by Pam Mingle
Hugh nodded brusquely in acknowledgment. “I see. So in order to get out of the marriage, you said you were engaged to Cass. And somehow got her to go along with it.”
Adam cringed. When put like that it seemed so sordid. “I know how it sounds. But I will never marry, and I don’t believe Cass wishes to either. After what happened with Bentley, she doesn’t have much trust in men.”
Hugh frowned. “Why do say you’ll never marry? Don’t politicians need a wife?”
Adam snorted. “Because of Father. I may end up exactly like him. I spent the last week drinking myself to oblivion. If that’s not following in his footsteps—”
“Don’t be an arse. You had good reason. I may be mistaken, but I’d guess indulging in a drunken binge is a rarity for you.” Hugh leaned forward, hands on thighs. “You’re nothing like the old man. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one with that reputation.”
“That’s as may be, but it doesn’t change my feelings on the matter. I can navigate politics without a wife.” He couldn’t fathom why Hugh didn’t understand. “Our father’s debauched life destroyed our family. Damaged Deborah almost beyond recovery. Separated us. It’s in our blood.” Adam shoved his chair back violently and stood up. “Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t feel the same way. I take it you’re back in town to find a wife.”
Hugh straightened. “Ostensibly. I’ve not much interest in it at the moment.”
Adam edged toward the door, hoping his brother would take the cue and leave. “And just so you know. Broxton decided against me. Because of the old man’s debt, and his shenanigans at the ball. Thinks we’re all alike.”
A laugh burst from Hugh. “How that must have galled you. What will you do now?”
“I’m trying to find another constituency, but not having much success.”
“What about you and Cass?”
“After a time, she’ll cry off.”
“Christ. What an unholy mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“How astute of you. And now, I’m sure you must have someplace else to be,” Adam said.
Hugh rose and walked toward Adam. Standing eye to eye with him, he said, “Someday you may like to know exactly what life with our father was like for me. It may set you straight on a few things.” He brushed past Adam and opened the door.
Right before stepping through, he spun back around and said, “Do you love Cass?”
Adam wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer. But finally he said, “I think perhaps I do.”
“Then you’re a bloody lunatic if you don’t beg her to marry you.”
As soon as Hugh was gone, Adam began composing a new letter to Cass.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After what she had learned from Mrs. Wetherby, Cass was even more determined to speak to Sir William about Adam. In the end, it was the morning papers that provided her with the information she sought. She had taken to eating breakfast at her writing desk, skimming the news as she nibbled on toast and drank tea. A few days after her talk with the housekeeper, both papers carried an updated list of the dead from the Siege of Badajoz, which had occurred last spring. Although it was ultimately a victory, thousands of British soldiers had been killed, and afterwards, the men had gone crazy, rampaging throughout the town, killing innocent Spanish citizens, even killing some of their own comrades. It had taken days to restore order.
Among the list of the dead she found one name she recognized:
Captain Benedict Broxton, Light Division, Haslemere, Surrey
Cass dropped a piece of toast halfway to her mouth. She had the opening she needed with Sir William. As soon as she’d finished eating, Agnes helped her dress and she called for a conveyance. There was no time like the present.
Seated in the carriage, Cass had a chance to study the Broxton home as she approached. The house was newly constructed, and, in Cass’s opinion, did not fit into its surrounding park at all. It was stucco, ornamented with a good deal of wrought iron and an elaborate fan light over the front door, which featured patterned surrounds. A house much more suited to town than country.
She handed the butler her card, and Eleanor herself came to greet her, walking briskly over the parquet floor. “Miss Linford. How nice to see you!”
Cass held out her hand. “I am glad to see you, too, Miss Broxton.” Eleanor turned and looked around, as though she wasn’t sure what came next. “Please, do join us in the drawing room.”
Cass followed her down a corridor leading off the central rotunda. They entered a room, fitted up quite beautifully in maroon and cream, and Sir William immediately got to his feet to greet her. “Miss Linford.” He looked at his wife, whose face bore a tight smile. “My dear?”
“How do you do, Lady Broxton?” Cass offered her hand to the older lady, who clasped it, albeit reluctantly. She spoke not a word. Cass decided to act as if she hadn’t noticed the bordering-on-rude greeting.
“Please, be seated,” Eleanor said. “Will you take tea with us?”
Certain the elder Broxtons would prefer that she did not, Cass nevertheless assented. If she refused, her visit would be over before she’d accomplished her mission. She racked her brain for a topic of conversation and finally settled on the décor.
“What a lovely room this is,” she said, glancing around. “Did you fit it up yourself, Lady Broxton?”
At this, Eleanor’s mother perked up. “Yes. Eleanor helped me. She has a great eye for color and design.”
“I particularly like your drapes, and the upholstery on the Sheraton armchairs is elegant. Well done, Miss Broxton,” Cass said. “Have you put your talents to work in other parts of the house?”
“Only in a small way. My interest lies chiefly in fashion design.”
“It is Eleanor’s little hobby,” her mother said.
Well. How condescending.
Maybe this isn’t the best topic of conversation. She would hate to find herself on Sir William’s bad side before she’d even had a chance to speak to him about Adam. Rather than pursue it further, Cass simply smiled at the girl. Fortunately, the tea arrived and Eleanor busied herself pouring and passing the cups around. Cass swallowed the strong brew, hoping it would shore up her confidence.
Lady Broxton started to say something else, but Eleanor cut her off, asking Cass how long she planned to remain in the country. Cass said her plans were not firm.
At last Sir William stood. “If you will excuse me, Miss Linford, I have some business to take care of.” Obviously, he thought Cass wished to visit with the ladies of the house. She leaped to her feet. It was now or never.
“Sir William, I wonder if you could spare me a few moments to speak to you privately.” She could see the wheels turning as he thought over his response. He nodded to his wife and Eleanor, who took their leave, the latter shaking Cass’s hand most enthusiastically.
“Goodbye, Miss Linford. Please do call again.”
“It would be my pleasure. And I hope you will call upon me. I am presently in residence at Deborah Grey’s home.” She remembered Eleanor asking her for advice—about Adam. But later she’d seemed interested in Hugh and comfortable with him.
Sir William waited for Cass to return to her chair before seating himself. “What may I do for you?” he asked. His graying hair was combed back from his high forehead. She thought the style made him look perpetually surprised.
Cass took a steadying breath. “Sir William. I-I’ve come to ask, what is your opinion of the war?”
He grunted in surprise. “Is this a serious question, Miss Linford?”
“Quite serious, sir.”
“I’ve no idea what brings you to my door to ask me such a thing. It’s not women’s business. But since you ask, I’m damned sick of it. I want it over and done with, and I want men in Parliament who will get the job done. Allocate more money, whatever it takes.”
“I thought you might feel that way. Before we talk further, may I offer my sincere condolences on the loss of your son, Sir William?
I saw his name in the paper, on the list of dead from the Siege of Badajoz, in the Peninsula.”
He looked down, and she thought maybe he was trying to get his emotions in check. “Not my son, Miss Linford, but like one. My nephew. My only brother’s boy, who lived with us after his parents died. He was a captain in the Light Division.”
“When Adam—my fiancé—first returned to London and told me he wanted to stand for Commons, I grilled him. You see, sir, I’ve always had a keen interest in politics. It turned out that he was passionate about ending the war.”
“Humph. So that is what this is about. I’ve already told him I won’t support him.”
Cass scooted to the edge of her chair and went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “Do you know about Walcheren? About what happened there? Adam was wounded in the siege on Flushing. No good ever came of it—they chased the French navy out, but did no real damage. Afterward thousands of our own men died from a fever. Adam helped care for them during the evacuation. It’s his view that countless men lost their lives for naught.”
Broxton’s eyes sparked, and Cass knew she’d struck a chord. “That is how I feel about Badajoz. The victory came at too great a price. And would you like to know the ultimate irony, Miss Linford?” Abruptly, he stopped talking and his gaze settled somewhere over Cass’s head.
She waited. It would be best to give him the time he needed. He cleared his throat after a moment and said, “Benedict was killed in the rampaging after the battle. Killed by one of his own men.”
“Oh, no!” Involuntarily, her hand shot out and covered his. Of course, she’d just read about it in the morning papers. The men so demoralized by the vast number of their dead brothers, they’d gone about the town looting, rioting, breaking into homes, and shooting their own officers who tried to stop them. “I am so sorry.”
He patted Cass’s hand, his eyes shining with tears. “Tell your fiancé I will reconsider my decision. If he can help stop this damned, endless war…but I make no promises.”
…
It was Adam’s second letter that decided Cass. It was time to go to Town.
When she returned from the Broxton’s, the post was waiting in its usual place, a silver tray on the chest in the entryway. Happiness rippled through her when she saw Adam’s handwriting. Carefully, she broke the seal and unfolded it, hoping there would be more than just platitudes this time.
She was disappointed at first.
16 June
London
Dearest Cassie,
The weather here in London has improved. I’ve returned to my daily gallops on Rotten Row, and walks about town are once again possible. I detest going everywhere by coach.
I trust life in the country is tranquil and you are well. I ran into Jack at White’s. He told me that he and Pippa visited you and that he informed you of the nasty bit of gossip circulating here. Please try to put it out of your mind, Cass. When I find out who is responsible, I’ll send him to kingdom come.
Sorry to say, I’ve made no further progress on finding a constituency. All the talk here is about the war with America. For us to be involved in another conflict is a grave mistake, I fear.
The remainder of the letter caused her heart to jump in her chest, stopped her breath:
But to hell with all of that. Here is the truth of things, my darling. I am unable to get a decent night’s sleep. Because you, Cassie, are there in all my dreams. I find myself in the awkward position of longing for you when in fact it is I who separated us. Ironic, isn’t it?
My desire for you is threatening my sanity. Images of your lush body are what unsettle my dreams and keep me awake. If it weren’t for my father and our family curse, I would worship you as you deserve. I have been trying to write you another of those meaningless letters for days and have succeeded only in filling the grate with crumpled parchment. It came down to this: I couldn’t write without telling you how I miss you and ache for you, in every possible way.
Yours, as ever,
A.
Cass felt as if she were floating somewhere above herself. Was that her, Cass, Adam was talking about? He hadn’t said it outright, but weren’t these the words of a man in love? At least, she thought they were, never before having been the recipient of a love letter. Had she been fooling herself these last few weeks? Was she in love with him, too?
Cass began to laugh and cry all at once. After a minute, she gathered herself and considered what to do. The letter allowed her to hope that there might be a future for them. She wasn’t fool enough to believe his fears of becoming like his father had suddenly vanished. Nor had her deep reservations about marriage. But wasn’t their chance at happiness worth fighting for? Cass hastened upstairs, narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the footmen. “Oh, sorry!” she said, rushing past him.
Wrenching open the door of her chamber, she called out for her maid. “Agnes! Start packing. We’re going to London.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Adam stood at the perimeter of the ballroom, talking in a desultory manner with a couple of his new acquaintances. Both were MPs. He had spent his afternoon at Peele’s perusing as many newspapers as he could digest at one sitting and drinking an excessive amount of coffee. Later, he’d dined at Offley’s Tavern on Henrietta Street, where he’d run into Jarvis and Howell, the two men now standing beside him. Only one of them, Howell, had an invitation to the ball, but they sneaked Jarvis past the footmen with no problem.
“I believe I shall ask that blond-haired chit over there to dance,” Jarvis said.
Adam sipped his wine. “I don’t think that’s a good idea unless you’ve been introduced. She looks quite young. Aren’t wealthy widows more your line?”
Jarvis laughed. “I’ll find somebody to properly introduce me,” he said, wandering off.
Howell looked at Adam and shrugged. “He’s hopeless. But he’s not a complete fool. He won’t do anything untoward.”
“Glad to hear it,” Adam said. He watched the couples who were dancing the current set and remembered the last time he’d danced with Cass, at their betrothal ball. She’d been wearing that enchanting green dress that had pushed up her breasts so provocatively. He wondered if she’d received his letter yet, and if she had, what she must be thinking. He must have been suffering from temporary insanity to write such things to her. Not to write them, but to actually send the letter. Stirring up feelings he had tried, apparently unsuccessfully, to banish.
Adam looked up, astonished, when he heard the footman announce the newest arrivals. “Viscount Linford and Miss Cassandra Linford.”
…
Cass waited at the top of the steps, clinging to her brother’s arm.
When she’d reached Linford House, only a few hours ago, she had sent a message round to Adam telling him of her arrival. Jack had taken tea with her and insisted she attend the Cowper ball with him and Jenny that evening.
“But I’ve only just gotten here,” she protested. “Isn’t there some event I could attend tomorrow? And I would rather hear from Adam first.”
Jack looked sympathetic. “I know, my dear. But to my knowledge, there are no balls tomorrow. The season is nearly at an end, you know. And it is vital that you be seen in public.” He stuffed a biscuit into his mouth and washed it down with a long gulp of tea.
“With Adam!” Cass said, frustrated. “What good will it do to be seen if we’re not in each other’s company?”
“I have a feeling he’ll be there. From what I understand, he spends most days at the coffee houses seeking patronage. He probably arrived home with only enough time to change and didn’t receive your message.”
Cass had reluctantly agreed. Her first reaction to any public appearance, since the disaster at Drury Lane, was first to avoid it, and if that wasn’t possible, to remain in the shadows. Now Jack wanted her to attend a ball, the chief purpose of which was to be seen by the entire ton. As fate would have it, however, she wasn’t sorry.
Because as they stood there
, waiting to be announced, every nerve ending told her Adam was in the room. She felt it, knew it instinctively. She’d made the right decision. Or had she? A sea of faces was upturned, staring at them. Was she daft? In her state of wild anticipation over seeing Adam, she had forgotten all about the innuendo, the nasty rumors circulating about Bentley’s death.
It seemed to Cass, despite the music, that the room had gone silent. Excited voices, laughter, the typical sounds of a ball had ceased. Her legs felt suddenly stiff, and she hoped she would make it down the stairs without stumbling.
“We have friends here, Cass. All of them ready to stand by you,” Jack whispered. “Be brave and smile, for God’s sake.” A cloying scent, probably caused by the huge bouquets of summer flowers placed about the room, made her stomach roil.
We have enemies, too. Cass could see some of them, heads together, whispering, casting sly glances in her direction. One woman, for the amusement of her friends, held out her hand and pretended to shoot a pistol. But Cass stretched her lips into a semblance of a smile anyway. When they reached the ballroom floor, after what seemed like hours, Atherton was there waiting. Eyes welcoming, he bowed over Cass’s hand. “Miss Linford. Town has been a dull place without you.”
“My lord,” she said with a genuine smile. “How good to see you again.” Now she heard whispers, rising to a hum, and when Atherton stepped aside, a path had opened up behind him. To make room for Adam, who was slowly walking toward her, eyes smoldering and looking devilishly handsome. As though he wanted to show them all that she was his and he was coming to claim her. And they could all be damned. His gaze never left her face.
…
A thousand thoughts vied for Adam’s attention, but he was preoccupied with only one at the moment. He was so damned happy to see Cassie. He forgot about the fact that she hadn’t bothered to tell him she was coming. That he hadn’t had time to quash the rumors. That he never should have written that damned letter before he’d figured things out. She looked stunning, in a deep blue silk gown that draped enticingly around her body and showed off its tantalizing curves.
