sit, shall we?” She indicated a heavily carved davenport standing along the wall.
After they’d seated themselves, Cassandra twisted around to Hilda who stared at her with hardened blue eyes. “You’re not going to kill Harcrumb. I’ve changed my mind.”
Hilda came to the edge of her seat, hands fisted at her sides. “Not going to kill him? But I want to. I thought you knew I didn’t agree to this just to escape to Scotland, though it’s kind of you to do this for Milly and me, but I don’t know how I could rest anywhere with that man still breathing.”
Cassandra closed her fingers over Hilda’s fist. “I understand how you feel, but I cannot allow you to suffer a lifetime with a guilty conscious.” When Hilda relaxed, Cassandra clasped her hands in her lap, striking a demure pose she was far from feeling. “I haven’t said Sir Harcrumb won’t receive retribution, only that you won’t be the one exacting that retribution.”
“You intend to kill him yourself.”
“If the opportunity comes, otherwise I’ll find some other way, but make sure Harcrumb will get what he deserves.” She unhooked her hands and threw them wide. “I want you to forget the horror of the past, Hilda. Welcome your freedom, enjoy it. It can be done. Why, when Lord Wayte freed me I was the happiest girl alive, and was so…until he died.”
Hilda shook her head, her chestnut curls bobbing. “No, m’lady, don’t do it. You’re a great lady. So many people depend on you. Nobody will care if anything happens to me.”
“That’s not true at all. Your future lies before you, and you’re a comely miss. The posting inn where you’ll be serving is a stop for many of the bucks and beaus on their way to hunting parties.”
“It matters not. No decent man will look upon me, and I’d never let one near me.”
Those same thoughts had run through Cassandra mind often, yet they sounded silly coming from Hilda. “Believe me, when a man’s heart is engaged, nothing else matters. A number of noblemen travel the wilds of Scotland. Who can say you won’t become a great lady yourself?”
To make certain she’d not brook any argument, Cassandra stood. “You should go now. Say nothing about any of this and never acknowledge that you’ve ever known me.”
The book slipped from Hilda’s lap as she stood. She retrieved it,
lifting it in her hand. “Do you believe this?”
Cassandra smiled, liking the girl’s spunk. “Yes, I believe it…or rather, I believe in the God the book speaks of.”
“But you still intend to kill Harcrumb?”
“I believe God will exact vengeance on Harcrumb. If he uses me as an instrument to accomplish that—” Her words sounded weak, but this was the only argument she could think of at the moment. “I might be wrong, of course, but even if I lose my hope of heaven, I can’t ask you or anyone else to take that risk.”
“I think you’re making a mistake. If God wanted an instrument to kill Harcrumb, He’d surely choose me.” Hilda clutched the Bible to her chest and strode to the door where Cassandra stopped her.
“You’ve never been a servant, have you, Hilda?”
The girl responded with a shake of the head.
“On your way to Scotland, you should ask Milly to teach you how to comport yourself in the company of your betters.” Cassandra smiled to soften the order. “You never, ever question your mistress.”
Hilda nodded as a grin curved her lips. “I promise never to mention you, but I’ll never forget you, Lady Wayte.”
Immediately after Hilda disappeared through the doorway, Carswell appeared. “A missive from the duke, your ladyship.” A silver salver balanced on his white-gloved hand. “A messenger is waiting your reply.”
She took the missive and broke the seal. Edward requested she join his party to journey to the Harcrumb reception.
Cassandra ambled to the desk. Lady Ashford would be in the party, and Cassandra would rather travel with London’s surliest fishwife than her, but the temptation of sitting beside Edward was too great. She dipped the quill and penned the simple reply. Yes, thank you. CW.
She didn’t know what the night held, but the assurance that Edward would be beside her from the first gave her strength.
Chapter 14
Sir Harcrumb stood at the head of the reception line, correctly attired in black coat and evening breeches. Diamonds glittered in his cravat and on the buckles of his shoes. His oil slicked charcoal hair was swept across his forehead in an attempt to hide a receding hairline. Beady black eyes gleamed under beetle brows.
The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2) Page 13
