by Pam Mingle
“Hmm. I suppose not.”
Before Pippa and Jack left in the morning, he said, “Are you sure you don’t mind about the governess, Cass? If you don’t like her, we can find somebody else, or you can return to duty, if you prefer.”
She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “No. I loved teaching Pippa, but it is time for me to find other interests. I shall be happy simply being Pippa’s sister again.”
Jack nodded. “When are you coming up to Town?”
“I don’t know yet. Soon, I hope.”
His jaw hardened. “There is something you should know before you return.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“There are some fools about town saying nasty things about you. Exactly what I was afraid of when Adam came up with his idea that the two of you pretend to be engaged.”
Cass couldn’t keep the exasperation from her voice. “Jack. Tell me precisely what is being said.”
He shrugged, and she realized he couldn’t bear to have her know. “Ridiculous nonsense. ‘Adam had better watch his back.’ ‘It was Cass Linford’s pistol that killed Bentley.’ That kind of thing.”
Cass felt the blood drain from her face. “Some people will always be mean-spirited, Jack. We must ignore them.”
“I know. But it’s hard when they’ve put it in the betting books at White’s.”
“You must be joking.”
“No. A wager on whether Adam will survive the engagement. The odds are against it, I’m afraid.” When he saw the stricken look on her face, Jack said, “I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry, Cass. Will you be all right?”
“I’m fine.” Her legs were trembling, and she badly needed to sit down, but she must see them off first. “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy.” She called to Pippa, who’d been chasing one of the dogs, and hugged her. When her brother and sister were settled in the carriage, Cass gave them what she hoped was a convincing smile. “I’ll see you again soon. Don’t worry about me.” Jack patted her hand and signaled the coachman to move. As the carriage made its turn onto the approach road, Pippa hung out the window and waved. Cass waved back, laughing. Until she was crying. She hurried inside and grabbed a bonnet and spencer, then informed Scott she was going to walk for a while. She roamed aimlessly, blinded by her tears. A false engagement to her was making Adam a laughing stock. Brilliant. He must have heard the gossip, too. What must he be thinking? She would have to cry off soon, to spare him ridicule as he was trying to find his way politically.
After Bentley’s death, she’d been dimly aware that there were whispers that she’d shot him, but having been injured herself, and in shock after the tragedy, she hadn’t paid close attention. No doubt Jack and her mother had protected her from the worst. No wonder they hadn’t minded when she sequestered herself in the country for two years.
When Cass looked up, she was near the folly in the woods. She sat down on the stone bench and thought about the fact that she had never told either of them about Bentley’s final words to her, just before he shot himself. In her mind’s eye, Cass could see him clearly, even now. His darkly handsome face ravaged by some inner demon, his shaking hand pointing the pistol at her. And then he’d said, You’re to blame for this, before turning the gun on himself.
She had never understood what he had meant, and so she’d carried a burden of guilt in her heart for her fiancé’s death. Dabbing at the tears trailing down her cheeks, Cass truly believed she must have been responsible for Bentley taking his own life. If only she knew what she had done or said to drive him to such a desperate act. And now it was all being dredged up again, and she and Adam weren’t even truly engaged.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adam had indeed heard the rumors. He’d like to strangle the bastard who had entered the wager about Cass into the betting books, but he had to find out who it was first. Atherton had promised to tell him if he learned anything. His other friends and acquaintances seemed to be avoiding him. Probably some of them were among the scandalmongers.
Scowling, Adam dragged his attention back to the document before him. Parliament was conducting a second inquiry into the disaster at Walcheren to follow up on some matters not addressed previously. He’d been summoned to give testimony, since he’d been out of the country the first time. He was loath to take part, hating the thought of dredging it all up again. Reluctantly, he concluded it was incumbent upon him to do his duty and answer questions, but he dreaded it.
He set the summons aside and picked up the letter he’d been writing earlier.
11 June
London
Dearest Cassie,
I miss you to distraction. I dream about having you: in my bed, on my desk, atop the library table, under the dining room table. On the bench in the garden. In an opera box. At Vauxhall Gardens, our own ecstasy far surpassing the fireworks.
Thoroughly disgusted with himself, he crumpled the paper and lobbed it toward the grate, where it landed with a soft crackle to settle among all the other discards. Almost a fortnight had passed since Adam had seen Cass. She’d sent him a short note in response to his first letter, assuring him that she was being well taken care of. But that was all. She gave no hint of missing him. It wasn’t fair. Why should he be longing for her when she was apparently quite content to rusticate without him?
Shoving his chair back, he got to his feet and commenced pacing about the room. He’d hit a brick wall in his attempts to find the book he was seeking. The one he so desperately wanted to give Cass. And that was the least of his problems. Despite his best intentions and a great deal of time and effort, Adam had accomplished very little since he’d arrived in town. He was discouraged about his chances of finding another constituency, and now he had these rumors about Cass to contend with. People were petty and cruel. They were bored and had nothing better to do than invent lies that hurt innocent people. He knew that, so why couldn’t he simply get out among them and show the ton that the gossip was so ridiculous as to be beneath his notice. Instead he hid at home like a coward.
Adam desperately needed someone to confide in, from whom to seek advice. Ironically, Cass was the only person he trusted enough to fill that role. He missed her so much that his ability to concentrate had gone to hell. He needed her, in every way. Cass would know what to do, how to proceed. Adam had lost his confidence and didn’t think he could find it again without her. God, if things were different, he would marry Cass in a heartbeat. If she would have him, that is, and he wasn’t at all sure she would. By her own admission, she didn’t trust him any more than other men, and he didn’t blame her. The chances were excellent that he would turn out like his father, in any case, and he would never subject Cass to what his mother had gone through.
After a while, Adam removed to his chamber. He crawled into a bottle and got as drunk as a lord. Dinner came and went. He remained. When his valet dared to come through, Adam shooed him out. When Flynn rapped on the door and said he was leaving a tray, Adam leaped up—if a staggering little hop could be called a leap—and yanked the door open. “Take that away. Bring another bottle of this.” He thrust the empty brandy bottle into his butler’s hands. “Make it two, no, three more bottles. Leave them in the hall.”
Flynn, trained to keep his expression impassive, said, “Very good, sir.”
Adam gathered up the bottles when they were delivered. Ah, he was a happy man. He drank long into the night, and over the next week continued in the same manner. He choked down a few bites of food each day, so his stomach could handle the liquor. Occasionally, he went for middle-of-the-night rambles around the townhouse. He turned away his valet (easy), and Flynn (harder), who at one point told Adam he was being bloody stupid.
Adam was perfectly content locked up in his chamber, drinking himself into a stupor every day. And perfectly miserable.
…
A week after Jack and Pippa’s visit, Cass had decided on a course of action.
She might be the object of r
idicule in the ton, the woman who could never be free of her past, but there was no reason, while living in the country, she could not follow through with her plan. After all, it was the reason she had remained here when everybody else had decamped for town.
One afternoon while walking around the lake, she rested on the temple steps to think. The day was warm, and the bees buzzing around the abundant periwinkle made a pleasing sound. She needed to speak with Sir William, but before she could do so, she must learn something more about him that would help establish a bond between them. In these matters it was often the heart rather than the mind that won people over. As soon as she returned from her walk, she would talk to Mr. Scott. If he were the least bit like other butlers she’d known, he would be a font of local information. And Mrs. Wetherby as well. Surely one of them would know some small tidbit, some trifling detail about the baronet, that would help her.
On her return to the house, she found Mrs. Wetherby in the entryway instructing a new housemaid in her duties. Cass watched for a moment. Heavens, who knew there was such intricacy to dusting? “Pardon me, Mrs. Wetherby,” she said. “When you are finished here, may I have a word?”
“Certainly, miss. Would you like to drink tea with me? We might sit in the downstairs drawing room. It’s Mrs. Grey’s favorite.”
They made themselves comfortable in the rose and white room, Cass on the sofa and Mrs. Wetherby in a damask chair. In a few minutes, one of the kitchen maids brought the tea and some biscuits. Cass poured. Handing the woman a cup, she asked, “How long have you worked for the Greys?”
The housekeeper smiled, her face lighting up. Obviously, talking of the family was something she enjoyed. “Oh, many years now. I’ve done any number of jobs. I was a maid at Longmere when the boys were born. I was Master Adam’s nursemaid for a time. Then Mrs. Grey asked me to be her lady’s maid.”
Ah. Cass leaned back and sipped her tea. Thoughts of Sir William flew right out of her head. She could likely learn something about Adam from this woman. About the Grey family. But she didn’t want to seem too eager. “When did you take on the housekeeper’s duties? Were you still at Longmere?”
“No, no, that was after we left. That is, Mrs. Grey and young Adam left, and I went with them. I couldn’t bear to leave her, not in her…” It was obvious Mrs. Wetherby was struggling for the right word. Cass supplied it.
“Situation?” she prompted.
“She was expecting another child, you see.”
Cass sucked in a breath. “I had no idea.”
Mrs. Wetherby went on. “I swear, I don’t know how she stayed with that man as long as she did.” Her face flushed, she leaned forward and lowered her voice, and Cass knew she was priming herself to share further secrets. “It was after he, the master, tried to get his sons involved in his nonsense. That was when she finally left.”
“I see,” Cass said, even though she didn’t have an inkling.
“His wild goings-on, with women and gambling and such,” she said, giving Cass a knowing look. “He wanted the boys to take part in the parties, forcing his sons to do, well, you know, with the lowest of women. And they, so young. Hugh sixteen and Adam not yet fifteen. Their father said that was how they’d learn to be men. Mrs. Grey caught him red handed.“
Cass felt herself blush. Surely she should not be privy to such information. But that did not stop her from asking, nearly in a whisper, “What happened afterward?”
“We left the next morning. Took only what we could pack in a few bandboxes before Mr. Grey woke up. Hugh came, too.”
“How horrible.” And how revealing. It explained so much. After learning this, how could she even think about Sir William? It would have to wait. “Mrs. Wetherby, would you mind terribly if we continued this conversation another time? I’m feeling a bit fatigued.”
“Oh, my, I’ve rattled on too long.”
“Not at all.” Cass hesitated, then asked, “How did Hugh end up back at Longmere with his father?”
“A mother has no rights as far as her children are concerned, you know. That man threatened to take her to court if she tried to keep Adam and Hugh both. By rights, he could have demanded to have both sons with him but he’d always been partial to his firstborn, so Mrs. Grey had to give Hugh up. It took her a long time to get over that.”
“And the baby?”
“Stillborn. She came too early, and to this day I swear it was because of all the turmoil Mrs. Grey had to bear.
“Thank you for telling me,” Cass said.
Mrs. Wetherby gave her a rueful smile. “You’re going to be part of the family, my dear. You stay here now and rest. Would you like me to leave the tea?”
“Please,” Cass said, wishing she had some brandy instead. That might be the only way to obliterate the deep sadness for Adam, for all of them, taking root inside her. What she still did not understand, though, was why Adam was so certain he would end up being the same kind of man as Benjamin Grey. Why, in his mind, was it so inescapable?
…
Adam had lost track of time. Had he been holed up in his chamber for hours, or days? His scalp was beginning to itch and he was repulsed by his own rank odor. Over the last few days he’d gradually stopped drinking. A bath and a shave seemed like a good idea. He walked over to the door to holler for his man, but when he heaved it open, Hugh was standing there, looking pristine in a shirt so white it practically glowed. His forest green coat looked new and superbly tailored.
“Well, if it isn’t Beau Brummell’s little brother.” Adam slammed the door and retreated to his chair. Hugh opened it and walked in, looking repulsed.
“You stink like a rutting pig.” Before Adam could protest, Hugh hollered for Flynn, who was told to find Adam’s valet and order a bath. The entire household must have been on alert, in case the master decided to bathe, because the tub and hot water were brought in record time. And Grissom appeared almost immediately, with razor and fresh towels in hand.
“I’ll make myself at home until you’re presentable,” Hugh said. “By the way, where is Deborah?”
“Last I knew, she and Freddie were off in the country visiting one of his new grandchildren. His daughters seem to breed like rabbits.”
When Adam sank into the tub, he felt sanity returning. The amount of grime dissolving around him was appalling. After a minute, he dunked his head and then gave his hair and scalp a good scrub. He had his valet pour fresh water over his hair to rinse it, and then over his whole body.
He’d barely tucked his shirt in before Hugh returned. “When did you last eat?” his brother asked. When Adam didn’t answer, Hugh said, “You sure as hell look like you could use a decent meal. You can eat while we’re talking.”
“I have nothing to say to you, brother.”
“Bollocks. You drowned yourself in drink and remained locked up in your bedchamber for days on end. I think you need to talk to somebody, and it looks like I’m the only man available for the job.”
Apparently Hugh didn’t discourage easily. When Adam motioned to the chairs in front of the fireplace, Hugh scowled, surveying the room with a look of disgust. “Oh, no. We’re not staying in here.”
Adam had to admit the room was indeed an unholy mess. Dirty clothes and linens lying around. Plates of uneaten food that had been moldering for days. Empty bottles of whiskey. An unmade bed. He chortled. “I can’t argue that point. We’ll use the library.” He signaled Hugh to lead the way. Once they were settled, Flynn brought in plates of eggs, kippers, toast, and rolls, along with plenty of coffee. The mere scent of the food, odors mingling, nearly drove Adam over the edge. Ravenous, he filled a plate and took a seat behind his desk. Hugh watched him eat, an amused look on his face, drinking coffee and eating a roll.
Adam finished, pushed his plate away, and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. He had no experience with brotherly confidences and only wanted to get this unwelcome visit over with so Hugh would leave.
Hugh stretched his long legs out and gave his brother
a sardonic look. “I don’t give a damn about you, Adam, or the reason you’re holed up here. But I happen to think Cass is a lovely and intelligent woman. I’ve heard some rumors since I’ve been in town. A few idiots have even made comments to my face. What’s going on?”
Adam sighed. He’d better start at the beginning. “Cass’s fiancée, Bentley, the Earl of Wilton’s heir, committed suicide while he and Cass were at Drury Lane. He shot himself.”
“Jesus. I didn’t know. When?”
“I only recently found out about it myself, from Deborah. It was a few years ago, around the time I left for the Continent. At Jack’s insistence, Cass only agreed lately to return to society.” Adam took a swallow of coffee. “What have you heard?”
“That Cass killed someone. How long until she kills you? That sort of drivel. I had no idea what it all meant.”
“It’s in the betting book at White’s. I’m itching to get my hands on the man who made the original wager.”
“Have you talked to Cass about it? About the night it happened?”
“I don’t know any of the details of the night Bentley died, but I’m sure Cass has never fired a pistol. She couldn’t hurt anyone any more than Deborah could.” Since he’d come this far, Adam decided to tell Hugh the rest. He related the whole sorry tale of how and why he’d lied to the elder Grey about being engaged to Cass.
“Father wanted you to marry Miss Broxton.” It was a statement, pronounced in a voice cold as ice. “I wasn’t under consideration as a husband for Eleanor, I take it?”
Hugh’s eyes had darkened and his jaw looked set in stone. So that was the way the wind blew, Adam thought. What a fool I was, not to have picked up on it. He recalled that his brother and Miss Broxton seemed to get on so well during the house party. Hugh had shown endless patience with her during the target shooting, and she had sung his praises. Blinded by his determination to despise his brother, Adam’s only thought had been to keep him away from Eleanor.
“I—I did not wish to be married to Miss Broxton, nor she to me, I’m sure. Sir William thinks I’m a war hero, or some such nonsense. That is why he chose me.”
