Richard had never failed at anything since then, but his successes had come too late to help her. Even though he now owned the plantation where he had once been a slave and had freed his fellow slaves as soon as he became their owner, their number did not include Molly.
But he had adjusted years ago to the loss of the only woman who had ever really loved him, and it was pointless to turn this reunion with Perry into a wake. “So what about you? Have you actually come back to England to see your grandmother, or are you secretly hoping to find yourself a suitable wife—perhaps one of those lords’ daughters you were trying to foist off onto me?” He had genuine affection for the younger man, and he let it show in his smile, which very few people had ever seen.
Perry laughed. “Now that I think of it, I see your point about frivolous society beauties. I misdoubt any of them are ready to appreciate what Kentucky has to offer, nor do I think I would want to waste my energy dragging along any such useless baggage as a wife, no matter how beautiful and enticing she might be.”
“You are sure then that you mean to give up the title?”
“I’m sure. I’m an American now. There’s no way I could go back to being an Englishman. I’m here for a few months to pay my respects to my grandmother, and then I am set on returning to Kentucky—taking with me as many good Irish horses as I can afford, of course,” he added with a grin.
“They will try to talk you out of it, you know.”
“I know. But in the end, they’ll give in. If worse comes to worst, I shall merely confess—,” he hesitated, then continued, “—that I was on the winning side at the battle of New Orleans.”
No one spoke for a moment, and Perry looked as if he were already regretting his confession. Finally Richard said mildly, “It might be best for your family if you used some other argument to convince them you are serious.”
“I fully intend to. But I am also determined on my course. I ... uh ... would be more than pleased if you had the time to accompany me to London—for old time’s sake.”
“Ah, Tuke, now the truth comes out as to why he has wasted three days trying to find me.”
Perry leaped to his feet. “Blast it, Hawke, you’re being insulting. I had no ulterior motives for coming here. I just wanted to see an old friend again.”
“And having seen me again...?” Richard tried to keep his countenance stern, but he had the feeling he was failing. Tuke, on the other hand, was making no effort to hide his amusement.
“Ah, well...” Perry sat back down again with a sigh. “Having seen you again, I am reminded of how adept you are at getting your friends out of tight spots.”
“And?”
“And I think I would sooner face a bear in Kentucky with nothing but a pen knife than sit in a drawing room with my grandmother and tell her I do not intend to stay in England.”
“I doubt I would be of much use to you in a social setting, thwarted grandmothers not being in quite the same category as drunken backwoodsmen or riled-up gamblers.”
“In the case of this particular grandmother, I must agree—she’s much more terrifying. But don’t tell me you cannot cope with the social niceties. Remember, I have seen you wooing the mam’selles in New Orleans. You’re as dangerous in the drawing rooms as you are in the dueling field, so say you’ll come with me—for old time’s sake,” he pleaded.
“For old time’s sake? Or to protect your back when you are routed by superior fire power?”
Perry grinned sheepishly. “You sound as if you’ve already met Lady Letitia.”
“Not I, but I am beginning to believe it might be an interesting experience to meet someone who can cause you to think twice before throwing yourself into a new situation.”
“Then you’ll come? I’ll make it worth your while. I promise to do my best to show you a good time in London.”
“Ah, so ‘tis a good time you are after. I am sorry to disappoint you, but for that you have come to the wrong place. Our Mr. Carneby would never dream of being involved in anything the least bit amusing. He is much too dour and staid, and thinks of nothing but his ships and counting houses. On the other hand, there is a certain Jasper Trelawney in Penzance, thought by some narrow-minded souls to be a smuggler but actually not a bad sort if his reputation is to be believed, and he definitely knows how to show his friends a good time.”
“Jasper Trelawney, do you say? He does sound like someone I would enjoy meeting, especially if he has gained your approval.”
There was a muffled sound from Tuke, and Perry looked up at him sharply. After a pause he turned to Richard and said wryly, “So that’s the way it is. Would this Trelawney perchance be a very near and dear relation to Mr. Carneby of Falmouth?”
There was a chuckle from Tuke, and Hawke smiled, inviting Perry to share the joke. “Some people, if they were to see the two of them together, a most unlikely occurrence, to be sure, might remark a certain family resemblance, although the similarity is superficial, Jasper being a wild Cornishman of uncertain background and moderate means.”
There was another pause, and Perry studied him with a considering look upon his face. Finally he spoke. “You know, Richard, if Napoleon were not safely tucked away on St. Helena, I would be suspecting you were a French spy. Surely your business dealings do not demand that you use so many aliases?”
“Have you been gone so long from English society that you have forgotten the very cornerstone upon which it rests? What do you think would be my chances for social acceptance in any proper English village, were it to become widely known that I am merely an adventurer with a murky background?”
“Blast it all, Hawke, you’re not simply an adventurer.” Perry again leaped to his feet and stood glaring down at Richard. “You’ve a dozen ships, and more than one plantation, and who knows what else. And you’ve earned it all honestly, whatever crazy risks you may have taken to achieve your success.”
“Ah, Tuke, with that resounding oratory the lad has truly convinced me he is an American, heart and soul.”
Turning away, Perry stalked over to the window and stood staring out.
“Come, come, my dear Lord Westhrop, admit the truth. In England a man is admired only for the wealth he inherits, no matter how he squanders it; it is therefore better for all concerned if society thinks I am a lazy, good-for-nothing scion of a wealthy family than that I have earned my brass by honest toil.”
Perry turned back to them, a scowl on his face. “Then I think you had better come back to America with me and let all these hypocrites have the joy of each other’s company.”
“But I prefer to live here,” Richard replied mildly, “so stop scowling and tell me if you have a few days at your disposal to sample the delights of Penzance before you must be off to face the rigors of London.”
Perry could not hold back a smile. “I can spare a few days for merry-making with your Jasper Trelawney. Perhaps he would be interested in meeting my grandmother since I cannot persuade you.”
“Ah, but Trelawney, I regret, is more at home rubbing shoulders with smugglers in disreputable dives than he is sipping cups of tea with dowagers in elegant drawing rooms.”
“Then I shall use the few days I have here in Cornwall to best advantage, to entice you to London.”
* * * *
The unseasonable warmth of the February day had fled with the setting of the sun, and Cassie hunched her back against the wind, which was now reaching its fingers under her cloak to steal the last warmth from her body. She tried to pull the threadbare fabric more tightly around her, but it was a difficult job to do with only one hand. Yet if she let go of Dobbin’s mane, she would be in danger of sliding off his broad back.
It was really too bad that the only saddle they still had was her mother’s sidesaddle, while the only horse left in the stables was an ancient plow horse, too old to work in the fields and too broad in the beam for any saddle. He was kept on only because his four legs could still give her a degree of freedom and mobility she would not otherwise have had. Whethe
r from age or inborn good nature, he went willingly wherever she directed him, although his pace could not be speeded up, no matter what stratagems she tried.
It would have been easier to endure her present discomfort if her errand of mercy had been more of a success, but she had been able to offer nothing —not food nor money, as she had none herself, nor relief from the pain of the bruises that covered the woman’s arms and face and undoubtedly her body as well, and that Cassie was positive were the result of a beating at the hands of the woman’s own husband, an out-of-work miner who wasted what little the family had on hard drink for himself.
Lost in her thoughts as she was, she made no effort to guide the ancient horse, but relied on him to get her safely home as he had so many times before, and was only alerted to the fact that they had reached the stables when he stopped his plodding steps and stood waiting patiently for her to dismount.
But where was Digory? He usually heard them approaching and was standing ready to help her down. “Digory? I’m home!” Her voice shattered the stillness, but there was no answering greeting.
Well, she did not want to wait in the cold any longer, not when she knew Seffie would have some water heated against her return. Grasping Dobbin’s mane with both hands, she rolled to her stomach and started sliding toward the ground. She was about to let go and drop the last little bit, when hands caught her roughly around the waist.
“Here we go, my pretty. I ain’t Digory, but whatever you wants from him, I can give you.”
She was jerked back and held against a hard body that gave off a rank aroma of stale sweat, beer, and horses. Her struggles to free herself from the arm that was locked around her waist were in vain, and in the space of seconds she acquired a full understanding of what it truly meant to be a woman at the mercy of a man stronger than she was.
“Oh, my, it’s a feisty one we’ve caught here. Let’s have a look at what’cher hiding under your cloak.”
Her hood was jerked off and she opened her mouth to scream, but thick fingers twisted in her hair and forced her head backward until she stopped struggling and stood quietly, her neck bent so far she was afraid if she moved it would snap.
* * *
Chapter 2
The man holding Cassie started dragging her toward the stables, telling her in explicit words she only halfway understood just what he intended to do to her once he got her there. She was tensing her body to make one last effort to escape if he even momentarily slackened his grip when she caught a glimpse of a green and gold coach standing in the stable yard.
“I presume my brother the earl is now in residence?” She somehow managed to croak the words out and was released so abruptly she almost fell. Regaining her balance more easily than her dignity, she turned to face her attacker.
Only her brother could have hired such a man as a groom. Mere inches taller than her own five feet, he was squat and broad and resembled nothing so much as a toad. An honest traveler, meeting him upon the road, would doubtless mistake him for a highwayman, in spite of his ill-fitting livery.
The humble, subservient manner he now adopted was spoiled by the hostility that still radiated from his cold eyes.
“I asked you a question,” she snapped out, trying to make her voice sound haughty and hoping the cloak hid the fact that she was trembling all over from reaction to the near rape.
“Yes’m, m’lady. The Earl of Blackstone is in residence if you can call it that.” His lip curled slightly, and he made no attempt to hide his contempt for the decaying manor house that stood behind her.
She knew she should not let his insolent manner go by without correction, but she was willing to wait for another day before risking a direct confrontation since she was not at all sure how long invoking her brother’s name would protect her. Nor was she at all certain just how much control her brother had over his minion, who would have seemed more at home in a novel by Mrs. Radcliffe than in this forgotten corner of Cornwall.
“See to my horse,” she snapped out curtly. By exercising her total willpower, she was able to retreat in a dignified manner, when all she really wanted to do was run as fast as she could away from her attacker. It was a relief when she slid through the French doors into the library and knew she was hidden from his view.
Her relief was short-lived, however, as it took her only a moment to realize something was amiss there, too—the room was warm.
Her immediate awareness of the fire in the normally unused fireplace gave her a second’s warning, enabling her to school her expression and react calmly to the voice that came out of the shadows beside her.
“Ah, my dear sweet sister, I presume. Yes, the resemblance to your mother, God rest her dear departed soul, is even more pronounced, now that you have ... uh ... developed, shall we say? And I must say also that I am so glad you came to find me, my dear, before I was forced to the trouble of having you fetched. Indeed, I have been wondering about the strange household you keep here. So far, you are the first living, breathing inhabitant of this pile of damp stones that we have set eyes on since we arrived here. If we had not found these doors open, we might still be waiting on the stoop. Have you given all your servants the same day off by some miscalculation?”
Geoffrey was still the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. In face and form he resembled their father, who had always been held to be a fine figure of a man, but Geoffrey’s light brown hair and hazel eyes came from his mother, the earl’s first wife.
She, on the other hand, had her midnight hair and deep blue eyes from their father, but in all other respects was the spitting image of her mother, an accredited beauty who had reigned supreme in London society before becoming the second wife of the Earl of Blackstone.
“The servants left years ago, when you neglected to pay them.” Cassie clenched her hands to keep them from trembling.
“One is scarcely aware of the seasons coming and going when one is in London,” he said lazily. “Let me see, how long has it been since I was last here?”
“Father died seven years ago in May.”
Her brother had not even made a pretense of mourning, but had left for London the day after the funeral, never writing or returning until now.
“So long? My, my, I fear I have neglected you and our dear sister shamelessly.” Abruptly, his manner became brusque. “But what is past is past, and we must look to the future. I find I have suddenly developed a tremendous interest, nay, a preoccupation with your well-being. Chloe!” he bellowed suddenly, striding over to the ruins of a once-elegant sofa, which still boasted three legs and undoubtedly at least one or two unbroken springs.
“Chloe!” he thundered again, whacking a pile of scarlet satin and orange feathers that was crumpled there. “Bestir yourself, you lazy slut. I’ve a job for you.”
Slowly the red heap sat up and straightened and adjusted itself until Cassie could see it was a well-padded woman with hair as orange as her feathers, and cheeks as impossibly red as her dress.
“Give me a moment or two, guv, to get me wits about me, and then we can oblige.”
“None of that now, you’ve work to do.” He grabbed her hand and jerked her to her feet. “See that?” He pointed to Cassie, who still stood by the window. “Take that upstairs, clean it up, and put a decent dress on it. I want to see what I have to work with, but I find my senses so revolted by the stink of the stables and that depressing rag it’s wearing, that I am quite unable to think straight.”
There was such an improbable aspect about everything that had happened since she had slid off Dobbin’s back, thought Cassie as she was half dragged up the stairs, that she might be excused for wondering if she were still on horseback plodding along toward home, her mind totally involved in a daydream that now had more similarity to a nightmare than to her usual fantasies.
The tub of water was still steaming slightly, and Cassie knew the unexpected visitors could not have arrived much before herself. Apparently Seffie and Ellen had had enough warning to hide
, as there did not seem to be any sounds of hysteria in the background.
“So, you’re his lordship’s sister.” Chloe undid the strings of Cassie’s cloak with one quick tug.
“Don’t you dare touch me!” Cassie backed away, fending off the other woman’s hands. “I can undress myself.”
Without even losing her smile, Chloe slapped Cassie hard across the face. “Now then, ducks, I’m not too good at explaining things, so let’s hope you catch on real quick. Your brother told me to clean you up and make you presentable, and I always do what he tells me to do, and that way things go along nice and smooth. So you don’t get to decide whether I give you a bath or not, you just get to decide how you wants it to be—hard or easy—and if you make things hard for me, I can make things real unpleasant for you, don’t think I can’t.”
Her cheek stinging from the impact, Cassie stared at the woman, too stunned to respond.
When Chloe reached out again and started undoing the buttons on Cassie’s dress, the younger girl stood quietly, staring straight ahead, her teeth clenched so tightly her jaw hurt.
“I’m not so bad as a lady’s maid if I do say so myself. I had me a job once, as abigail to a rich lady. She thought I had real talent, too, especially with her hair.” While Chloe talked, her fingers fairly flew, stripping off Cassie’s dress. “But then madame found me in the master’s bed playing tickle and squeeze, and I was out on the street, although not for long. The master had me settled snug in my own cozy little house before the week was out, he did.”
She finished stripping Cassie to the skin, and no amount of pretending on Cassie’s part could lessen her embarrassment at finding herself naked in front of another person. Not even her sister had ever seen her without her shift, at least not since they had been very small girls together. As quickly as possible she stepped into the metal tub and sat down, grateful for the meager covering offered by the water.
Chloe poured a dipperful of water over Cassie’s head and began rubbing her hair vigorously with soap. “I found the gentlemen much easier to please than the ladies, so I gave up my aspirations to become a dresser.”
The Unofficial Suitor Page 2
