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

by Julia Donner

  Rave, still mildly aggravated not to have been publicly introduced to Cass, only smiled. He’d reward Lindy long and well before settling down to a life of celibacy, but there had to be another way to be brought to the elusive Miss Seyton’s attention. Wednesday next was too damn long to wait. Perhaps something unexpected would present itself.

  A nagging suspicion teased a corner of his mind, warning him that a week may be too late. He wished for yesteryears—those wonderful barbaric days when a man could storm the castle, toss the maiden over his shoulder and ride off to a merry future. He soothed his impatience with that and other improbable fantasies that didn’t include his present companion.

  Chapter 6

  Cassandra slept fitfully and awoke early enough to watch her bedroom window lighten. While the servants dressed and the rest of the household slumbered, she slipped from the rear entrance and out onto the cobbled street. Heart and eyes heavy, she forced herself to walk at a brisk pace. She aimed to restore her usual energy and chase away the weight of the terrible responsibility she must face later in the day. For now, she would make the most of her last moments of freedom, and daybreak came too early for her father’s creditors to be awake and on her scent.

  Uncaring that she was without a maid or footman, she strode along the quiet streets where vendors wheeled carts piled with fresh produce. She headed away from town at a pace energetic enough to sweep away her dismal mood. She hoped to be well away from the city before cooks and servants emerged to purchase the day’s produce. The aroma of baking bread perfumed the streets, telling her she should have left earlier instead of lying in bed fretting.

  An hour later, clouds overhead began to gather and darken, forcing her to turn back. She’d hoped to walk to the point where Rave had given her a ride the week before, but the misty drizzle threatened to turn into an outright downpour. If she hurried, she might be able to walk the rest of the way home unnoticed. The ton wouldn’t stir for hours, and no debt was deep enough to keep a creditor standing in the rain. No one of her acquaintance would think of walking at dawn, especially in wet weather. She felt a grim smile twist her lips. Very few realized just how hardy she was.

  The squishy noises of her sodden boots muted the sound of a team of horses coming up rapidly behind her. Her heart gave an odd little jump. Could it be Rave?

  He’d set her down as a bedlamite if he encountered her on the road in the rain a second time. The morning papers would have an announcement of her engagement. Her family’s scandal evoked a cringe of humiliation over her flesh. Impotence sparked a surge of defensive anger. A moment later, she decided she didn’t care a jot for his opinion of her.

  The jangle of harness and thump of hoofs warned Cassandra to step out of the road and onto soggy turf. She walked on the verge, as far away as possible from the splash of the team and carriage wheels, but the horses came to a halt beside her.

  Cassandra lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the steadily falling rain. A tiger jumped off the back of a familiar yellow-wheeled curricle and rushed to cover her head with his umbrella.

  “May I again be of assistance?” a deep, rumbling voice asked from under the curricle’s bonnet.

  She peered at the shadowy figure. “Thank you for your concern, sir, but I am quite well.”

  “Please, don’t let your concern of making this a habit stand in the way. I doubt the threat of inflammation of the lungs cares about our sensibilities.”

  Cassandra hesitated. The cold rain began to fall harder. With summer many weeks away, white plumes of moisture spewed from the team’s flaring nostrils. She hated to see activity-warmed animals stand in drenching cold.

  As if reading her mind, he said, “My horses grow restive. Have mercy on them, if you’ve none for yourself.”

  Cassandra nodded, accepted the tiger’s hand and stepped up onto the curricle. She landed on the dry seat with a sloppy plop that would have mortified any other female. She kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead and pretended she didn’t see Rave’s pinched grin.

  “Willie, please assist our guest with the lap robe.”

  Cassandra sat still and stiff while the tiger draped the robe over the saturated skirts sticking to her legs. She thanked Willie, and he bobbed a bow. The back end of the sporty vehicle dipped when the tiger climbed on board. Rave’s gloved hands lowered the reins and the horses moved into a fluid trot.

  “If I may,” he said after a moment, “I would ask your destination?”

  “The same as before. Grosvenor Square.”

  His sober tone didn’t quite mask his underlying amusement. “You’ve walked a great distance, ma’am.”

  “Miss,” she crisply corrected.

  “Ah.”

  After an extended silence, he said, “May I suggest that we dispense with civilities and make an exchange of names without the prescribed introduction?”

  Cassandra peripherally studied her companion. His bulk was considerable in the confines of the curricle’s single seat. The caped greatcoat made him appear larger. His shallow-crowned beaver hat was dry, but his left arm was wet from exposure to the rain.

  “I suppose it would do no harm, sir, especially since I shall be home in minutes. And there is the matter of my coveting your gloves.”

  “A Mr. Jeffords makes them for me. My boot maker gave me the fellow’s name. The fit is excellent and yet allows for the slightest sensation to be felt. I’m very fond of these bays and careful of their mouths.”

  “I had noticed. I am Cassandra Seyton.”

  “How pleased I am to make your acquaintance, Miss Seyton. I am Ravenswold. Rave, if you remember. I hope you will still allow me to call you Cass.”

  With an abrupt dip of her chin, she nodded agreement. She listened to her pounding heart, captivated by her reaction to the gentleman by her side. She’d never felt a man’s presence so keenly, and certainly never longed for any man’s attention, other than her father’s. The new sensations mesmerized and frightened at the same time. Not frightened, exactly, but an anxiety something like fear. Or was it a combination of nervousness and anticipation? She couldn’t think of anything to say and thought it best to do and say nothing other than remove her wet gloves. She caught herself in the act of nervously wringing them and concentrated on quieting the urge. She dreaded arriving at Grosvenor Square and then blessed the rain—keenly aware of the irony of her gratitude for the downpour that might keep the creditors, vendors and servants indoors.

  She sat in silence, sorry that their time together would be brief, wishing her family’s circumstances were different. Rave’s company felt comforting and at the same time stimulating. She recalled her father’s animosity regarding Ravenswold. Next month, she could legally defy her father and refuse to marry Beason, but that wouldn’t resolve the matter of keeping her father out of prison. Her heart cringed at the thought of asking Rave to settle her father’s debts when she knew in her heart and from experience there would be even greater debts in the near future. She concealed her fisted hands under the lap robe.

  ***

  Rave appreciated the lack of chatter while he drove. He’d been infuriated with Lindy when she sent him a note, insisting that he personally return to the inn to retrieve her lost scarf. He didn’t reach the inn until midnight, tired and hungry. Due to a nearby boxing match, the inn had no rooms available, which forced him to spend last night in the taproom that reeked of the unwashed and spilled ale, listening to the drunken patrons’ opinions of the boxing match.

  The innkeeper’s wife quickly produced the missing scarf and supplied him with a plump capon served with roasted potatoes, carrots, and turnips. He had the same dinner sent out to Willie with the message he should put the horses to bed. They’d return to town at dawn. The innkeeper eventually sent the sots homeward and offered Rave a blanket. After a bottle of claret, it wasn’t difficult to find sleep on one of the taproom’s broad benches. He hoped the stench of the taproom didn’t cling to his clothes and thought it fortunate he’d left his overcoat
on the curricle bench.

  Rave never thought that fate had gone out of its way to be kind to him, but meeting up with Cass once again evened out any injustices he may have thought to have suffered in the past. He sensed her roiling emotions and thought a subtle approach might work best with her. Rave stayed quiet and allowed her to take the lead when she felt ready.

  When they arrived at Grosvenor Square, Cass turned slightly in her seat to face him. She extended her hand. “Thank you once again, sir, for your timely assistance.”

  Rave felt a telltale tremble when his hand engulfed hers. She showed no other reaction, making him wish they weren’t wearing gloves. He held her lightly, aggravated that he had to let her go.

  “So formal now, when we used to be Cass and Rave.”

  She gently disengaged her hand. “Perhaps that was not wise. Thank you again for your kind assistance.”

  “My pleasure, I assure you, Miss Seyton. Will you be attending Lady Wethermore’s rout Wednesday next?”

  A delicious blush bloomed on her cheeks. She fixed her attention on the horses. “I have yet to receive an invitation.”

  “Lady Wethermore specifically mentioned your name as one of her guests. I shall look forward to seeing you there.”

  Cass nodded. She kept her eyes lowered and her lips sealed in a line of non-communication. He couldn’t think of a way to keep her with him longer than the ride and battled frustration the entire way. Blast it, why couldn’t she simply carry an umbrella? Her saturated clothes clung to every curve and indentation, but she carried herself well, back straight and chin up. Her cheeks were pale and nose rosy. Rave squelched the urge to grab Cass by her wilted white stock, haul her across the seat and clamp his mouth to hers.

  He smothered a growl of frustration when she moved to take Willie’s hand to step down. His soft warning stopped her.

  “Be careful not to come down ill from a severe chill, Miss Seyton. I meant it when I said I looked forward to seeing you Wednesday next.”

  Her gaze lifted, and she looked him in the eye. He clenched his teeth. Her eyes were magnificent—large, amber and feline—no sign of fear, only a cool, calculating regard that thrilled him right down to his soles. This woman acted afraid of nothing. He could already see the children they would have, stalwart boys and fearless girls.

  Disdain arched one, russet eyebrow. “I am never ill, sir.”

  She took Willie’s hand and stepped down. She stood there, looking up at him, while his tiger returned to the back of the carriage. Her previous dignity changed to unexpected vulnerability. He started to speak but she interrupted.

  “Rave, when you read the newspapers this morning…I…oh, forget I said anything. My thanks for the ride.”

  In an instant, she reverted to her confident veneer and went up the steps. The plump maid he’d seen with Cass in the park had the door open and met her mistress with a scolding tone and manner unlike anything he had ever witnessed from a servant. Cass sauntered by the querulous maid and made the mistake of trying to sneak a glance over her shoulder.

  Rave nodded, touched his hat brim and said to the horses, “Walk on.”

  He imagined that his grin was something to behold as he drove along dreary, rain-washed streets—the sort of smirk his mother used to say gave one pause, reminiscent of a bear about to munch down a tasty honeycomb. He felt the smile fade, overtaken by the premonition that heartless fate could at any moment snatch away his sweets.

  Chapter 7

  “It’s not too late to cry off,” Tess mumbled around the pearl-tipped hairpins in her mouth.

  Cassandra’s fleshed crawled from the growing tension in the house. Arthur Fallone and his guardian were due to arrive in minutes, and when Cassandra needed her mother’s support most, Florinda retired to her rooms with one of her convenient headaches.

  Her father spent the morning finishing a carafe of brandy. She learned from Tessa that he’d never gone to bed and felt relieved he hadn’t seen her step down from Rave’s curricle.

  With her empty stomach writhing, Cassandra sat before the mirror and watched Tessa put the last touches to an arrangement of tight braids. Fear had leached all color from her cheeks. She refused to sink to using rouge and resorted to an expression of false hauteur.

  “Nonsense. The contracts are signed and announcements were in this morning’s newspapers. Beyond that, Mr. Fallone sent a very kind note explaining that his guardian’s man of business has somehow managed to pay most of our debts in the last twenty-four hours. I would be an ungracious fool and in a great deal of legal trouble if I were to cry off now. In any event, I consider myself fortunate that Papa allowed me a say in the matter, which is more than most fathers feel compelled to do.”

  “If Bakers or Lady Duncan were here, they’d put a stop to this!”

  “Aunt Jane is not due to arrive for another two days. She cannot change the law, as much as she feels she owns the right to do so. And Bakers has her hands full with the duke’s three, very spoiled daughters.”

  “Bakers is near enough to come, if only you would write to her,” Tessa insisted.

  “She is. But I won’t. I am no longer her responsibility.”

  But how I wish I were, Cassandra thought. This was one occasion when her former governess and Tessa would have been in complete agreement. Bakers frowned on and repeatedly objected to the unlikely relationship between her charge and the intrepid Tessart, a mere coachman’s daughter. Having no one else to be her friend, Cassandra ignored Bakers’ warnings.

  Tessa removed the remaining pins from her mouth and set them in a china dish. “All dressed, stuffed and primed for the oven.”

  “What?”

  “Lord above, you gather enough wool to clothe the whole of England! Look at the clock. You have but five minutes.”

  Cassandra glanced at the ormolu clock on the nightstand by her bed. Only five minutes of precious freedom remained. She looked back at her image in the mirror, erased the stiffness of entrapment from her features and replaced it with a demure mask that fit the green-sprigged muslin frock she wore. The bold styles and colors she preferred couldn’t be worn today.

  A distant rumble of thunder invaded the room, creating a gentle shudder within the walls. Outside, rain pattered on tree leaves and smeared long lines on the windowpanes that streamed down the glass, like greasy tears.

  Cassandra looked back at her maid’s sullen reflection in the mirror. Tessa lowered her blond eyebrows in a mutinous scowl and held out a fringed, mauve shawl.

  “You shouldn’t be doing this, Miss Cassy.”

  “Oh, Tessa,” Cassandra began but couldn’t finish.

  “Take my advice. If he’s not what you want, you walk right out of there! We’ve been in worse fixes before. Somehow we’ll come about. I got some coins hoarded—”

  “No! How can I save my own skin at Papa’s expense? There’s no other way, Tessa, and I couldn’t live with my conscience if Papa died in prison.”

  “It’s only what he deserves.” Tessa arranged the shawl on Cassandra’s shoulders. “At least you’re not worrying about that female masquerading as your mum!”

  Cassandra smiled crookedly in the mirror. “You never know. This might work out for the best. Now, if you please, I must have a few moments to myself before facing the executioner. Tell Papa I shall be down directly.”

  After Tessa left, Cassandra slowly paced and reviewed her options, trying to think of an option she might have missed. No matter how she worked her ideas, today’s meeting seemed the only alternative.

  Tessa burst through the door, interrupting hopeless deliberations by blurting, “Cassy, your father’s in a regular taking!”

  Cassandra grabbed Tessa by the arm and shoved her into a chair. “Calm yourself, Tessa! What’s going forward downstairs? Did Fallone and his guardian cry off?”

  “They’re here, alright. All three of them are down in the blue saloon, shrieking their heads off!”

  Cassandra clutched the shawl tight across her chest.
“What did you hear?”

  “My going into the room ended whatever they were yelling about. I told Mr. Seyton you were on your way down. Much good it did. The three of them stood there like bleedin’ statues, staring fire at each other. Do you think perhaps you won’t have to go through with it?”

  Cassandra chewed her lower lip, praying for the very same thing. “They would have to back out at this point. Too many debts have already been paid, and we’ve no way to reimburse them to retrieve the notes. We haven’t a penny and nothing left to use as collateral.”

  A nasty possibility popped out of Tessa’s mouth. “Oh, yes there is. You!”

  “What rot! I wish you’d stop behaving as if we were inextricably caught up in an exaggerated Gothic muddle. I shall go downstairs and sort out this commotion. Remain here and compose yourself.”

  “I’m coming to listen at the door.”

  “No! Stay here. I should return in twenty minutes. It cannot take longer.”

  Cassandra descended the stairs to the second floor, assuring herself that the interview would be brief. She hesitated before the blue salon’s door and gathered her courage. This was the most important day of her life and the only way to save her family from financial ruin. She nodded to the footman to open the door.

  Cassandra noticed two things when she entered the room where a fire had been lit to remove the dampness and chill. She next felt the strained silence, as if the heated words and animosities from the recent argument still hung in the air.

  A vaguely familiar young man stood by the window, facing the street. His posture was unnaturally stiff with his gloved hands fisted behind his back. He turned around when she entered, took a step and halted.

  Cassandra gratefully noted that he stood as tall as she and exhaled a relieved sigh. At least she wouldn’t have to look down at her husband and be forever feeling like a giraffe.

  An austere dress style revealed Fallone’s personality—no sign of the often-seen quantity of fobs, seals and jewelry. His proud demeanor suited him and was not in any way offensive or arrogant. She couldn’t recall making his acquaintance and again wondered how she managed to inspire such interest from so many men with so little contact. She still thought Fallone viewed this marriage as a way to get control of his inheritance and didn’t think less of him for it. She would have done the same if she were in his position.