Sitting astride Hercules, his favorite jumper, Edward watched Cassandra move apart when the steeplechase was announced. She pulled her wide-brimmed Italian straw hat forward to shield the glare of the sun and her blue gaze locked with his. She must intend to view the races from that little wooded hill, but he wanted her to see him race.
He beckoned her to the spectator’s box. It would offer the best view of the finish line. She’d almost reached the box before he tore his gaze away and urged Hercules to the starting line with barely a minute to spare.
The magnificent black stallion was in his element, clearing every hurdle with at least a foot to spare.
Several of the horses balked at the jumps, however, and dropped out of the race. Edward never lost his lead and won by a length over Lord Avery, who came in second.
He searched the crowd for Cassandra. She waited in the outer circle. After accepting the congratulations of his friends, he handed the reins over to his groom and maneuvered through the by-standers. The ladies’ race was next, and he must have a word with her before she took her mount.
She swung around to greet him as he walked up. “You’re an exceptional horseman, and Hercules is a wonderful jumper.” Her breathless tone and the high color in her cheeks showed how excited she was. “Now I know how I shall paint you—flying through the air over the high hurdles.”
Her excitement and brilliant smile could gladden his heart more than winning any race. At that moment, he realized most of his efforts were aimed at winning her approval.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the race. It was worth it to find your eyes sparkling like the sunlight on a tranquil sea.” He chuckled. “Forgive me for waxing poetical. It is not my habit.”
She blushed and looked down at the ground. “You are too kind, Edward.”
That warm surge of desire she could so easily evoke took him, and he wished they were alone. But they were not, and the ladies were called to the next race. “You must—” he began and was interrupted by Daphne.
“Go take your mount, Cassandra.” Daphne barked like one used to giving orders. She brushed back her flaxen hair, and hooked Edward’s arm. “Oh, darling, you were magnificent. Come watch me win.”
He took Cassandra with his other arm, and the three of them strode to the starting line.
Margaret and Millicent waited in place on the inside. A groom held Cassandra’s red gelding on the other side of Margaret while another man held Daphne’s mount, a huge stallion as black as a raven’s wing, sired by Hercules.
Daphne tugged him. “Give me a hand up, Edward.”
Cassandra jerked out of his reach, so there was nothing he could do but comply with Daphne’s command.
Daphne sat the black stallion and preened herself, settling the folds of her turquoise habit. She sent a simpering smile Edward’s way. Cassandra stared straight ahead, clearly irritated, maybe even jealous. The thought rather pleased him.
Edward moved out of the way, and the starting gun sounded. All four ladies were experienced horsewomen, but Cassandra and Daphne quickly outdistanced Margaret and Millicent. Neither the red nor the black stallion made a mistake. The two frontrunners were making an exciting race.
The shouting of the crowd intensified as they entered the home stretch. Daphne was ahead by a length, but her horse was weakening, and Cassandra’s horse, Jupiter, sprang forth with a surge of energy. Edward tensed, waiting for Jupiter to overtake the black.
They were almost neck and neck when, incredibly, Cassandra pulled back and Daphne sped to the finish line. Why had Cassandra done that?
Both ladies dismounted, Daphne to be surrounded by her admirers, and Cassandra to walk away. Edward pushed through the crowd to catch up with her.
He matched her steps. “Why did you allow Daphne to win?”
She turned her head to glare at him. “Daphne was jabbing that horse unmercifully with her spur. Pulling back was the only way I knew to save that poor animal.”
“Spurs were allowed, Cassandra, although you certainly didn’t need them.”
She stopped and faced him, and he caught the glint of tears in her eyes. Surely she was making far too much of this. “I thought better of you, Edward. I never thought you’d allow a horse to be abused.”
“I promise it won’t happen again, but there’s more on your mind than the race.”
The tears spilled down her cheeks. “Margaret and I went by Waytefield on the way here. I saw Snowfire. She had horrible gashes in her side.”
“The Lipizzaner?”
She took hold of his arm. “I must find some way to rescue her. George won’t sell her to me, but if you could persuade him to sell her to you, I would pay you whatever you wish.”
Words of reassurance rose in his throat, but he swallowed them. Although he’d already persuaded George to sell the horse, he’d not yet taken possession and didn’t want to disappoint her. He’d hoped to keep the matter secret and return Snowfire to Cassandra, perhaps as a wedding present. That might still be possible.
“I’ll do all within me to get your horse, Cassandra. Now dry your tears, and tomorrow don’t hold back. You will win the race easily.”
“I don’t think I shall enter tomorrow’s race after all, and I’m not attending the ball tonight.” She turned and walked up the grassy hill.
When they’d gone beyond the hearing of the others, he took her forearm and turned her to face him. “Why can’t you go to the ball?”
She dropped her gaze as her shoulders rose and fell on a shudder. “I can’t face Waytefield yet, Edward. I thought I could, but I can’t.” She glanced up from under sweeping, wet lashes. “I’ve learned something new about Harcrumb’s involvement with my husband’s murder.”
Chapter 20
Cassandra walked back to the manor, leaving the others to their celebratory picnic. She could only hope Edward understood the importance of her hurried explanation regarding Sir Harcrumb’s rendezvous with the mysterious woman on the night of Lord Wayte’s murder.
Lord Avery called him back to the racetrack before he’d had a chance to respond one way or the other.
From her vantage point, she’d watched Daphne cling to the duke. And he’d looked to be enjoying the attention. Cassandra fumed. In spite of his obvious attraction to her, was he once again responding to Daphne’s charms? It was said women were fickle, but Cassandra suspected men were more so. Today he seemed oblivious to Daphne’s faults.
So far Daphne had made few mistakes. Not only that, but she took pains to make sure Cassandra didn’t have a moment alone with Edward, or with any other man than her odious cousin, Sir Ralph.
The only bright spot was the women saw through Daphne’s ploys. Lady Pugh was clearly in Cassandra’s corner now, and Margaret was a steadfast friend. Thus far, the country gentlewomen hadn’t succumbed to Daphne’s poisonous gossip. Only she and Millicent stood against Cassandra.
Millicent. A shiver ran through Cassandra every time she thought of the woman. She was likely responsible for injuring Snowfire. But the wounds were fresh, and Daphne might be the culprit. She certainly hadn’t been averse to using her spur during the race.
The attack on Snowfire had been deliberate and savage, and something deep within her told Cassandra the horse had been injured for no other reason than she used to own the mare. Evil lurked out here in the quiet countryside. There was no escape.
For the first time since her husband’s death, she felt the urge to attend church. Gama had expressed a desire to visit the lovely gothic chapel they had seen on the way to the manor.
As she approached the manor, she noticed Sarah by the mere, working at her easel. She’d ask Sarah about the services. Making certain to come up on the little girl so as not to startle her, Cassandra stopped at her side and studied her painting.
“You’ve improved so much, my dear. The landscape is lovely…a little more depth to the green in the bushes here, I think.” Cassandra pointed to the place she spoke of, then clasped her hands behind her.
“If I’m getting better, it’s all because of you.” Sarah pursed her lips into a bow. “But sometimes you disappoint me.”
“Oh, in what way?”
“By letting Daphne win the horse race, by letting her pursue Edward.”
So Sarah had been at the track. Cassandra lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Edward and I are friends, but you must accept that may be all we shall ever be to each other. At the same time, I believe you can trust your brother to see through Daphne’s wiles.”
Sarah’s frown showed she wasn’t convinced. “Are you going to the ball tonight? I heard Aunt Chloe say that you were invited.”
Of course she’d been invited. To leave the duke’s houseguest out would have been a snub even Millicent wouldn’t countenance. But Cassandra couldn’t bring herself to go. That place, that house, where such horror had taken place, repulsed her.
Unanswered questions left her uneasy about what went on at Waytefield. Charles Galloway hadn’t arrived when expected. Had he discovered something unexpected in London? Or had Harcrumb done something to prevent Charles from leaving?
Perhaps Edward had heard why Charles was detained, but she’d not had time to discuss the matter with him. Daphne had kept him occupied with one thing or the other, and he seemed perfectly willing to indulge her.
Daphne would have Edward to herself tonight. Cassandra had no desire to dance with Sir Ralph, and there would be no graceful way to avoid his advances.
Deep inside she accepted the real reason she refused to go to the ball. She had no desire to see Daphne in Edward’s arms. Seeing them together at the race track, even with Edward’s assurance that Daphne meant nothing to him, had brought a stab of pain to her heart.
She had to admit to being jealous of Daphne, but wasn’t prepared to do anything about it.
“I’m not going to the ball. I intend to retire to my bedchamber early and work on the portrait of your parents.”
That coaxed a smile from Sarah. “Are you nearly finished? May I see?”
“Indeed not. I wish it to be a surprise.” Cassandra actually wanted to have the portrait ready to give to Sarah on her birthday. To distract Sarah, she changed the subject. “I wish to visit the chapel early tomorrow. Would you like to attend?”
“Of course. I went often with Mama and Papa. Do you think I’ll feel their presence there?”
“I’m certain you will. I shall be delighted to have you accompany Gama and me.”
“I shall ask Edward if we may sit in the family pew,” Sarah said. “I don’t suppose he’ll go. The ball will last till very late, won’t it?”
“It will,” she admitted. If only Edward didn’t have to attend the ball so he could accompany them to church. “Perhaps he can join us another time.”
***
Cassandra knelt down beside Sarah for prayers. Gama remained seated, declaring that she would never be able to get up if she attempted to kneel.
When the beautiful organ ceased its haunting hymn, Cassandra arose to find a man had joined them. She gave him a sidelong glance and started.
Edward sent her a sly grin. “Sorry for being late. Aunt Chloe sent me word you ladies would attend services, and I wanted to have a word with the vicar beforehand.”
“I’m surprised to see you at all since the ball must have continued until very late.”
“I left the ball early. Attending chapel is more important than balls, don’t you think?”
She nodded, his words lifting her spirits more than she’d thought possible. He’d left the ball, so he might attend church. With her. She wanted to ask more, but this wasn’t the place or time, so she merely smiled and turned her attention to the vicar who’d taken his position.
“I happen to enjoy the vicar’s sermons,” he whispered as the clergyman began.
She could understand why. The vicar held them spellbound with his resounding voice. His sincerity was evident, unlike many of the clergy. But she was surprised by his choice of topics. She had always thought the crucifixion was a subject reserved for Good Friday or Easter.
Today she heard the story with new ears. She knew how it felt to be betrayed by one’s friends and to be crucified socially as a result of that betrayal. When she’d been beset by evil people, she’d felt forsaken by God, and still couldn’t understand why a loving Heavenly Father would do such a thing.
The vicar reminded them the Father had forsaken His own Son for the sake of a sinful world. But there was surely no good reason for her suffering. No one had benefited from that.
By the end of the sermon, tears stung her eyes and threatened to spill over. She fumbled in her reticle for a handkerchief without success. The duke handed her his own.
With an abashed glance, she patted her cheeks. He must think she dissolved into tears at every occasion, but the tenderness in his eyes made her want to cry anew.
When they walked out into the sunshine toward the carriage, she drew in a deep breath of delight. “It is such a fine day, I hate to be enclosed in the carriage.”
“As a matter of fact, I walked. Would you ladies care to take a turn with me?” Edward asked.
“Not me, your grace.” Gama chuckled. “My bones are too weary.”
“I shall go with Lady Hayes in the carriage,” Sarah announced, sending Cassandra a conspiratorial wink.
Now that she had Edward all to herself, she couldn’t think of a thing to say, so they walked in silence for a while. The lush green countryside spread out before them, dotted with neat cottages. The sweet smell of ripening grain perfumed the air. Harvest was near.
Gazing up at the sky spread out like a great bolt of blue silk, she felt as nearly contented as she’d ever been.
“We’ll take the short route.” Edward took her elbow and guided her across a field of clover. No doubt he chose the shorter route for her sake. She wouldn’t have minded the longer way so she might have more time to savor walking by his side.
“Langsdale is certainly beautiful, Edward.” She watched the butterflies drop-stitching across the field. “You must be very proud of it.”
“I am indeed. Most of my tenants are prosperous. In fact, this entire valley is quite fertile.”
“I had forgotten how serene the country can be. Perhaps I should purchase a country house and leave London.”
“You might find the country a crushing bore.”
His smile let her know he was baiting her.
“Your mother enjoyed the country, I’ve heard. What did she do to occupy her time?”
“Mother was always busy. She formed a little club to make clothes for the poor. Once a week she made a round of the sick on the estate, read to the children at the parish school, and managed the plays given at our small theatre.”
“It sounds a perfectly wonderful way to spend one’s time. I didn’t know you had a theatre.”
“Yes, it was built by the school. We’ll stop by there when I show you around the estate tomorrow.”
He intended to show her around the estate. The last bit of jealousy over the attention he’d given Daphne went up like a puff of smoke. A smile that reached all the way to her eyes spread over her face. They’d arrived at the tree line stretching on either side of the mere, a place where the ground rose sharply.
She took the hand he held out to her without thinking. He didn’t release her after she found level ground but looked down into her eyes with an intensity that mesmerized her. Squirrels scampered by and birds twittered overhead. With time suspended, they stared into each other’s eyes.
He pulled her hand to rest on his chest. “Forgive me for appearing so nod-cocked, but sometimes you are so lovely I can’t help but stare.”
Propriety told her she should step back.
She didn’t, and the lump in her throat prevented speaking. He wanted to kiss her, and only his respect for her held him back.
With a squeeze, he dropped her hand, and they continued walking through the cushion of fallen leaves on the way to the bridge. “When I first saw
you, I thought you were cold…hardened like a stone statue. Then I realized you’re not cold at all, rather you’ve built up a barrier around you because something happened to you so horrible you refuse to trust anyone to take that barrier down.”
She froze. He was too close to the truth. “It’s not a barrier. Some things are just better left alone.”
“That’s true, but other things can’t be left alone because they still torment you. What happened to you before you married Lord Wayte?”
She couldn’t tell him that. He’d find out if he kept up with his investigation, and when he did, he wouldn’t think her lovely. He wouldn’t wish to think of her at all. No, she wouldn’t tell him. She wanted to extend this time, this closeness, as long as possible.
Groping for another subject, she remembered the questions she’d been holding for him. “Why hasn’t Lord Galloway arrived yet? Has he been detained?”
“Yes, he sent me a message that he wanted to question a sailor from Harcrumb’s ship, a man on board when Lucy drowned. Charles should arrive tomorrow and tell us if that yielded any useful information.”
Their footsteps pounded the boards of the white, wooden bridge. “What about the woman Harcrumb met the night of my husband’s death?”
He blew out a breath of air. “I had no occasion to speak to the servants at Waytefield, but I did request Essie, the housekeeper, to visit Lil. We’ll be able to question Essie away from Waytefield. Which reminds me, I must explain to Lil so she won’t be surprised by the visit. You remember Essie, do you not?”
She had to chuckle at his subterfuge. “Of course…a dear lady.” Essie had been housekeeper at Waytefield for years.
“If anyone would’ve noticed something untoward that night, she would have.” They cleared the bridge and stopped to face each other. “I did manage to persuade George to allow Charles to inspect his horses under the pretext that Charles will advise George on how to increase his stock. That will open the door for Charles to snoop.”
It was time for them to part. To arrive at the house at the same time would cause talk. “I enjoyed the chapel service. Your vicar is a powerful orator.”
The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2) Page 20
