Totally sated, she pressed a linen napkin to her lips. “That will be all, Verity. Why is the house so quiet?”
“His grace went out a while ago. Lady Sarah is doing her lessons, and the Ladies Pugh and Hayes are in the green room, m’lady.”
Edward must have gone to the race track. With a little time to spare before getting ready for the afternoon races, Cassandra went in search of Gama and Lady Pugh. She ought to snatch every moment possible to be with Gama, since she and Lady Pugh would be leaving on their journey soon.
The two elderly ladies sat chatting as their fingers flew over their needlework. Cassandra’s soft slippers made no sound on the thick Persian rug, and they didn’t see her until she came between them.
They both started with a gasp. “Cassandra, do not sneak up like that.” Gama patted her bosom. “You gave me a fright.”
“I apologize, Gama. What are you making?”
“A tapestry.” Gama chuckled. “Though I declare, I don’t know what will emerge.”
“Mine is Edward’s coat of arms.” Lady Pugh held her work to the light. A vivid outline of a blue shield with black crossed swords and yellow streamers covered the fabric. “I intend it to be a wedding present.”
Cassandra’s knees weakened, and she sank into the cushions of the nearest chair. “His grace is going to be wed?”
“Indeed he is. I began this work when he first showed an interest in Daphne.” Lady Pugh laid the tapestry aside and peered at Cassandra with bright gray eyes. “At the time, I thought Daphne the perfect match—but I’ve changed my mind.”
Cassandra lifted her brows. To say that this surprised her would be an understatement. She glanced to Gama but found her fussing with a tangled thread. “What changed your mind?”
“As I’ve considered the matter, I fear that Daphne may be barren.”
“Why?”
“She was married to Lord Ashford for five years and bore no child.” Lady Pugh’s bluntness didn’t surprise Cassandra. “Your marriage had no issue as well, though you were married for a much shorter time. Is there any reason why there was no child?”
There was a very good reason, but she didn’t want to discuss it with Lady Pugh. “None that I know of.”
“Do you wish to have children, Cassandra?”
“Of course Cassandra wants children.” Gama sent her a sly smile.
Cassandra sighed. “I really haven’t given thought to remarriage.” A lie, of course, but she couldn’t permit such thoughts until Harcrumb’s threat was removed. As far as she knew, he was at the moment conniving to murder Edward. He’d already killed one husband.
Lady Pugh scooted to the edge of her seat. “What’s wrong with you, gel? Do you know where Edward is?”
Cassandra shook her head, suddenly afraid to know.
“He’s showing Daphne around the estate. You’ve got to give a thought that you can’t take a man’s affection for granted. Your reservation and reluctant attitude will only be tolerated so long. There will always be women like Daphne Ashford who’ll take advantage. If you have any hope of marrying Edward, you must flirt and flatter and not let your guard down until he says ‘I do,’ and even then, keep your eyes open.”
Cassandra still couldn’t believe Lady Pugh was encouraging her marriage to Edward. She was worried that he was with Daphne. Very much worried.
He’d said he must get in Daphne’s good graces, but Cassandra had envisioned a light flirtation, nothing more. Yes, he had to get Daphne alone to question her, but did he have to take her on a tour of the estate?
Daphne might jump to the conclusion that he was more interested in her than he was.
Was he interested? She shook her head. Of course he wasn’t.
Lady Pugh huffed and shifted her bulk. “I speak from experience.”
“Chloe, you’re not going to tell her about Lord Hastings. The situation isn’t the same at all.” Gama dropped her needlework.
Lady Pugh kept her gaze pinned to Cassandra. “You wouldn’t know it now, but at one time I was considered quite a handsome woman. I was betrothed to Lord Hastings—an arranged marriage, but an advantageous one. I was so busy with my trousseau I had no time for him.”
Cassandra stared at her hands lying palms up in her lap. The chimes of a grandfather clock reminded her she ought to change into her riding habit, but Lady Pugh made it clear she couldn’t be excused.
“Miss,” Chloe spoke the title in a sneer, “Abigail Witherspoon, a vicar’s daughter, caught Lord Hastings’ attention.”
Lady Pugh lifted her shoulders. “Why should I have cared? Miss Witherspoon didn’t have a feather to fly with.” She lowered her head and peered at Cassandra from under thin gray lashes. “Still, Lord Hastings cried off, eloping with Miss Witherspoon a scant week before our wedding was to take place.”
“I’m so sorry.” A weak response, but all Cassandra could think of.
Lady Pugh’s laughter pealed sharply. “Don’t be sorry for me, my dear. Lady Hastings, nee Miss Witherspoon, spent the next ten years bearing ten children. The poor thing died shortly after the tenth. Tut, being a spinster has its benefits.”
“Chloe, I hardly think you should have given Cassandra such an unpleasant view of marriage when we’re trying to encourage her to pursue Edward.” Gama’s words carried a spark of censure.
“Posh, she has nothing to fear. The Daltons have never had large families.” Lady Pugh leaned to Gama. “I think it had something to do with the men being away much of the time visiting the continent on diplomatic missions.”
Gama laughed. “Yes, I can see how that might hinder a large family. If the duchess got with child often it might have occasioned gossip.”
Both ladies cackled, but Cassandra saw nothing funny. If she were married to Edward, and he was called away on a diplomatic mission, she’d go with him and no argument.
What was she thinking of? She couldn’t marry Edward.
Lady Pugh wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes, and twisted her plump self to the edge of the chair to peer at Cassandra. “No reason for you to be concerned. An heir and a spare is all that’s required.”
Cassandra wished they’d stop talking about children. Keeping Edward alive so he could sire children was her greatest concern at the moment.
Gama squinted as she threaded her needle. “I believe God puts us in the situation that best suits. I’ve never regretted spinsterhood, and I don’t even have a Lord Hastings to boast of.”
“My dear, you had many admirers.” Lady Pugh retrieved her tapestry.
They began a back and forth on who had the most admirers, apparently forgetting Cassandra. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I must get dressed.”
She left them to their spirited debate and rushed upstairs. With a quick tug on the bell pull, she opened the wardrobe to select a habit.
The door opened but, thinking it was Verity, she didn’t turn until the intruder spoke.
“Cassandra, are you ready?”
“Margaret.” Cassandra rushed forward to embrace her friend. “Did you think you had to fetch me?”
“Oh, no, we’ve plenty of time.” Margaret clasped her hands and paced around. “I wanted to speak to you on a matter I should have spoken about earlier.”
Cassandra bent in front of the vanity mirror, wondering if she must have her hair rearranged to fit her hat. “What matter would that be?”
“Something that happened the night of Lord Wayte’s death.”
Cassandra stared at Margaret’s reflection in the mirror. Her friend’s distressed features knotted her nerves. She swung around with hands fisted at her sides. “Tell on, Margaret.”
“I didn’t see you after that night, but I should have. I want to explain.” Margaret pivoted and continued pacing. “I knew you suspected Sir Harcrumb, but he was cleared since witnesses said he’d left after dinner that night.” She stopped in front of Cassandra. “He didn’t leave then. I saw him at five of the clock the next morning.”
“Saw
him where?”
“At the crossroads leading away from Waytefield. It’s a heavily wooded area.”
Cassandra was familiar with the place, not far from the house but secluded. “Why were you there? It must have been still dark.”
“It was when I arrived, but dawn broke before I left. You remember Robert Tinsley?”
“That half-pay officer you fancied you were in love with before William.”
“It was understood that I’d be affianced to William, but I didn’t know how wonderful he was then. At the time all I could think about was that Robert might never return from the war, and we…well, we wanted to say one last goodbye.”
They wanted to share one last kiss. All of that was interesting, but impatience made Cassandra prompt Margaret back to Harcrumb. “You saw Harcrumb? How could you be sure?”
“Robert and I heard someone coming and hid behind some trees. It was Sir Harcrumb, I couldn’t be mistaken. He’d visited Father the previous day about some business matter, and I was in the study when he arrived. No man wears that cold black hair brushed back as he does.”
“What was he doing at the crossroads?”
“He got off his horse and walked back and forth for what seemed hours, but was probably about ten minutes. It was very cold, but Robert and I couldn’t leave for fear he’d see or hear us.” Margaret paused a long moment. “Then a woman rode up.”
“A woman? Who?”
“I couldn’t see her face. She didn’t dismount and had her back to us. Harcrumb seemed agitated. He pulled out a money bag, and the woman opened her reticle. He counted out some money. I couldn’t tell how much, but there were some coins since I heard the clinking as it fell into her reticle.
“After that she rode back to the house. Harcrumb mounted his horse and rode off in the other direction.”
Excitement surged through Cassandra. If only they could find that woman, and if she would confess. “Could the woman have been his wife?”
“It might have been, but if he wished to give her money, why not before he left the house. Why a rendezvous?”
“Maybe he paid for an assignment, a servant perhaps.”
Margaret shook her head wildly. “The woman wasn’t a servant, of that I can assure you. Or a woman who…sells herself. She wore a long, hooded ermine cloak. You know how expensive ermine is.”
Indeed, it couldn’t have been a servant or a prostitute. She recounted the wealthy women present in the house. “Might it have been Daphne?” But why would Daphne be taking money from Harcrumb?
“It might have been, but I didn’t think so at the time, though I can’t recall why.”
“I must tell the duke about this.” When Margaret started to protest, Cassandra held out her hand. “Never fear, I shall not mention your name. I realize this is something you wouldn’t want William to hear.”
“Indeed I would not. If William knew that I was dallying with someone else when he was on his way to propose, it would hurt him. I’d do anything to prevent hurting him, Cassandra. I love him. You must know what that’s like. To love a man to distraction.”
Cassandra didn’t deny it. She’d do anything to keep from hurting Edward, or to allow anyone else to hurt him. When she’d come to that realization, she didn’t know, but her love now consumed all her thoughts. All her attention.
Margaret had lit a light of hope that Harcrumb would be exposed and defeated, and that meant hope that she could declare her love for Edward.
But would he accept her when he learned the truth? She would have to tell him the truth about her past. Not to do so would be unfair to him. She couldn’t blame him if he refused her love, but if he could accept her as she was, what a great love that would be.
Verity slipped in. “I beg pardon for the delay, m’lady. I was below stairs.”
“That’s quite all right, Verity. I only need some help with my habit.” Cassandra turned to Margaret. “What color is Daphne’s habit do you think?”
“Blue I should imagine. She always wears blue.”
“Bring my blue habit, Verity.” Daphne didn’t own the color blue—nor the duke. She addressed Margaret again. “On our way to the race track, I want you to show me exactly where you saw the meeting you spoke of.”
***
Some of the trees were already turning colors along the forest trail, though fall was a few weeks away. As they emerged onto the road, Margaret halted. “This is the place.”
Cassandra glanced toward the house and then to a fenced corral adjoining the road. “Are you certain this is where you saw Harcrumb?”
“Of a certainty. He rode up from the house. So did the woman, as I said, some while after he stopped here.”
The neighing of a horse drew Cassandra’s attention to the corral. The white mare stood, stomping the ground, her head shaking over the fence. “Snowfire.” Cassandra slid from the gelding’s saddle and ran to nuzzle her former horse.
Cassandra glanced back to Margaret. “She remembers me.”
Margaret rode up. “I’ve always thought Snowfire the most beautiful animal I’ve ever seen.”
The horse clearly wanted to get out of the enclosure. “I wish I could take you with me.” Cassandra rubbed Snowfire’s nose as the mare sidestepped.
With a sharp gasp, Cassandra saw the wounds on Snowfire’s flank. “Margaret, look.”
“A woman’s spur caused that.” It wouldn’t have taken an expert horsewoman, which Margaret was, to tell the horrible gashes were caused by a woman riding sidesaddle.
What could be done? George wouldn’t sell her Snowfire, but Edward might know of some way she could rescue the horse. She caught sight of Margaret consulting her watch and knew she had no choice but to leave.
By the time they reached the little valley set out for the festivities, the first race was over. Cassandra’s heart gave a foolish little lurch as she spied Edward huddled with the other racers. All of them were quite dashing in their red, blue, and black riding jackets and meticulously tied cravats.
None were more handsome than Edward in his skin tight tan chamois riding breeches, black jacket, and glossy high-top boots. He wouldn’t be racing in the early races, but would definitely participate in the steeple-chase.
Margaret left to let her husband know she’d arrived, but Cassandra decided to climb the little hill to the left of the course, realizing this would give her a much better vantage point than the spectators’ boxes.
She wished she might speak to Edward about what Margaret had told her and about Snowfire, but he was busy supervising the affair.
A giant elm gave her shade and a place to be inconspicuous.
Not inconspicuous enough. Sir Ralph broke away from the other men and walked a straight line in her direction.
“Lady Cassandra, can it be possible that you are more lovely today than yesterday?”
She gave him a faint smile, gritting her teeth as his gaze raked over her.
“Are you not racing, Sir Ralph?”
“Later.” He leaned toward her to whisper in her ear, though there was not a remote possibility of anyone hearing them. “And I intend to win. Won at Ascot three times this year. I wonder if it’s even sporting to compete with these country gentlemen.”
Whatever attributes Sir Ralph might boast, modesty wasn’t one of them. She backed away as he stepped toward her. “Besides,” he added, “I would much rather spend the time with you.”
“Let’s join the others, shall we?” With no possible way to extract herself from his presence, she tore down the little rise, marching to the spectators’ area. Sir Ralph followed.
Cassandra made her way to where Margaret stood talking to two other women, likely the wives who’d accompanied the country gentlemen. After introductions, the women ignored Sir Ralph and turned back to their chatter about certain wardrobe changes they deemed necessary to keep up with fashion. Sir Ralph took the hint and sauntered away.
Margaret pulled Cassandra aside. “Why is Sir Ralph here?”
�
�I gather he was invited by Daphne to keep me away from the duke.”
Margaret laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me, but I rather thought she might be trying to toady up to him to borrow money. Her extravagance knows no bounds. I hear the current Lord Ashford has had to put Daphne on a short leash.” She leaned in and whispered. “Last year she’d become so indebted, she had to borrow heavily from Sir Ralph.”
“Then it might have been she you saw taking money from Harcrumb.” Cassandra twisted her mouth to one side. That still didn’t make sense. “No, that can’t be right. She was staying in the house. There’d have been no need for a surreptitious meeting.”
Margaret darted a look behind her before fixing Cassandra with a level stare. “At the time, Robert and I thought it must be Daphne, but for some reason we discounted it. The woman on the horse looked larger, but then she was wearing that cloak, so it wasn’t possible to judge her size.”
“At any rate, she must be questioned.”
“Cassandra—” Margaret grabbed her arm.
“Never fear. I shall not mention your involvement, and I cannot be the one doing the questioning. Edward should. No—Charles Galloway. He’ll be here soon, and he—” Cassandra stopped short. She couldn’t give away the fact that Charles was spying for Edward.
“Yes—he’s what?” Margaret had noticed her hesitancy.
“He’s a friend of Daphne’s. Edward can ask him to bring the matter up with Daphne in a round-about way, of course.” If she ever got a chance to speak to Edward. Every time he looked her way, someone came up to command his attention.
Margaret patted her hand. “I want William to check my horse’s leathers before the race. I’ll see you on the track.” She smile and turned to leave.
Cassandra nodded. “Don’t forget we’re to be treated to an early tea instead of luncheon.” She shaded her eyes with her hand and scanned the crowd. Where was Edward now?
***
The races continued as the sun rose high in the sky.
The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2) Page 19
