by Pam Mingle
Jack heaved him onto a bench, then left to order coffees for all of them. Atherton stopped a serving girl and asked for water. He dipped his handkerchief into it and passed it to Adam. Wiping his face, Adam was surprised to see his adversary had drawn blood.
“I think it’s Brandon’s blood,” Atherton said. “Christ, Adam, if I’d known you were going to do something like this, I’d never have told you who put the wager in the books.”
“Too late now,” Adam said.
Jack returned with the coffees and started in on him. “Have you lost all reason? You’ll be kicked out of White’s. Branded as a lunatic. What got into you?”
By now, Adam was cooling off. He knew he’d acted stupidly. Christ, he might have killed the man if his friends hadn’t come along when they did. “It was Brandon who put the wager in the books.”
Jack tried to suppress a grin, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Ah. Well, at least you had a reason for acting like a maniac.”
They drank their coffee in silence for a few minutes. Jack turned to Atherton and said, “Look, old man, Adam and I have some private matters to discuss. Do you mind?”
“Not in the least,” Atherton said, always the accommodating gentleman.
When he’d gone, Jack said, “I have some information for you.” Adam’s attention never wavered while his friend related everything Cass had told him about Bentley’s death, including his final words to her.
“That bastard,” Adam said. “Too bad he’s already dead. I’d love to kill him myself.”
“Calm yourself. There’s more.” Jack filled him in on the details he’d learned from Fairbrook.
A little flicker of optimism kindled in Adam’s weary soul. “What did Cass say? Has this convinced her she bears no blame for Bentley’s death?”
“I think it has. But being relieved of that burden doesn’t seem to have changed her mind about accepting you. Stubborn girl believes marriage to her will ruin your political prospects.”
Given what Brandon had said mere moments ago, Adam understood. Cassie was too smart not to know what the ton thought about a marriage between them, and her instinct was to protect him. It was part of the reason she’d refused him in the first place, and part of the reason he loved her. There had to be something else he could do to change her mind, to win her over despite her misgivings.
“If only there was some way to alter society’s perception of her. Or to convince her it could change.” If only somebody close to Bentley could stand up for her, defend her. But the man was too long dead. It seemed hopeless.
“I don’t see how we could bring that about.” Jack said, his brow furrowing.
Adam remained quiet for a moment, pondering, his disjointed thoughts careening into each other. Then, in a blinding flash of inspiration, he had it. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try.
He leaned closer to Jack. “Is the Earl of Wilton still living? Bentley’s father?”
…
Sun streamed through the windows of the small dining room. Cass and Jack were eating breakfast and leafing through the morning papers. When Willis brought in the post on a salver, Cass glanced up. “A parcel for you as well, Miss Linford,” he said, placing it before her.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Cass put aside her tea and scone and gave her full attention to the parcel. Hurriedly, she untied the string and ripped off the paper. When she recognized the contents, tears welled in her eyes. Where was the note? She found it under the wrappings and unsealed it.
6 July
Dearest Cassie,
I began to search for your father’s book after the house party, when I came up to town by myself. This volume led me on a merry chase, my love, from Ludgate Hill, to Paternoster Row, and St.Paul’s Churchyard. It gave me great joy to find it for you, and I hope it makes you happy.
Yours always, A.
Somehow, despite the odds against finding one of the few existing copies of her father’s myths, Adam had done it. When she opened the cover, her heart nearly leaped from her chest. Her initials were on the flyleaf. It was her own copy.
She must have made a sound, then, because Jack looked up, obviously alarmed. “What is it, Cass?” Emotion crowding her throat, she couldn’t speak. She handed Jack the book and the note.
A huge grin popped out on her brother’s face. “If you think finding that book is the best thing he’s done, you must read this.” He held out the Morning Post. “The man adores you, Cass. You’re a fool if you don’t marry him.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, wiping her eyes.
He lifted his brows. “Read it and see.”
She sat, spreading the paper out on the table. The piece Jack was referring to was on page three, directly under a list of the comings and goings of various worthies of the ton.
A FATHER SETS THE RECORD STRAIGHT
It has recently come to my attention that vicious rumors continue to circulate regarding the manner of my son’s death, which occurred more than two years ago. I wish to lay them to rest once and for all. I have learned that among some members of the ton, Miss Cassandra Linford, his fiancée at the time, has been blamed for his demise. Be assured that nothing could be further from the truth. My son, Oliver, Viscount Bentley, took his own life by shooting himself with a pistol. Miss Linford was the unfortunate witness to this sad event, but bears no responsibility whatsoever for his suicide. She acted with integrity during the aftermath, never speaking of it publicly, nor offering up the particulars to the newspapers or scandalmongers.
After my son’s death, my family and I understandably were mired in grief. I got wind of the rumors about Miss Linford and assumed they would fade away, as these things usually do. I should have put paid to them the moment they surfaced, as they were not only unfounded, but cruel. To this day, I regret that I did not. My only son, my heir, had just died, and I wasn’t able to summon the courage it would have taken to set things right.
Allow me to do so now. Miss Linford has suffered enough. She is blameless in my son’s death. I pray that London society will welcome her fully and cease any further baseless speculation regarding her involvement in Viscount Bentley’s death.
Wilton
7 July
When she’d finished reading, Cass looked up at her brother. “I must go to Adam. Call for the carriage while I change.”
“He’s not in town, Cass. He told me he was spending a week in Haslemere to help with the haying on the home farm.”
“Do you mean at his father’s estate?” she asked.
“Yes. But he’s staying at his mother’s place.”
Cass leaped to her feet. “Then that’s where I’ll go.” When Jack started to protest, she interrupted. “Don’t you dare try to stop me, Jack. Agnes will accompany me, and there will be plenty of servants around. You need not worry.”
…
Every muscle in Adam’s torso ached. Despite that, he loved the feeling of accomplishment helping with the harvest brought. He hadn’t been around to do it in years. And in his current state of mind, the wielding of the scythe also brought him a physical release he badly needed. When he’d returned to Deborah’s home at the end of the day, he stopped only long enough to grab a bar of soap and a towel before hurrying to the lake and diving into the water. He’d washed and dried himself, then dressed in clean buff britches and a linen shirt.
Sitting on the steps of the folly, elbows on knees, he ruminated about his day. It was Hugh who’d sent Adam a note inviting him to come down for the haying. Perhaps unduly optimistic, Adam viewed this as a tentative step toward reconciliation. He hadn’t seen his brother since their unpleasant encounter at Longmere. Today, Hugh had been civil, if not overly friendly. Adam knew Hugh needed time, but that did not stop him wishing things were different between them. He could use a friend right now. In the future, he would try his best to mend their relationship, and conceivably, at some point, his brother would meet him halfway.
And then Adam’s thoughts drift
ed to Cass. Had she received the book? Many times he’d imagined her opening it, the look of joy that would light up her face when she recognized it. And the article. Had it appeared yet? He’d gotten back in touch with the Earl to make sure the old man had arranged everything with the Post, but left London before the piece was published. There was nothing to be done now except wait until he returned to Town. Then he would know everything. The book and the article, they were his last, best hope.
He glanced up. A figure was walking toward him. Was it…could it be? He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And she was hurrying toward him. Practically running. He rose and went to meet her.
…
A thrill rippled through Cass at the moment Adam recognized her. She quickened her pace, a laugh bubbling up from her chest.
When she neared him, he held his arms out. “My love,” he said, crushing her against him and sending Cass’s heart spinning. “Come.” They walked back toward the folly, still clinging to each other.
Her heart was so full. She wanted to thank him for all he had done, but he stopped her. “A moment, darling. First let me say something.” They were still standing. Adam untied her bonnet, removed it, and threw it down on the steps. Then he grasped her arms and pulled her closer to him.
“Do you remember our first meeting here?”
Her face heated at the memory. How she’d thrown herself at him, telling him she wanted him to make love to her. “Of course.”
His gaze was steady, never leaving her face. “When we met here the first time, it was about desire.”
She felt the heat in her face grow more fierce, if that were possible.
“Now it is about something more than that. Make no mistake, I want you back in my bed, Cassie, but not unless you love me. Not unless you’ll marry me.”
The tears started. Placing her hands on his chest, she said, “The book. Thank you, Adam. It’s the nicest gift anyone has ever given me. I love you even more for it. And Wilton’s article in the Post. I don’t know how you convinced him to—”
He cut her off. “These things are nothing unless they caused you to have a change of heart.” He led her to the steps and they sat down. Enfolding her hands in his, he said, “Let’s never again let my father or Bentley control us. They hurt us, scarred us in more ways than one. That’s over. From now on, nothing matters except you and me and our love. Agreed?”
She nodded, her throat too thick to respond.
“I did not expect to see you here, Cassie, but it means the world to me that you came.” He gave her a roguish grin. “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”
She reached up and cupped his face in her hand. “Yes. For the love of God, yes.”
Adam’s eyes strayed to the folly. “There’s a settee in there,” he said. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to make love on it.”
Cass laughed. “There’s no time like the present to find out.”
Epilogue
Cass and Adam were married in Haslemere, in the village church, a month or so after Jack and Jenny’s nuptials. Their wedding was a simple affair, with family and close friends in attendance, and Cass thought it was perfect. They remained in Surrey until the election, so that Adam could entertain men in the pub, meet citizens at local events, and visit schools, churches, and charitable establishments.
He took his seat in the House of Commons in November. That evening, instead of the soiree they might have been expected to host, he and Cass celebrated with a special evening at home, by themselves. During their candlelit dinner, she couldn’t help gazing at him with a quiet pride, repeating how proud she was of him until, laughing, he insisted she call a halt.
They withdrew together after their meal. Adam stood before the mantel, sipping port, and Cass sat on the sofa. It was a chilly night, and a fire burned in the grate. “Were you pleased with your first day?” she asked.
“In the main, it consisted of formalities, plus a good deal of back slapping and joking. It will take time to fit in.”
“There are more than a hundred new members, so you’re not alone in that. Selecting allies from that group would be a good beginning.” Her mind began churning with ideas, but she had more important matters to discuss with Adam tonight.
“As usual, your advice is right on target.” He joined Cass on the sofa. “I couldn’t have done this without you, love.” Adam gazed at his wife. He would never quite believe this gift he’d been given. This wonder that was Cass.
She smiled. “I don’t believe that for a minute, but cannot deny that we are a good fit.”
“In more ways than one.” And he lifted her onto his lap.
“Adam! The footman will be bringing the tea tray any minute.”
“No, he won’t. I told them to wait an hour.” He had a wicked gleam in his eye. But when he bent to kiss her, she stopped him.
“Actually, there is something important I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” He kissed her lips before she could say another word, then her neck, then the rise of her breasts before she stopped him.
“Adam! You’re going to want to hear this.”
“I’m sorry, darling.” He set her off his lap and turned to face her. “What is it?”
“I would like very much to have Philippa live with us. That is, if you approve.”
“I didn’t know you wanted this, Cassie. If it will make you happy, of course we’ll have Pippa. But no tutoring! You’ve done enough of that.”
“I’ve no intention of it, and besides, Pippa has a governess, as you well know.”
“And your brother has approved of this?”
“Yes, wholeheartedly, and Jenny, too.” Cass gave him a sly grin. “I shall soon have my own reason to spend time in the nursery.”
A log shifted in the hearth, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. “Ah, you wish to fit it up to your own design, to make it ready for your sister. Whatever you want.”
“Well, yes, but that’s not why.” She placed a hand on her abdomen and pointedly glanced down. By the look on his face, she saw the light dawn at last.
“You are with child,” he said, springing to his feet. An incandescent joy shone in his eyes and spread over his face. “Cassie. Are you sure?”
“I am,” she said, laughing. “As sure as I can be. We will be parents, unless we suffer pestilence, famine, flood, or some other unforeseen disaster.”
He knelt in front of her, and setting his fingers on her lips, said, “Don’t. Never say or think such things again. Promise me.” He cupped her face with his hands and began kissing every available expanse of her delicate skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you…shall I go on?”
“Never stop,” Cass answered, putting her lips to his.
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Acknowledgments
As always, many thanks to my agent, Steven Chudney, for finding this book a home. Thanks also to the members of my critique group who read the manuscript, found the flaws, and helped fix them.
I would also like to thank Erin Molta, my editor, for knowing exactly what this story needed to make it the best it could be. My gratitude also goes to the Entangled production and marketing teams for all their work on behalf of A False Proposal.
My husband, Jim Mingle, read the manuscript more than once, as did Lisa Brown Roberts, my friend and critique partner. I am so grateful to them both.
About the Author
Pamela Mingle has spent much of her professional life in libraries and classrooms. With a lot of hard work and a little luck, she’s found a new career as a writer. Pam is the author of The Pursuit of Mary Bennet, A Pride and Prejudice Novel, and Kissing Shakespeare, winner of the 2013 Colorado Book Award for Young Adult Fiction. A self-
proclaimed Janeite, Pam is Regional Coordinator for the Denver/Boulder region of the Jane Austen Society of North America.
Pam lives and writes in Lakewood, Colorado. She and her husband enjoy walking in England, which has proved to be a wonderful way to discover new settings for her books.
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