A Regency Invitation

by Nicola Cornick

They clung together with the discovered passion of two people who had once thought that they might be making a marriage of convenience, but found that they had a deep need for one another.

  ‘You bring me to my knees, Cassie,’ Peter said, when finally he paused for long enough to draw breath.

  To his surprise Cassie laughed, a delighted and spontaneous giggle. ‘Oh, good,’ she said. ‘That was exactly what I had planned.’

  Peter stayed outside for a little after Cassie had gone back into the house. Leaving aside the impropriety of them both appearing together, looking as though they had been exploring each other rather than the gardens, there were purely practical reasons why he needed some time to recover before anyone saw him.

  The wind was rising in the woods now and there was the threat of thunder in the air. Peter walked slowly through the parterre and made his way back on to the terrace, pausing for one final look out across the moonlit gardens.

  A voice spoke close by. ‘…saw them together in the gardens just now. I may as well kiss that fortune goodbye…’

  It was a man’s voice, but Peter was not sure which member of the house party was speaking, nor where he was. At first he thought that he was not alone on the terrace, but then realised that the conversation was taking place above his head, in a first-floor bedroom whose window was open and whose occupants no doubt did not realise how their voices carried on the night air.

  ‘I have a plan.’ This was a woman now. ‘If it does not serve, then I fear that you are on your own, my dear, but until then do not repine. The money may yet be yours.’

  Peter felt a cold shiver trickle down his spine like a shard of ice. Those light, cool tones surely belonged to Lady Margaret Burnside. Peter had never felt that Lady Margaret had Cassie’s interests close to her heart and now he was certain that it was Cassie’s fortune that she was referring to.

  He missed the next few words but then there was a peal of laughter from above and Lady Margaret’s voice again.

  ‘My dear William, I think not! I explored all your secrets years ago and I have other interests now. Someone a deal more exciting than you, my dear…’

  Peter turned on his heel and strode back indoors. He had no wish to eavesdrop of Lady Margaret’s amorous secrets. He was not surprised to discover that she and William Lyndhurst-Flint were old lovers. They seemed to have a great deal in common.

  He could hear Mardon and Lyndhurst chatting over a glass of brandy behind the closed doors of the library, but he had no inclination to join them, preferring the solitude of his room and time to think about Cassie. He went slowly up the broad oak stairs. On the first-floor landing he saw Cassie’s maid deep in conversation with Timms, Anthony’s valet. Timms had been the Major’s batman during the wars and Peter knew him from that time. He raised a hand in greeting and went into his bedroom.

  As soon as he was over the threshold he stopped dead. Something was wrong. His soldier’s instinct for danger, dormant for several years, sprang to life. He closed the door quietly behind him and stood listening. Someone was waiting for him in the room.

  ‘Good evening, my lord.’

  There was the rustle of silk from the bed and he turned to see Lady Margaret Burnside uncoil herself with sinuous elegance and slither off the bed to stand before him. She was wearing a clinging gown of jade gauze that seemed to outline and accentuate every last curve of her figure. She must have come directly from William Lyndhurst-Flint’s room.

  Peter looked at her. There was a triumphant knowledge in her eyes as she confronted him, the knowledge of a woman who was completely confident of her own attractions. Her tongue came out and licked slowly over her lower lip.

  ‘I am finding this house party confoundedly boring,’ she drawled, drawing close to Peter, ‘and I thought that if you were also finding the entertainment tame, my lord, we might amuse one another…’

  She moved so close that her breasts were brushing against his chest. Peter could smell the overpowering scent of violets emanating from her body. It did not mask the feral scent beneath. Even less appealing was the smell of alcohol on her breath. He took a step back. He was not shocked or even particularly surprised to find her here. He had met plenty of women like Lady Margaret Burnside, women who were lascivious and amoral, but seldom had he met one who could conceal that corruption beneath so faultlessly respectable a façade. The only emotion that he felt as he looked at her was a species of anger that Lyndhurst and Mardon had not realised the truth and thought that this woman was good enough to chaperon their cousin.

  ‘I doubt that we share the same taste in entertainment, madam,’ he said coldly. ‘And whatever you are looking for, I assure you, you will not find it here.’

  He saw her eyes narrow with calculation and a shade of resentment. It appeared that she was not accustomed to rejection. She trailed her fingers down his shirtfront. Peter’s skin crawled. He raised his hand and brushed her questing fingers aside.

  ‘Are you certain you cannot help me?’ Lady Margaret’s voice had sunk to a throaty purr. ‘You will find me a deal more exciting than your innocent little bride.’ She paused. ‘And she need never know. It could be our secret.’

  Peter moved away. The memory of Cassie’s touch, the sweet taste of her and the scent of her hair still filled his senses. Her warmth and generosity filled his heart. He felt nothing but repulsion for her chaperon.

  ‘You mistake, madam,’ he said. ‘I find Miss Ward entirely delightful and I have no desire to have any secrets from her.’

  ‘I am sure you find the prospect of her money delightful,’ Lady Margaret agreed drily. ‘However, a man with a rake’s reputation surely needs more than a milksop maid to keep him satisfied.’

  Peter’s lips thinned. ‘I am not sure how much plainer I may be without giving offence, madam. You must forgive me if I am too blunt. I am not interested in your offer. Kindly leave my room.’

  Lady Margaret paused a moment. Her eyes had narrowed like those of an angry cat. If she had had a tail, she would have been swishing it.

  ‘Very well, my lord,’ she said, ‘but a word about secrets…’ She placed a hand on his arm and it was all Peter could do not to shake her off violently. ‘There are some matters that are best kept from your future wife. If you were to tell her about this evening, for example, then I would feel obliged to claim that it was you who attempted to seduce me. Your situation with Miss Ward is all too fragile, is it not, and I am certain you would not wish to see all that delicious fortune disappear over the horizon…’

  She gave him another razor-sharp smile and slipped out of the room.

  Peter sat down on the edge of his bed. He was taken aback to find his blood buzzing with anger. That such a cold-hearted, amoral woman was Cassie’s closest female companion seemed outrageous to him. Lady Margaret’s utter lack of loyalty and scruple appalled him and her cold, calculated attempts at seduction disgusted him.

  He remembered the conversation that he had overheard between Lady Margaret and William Lyndhurst-Flint. Had this been Lady Margaret’s plan—to seduce him and then denounce him before everyone? If so, she had taken a grave gamble and one that had failed to pay off. Peter rubbed one hand across his brow. He had the disquieting feeling that Lady Margaret Burnside had not finished with him yet.

  His gaze fell on his portmanteaux. The bags did not look to be in quite the same position as when he was last in the room. A chill tiptoed down his spine. Suddenly urgent, he crossed the room and dragged the cases out of their corner, reaching inside the smaller one for the pocket book that held the special licence. He took it out and flicked it open.

  It was empty.

  It was not difficult to achieve an interview with Lady Margaret Burnside the following morning. Indeed, Peter suspected that she was waiting for him to approach her. It had taken a great deal of self-control not to go after her the previous night and demand that she return his property. But that would have been playing into her hands and he was determined not to give her any advantages.
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  That morning the house party guests were to go riding on the Downs and take a light picnic luncheon to eat at an ancient historical site called Cuthbert’s Castle. Peter was first down into the hall after breakfast, and, though Lady Margaret was not one of the riding party, she was waiting for him.

  It was not private, but he took his chance. ‘Good morning, madam.’

  Lady Margaret gave him a melting smile. ‘Good morning, my lord. But perhaps you do not find it a very pleasant morning? You look as though you did not sleep well. Perhaps there are matters on your mind?’

  Peter looked at her. This morning she looked like the cat with the cream. ‘I am certainly concerned that an item in my possession appears to have gone missing last night,’ he said grimly. ‘I wondered whether you had any idea of its whereabouts, madam?’

  Lady Margaret cast her eyes down with false modesty. ‘Indeed, I have no notion to what you refer, Lord Quinlan. How should I?’

  Her deliberate evasions infuriated Peter. ‘I fear that I do not believe you, madam. I think you know precisely to what I refer. I believe you found it last night when—’

  ‘When I was in your bedchamber?’ Lady Margaret finished sweetly. ‘Let us not speak of that in public, my lord. I am happy to reassure you that you have nothing to fear from me. I shall be discreet! I have no desire to upset your marriage plans.’

  Some element of triumph in her face or voice caused the hairs to stand up on the back of Peter’s neck. He spun around. Cassie was standing on the bottom stair. Her eyes were wide in an ashen face. It was horribly clear that she had overheard Lady Margaret’s last words. Peter’s heart gave a lurch. He cursed himself for the lack of patience that had given Lady Margaret this opportunity.

  He started forward. ‘Cassie…’

  Lady Margaret gave Peter a knowing smile and drifted away. The rest of the party were clattering down the staircase, chatting loudly.

  ‘Cassie…’ Peter said again, reaching out to her desperately. Her face was blank with shock. It was as though she did not even see him. All her hopes and fears were there for him to see in that instant, and he knew Lady Margaret had shattered them all with her deliberate spite.

  The others milled around them. There was no opportunity to talk or get Cassie on her own. Peter felt desperation rise in him. Lyndhurst started to engage him in conversation and he responded automatically, watching Cassie all the while. The horses had already been brought to the door. Sarah Mardon swept Cassie down the steps with her and out into the courtyard. As though to make matters worse, William Lyndhurst-Flint fell in beside Peter and tried him sorely with his light attempts at man-to-man conversation. Peter could see Cassie riding up ahead, her back very firmly turned to him.

  He finally caught up with her when they reached the racecourse on the top of the Downs and dismounted to consider the view. Peter spared the rolling scenery a half-second glance, then caught Cassie’s arm and drew her into the shelter of the rubbing house.

  ‘I must speak with you,’ he said.

  Cassie was still pale, but at least she was seeing him now. His heart lifted a little with hope that she might at least listen to him.

  ‘Not here,’ she said, her mouth setting obstinately.

  ‘Yes, here,’ Peter said. He was as tense as a coiled spring. ‘I am not prepared to wait for some convenient moment.’ He could feel the stiffness in her. Her body was poised for flight. He held her tightly.

  ‘It is true that Lady Margaret came to my chamber last night,’ he said rapidly, knowing that nothing but the absolute truth would do now. He felt shock rip through Cassie like a flood tide; felt her tremble. So she had not quite believed it of him until now. It seemed cold comfort when she would think that he had just confirmed her worst fears.

  ‘I see,’ she said dully.

  ‘I doubt that you do,’ Peter said. ‘I sent her away. Nothing happened between us. I swear it.’

  Cassie’s eyes were smoky with doubt. ‘I see,’ she said again.

  ‘It is you that I want—’ Peter started to say, then stopped as he saw the cynicism in her eyes.

  ‘Of course,’ she said.

  He shook her slightly. ‘No! Not for the money. Damn it, Cassie, I would marry you without a penny! I love you! I just do not know how to prove it to you—’

  There was the crunch of gravel underfoot and William Lyndhurst-Flint came around the side of the building. Never had a man been more unwelcome.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, old chap,’ Lyndhurst-Flint said with patent insincerity, ‘but there is a storm blowing up. We thought it better to return to the house and arrange some alternative entertainment for today. Didn’t want you to get left behind, you know.’

  Cassie freed herself from Peter’s grasp. She gave him a long, thoughtful look. ‘We may talk later, Lord Quinlan.’

  ‘Hope there’s nothing wrong, old fellow,’ Lyndhurst-Flint said, smirking slightly as he watched Cassie walk away. ‘Terrible shame for you if it were all to go awry—’

  Peter gave him such a hard stare that he stopped abruptly.

  ‘Your commiserations are received in the same spirit that they were given,’ he snapped, and followed Cassie back to where the horses were tethered.

  By the time that they were halfway back to the house, the thunderstorm was rolling across the hills at their back. The wind was rising and the first fat drops of rain were starting to fall from the edge of the cloud. Cassie urged her horse to a reckless speed as it plunged down the combe. She wanted to outrace her demons.

  Had Peter been telling her the truth? She wanted to believe him, but her wretched money kept getting in the way. She had known him for so short a time and had taken such a great step in deciding to trust herself to him. Now her steps were faltering.

  She thought of Lady Margaret, elegant, polished, and not so much older than Peter himself. Cassie had always felt that her chaperon effortlessly achieved all the town bronze that she so significantly lacked. And Peter was used to a more sophisticated society, one in which no doubt there was nothing odd in courting an heiress and bedding a mistress at the same time. Cassie knew that it went on. Just because Peter could set her feelings alight with the slightest touch, she was not naamp2;¨ve enough to think that she was the only one.

  She smothered a tiny sob. For a little while she had allowed herself to think that Peter’s interest was focused solely on her. She had believed that he loved her. She wrinkled her brow as she wondered why it had always felt such a struggle to gain affection. First she had had to compete with her mother’s illness to gain attention, then with all of her cousins’ other interests, then with Lady Margaret’s elegance and always, always with her own huge pile of money.

  Cassie squared her shoulders. As Eliza had pointed out a little while ago, no good came from feeling sorry for oneself. There were plenty of people who would be glad to suffer the kind of misery that her wealth brought her. Cassie smiled slightly, feeling a little better. The rest of the party were mere specks on the hill behind her. She had outrun them all. She had had some time alone to think and plan. So she would talk to Peter Quinlan and judge for herself whether he was telling the truth. Then she would make her decision. It was all very ordered and decisive. Cassie felt pleased with herself that for once she was approaching matters in entirely the right way. No losing her head and compromising herself, no marching impulsively into a gentleman’s bedchamber. A measured, sensible discussion was all that was required.

  Chapter Six

  The rest of the group caught up with Cassie as she was dismounting on the gravel of the courtyard. It was raining in earnest now and there was no time for chat as they handed the horses over to the grooms and hurried inside.

  The house was dark and quiet. Ufton, the butler, was crossing the hall from the library and looked slightly taken aback to see them returned so soon.

  ‘We will take a light luncheon in the dining room in half an hour, if you please, Ufton,’ Sarah said. ‘It was too inclement for our picnic, I fe
ar. We shall have to go out another day.’

  Cassie put a hand out and touched Peter’s arm. It was now—before her nerve deserted her—or never.

  ‘I need to speak with you,’ she whispered, and saw the flash of relief that crossed his face at her words. He looked tired and strained and her heart twisted with emotion. She gestured across the hall. ‘In the library. Please.’

  The rest of the party was milling around. Anthony made some mention of a game of billiards. Sarah started towards the staircase to change her clothes before luncheon. Cassie and Peter set off towards the library.

  And then there was one of those strange moments that happen even in the most ordered of households when everything appeared to stop.

  One of the younger housemaids was coming down the main staircase, carrying her cleaning brushes and firebox. She looked nervous upon seeing the family, but rather than scuttle towards the backstairs, as Cassie expected her to do, she hesitated, clearly anxious. There was a long silence when everyone seemed to stand waiting and Ufton glared at the girl, evidently shocked and angry that a maid had dared to use the main stairs and had not effaced herself against the wall when her betters had returned.

  ‘What are you doing here, girl?’ he snapped. ‘Get down the backstairs! At once!’

  To Cassie’s shock, the maid dropped the brushes, put her hands up to her red cheeks and started to wail. ‘I can’t, Mr Ufton! I can’t! They’re occupied!’

  The butler strode forward and shook her impatiently by the arm. ‘Explain yourself! What are you talking about, child?’

  The housemaid had started to cry. ‘I can’t take the backstairs, sir. They’re already in use. I saw the two of them together earlier and no ways am I going down there! Don’t make me!’ She broke off in a welter of tears.

  Ufton looked almost apoplectic as the household discipline fell apart around him—and all in front of his employer. He gave the maid a hard stare that promised retribution, and marched towards the backstairs, throwing the door open so that it bounced on its hinges. The crash reverberated through the house and brought some of the other servants out into the hall to see what was going on.