Without waiting for him to answer, she pulled open the door and started to descend the stairs.
Carrying his top hat and silver-headed cane, the Duke hurried after her.
When Cassandra reached Bury Street, she saw waiting outside a very smart Phaeton drawn by two horses.
“Are these yours?” she asked.
“About all I have left,” he answered.
Once again she saw a cloud pass over his face.
“Surely you are not selling your carriage-horses or your hunters?” Cassandra said as she stepped into the Phaeton.
“Most of them have already gone,” the Duke replied abruptly.
Cassandra had lain awake the best part of the night wondering exactly why the Duke wanted money so urgently.
Why, having written to her father, making it obvious that he was prepared to go on with the marriage as planned, was he now making what appeared to be an unnecessary sacrifice?
‘I cannot understand it,’ she had told herself again and again, and she thought the same now.
The Duke drove down Piccadilly with an expertise that she could not help admiring.
“You are looking very lovely,” he said, as if forcing himself to change the subject. “I know that every man who sees us is filled with envy of me.”
It was the sort of glib remark he would have made if she had in fact been an actress, and Cassandra resented it.
Then she realised that she was being very foolish.
She had set out to amuse and intrigue him, so that she could learn the truth. And that was what she must continue to do.
She turned her face to look at him. With his top hat set at an angle on his dark hair, he looked slightly raffish and extremely handsome.
“Shall I tell you I am very honoured to be in such distinguished company, and with such an exceptionally attractive Duke?” she asked.
“Should I be flattered?” he asked. “Or suspicious that you have a hidden reason for being so kind to me?”
“Must I have a ... reason?”
“No,” he answered, “but I am half-afraid to put into your mind or mine the thoughts I really want you to think.”
They were back again where they had been last night, Cassandra thought, fencing with words, hinting at what might or might not be below the surface.
She had the feeling that while they had been apart the Duke had thought about her as she had thought of him, but that he had decided that their relationship should be gay and amusing but by no means serious.
Accordingly she tried to play up to the mood he desired, but underneath everything they said, she felt there was a streak of seriousness which neither of them could ignore.
The Duke took her to The Cafe Royal in Regent Street which was a popular place for luncheon and dinner.
It had not been open for many years but it had been a huge success from its very beginning. It was the first restaurant in London where an excellent and really French meal could be eaten.
Cassandra found it fascinating. It had atmosphere, and the big room with long, red, plush-covered seats contained a mixture of celebrities from all walks of life.
“Tell me who everybody is,” she begged.
Amused by her interest and curiosity, the Duke pointed out the actors, crooks, jockeys, confidence-men, trainers, owners and professional backers who were all eating the superlative food and drinking wine from a cellar which was acknowledged to be one of the best in London.
When Oscar Wilde came in looking pale, elegant and extremely pleased with himself, Cassandra exclaimed excitedly:
“I have always wanted to see him. I have enjoyed his poems so much. But my father has always said he is a terrible poseur.”
“He is,” the Duke answered. “Nevertheless he undoubtedly has great talent.”
There were of course a number of women in the Restaurant who were either actresses or quite obviously of a class with which Cassandra had never come in contact.
However, after her initial interest in the other guests, she found it difficult to notice anyone but the Duke.
Once again, she found it easy to talk to him, to discuss so many different subjects. It seemed they could hardly pause for breath before they were arguing, discussing, exclaiming over something else!
When finally they drove away in the direction of Knightsbridge Green, Cassandra’s eyes were shining and she was feeling as happy as she had felt the night before. Never had she enjoyed a meal more.
She had been to Tattersall’s with her father on a Sunday some years previously, and she remembered the great grass-covered yard where the horses were shown off to prospective buyers.
She knew there were seventy-five open boxes and twenty-five stables for brood mares, above which there was a Gallery served by lifts for storing carriages and harness.
When she had been there before, the yard had been filled with top-hatted gentlemen and elegantly-dressed ladies, while grooms had trotted the horses up to the Auctioneers box and back.
Today there were only the grooms in their shirt sleeves, moving amongst the stalls, carrying buckets of water, whistling through their teeth as they rubbed down their charges.
For the first time Cassandra saw the Duke in a very different guise. It was almost as if he had forgotten her very existence.
His head-groom reported to him on the way in which the horses had travelled, telling him that one was nervous after the journey, another seemed a little off-colour, but the majority were settling into their new quarters.
“Keep them as quiet as you can,” the Duke said.
“I’m seeing to that, Your Grace! A nervous horse never gets the best price.”
“That is very true.”
The Duke then went with Cassandra to look at the horses, one after another. There was no doubt they were magnificent animals.
“I have put a reserve of one thousand guineas on this one,” the Duke said. “He has already won three races and seems sure to win the Gold Cup at Ascot.”
“Would you not be wise to keep him then?” Cassandra asked, knowing the Gold Cup brought in a large amount of prize money.
“I cannot afford to wait,” the Duke answered and went on to the next stall.
Cassandra asked for a catalogue of the sale on Monday.
A member of the Tattersall’s staff brought it to her, and she looked through it wondering as she did so if her father had seen a copy. Almost as if he read her thoughts the Duke said:
“I only decided to put my horses in the sale a week ago. You will therefore find they have been added at the last moment and listed all together at the end of the catalogue.”
“But surely that means that the addition has not gone to many of the people in the country who receive it regularly before every sale,” Cassandra said.
The Duke shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps. But I am sure there will be no lack of bidders. My father’s Stud is well known in racing circles.”
“Yes, of course,” Cassandra answered.
She was however thinking that Sir James being in Yorkshire could not have heard that the Duke’s horses were in this sale.
If he had, she was quite certain he would have mentioned it to her. This meant that there was no time for her to communicate with him, unless she sent him a telegram.
If she did that, she argued to herself, he would undoubtedly come to London, in which case she could no longer go on acting her part of a young, unknown actress.
Besides, if Sir James was in London, there was every likelihood that he would introduce her to the Duke. It would be so easy for it to happen, even if she did not go with him to the sale.
An idea came to her. When they left Tattersall’s she took the sale catalogue carefully with her and sat with it on her lap in the Phaeton so that she would not forget it.
“You are dining with me tonight,” the Duke said.
It was a statement rather than a question.
“If you still want me to do so,” Cassandra answered. “Are
you quite certain you have not had enough of my company?”
“You are fishing for compliments,” the Duke replied with a smile.
He looked at her and added:
“You know I want to be with you—to see you. Do not play with me, Sandra. I cannot bear it.”
There was something almost desperate in his voice, and again Cassandra did not know what was happening.
She only felt that she was being carried along on a tide which was moving too quickly for her to have any clear or coherent thoughts about herself or her relationship with the Duke.
She knew only that he overwhelmed her, that it was a joy beyond words to be with him, to know that he was beside her, to listen to his voice speaking to her and to see his eyes looking into hers.
And because she felt it was all too wonderful to put into words or even to contemplate, it was dangerous.
Dangerous because she might forget that it was only a performance, that their relationship had no substance, no foundation in reality.
She was an actress he found pretty and attractive, and he was a Duke who was about to become engaged to a rich heiress.
Cassandra felt as if she had embarked on a journey the end of which she could not foresee.
Her plan of meeting the Duke, of finding out the truth about his interests, and most of all whom he was in love with, appeared to be going well.
Yet there were so many new depths to it, so many hazards and difficulties which she had not anticipated.
The whole idea had been, she thought, a fairy story that she had told herself.
She had imagined it for so many years that to put it into operation had been easy.
Yet now she was afraid, uncertain of what might happen next.
She only knew there was in her an uneasiness, a kind of growing fear that lay beneath the excitement and the sheer delight of being with the Duke, of knowing that she loved him more every minute they were together.
Cassandra was ready a quarter of an hour before the Duke called for her at Bury Street.
Because she could not bear him to see her again in the garish Sitting-Room which belonged to Hetty Henlow, she watched from a window until she saw the carriage arrive.
Then she ran downstairs.
She met him in the Hall and he raised her hand to his lips.
“I have not kept you waiting?” he asked in surprise.
“No, but I thought I would save you climbing two flights,” Cassandra answered.
“You are very considerate.”
She was wearing tonight a white gown which, like the one she had worn the previous night, sparkled with sequins and was ornamented with bunches of artificial flowers.
It was elaborate, beautiful and theatrical.
Hannah had set two white roses in her hair and tonight Cassandra discarded her ear-rings and wore instead a two-string pearl necklace which belonged to her mother.
It was very valuable and she hoped the Duke would think the pearls were artificial, but when she saw him notice them while they were having dinner, she realised he was not deceived.
He took her to dine at Rule’s, a much quieter place than Romanos. It was small and intimate and the other diners were mostly, like themselves, couples who were intensely interested in each other and who wanted to talk in low voices.
“If it seems dull, there will be many more people here after the theatres close,” the Duke apologised.
“I am very content with it as it is,” Cassandra answered.
“That is what I hoped you would say.”
They sat talking over their meal, and afterwards Cassandra found it difficult to remember what they had discussed.
She only knew that the Duke not only made her quiver when his hand touched hers, but he stimulated her mind so that her brain responded to his and everything they said seemed to have a special meaning.
“I have never known a Sandra before,” he said to her one moment during dinner. “I suppose it is a diminutive of Alexandra?”
Cassandra parried the question by saying:
“I hope Your Grace lives up to your name?”
“What do you know about it?” die Duke asked with a smile.
“I know that Marcus Terentius Varro was the greatest scholar of the Roman Republic. He is said to have written more than six hundred books on a wide range of subjects.”
“Where did you look that up?” the Duke enquired. “The British Museum?”
“You know as well as I do that I have had no time to visit Museums since I arrived in London,” Cassandra answered, “but I find the name rather fascinating.”
“And what about its owner?” the Duke enquired.
His eyes looked down into hers and once again she knew he was searching for something. Because his scrutiny made her feel shy, she looked away from him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked in a low voice.
“I am thinking about you.”
“And what conclusions have you reached?”
“Perhaps I was ... trying to read your ... thoughts.”
“Can you do that?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then tell me what I am thinking.”
‘“You are worrying,” Cassandra answered. “I think that you are standing, one might say, at a cross-roads in your life. You have made a decision and you are not certain if it is the right one.”
The Duke stared at her in astonishment.
“How could you know that?”
“Is it true?”
“Yes, it is true. But what you have not seen, is the reason why I am worried.”
“Will you tell me what it is?”
“That is not difficult—it is you!”
She turned to look at him and again his eyes held hers so that she felt something quiver within her and come to life. For a moment they were both spell-bound.
Then, as they looked at each other quite oblivious of their surroundings, a voice said:
“What a pleasant surprise to find you both here!”
Cassandra looked up to see Lord Carwen standing by their table.
“Good-evening, Sandra,” he said and held out his hand.
She did not wish to touch him but she could not help but put her hand in his.
He kissed her fingers lightly, then he put his other hand on the Duke’s shoulder as he would have risen.
“Do not get up, dear boy,” he said. “I have just written to you as it happens, and sent my letter round to White’s.”
“Is it anything of importance?” the Duke enquired.
Cassandra thought there was a worried note in his voice.
“No, it is only an invitation to ask you to stay tomorrow until Monday. Lily will be coming after the theatre tomorrow evening, and there will be various other mutual friends whom you should find amusing.”
“It is very kind of you,” the Duke began, ‘“but...”
“Of course,” Lord Carwen interrupted, “the invitation includes the beautiful Miss Sandra Standish.”
He smiled at Cassandra in a manner which was somehow distasteful.
“I would, pretty little lady, have written to you direct,” he went on, “but you omitted to say good-night to me last night, and so unfortunately I was unable to ask for your address.”
“I am sorry if we seemed ... rude,” Cassandra murmured.
“I missed you “ Lord Carwen said, “and so to assuage my disappointment at not being able to dance with you again, will you come with Varro and stay at my house in the country?”
Cassandra was about to refuse. Then the thought came to her how wonderful it would be to drive into the country with the Duke. They would be together and be able to see more of each other than was possible just by meeting for meals.
As she hesitated, Lord Carwen said to the Duke, with an insistent note in his voice:
“You must come, Varro. I will not take ‘No’ for an answer!”
“Then we have no choice,” the Duke said. “That is, if Sandra will agree.”
>
“I cannot believe that Sandra would be so hard-hearted as to cast me into the depths of despair by refusing my hospitality,” Lord Carwen said.
He picked up Cassandra’s hand as he spoke and kissed her fingers again.
“I must go back to my party, but I shall expect you both about tea-time tomorrow. Varro will doubtless explain what clothes you will find necessary. I promise you a very entertaining time!”
“Thank you,” Cassandra said in a small voice.
As Lord Carwen walked away, she felt he had cast a shadow over their evening.
Although they stayed for another hour or so, Cassandra was aware of him all the time. He was on the other side of the room surrounded by his friends, yet she felt as if he was eavesdropping at their table.
As if he felt the same, the Duke asked for the bill.
“Do you want to go and stay with him?” he asked.
They both knew to whom he was referring without his mentioning a name.
“No,” Cassandra answered, “but I would like to be in the country with you.”
“Then we will go,” the Duke said decisively, as if there had been a question in his mind about refusing the invitation.
Cassandra had the strange feeling that he was in some way compelled to do what Lord Carwen wished.
Because she wanted to make things easier for him she said: “It will be nice to see Mrs. Langtry again. Do you think Mr. Gebhard will come with her?”
“But of course,” the Duke replied, “you do not imagine that she would go anywhere without him?”
Cassandra had not thought that it would be possible for a married woman to take another man with her to stay in a country house as if he were her husband.
Then she told herself there were special rules for actresses.
Nevertheless Mrs. Langtry was a lady, and she wondered what her mother would have thought of such behaviour.
The Duke having paid the bill rose and Cassandra preceded him across the room.
So many people had arrived since they had come in that she thought they might have difficulty in finding the velvet wrap that matched her white dress.
Rather than sending a waiter for it, she herself went to the cloakroom.
There were dozens of wraps, cloaks and coats in the charge of a woman wearing a black dress and a white, frilled apron.
“I’m not quite certain which is yours, Madam,” she said apologetically.
The Glittering Lights (Bantam Series No. 12) Page 11
