by Pam Mingle
“I should fire the woman,” Adam said.
“Oh, no, please do not. She loves all of you! It was not malicious. She said I was going to be part of the family and I should know everything.”
“Well, that much is true.”
A quietness came over her. Adam didn’t know if that was a good sign or bad. He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed each one. “I love you, Cassie. I want to marry you. Please say you’ll be my wife.”
She was quiet for so long, he knew something was terribly wrong. “I can’t marry you, Adam.” She stood and slowly backed away from him.
Adam sprang to his feet. He hadn’t expected this. Maybe some hesitance, but not this curt, absolute rejection.
“Why not, Cass? You love me, too. Do not deny it.” Fear made his voice strident. He moved toward her and reached for her hand, but she buried it in her skirt. Her face had gone colorless and her eyes were glossed with tears.
“My reputation. It will damage your career, strip you of respect.”
He tried to argue, but she showed him her palms. “Be realistic, Adam. The wagers in the betting books prove the ton hasn’t forgotten what happened to Bentley. It will only get worse. It will never go away.”
“Do you think I give a damn about that? It’s not the end of the world if I’m never a Member of Parliament.” Every time he took a step closer to her, she took another one back, until they’d reached the door. He could not find the right words to convince her, to banish the anguish from her face.
“So you will give up on us simply because of some ridiculous rumors that don’t hold a grain of truth?”
By this time, her back was against the door. “They do, though. Hold a grain of truth.” Her eyes held such pain, he ached for her. He didn’t move, only waited to hear what she would say. He had the feeling he was about to learn the true reason for her refusal.
“I was responsible for Bentley’s death, you see.”
Ice settled around his heart. “What? That’s nonsense. Have you begun to believe the lies people have made up about you?” He tried to laugh, as if he thought she was joking, but he knew better.
“Oh, I didn’t shoot him. Of course I did not do that. But he died because of something I did. Something that was wrong with me.”
With that unfathomable statement, she fled the room, leaving Adam bewildered. He thought back to when Cass had suggested they become lovers. She was adamant that she didn’t wish to marry. She had been traumatized by what had happened with Bentley and didn’t trust men. Himself included. Christ, why hadn’t he paid more attention to that? Why hadn’t he, at some point, insisted she tell him more? He walked over to the drinks tray, poured himself a whiskey, and knocked it back in one swallow.
And then he went in search of Jack.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cass tarried in the window seat for a long time. At length, from the slant of the light, she could see it was time to dress for dinner. And she would need to help Pippa. She wondered if Adam had left and felt such emptiness inside, she dropped back down. It was possible she would never see him again. It was an idea she would have to accustom herself to, after she recovered from her broken heart.
She was about to ring for Agnes when she heard a soft knock at her door. When she opened it, there stood Jack. He hadn’t bothered to put his coat on; he must have rushed right up to her after Adam…
“May I come in, Cass?”
“Of course,” she said. Two chairs stood facing each other before the grate. Cass sat with an upright posture and tried to appear composed. Her brother perched on the edge of his seat and leaned so far forward, she thought he might slide right off.
“Adam said you refused his offer of marriage. Why, Cass? He doesn’t understand your reasons. Nor do I.” He paused a moment. “It’s the real thing this time, Cass. Not a sham.”
“I can’t marry him. You don’t know everything that happened that night. The night Bentley died.”
Jack grasped one of her hands. “Then it’s time I did. And Adam certainly deserves more of an explanation than you offered. He loves you, Cass.”
Big, wrenching sobs burst out then. Jack simply let her cry. She sat there hugging herself until her tears were spent. “Is…is Adam still here?” she finally asked, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
Jack grimaced, shaking his head. “He’s discouraged, though not ready to give up on you. But we must get this sorted. Patience has it limits, you know.”
In a wobbly voice she said, “I wouldn’t want anything more to do with me, were I he.”
Jack let go of her hand and got to his feet. “Don’t be maudlin, Cass. Wash your face, my dear. Do whatever it is you ladies do to repair the damage done by excessive tears, and then join me in the library.”
“But I have to see to Pippa. And it’s nearly supper time…”
“Pippa’s capable of dressing herself, and I’ve already spoken to Miss Stanton. She’s offered to eat with Pip in the nursery if we are delayed.” He lowered his chin and gave Cass a look that told her he would not accept any more excuses.
“I won’t be long,” she said.
…
When Cass entered the room, Jack, now dressed for dinner, rose from behind his desk and guided her toward the sofa. After he’d seated himself beside her, he spoke. “Will you tell me exactly what happened the night of Bentley’s death? I’m ashamed I’ve never pressed you for the details.”
She pulled in a deep breath. “Yes. All right. Where should I begin?” she said, half to herself. Cass could feel the familiar sense of dread building. The dread that nearly paralyzed her whenever she thought of that night. She’d never discussed the circumstances of Bentley’s suicide with anybody save her mother, and then only in the immediate aftermath. As she’d healed from her wound, neither Jack nor her parents ever mentioned it. Bentley died, was buried, and they never discussed him again, nor the fact that he’d nearly killed her. It was a taboo subject, even in the privacy of their own home.
Cass began speaking. “As you’re aware, we were at Drury Lane. It was the interval, and Bentley suggested we stroll in the corridor. There was a crush, and I clung to his arm for fear of becoming separated from him.” She laughed humorlessly. “I remember being glad of the noise and the crowd because I wouldn’t have to worry about making polite conversation with him.”
“You did not deal easily together.” It wasn’t a question, just a confirmation. “I always worried about that.”
So Jack had noticed something not quite right between herself and Bentley. “In the beginning I tried to draw him out, to contrive a way to get him to speak to me in other than the most obligatory manner. But by this time I’d given up. The closer it drew to our wedding day, the less interested in me he seemed.”
Jack nodded and Cass continued.
“We carried on to the fringes of the crowd and he asked if I wanted lemonade. He left, and I stood there trying not to dwell on my doubts and misgivings.” She hesitated, because suddenly the sadness she felt over the tragedy of that night seemed too fresh and too unbearable.
“If you need to stop, Cass, just say so. Would you like a fortifying drink?”
“It might help.”
After Jack had poured them each a libation, she continued. “How could I wed a man who clearly did not love me and barely tolerated my company? That’s what was tormenting me. During the interval at the theater, that is what I was thinking of.”
Jack looked stricken, but she pushed on, staring straight ahead, almost trancelike. “I distracted myself by looking at the crowd. I remember spotting you standing with a group of your friends.” She gave him a sardonic look. “Widow-watching. At least, that’s what I called it. I was having a laugh to myself about it when I heard Bentley’s voice saying my name. I looked around, wondering how he’d made his way back so quickly. He was standing quite close, holding a pistol and pointing it at my chest.” A lump in her throat as big as Astley’s Amphitheater nearly prevented her f
rom continuing.
Jack squeezed her hand, encouraging her. “I was so terrified my mouth went dry. Bentley was staring directly at me, his eyes wild looking. His face was twisted into a kind of mask.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Only to warn me not to say a word. As if I could. He grabbed my arm and forced me down a deserted hall. Away from anybody who might help me. I thought about screaming, even wondered if I’d be heard above the din. But before I could decide what to do, he shoved me against the wall. When he spoke, I couldn’t make sense of what he said.”
I still cannot.
She was quiet for so long that Jack had to prompt her. “Cass?”
She gave her head a shake. “It was only, ‘You’re to blame for this.’ I was utterly at a loss, not to mention crippled with fear. I finally said, ‘For what? What have I done?’ certain he truly meant to kill me. Suddenly he whirled me around, so that he was against the wall, and then he turned the gun on himself and fired. I did scream then, but that wasn’t what brought people running. It was the retort of the gun. My head rang with it for days.”
Cass paused to sip her sherry before going on. “You know the rest. Someone found you. You’ll recall I was covered in blood and trembling all over, and you wrapped me up in an opera cloak and escorted me out of there. It wasn’t until we got home, and Mama and Agnes were cleaning me up, that we discovered I’d been hit by the same ball that had killed Bentley. I hadn’t felt any pain until then.”
“You were in shock. Did you ever see any of Bentley’s family again?”
She shook her head. “When I heard the rumors that they blamed me for his suicide, I was devastated. Especially because of his final words to me. It was my fault that he died, Jack. I know it was. But to this day I don’t understand what I did to cause him to end his life.” She exhaled a long, shuddering breath.
When she looked up, Cass was shocked to see tears on her brother’s cheeks. He brushed them away and said, “Papa and I attended his funeral to pay our respects. It was obvious we weren’t welcome.”
Cass resumed speaking. “When the rumors started, I couldn’t bear living in town, not after I heard about the gossip. Which is why I stayed at Birch Lane for two years. It was healing for me to be there, with Mama and Pippa. It was when I began to tutor her.”
“Cass, I—”
“No, wait. Let me finish. Bentley’s suicide made me feel I wasn’t fit to be his wife. Anybody’s wife. There was something lacking in me, and I haven’t changed, Jack. That’s one of the reasons I’m afraid to marry Adam.”
“My dearest sister, there is nothing in your character that would cause a man to wish to die. You must not think it.” Jack patted her hand and rose to replenish their drinks.
Cass thought it was a miracle she’d been able to hold herself together during this recitation. A feeling of exhaustion swept over her. She rested her head against the back of the sofa, believing this difficult discussion was all but over.
Jack handed her a fresh sherry and resumed his seat. “Why did you never tell me about this, Cass?”
She smiled sadly. “Jack. You know you and our parents never wished to discuss it.”
Her brother sighed and set his glass down. Kneeling before Cass, he grasped her hands in his own and gave her a pleading look. “I hope you can forgive me. I should have talked to you about this long ago. I convinced myself that if we simply put the whole sordid thing from our minds, all would be well. I never thought of the anguish you might be suffering.”
“Well, I didn’t tell you, so you couldn’t have known.”
“Ruralizing for two years should have tipped me off,” he said ruefully. He gave her hands a final squeeze and returned to his seat. “I have an idea of what Bentley may have meant by his comment.”
Cass choked on the swallow of sherry she’d just imbibed. “You do?”
“It may be related to the marriage settlements. Papa made some puzzling remarks during the process, but I never thought to question him. It was none of my business. Now I wish I had.”
Baffled, Cass said, “But why would Bentley’s last words have anything to do with the marriage settlements?”
“You would be surprised at the range of matters spelled out in those documents. Believe me, I’ve just been through it for my own engagement to Jenny.”
“We still use the same solicitors as Papa, do we not? Surely somebody will remember. And they’ll have copies, won’t they?”
“I probably have a copy somewhere, come to that. But I’d feel better if I spoke to someone at the firm. Give me a few days, Cass. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll not stand by and see you sacrifice your happiness because of some cruel comment Bentley made before he died.”
It was probably foolish to hope, but she couldn’t help it. Finding out what her former fiancé had meant would bring her some peace of mind, if nothing else.
…
Adam, having gone directly to White’s after leaving Linford House, now sat in a secluded corner nursing a brandy and pretending to read the Chronicle. With any luck, the newspaper would discourage those who wished for convivial company.
The news was of little interest to him, at least at present. Repeal of Orders in Council had been finalized. It looked like Napoleon was on the brink of invading Russia. There was a short piece about the Walcheren inquiries. It was all depressing as hell. Turn the page, man. Make it appear you’re really absorbed. He kept his eyes trained on the print, but his mind was elsewhere.
Why? Why had Cass rejected him? What on earth made her believe she was responsible for Bentley’s death? “He died because of something I did. Something that was wrong with me.” He’d never heard such rubbish in his life. Adam had wanted to persuade her, make her see reason, but she’d fled before he had the chance. He couldn’t very well follow her to her chamber, so he’d gone in search of her brother. Adam had simply told Jack she’d turned down his proposal. He hadn’t revealed what she said, thinking it would be better for him to learn everything from Cass.
He dropped the paper into his lap and closed his eyes. A vision of Cass standing nude before him last night sprang to his mind. Why had she allowed him to make love to her if she didn’t love him? If she knew in the end she would reject him? He had sensed finality in her goodbye, and he’d been right.
Someone was hovering nearby. Maybe if he didn’t open his eyes, whoever it was would go away. But no. The fool claimed the chair across from Adam and waited, apparently watching him. Reluctantly, Adam looked up. He wanted to see who he was going to have to kill.
Atherton. Christ. The man was too good, too gentlemanly, to throttle. Adam gave him a sardonic look before saying, “Join me?” He signaled the waiter to bring him another brandy and one for his friend. Former friend.
“If you don’t want company, you need only say.”
And too perceptive by half. “You’re here, so you may as well stay.” Now that Adam looked more closely, Atherton had the manner of a man with something on his mind, his eyes fairly sparking with anticipation. Obviously, there was something he wished to tell Adam. “What is it, then? Don’t hold back.”
Atherton guffawed. “How did you know?”
That response made Adam smile. “I’ve known you a long time, friend. Now spill.”
The waiter brought their brandies, and after he’d disappeared, Atherton leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “You asked me to keep an ear out for who might have placed the wager about Miss Linford in the betting books.” He glanced around furtively, as though he were about to impart state secrets.
It was entertaining, so Adam let him take his time. “And?”
“I overheard a conversation in the card room at the Gilchrist ball the other night. Players at a table adjacent to mine were far into their cups, discussing the bet. I gathered from what was said that it was Brandon who made the wager and placed it in the book.”
“Brandon.” Adam was at a loss. “Don’t know the man.”
&nb
sp; “But you do. He’s a member here. It’s just that you hardly ever see him, because he’s always gambling in one of the private rooms. Middle-aged fellow, tending toward fat. In debt up to his ears, it’s said.”
Adam finally conjured up an image of the man. “I know who you’re talking about. But why? What has he got against Cass?”
Again, the surreptitious look around the room. “He was a crony of Bentley. If he were looking for someone to blame for the man’s suicide…” Atherton’s voice trailed off.
“Ah. I see,” Adam said.
“Will you call him out?”
With a jolt, Adam realized that everyone, except Jack and Jenny, still thought he and Cass were betrothed. She hadn’t yet cried off, as they had planned. Disconcerted, Adam shook his head. “Miss Linford and I…well, Cass has decided she doesn’t want to marry me. We haven’t yet announced it, but we must do so soon. It would seem odd if I called Brandon out under those circumstances.”
Atherton’s brow wrinkled. “Sorry to hear it, old man. I thought you two made an ideal couple.”
So did I.
“My thanks. I’m glad to have the information, in any case. Who knows when the opportunity may present itself to visit revenge upon him, even if private and unofficial.”
Hell, Adam would like to strangle the man. People like him were the ones who encouraged the notion that Cass was to blame for Bentley’s death.
They finished their drinks in silence. Adam thought about the bleak evening ahead of him and found he didn’t want to face it alone. “Join me for dinner?”
Atherton agreed, and Adam drank steadily before, during, and after they’d eaten. Late in the evening, his friend put him in a hackney, as he was too drunk to make his way home on his own.
