The Tigresse and the Raven (The Friendship Series Book 1)

by Julia Donner

  THE TIGRESSE AND THE RAVEN

  By Julia Donner

  Copyright © 2012 M.L.Rigdon. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the permission of the author.

  For Connie Curwen Hay

  Visit the author at MLRigdon.com

  Chapter 1

  Spring, 1811

  Bayswater Road, a few miles outside of London

  Cassandra quit debating whether she was angrier with herself or with Lord Peppleton—the sneaky twit. She never should have given in to her father when he insisted she accept the young baron’s invitation for an afternoon drive. Her wastrel father had to be the only person in London unaware of the fact that Lord Peppleton had more hair than wit and no sense of honor.

  Minutes after she stomped away from the roadside inn the weather went from ominous to downright nasty—the fluffy clouds of late afternoon replaced by an unforgiving slate sky. Flinging droplets soon changed to a cloudburst that churned the road dust into sloppy mud.

  She trudged along the grassy verge, muttering invectives no properly reared young lady should ever say out loud. It would take at least another hour to reach London. Her footwear made squishy noises as she walked on the slick grass, which seemed only marginally better than road mud. She began to wish she’d planted a facer on Peppleton and not just shoved him off the bench hard enough to make his jacket split at the seams. The driving rain against her back diminished her enjoyment of the memorable picture Peppleton made sitting in the dirt.

  The distant rumble of thunder and unrelenting downpour lengthened her stride. Wet skirts slapped against her legs as she walked. Her saucy chipped straw bonnet, now ruined beyond repair, oozed water. The flaccid silk blooms drooping from its brim became too annoying, along with the pummeling force of the rain. She yanked free the ribbons under her chin, flung the expensive confection into the mud and trudged onward.

  The rhythmic splat of trotting hooves came from behind her, heading east to London. Without looking, Cassandra guessed the vehicle to be a light carriage, perhaps a curricle.

  Mud-spattered yellow wheels stopped on her left. Cassandra shielded the rain from her eyes and peered under the curricle’s raised bonnet. The shadow of a huge man loomed underneath the canopy where he sat sheltered from the frigid downpour. The crest emblazoned on the curricle’s yellow paint was unfamiliar. She was about to turn away when his voice stopped her. The sound that emanated from under the carriage bonnet would give anyone pause. His volcanic voice sounded as if it originated in the depths of the earth.

  “May I offer you assistance?”

  Cassandra hesitated. This stranger might be more difficult to manage than Peppleton.

  She glanced at the rear of the carriage. No servant perched on the back, which could mean a brief excursion that didn’t require someone to tend his cattle. She doubted that a lack of funds could be the reason for the missing tiger. The condition of the curricle and matched bays were too well maintained.

  Now that her bonnet floated on road mud a half mile back, a river of cold rain sluiced down the groove of her spine. Its chill soaked into her underclothes, spurring her to accept his offer.

  “I should be grateful, sir.”

  The shadow’s head jerked a nod in the direction of the horses. “I can’t set down the ribbons to hand you up.”

  “Think nothing of it.” She glanced at the steaming backs of the well-mannered bays. “I apologize for making your horses stand in this filthy weather.”

  Cassandra lifted layers of soaked skirts in one hand. Her fingers, chilled and stiff inside the saturated gloves, refused to hold a secure grasp of the handgrip. She flexed her fingers and tried again. She placed a mud-sheathed slipper on the footstep and hoisted her drenched clothes and body up to the seat. She plopped gracelessly onto the leather squabs.

  Her savior transferred the reins into one hand and draped a lap robe over her knees. “You must be soaked through and through!”

  “Yes, sir, I believe I am.”

  “Would you feel comfortable taking these for a moment?”

  “Certainly.” Cassandra accepted the reins.

  The driver maneuvered out of his caped greatcoat and draped it around her shoulders. “You look at home with a set of ribbons in hand. Do you drive?”

  She relinquished the reins, noticing that his gloved hands were immense, like the rest of him. A black silk band encircled the upper arm of his jacket. Because they were strangers and not formally introduced, she elected not to comment on his bereavement.

  “I used to love to drive when I lived in the country. Your poor beauties will catch their death if they stand much longer.”

  He nodded and lifted the reins. The team obediently moved into a smooth trot, splashing through the puddles and mud with their ears flat to avoid the driving torrent.

  Rain pounded a tattoo on the leather canopy overhead. The steady patter and dimness inside the close confines of the curricle made for an odd yet comforting feeling of alienation from the world outside. She wondered at the lack of the initial, awkward moments in a stranger’s company. She felt none of the usual pangs of discomfort.

  Accustomed to looking men in the eye, it came as a surprise to discover her rescuer’s shoulder much higher than her own. He had to be something of a giant. His greatcoat held his scent, a distinctive tang, intriguing and disturbing. The cloth smelled of cedar, fresh air and man.

  Cassandra knew the gentleman beside her must wonder what sort of happenstance could force a young lady to walk unescorted in the rain. Uncomfortable with the idea that he might think less of her, or begin to doubt his act of kindness, she decided that special circumstances deserved explanation. She jettisoned parlor manners that had been bludgeoned into her head and spoke what was on her mind.

  “You may very well be wondering what I am doing out in this wretched weather.”

  He lowered his chin in a slight bow. “I admit to some curiosity.”

  “I will first demand your patience before explaining and confess that I have no strength left for false etiquette. I’m altogether too angry with myself and someone else.”

  “By all means, then, let us forgo the dictates of polite society and pretend we are old friends.”

  “Thank you, sir! I am ready to explode, I’m that overset.”

  “No exploding, if you please. My nerves can’t handle it, and you’ve already created a minor deluge inside the carriage.”

  She barked an unladylike laugh. “Oh-ho! I perceive my Galahad has a bite! Very well then, allow me to purge my choler.”

  “I await your story with trepidation and wonder.”

  Cassandra smiled, then jerked her attention to the road to avoid his stunned expression. Knowing that he’d looked at her fully in the face for the first time, she was eager to talk to dispel the effect her beauty had on people. So annoying to be judged by one’s surface. “I was not abandoned. I left the clod where he deserved to be set down.”

  “And where is that?”

  “At the Hart and Hound five miles west, sitting in the dirt in the back garden, his jacket split at the seams, which is no more than he deserves!”

  Her companion made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a choked-off laugh. “I assume he took liberties and deserved this harsh punishment.”

  She wouldn’t have revealed under torture that the loathsome Peppleton had been punished for attempting to kiss her. “He wears clothes deplorably tight. Serves him right for going to Weston, who will insist on tricking out gentlemen in jackets so tightly drawn that they could pass for sausages enc
ased in superfine. You show no want of common sense in that jacket, sir. The tailor left some room for you to move. Not Stultz. Perhaps Davidson?”

  “No. I also employ the dastardly Weston, but he cuts the cloth to my specifications and not to that of fleeting fashion.”

  “There! You see? I took you for a man of sense from the very first.”

  “You are too kind. So you left your poor suitor in the dirt and chose the bold course of action. The fellow with the burst seams didn’t offer to return you to your house?”

  “He was distraught and refused to be seen in public so undone. In any event, I would not have stepped foot into his carriage. It is on account of his driving, you see. I’ve never seen such a ham-fisted creature, and Peppleton has the loveliest set of dappled-grays. He sawed away at their poor mouths as if he were felling a tree.”

  The man beside her grunted in agreement. “Don’t have much patience with the heavy-handed sort myself.”

  “Well, of course not, sir. You have some sense. And the colors he wears! His jacket was jonquille velvet!”

  The man beside her clucked and shook his head. “I can see why you feel so abused. I would have worn claret or bottle green if I were to drive a team of grays.”

  “There you are! From the start I felt sure you were an out and outer.”

  “Thank you! Forgive me, but it comes to my attention that we have never been introduced. I’ve been away from the city for some time and not out in society.”

  “We will no doubt run into each other and have it done properly. Until then, I would consider it a very great favor if you would pretend this afternoon had never happened. And I allow my friends to call me Cass.”

  “You have my assurances. Drawing and quartering might induce me to tattle, but otherwise, consider the incident nonexistent. And my friends call me Rave.”

  “Your discretion is appreciated, Rave.”

  He nodded in a way that put a period to any worries about the possible scandal of her being seen in a somewhat enclosed carriage. Reassured, she relaxed against the backrest and contemplated why she felt she could trust this stranger more than any other person she knew.

  He interrupted her thoughts when he commented, “Night comes quickly at this time of year.”

  She leaned sideways to peer up at the sky. “The lowering clouds have advanced the time.”

  “Ah, the first signpost. We’ll soon be coming up on Hyde Park. Where may I set you down?”

  “Grosvenor Square. I thank you.”

  An awkward silence began. He had to be thinking about the oddness of her situation. Females of her station rarely walked out alone and certainly not in a downpour.

  Some minutes later, he said, “I do like the park in your square.”

  “Yes, our house has some nice views of the recent improvements. The spring blossoms are quite lovely.” A few more minutes passed. “The wet weather appears to be moving off. The sky is lightening.”

  He nodded and they said nothing else.

  ***

  Rave forced himself to keep his gaze on the road. He was not the sort to believe in the drivel written about falling in love in an instant. Nonetheless, it appeared to have happened to him. Instead of fighting the astounding idea, he decided to study it and attempt to get his thoughts in order.

  He had put off the idea of marriage for so long. His mother’s dying wish had been to see her favorite child married, and Rave had to concede that it was past time.

  He turned his head slightly to hide his scowl. The thought of facing another round of wilting misses, giggling schoolgirls and overeager country lasses was more than his patience and stomach could bear. He couldn’t imagine himself tied for life to an insipid female. If she couldn’t stand up to him, how could she bear up under life’s difficulties? And if not trustworthy, how could she be faithful?

  Aye, there was the proverbial rub. He’d witnessed too much as a child—of what could happen to two perfectly sensible people caught in a marriage turned sour and hostile.

  Recent events brought old pains to the surface. Rave adored his late mother but felt shamed by her flaunted affairs; he admired his father and yet felt disgusted with the endless infidelities. His parents had wasted their lives in retaliatory adulteries, their response to life’s unexpected problems, like the death of their firstborn son and another son the following year.

  This surviving child learned from the sins of the parents. Rave would have a trustworthy, stalwart woman to bear his children, not some simpering miss with no courage, no heart and a head full of nonsense. He’d searched for and never found a woman like the one sitting next to him, one who knew her mind and how to speak it. He didn’t believe that someone could sound forthright and be a liar.

  Cass seemed to have no patience for fools. Neither did he. To top it all off, she was a stunner. Her looks provided the standard of beauty with a new definition. Extra cream on his berries, to his way of thinking, and the force of her presence felt as tangible as the waning lightning overhead. The sort who would knock down any barrier to get what she wanted, she rippled with vitality, and that suited Rave right down to the ground.

  Twilight hovered on the edge of dark when he guided the horses into Grosvenor Square. He slowed the team from a collected trot to a sedate walk.

  Cass said, “The fifth one down, if you please. The one with the fading geraniums.”

  “Perhaps I should set you down in a less conspicuous area.”

  But she was already rising to climb off the curricle before it came to a full stop. “Not to worry. I’ll instruct my maid to tell everyone you’re my uncle. Thank you again, sir!”

  Distracted by that thought, Rave hesitated before making a reply. Good Lord, was he really that stodgy looking?

  She descended the carriage without assistance and flew up the steps before he could get her full name or divulge his own. The front door of a fashionable gray stone townhouse opened and closed before he could rue the fact that she’d gotten away.

  Rave was halfway to his London house before he considered himself recovered from the devastation of her smile. Even soiled and bedraggled, Cass was the most fascinating and beautiful female he had ever seen. He directed the team into Portman Square and vowed that it wouldn’t be the last he’d see of the intrepid Cass.

  He relished thoughts of convincing the dauntless young lady to marry him without a lengthy engagement. He wasn’t the sort to give up when he had his quarry in sight.

  Chapter 2

  “Obstinate child! That is what you are, Cass!”

  When Edward Seyton heard her muffled snicker, he added, “And decidedly on the shelf at nearly twenty-and-one years of age.”

  Cassandra smiled at her father’s scowl. She suspected he’d asked for this particular discussion to be held in the library to lend seriousness to his subject. He’d been nothing less than a harbinger of gloom lately, and she had no intention of being at all serious on such a lovely day.

  Passing cloud shadow dimmed the morning sun and made the dreary furnishings appear shabbier. Only the receiving rooms were well maintained to uphold the illusion of financial stability. Stability of any kind remained a wholly unfamiliar condition all of her life.

  “Papa, you’ve known from the first that I’ve no wish to marry, but you will not be satisfied until I’m out from under your feet and breeding.”

  “Do not cross me, child.”

  Cassandra flashed a dazzling smile to soften his stern façade then gazed at him with mock horror. “La, Papa, what will you do?”

  He got up from the desk chair and went to the tall, narrow windows. Returning sunlight glinted in his auburn hair, a coppery gold like her own, but he’d developed streaks of silver the last months.

  The open window allowed fresh air to slip inside, carrying the heavy scents of blooming flowers. Birdsong, the frantic calls of happy mating, sounded out of place in the somber atmosphere of the library. Her father stood with his shoulder braced against the window frame, the knuckl
e of his right fist pressed to his mouth.

  He dropped his hand and answered, “Face the consequences, I suppose.”

  Cassandra’s grin faded. Her sense of foreboding increased. For as little time as she’d spent with him, she knew her father well and never resolved her conflicted feelings about him. He spoiled her when he was near and forgot she existed when he was not.

  To her mother, a daughter was nothing more than a doll to be dressed, cuddled and fussed over, but only while it was fun to do so. When the game became boring, Florinda Seyton set her child aside, making Cassandra feel like a toy that had lost its charm.

  Her parents never noticed and never cared that their child ran wild, while Cassandra wasted her childhood yearning for their attention. Old insecurities revived, along with the urge to do whatever was needed to win approval.

  Desperate to know and dreading to hear, she said. “Tell me.”

  He inhaled a deep breath and let it go. “There’s nothing for it but to be honest. I’m afraid we are quite rolled up. In another month, we will be on the streets.”

  Cassandra attempted to lighten the terrifying situation with a laugh. “Oh, it cannot be as dreadful as all that! Why can’t you and mother go on another repairing lease?”

  “Cassandra, we can run away from the obvious for only so long. Peppleton was our last hope.”

  “Come now, the man is cork-brained!”

  “Cassandra, tell me that you didn’t use cant in conversation with him.”

  “He doesn’t deserve your esteem. If a man’s ham-fisted with his horse’s mouth, imagine how he’ll treat a wife!”

  “Well, that is neither here nor there at this point. Tamer Hall has been sold.”

  Cassandra gaped, unable to comprehend the impossible. The servants at Tamer were more familiar to her than her parents. She knew every path and road, every stile, pasture and field. Fear coiled within her chest. While her parents traveled and socialized, Tamer Hall was her home, her refuge. She spent all of her life there, except for a short and grueling internment at seminary and three, purposely unsuccessful seasons.