by Gayle Buck
“Belle.”
She turned, surprised. She had thought that Sir Marcus had fallen asleep on the instant, but she saw that his eyelids had lifted a trace and that he was looking at her with a stern expression.
“I mean it, Belle. I’ll have you be civil to Philip.”
“So I shall be,” said Cassandra, nodding. It was highly unlikely that Mr. Philip Raven would arrive before she and her sister regained their rightful places, so she felt completely at ease in making the promise that was demanded of her. She wondered why Sir Marcus was so adamant. Surely, Belle would not be rude to their grandfather’s guest, especially one that was so nearly related.
“Aye, a young tigress with sheathed claws,” murmured Sir Marcus, his mouth stretching in a wan smile. “Poor Philip. He does not know what he is walking into, does he?”
The valet advanced. “It is time for your draft, my lord.”
“Is that you, Weems? Of course it is. How long have you been standing there eavesdropping? Never mind! Nothing is a secret for long in this house. I shall want to see you again after supper, Belle,” said Sir Marcus.
Cassandra agreed and left the bedroom. Sir Marcus’s words echoed in her mind. She wondered how long it would be before her own secret was exposed. She had made missteps all morning. Would it be so bad to be found out, though? After all, Sir Marcus was her grandfather. Surely, he would be delighted to reacquaint himself with her after all of these years. Cassandra longed to be able to tell him who she really was, to be known for herself and not as Belle’s substitute.
Cassandra shook her head. Reluctant as she was to acknowledge the truth, she knew that Sir Marcus would not take kindly to the announcement that he and all of his household had been duped. And if the little that Belle had said was true, Sir Marcus would like even less sending word to his son and daughter-in-law, as he would be forced to do in order to return her to their care. Cassandra thought she knew, too, what her uncle’s feelings would be to discover that he and his spouse had been deceived and then forced into communication with his father. No, it was far better to play this thing out the original way she and Belle had planned it, with no one the wiser and no one stirred to outrage.
Cassandra again wondered how her sister was getting along in her new role. If she was making mistakes, surely Belle, too, was having her own difficulties. Cassandra smiled, however, because she believed that her twin was perfectly capable of carrying anything off with aplomb. Belle exuded enthusiasm, and that went a long way in proving confidence.
* * *
Chapter 5
When Cassandra returned downstairs, thinking that she would rejoin Miss Bidwell in the sitting room, she received the shock of her life. She was informed by Steeves that Mr. Philip Raven was awaiting her in the drawing room.
“Oh, dear!” Cassandra felt panic and wondered what she should do. She hadn’t even gotten used to the idea of possibly meeting her sister’s childhood friend, and now he had arrived. How she wished that it was Belle who was the one standing in her shoes instead of herself.
The butler was watching her with an impassive face. He was patiently awaiting instructions, she realized. Cassandra pulled herself together. “Have you informed Weems that Mr. Raven has arrived and wishes to see my grandfather?”
“Yes, miss. Weems sent word down that Sir Marcus is resting and cannot be disturbed. I suggested to Mr. Raven that you would see him when you had returned downstairs,” said Steeves in a neutral voice.
“Perhaps Miss Bidwell—
“Unfortunately, Miss Bidwell went up to rest only twenty minutes ago,” said Steeves. “In view of that and your own absence, I have taken the liberty to order that the best rooms be made ready for Mr. Raven. I have also informed Mr. Raven that you would join him as soon as you returned. I knew that would be what you would wish me to do.”
“Thank you, Steeves,” said Cassandra quietly, although thinking that she could cheerfully have throttled the butler for his efficiency. Now she had no choice but to meet this gentleman whose arrival had been precipitated by her grandfather’s fear of dying.
Well, perhaps it was better this way, thought Cassandra. She would join Mr. Raven and point out, in a subtle way, of course, that the timing of his arrival was a bit inconvenient. If she was fortunate, he would think to remove himself to the local inn rather than incommode the household. After all, Sir Marcus was very ill still and could not be expected to entertain even a guest whom he had himself summoned. She would certainly encourage such a decision. No matter how much her sister had assured her otherwise, she was very unsure that she could handle another twist to this masquerade.
“I will see Mr. Raven now,” said Cassandra, starting down the hallway toward the drawing room.
“Very good, miss. I have already seen that Mr. Raven has been offered refreshment, of course,” said the butler.
Cassandra half turned. Restraining herself again, she said quietly, “Thank you, Steeves. You think of everything.”
The butler bowed and went on his way.
Cassandra opened the door to the drawing room, taking a deep breath as she did so. As she entered, a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman attired in a caped greatcoat turned toward her. Cassandra was struck at once by the piercing keenness of Mr. Raven’s gaze. Her heart gave an unaccountable skip, and she momentarily forgot her major concern.
Mr. Raven was a well-built gentleman, wide of shoulder and well-proportioned. His hair was dark above a lean and very tanned face. Glimpses of his clothing under his greatcoat gave an impression of quiet respectability. His boots, though somewhat soiled, were obviously of good quality.
Cassandra met the gentleman’s gaze again. His gray eyes were deep-set under arching brows, and they held an arrested expression that she found unfathomable. “Mr. Raven.”
“At your service, Miss Weatherstone.”
Cassandra offered her hand to him. “Welcome to the Hall, Mr. Raven. I am sorry not to have been available when you arrived.”
Mr. Raven shook hands with her. His grasp was firm. When he smiled, his entire countenance seemed to lighten, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked down at her. “Forgive me for arriving at such an unusual hour, Miss Weatherstone. I should have guessed how it would be, but it has been long since I was familiar with the tranquil patterns of an English country house.”
Cassandra felt at a loss. She had wanted to throw him off balance, and instead he had neatly turned the tables. What could she do but graciously deny that he had caused any inconvenience? It would be churlish to do otherwise. “Pray do not apologize, Mr. Raven. I understand that Steeves brought refreshment? I hope that you have not been kept waiting long.”
Cassandra listened to herself and marveled. She was almost babbling. Of course, he had not been waiting long. He was still wearing his greatcoat and gloves, and his beaver hat was placed on the settee. Now that was odd, thought Cassandra, glancing again at the beaver. Why hadn’t Steeves offered to take the gentleman’s hat and gloves?
Mr. Raven’s gaze followed hers. “You are wondering why I still possess my hat and gloves. That is easily explained. I was not certain that I would be staying. However, Steeves has assured me that Sir Marcus is on the mend and that he would be unhappy if I did not remain. I had meant to ride into the village if my godfather was dying, not wishing to intrude on your household at such a time.”
“That ... that was kind of you, Mr. Raven,” said Cassandra, once more made to feel churlish, but she was irritated, too. It was really too bad. She had actually almost been spared the necessity of playing the part of her sister with this old acquaintance of Belle’s. Cassandra was all too aware that she had the butler to thank for the present circumstance. If left to his own inclinations, Mr. Raven would not now be ensconced in the best rooms.
“I wished to speak with you before accepting the hospitality offered to me,” said Mr. Raven.
“Of course.” Cassandra smiled, then turned and sank down on a silk-striped chair, inviti
ng him with a wave of her hand to be seated also. “Steeves has told me that he has already bespoken rooms to be made ready for you. Undoubtedly, that is just how Sir Marcus would wish it.”
“Thank you. You have relieved my uncertainty.” Mr. Raven sat down and crossed one leg over the other. His booted foot swung gently. “Miss Weatherstone, have I offended you in some way?”
Cassandra was disconcerted. “Why, how could you have, Mr. Raven?”
“We were once such good friends that you called me Philip, and you were Belle to me. I must admit that the years have dimmed my memory considerably, but I do remember that much,” said Mr. Raven with a fleeting smile.
Cassandra felt color rise in her face. “It has indeed been a long time,” she hedged, wondering what other confidences would be disclosed.
Mr. Raven apparently took her hesitancy to mean that the former intimacy between himself and Belle was at an end. “Miss Weatherstone it is, then,” he said with a nod. Before Cassandra could think of a suitable response, he asked, “How is my godfather, truly?”
At least on this much Cassandra felt sure of her ground. She relaxed her guard slightly. “He has been very ill. He has just recovered from a strong bout of fever and was left very weak.”
Mr. Raven’s brows rose a fraction in inquiry. “Then the illness has run its course?”
“I am hopeful that it has. He has regained his faculties, so that I was able to visit with him for a few moments,” said Cassandra.
“I am glad to hear it, especially on your account,” said Mr. Raven. “As I recall, you were always in your grandfather’s company. Unless, of course, you were badgering me to skip our lessons to go riding.” He smiled again, the expression in his eyes friendly. He was not in the least standoffish in either his address or demeanor.
Cassandra felt heat in her face again as her mind worked quickly. Apparently, Philip Raven remembered quite a lot about his stay at the Hall. She wondered just how much he recalled about Belle in particular. Would he ask what others had not—about Belle’s past, for instance? She would simply have to plead a faulty memory if she was asked any pertinent questions. Her excuse must be that she had only been a child and could not be expected to recall all the details of her childhood.
“Did I badger you? Then I must certainly apologize,” she said civilly. “I see that you have had tea. May I offer you another cup? Or perhaps a biscuit or piece of plum cake?”
“No, thank you to both. I am not one to overindulge,” said Mr. Raven, shaking his head. “My youthful passion for sweets has long since been dulled by my army service.”
“I fear that I know nothing about your life since you left the Hall,” said Cassandra, feeling certain of her ground. After all, Sir Marcus had had to have his man of business track down Mr. Raven’s whereabouts. “Were you in the army long?”
“I saw all the major campaigns in Spain,” said Mr. Raven. For a moment, his expression was grim. Then he shook his head and smiled again. “I am thankful that that part of my life is over. It is odd to me now how idealistic I was, my one burning ambition being to become a soldier.”
Cassandra hoped to learn more without making it obvious. “I suppose we have both changed,” she said, setting aside the teapot after pouring a cup for herself. She added cream and lifted the cup to her lips, looking across inquiringly at Mr. Raven.
He was watching her. “Yes; for instance, you used to never take your tea white. I see that you have developed a taste otherwise.”
Cassandra nearly choked on her tea. She set down the condemning cup hastily. “Er ... yes. What a funny thing to have noticed! It was such a long time ago, after all.”
“And how would you say that I have changed?” asked Mr. Raven, lounging at his ease. The slightest smile touched his lips as he regarded her.
Cassandra felt the sense of panic that was now all too familiar. She strove to hide her insecurity behind a cool, contained smile. “Why, you are taller.”
Mr. Raven laughed, to her immense surprise and relief. “Very good, Miss Weatherstone! You have made a neat joke of it, indeed! I had hoped one day to live down that onerous nickname. Do you recall what you used to call me?”
“Oh, but I have no memory of it,” said Cassandra, quite truthfully.
He laughed again. “Thank you! When you breezed in, quite in your old style, I had the strangest feeling of deja vu. You can have no notion how I dreaded hearing myself addressed as Stubby again!”
“I would never be so uncivil,” said Cassandra, smiling.
“Strange, is it not? We are so formal, just as though we had this moment met. Yet we are able to converse with an ease that comes from common memories,” said Mr. Raven in a thoughtful voice.
“It is very strange, indeed,” said Cassandra, feeling heartfelt agreement. She decided that it was time to put an end to this unnerving interview. She did not know how much longer she could speak to the gentleman without somehow exposing her ignorance of those “common memories.”
She hoped that his visit did not prove to be a long one. It was a pity that the butler had been so efficient in offering hospitality. She really felt inadequate and at quite a loss with Mr. Raven. He seemed determined to recall the past with her; it was unfortunate that it was such a wasted effort. “Steeves told me that you were informed that my grandfather was not well enough to receive visitors as yet.”
Mr. Raven at once frowned. “Yes, I was naturally unhappy to hear that Sir Marcus was indeed so ill. Mr. Petrie-Downs had indicated that Sir Marcus was very nearly on his deathbed. That was why I was uncertain whether I should stay until I had spoken to you.”
“What are your plans, Mr. Raven?” asked Cassandra forthrightly.
“I have none to speak of, Miss Weatherstone. I came as quickly as I was able, bringing only what I and my batman could conveniently carry on horseback,” said Mr. Raven.
“You came by horseback?” asked Cassandra in surprise. She had assumed that Mr. Raven had arrived in a carriage. Her glance dropped back to his boots in sudden comprehension. But of course, that was why his footwear showed signs of neglect.
He seemed to understand her astonishment. “As a former soldier, Miss Weatherstone, I am practiced in swift travel. It seemed more expedient to ride crosscountry so that I would arrive as soon as possible. Mr. Petrie-Downs’s letter led me to fear that I might not be in time to see Sir Marcus again,” said Mr. Raven. “You may imagine my dismay when I was told that Sir Marcus was unable to see me at all.”
“My grandfather is making a recovery, Mr. Raven. You needn’t fear, I assure you. His valet is merely careful and husbands his strength, sometimes with a jealous zeal,” said Cassandra, rising from her seat. She held out her hand again. “I shall see you again at supper, I daresay. I will ask Steeves to see to your comfort.”
“My batman has undoubtedly done all that is necessary,” said Mr. Raven. He had taken her hand and now looked down searchingly into her face. “Belle—forgive me—Miss Weatherstone, I am aware that it has been a number of years since we last saw each other. In some ways, you are just as I remembered you. Those were good days, when I lived here at the Hall and we became friends. I trust that my friendship is recalled just as fondly. I hope that we may become friends again.”
Cassandra was very aware that he still held her fingers captive in his. She tried not to glance down at their clasped hands. “I, too, hope that we may become friends, Mr. Raven.” She uttered the civil rejoinder a little breathlessly.
The door opened, and Miss Bidwell entered. “Belle! And this must be Philip Raven! I was utterly disconcerted to learn from Steeves when I rose from my nap that you had arrived, Mr. Raven. I most certainly bid you welcome.”
Mr. Raven let go of Cassandra’s hand and moved forward to bow over Miss Bidwell’s fingers. “My dear Miss Bidwell, I have never forgotten you. You were a mainstay of my young life during my time here at the Hall.”
Miss Bidwell appeared very pleased that he had recalled her so favorably. “Tha
nk you, Mr. Raven. I have not forgotten you, certainly. You were always a good student. I regretted when it became time for you to leave.”
“As did I, Miss Bidwell,” said Mr. Raven, throwing a smiling glance in Cassandra’s direction. “However, despite my youthful fears to the contrary, all turned out well. I suppose you know why I have come?”
“I surmised that Sir Marcus must have sent for you because of a question having to do with his will,” said Miss Bidwell. She looked over at Cassandra. “Has Sir Marcus been informed that his godson is here?”
“Weems sent down word to Mr. Raven that my grandfather was resting and could not receive visitors as yet,” said Cassandra. “I was myself informed just a quarter hour ago that Mr. Raven had arrived.”
“I see,” said Miss Bidwell with a hint of disapproval in her voice. She glanced askance at Cassandra, her expression frowning.
“I am still in all my dirt,” said Mr. Raven smoothly. “If you ladies will excuse me, I shall go up to my room and make myself more presentable.”
“Of course, Mr. Raven,” said Cassandra cordially, glad that her initial meeting with Mr. Raven was at last over. She had sustained such a shock when she heard that he was at the Hall, and another upon meeting him. He was such a fine-looking fellow, and his manners left nothing at all to be desired. It was such a pity that she had not met him as herself, thought Cassandra with a pang of regret.
Mr. Raven retrieved his hat and gloves before making a formal bow to each of them. He then exited, his greatcoat swinging jauntily from his broad shoulders.
When Miss Bidwell had closed the door quietly behind Mr. Raven, she turned to Cassandra. “Really, Belle, how could you! What Philip Raven must have thought when you received him alone! It was poorly thought on your part.”
“I know it was, Biddy,” agreed Cassandra with a nod. In truth, she was feeling a little ashamed of herself. It was so unlike her to behave with such impropriety. Her only excuse must be that the constant tension she had felt since coming to the Hall had rendered her temporarily deranged.
