Looking out from the French bay glass, she caught sight of the conveyance that had been sent at her request. The hack was patiently trotting up and down the pathway, in momentary anticipation of her arrival. Cassandra realized, with a sigh, that she ought to go down and tell the poor driver to cease his exertions. The one horse looked suspiciously lame, and it was with no great sorrow that she resolved to send him off with a shilling for his trouble. She may yet have need of his services, but for the moment, at least, she’d be remaining a guest of the duke and his refreshing family.
Holding her skirts as she hurriedly took the steps two at a time, she came close to colliding with a very harassed looking Grace. This lady, it must be noted, was carefully balancing a dish of water in the crook of her right arm. In her left was an aromatic bowl of leftover jointed chicken cutlets that tantalizingly filtered the air. Apologizing with a smile, Cassandra had just time to wonder what the minx was up to before reaching her allotted goal outside the front door.
Once there, she was astonished to find that the man had already been paid and was in the laborious process of turning his horses around. Her eyes flashed in anger. It was one thing for her to decide to remain, quite another to be held hostage against her will. How dare His Grace make that choice for her! She determined to tackle him at once, just as soon as she’d unpacked the valise.
These contained the few gowns and oddments she’d brought herself to select from the overflowing wardrobe His Grace had seen fit to acquire for her. If she were to remain under the extraordinary and often irksome protection of the duke, the least she could do was make every push not to inconvenience the staff. Alice had very kindly packed for her. She would do the unpacking.
Making her way back to the glorious sun-filtered room on the landing, she could not help but hear the frequent and ill-concealed whispers of excitement hailing from one of the lesser-used morning salons. Debating whether to enter or not—she’d scarcely like to be called a snoop—the decision was wrested from her hands by the advent of a great, bouncy, velvety-pawed puppy who proceeded to lick her to death with all the buoyancy of month-old youth.
Cassandra chuckled, her anger momentarily abated by this new development. Changing course, she turned from the stairs and pushed the mahogany-paneled door a little wider as she stepped inside. It would hardly have taken a genius to deduce that the cutlets and water had been intended for nonhuman consumption.
The suspicion was confirmed by the wet ring around the puppy’s nose and mouth. Cassandra did not like to reflect what had become of the bones in this cozily furnished chamber. The Lady Georgina emerged from behind the curtains, urging her twin to do the same. “It’s all right, Gracie, you can come out. It’s only Miss Beaumaris!”
Cassandra didn’t know whether to be pleased or sorry at this summation of her character. “We thought it might be Pomerey, you see. She’d be bound to give us a regular scold.” Georgie beamed seraphically at Cassandra, patting the animal as she did so. Puppy, loyal if anything, instantly transferred his attentions back to his young mistress.
Grace patted down her dress as she emerged from behind the chaise longue. “I think Max wants to go out,” she murmured with charming discernment.
Cassandra gave a groan as all eyes fixed on the bouncing bundle of canine life.
“Stuff!” Georgie returned mockingly. “He doesn’t. Can’t you tell, Grace? Look at his face. You know how he crunches it up when he needs to go out! He’s hardly got a wrinkle right now!” She turned engagingly to Cassandra. “Can you see a wrinkle, Miss Beaumaris?”
Cassandra very circumspectly adjudged that wrinkle or no, the dog was to be given the benefit of the doubt. Just in time she opened the doors leading out to the shaded garden. Grace veritably shouted in glee. “See, I told you so!”
The Lady Georgina at least had the decency to look abashed. “Well, I was not to know, was I? He didn’t look as though he needed to be put out. Perhaps it was the water?” With a doubtful glance she consulted Cassandra.
“Most likely! Dare I ask what you are doing with—Max, I think you said?”
“We’re looking after him! Aren’t we, Gracie?” Georgie sounded triumphant, her pixielike features twinkling with mischief.
“Uncle Miles says he has to remain in the stables. Have you ever? Dear little Max doesn’t want to be out in the smelly old stables! Here Max, come back in. It is true, isn’t it? You don’t want to live in that nasty big barn?” In answer, the dog proceeded to lick his protector, tail wagging at a dangerous velocity. “You won’t tell, will you?” Gracie suddenly looked anxious, her dark eyes pleading.
“Don’t be such a widgeon, Grace!” The Lady Georgina looked scornful. “Of course she won’t! You can tell she’s not a prattle-pated gabster like some I can name!”
Cassandra assured them gravely that she was not one of those most noxious of creatures. She was rewarded with beams of pleasure.
“We’re trying to get him into spanking good trim. Chivers—he’s the under groom, you know—well, he reckons if we take good care of him and brush his coat just as he shows us, we’ll be allowed to keep him. Not for hunting, you know. For com-com-companionship.” Gracie was visibly pleased at the term she’d used. Cassandra couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth for the two young scamps.
“Well, I certainly won’t give you away. Just make sure you take good care of him, though. I shall expect a full report from Chivers.”
The children clapped their hands with glee, Cassandra’s ruling approved without question. They seemed to accept her appearance in the household with none of the reservations of their elders. Cassandra could only be glad.
“But,” the indomitable Miss Beaumaris continued, “in return I shall expect you to take your lessons, pay good attention to your governess, and practice very hard with your pastels.”
There was a wave of protest, which Cassandra quickly squashed. “A bargain is a bargain, you know. If you like, you can take out your watercolors and paint Max. No sneaking off without consent, mind!”
The twins bashfully acquiesced, each hoping Cassandra would never guess that at that very moment they were in fact truant. If she half suspected as much, she had the good sense to hold her peace.
Making her way toward her chamber, she chanced upon the very man who had begun to fill her thoughts. A flash of lightning ran through her frame as she found herself face-to-face with his stark white shirt ruffles.
His scent was so masculine, so uniquely Miles that she had to shake herself to prevent succumbing to its heady magic. Summoning up all her dignity, she coldly asked if she might have a private word with him.
Miles cocked his brow and grinned. As he indicated the way to one of the morning chambers that led off from the conservatory, he reflected somewhat wryly that the gentleman in the blue salon would just have to kick his heels a while longer.
Closing the doors behind him, he made his love an elegant bow before adjusting the line of his snowy cravat. He removed his morning gloves, watching her all the while from out the corners of his twinkling eyes.
“This is an unexpected pleasure, madame. Ready to concede defeat before the game commences?”
“No!” Cassandra blushed to the roots of her hair, then chided herself on her lack of self-control.
“I came, Your Grace ...”
“Your Grace?”
“Yes, Your Grace!” Cassandra glared at him balefully.
Miles chuckled. “Well, that’s a bit of a dowser. I thought I was to be Miles to you, fair enchantress.”
Cassandra stamped her foot in exasperation, her dignified pose vanishing rapidly in the face of this obdurate man. “Will you listen to me, please?”
Unexpectedly, the duke cast aside his mocking air. Cupping Cassandra’s face firmly in his grip, he looked deep into her eyes, and the words that spilled out were words of love and enduring warmth. “Always, my Cassandra. Always. What is it you have to say?”
Shaken, she averted her eyes and paused for b
reath. Thinking wildly she could not for the life of her remember her complaint. The man had cast a spell on her. She was certain she’d been bewitched. Never before had she acted like such a veritable widgeon. Her grandfather would have scolded her for even thinking in such cant.
His Grace waited, arms crossed, watching the fleeting thoughts as they danced across her expressive face. She was a delight to behold, a constant source of joy and amusement. He experienced a sudden and quite overwhelming desire to enclose her in his arms and keep her there. He shook himself.
Later. There’d be time enough later, when she was his affianced. When the matters that had primarily occupied his morning’s attention had been duly concluded, he would return to claim his bride. Until then, he must be the soul of propriety. A lady’s reputation was at stake, and he was not the man to sully it no matter how irresistible the impulse.
The definite and distinctly unwelcome sound of a dog’s bark broke the moment. Cassandra was obliged to cough discreetly to mask the sound.
“What was that?” Miles asked.
With a sigh Cassandra knew it was incumbent on her to prevaricate. She could only hope against all hope that her sudden coughing spasm would not be exposed by the advent on the landing of Max himself. “Oh, nothing.”
Somewhat disobligingly, the duke was not distracted from his first impression. “It sounded suspiciously like an animal!”
“No! Oh, no! It couldn’t be! Not here in the house! In ... in ... the stables maybe!” Cassandra protested.
The duke looked at her, then looked again. As if satisfied, he hid the slow smile that was beginning to tremble at the corners of his mouth. He bowed. “If you say so, my dear!” He opened the door and fixed her with a brilliant smile as he waited for her to pass him.
His presence lingered with her long after he had taken the rest of the stairs.
TEN
The duke’s conversation with the mysterious seaman of the blue salon proved fruitful. Nodding firmly when the transaction was finished, he concluded the arrangement with a tenner in the hand of young James and a last minute instruction to his groom.
He thoughtfully rang the bell before heralding out his visitor, with strict adjurations to his groom to ensure the curricle was light and well sprung.
New bolts had been fitted not two months before, but it was important that the wheels be carefully inspected. The roads were damp from the storm and the coastal pass was treacherous.
It would have been better, perhaps, to take the barouche, but His Grace was anxious to make haste. Some small instinct told him that there was no time to be wasted.
The duke looked over a few points of the missive he was holding. His eyes squinted narrowly as he thought on the treachery he suspected. Like as not it was all a hum. God will it be so! All the same, it was best to be prepared.
The hunch was confirmed when Rupert appeared, elated, in response to the bell. Without preliminaries he rushed into speech. “Blow me down if you weren’t right all along, Miles!”
The duke lifted his eyes from the narrative and raised his brows questioningly.
“I just took a peek in at Surrey Manor, and the whole establishment is agog with the news. Seems young Harrington got a sudden whim to travel cross-country.” Rupert could hardly contain his excitement and indignation. “By the sound of things, he’s traveling with a rather unlikely character. Not quite up to the snuff from all that I gather!” His face grew glum. “I set Belinda to talking to one of the second housemaids, but either she is singularly dim-witted or else very close. Nothing could be gained from her but that the bedsheets are all to be aired.”
Rupert looked his disgust. “Women, I tell you! They don’t look to see what’s under their very noses. There was evidently some story gabbled out by the second footman, but the butler seems to have made short shrift of the gossip. Good man, that, but poker-faced as they come. Told me Cassandra was indisposed. What a rapper!”
St. John smiled. “What would you have, Rupert? Thank God the man is discreet. If Miss Beaumaris’s secret can be kept safe just a little longer, we might be able to turn events around.”
“I’m sure you can pull it off, Miles. Anyway, by all accounts a message of some sort was delivered on Friday, but none can quite say what it contained. I dare swear if I were to nose about, the butler might ...”
“No!” Miles was firm. “I want you to say nothing of this, Rupert. Do you hear? Miss Beaumaris must not become embroiled in a scandal of our making. If I can scotch the gossip, then so I will. I may even be wrong in my suspicions. But I doubt it.” His voice was dry. “The important thing is to get to Mont Saint-Jean and find young Beaumaris. From what I gather, he was transported there in an open cart by one of the villagers of La Hay Sainte. A long way to travel, I warrant.”
His voice changed. “He was found under the body of a dead hussar. What an ordeal to live through, poor boy. I just hope that he is recovered a little. Communication is still damnable from across the channel, despite Napoleon’s safe custody.”
“But the Lord High Chancellor ...”
“Yes, I know, Rupert.” Miles’s voice sounded weary. “Even his sources are not always accurate, or at least they are quite often delayed. All we can do is pray for Frances’s safe return and hope that, in the meanwhile, we’ll be the first to get to him.”
Rupert shivered at the implication of his guardian’s words. “May I not accompany you, sir?”
“No!” Miles smiled at the disappointment etched on his young ward’s face. If the lad lacked anything, it was certainly not zest for adventure.
“I have a special, possibly more important task for you.”
The young man’s eyes gleamed in hopeful anticipation.
“I want you to watch over Cassandra—Miss Beaumaris, I mean.” The disappointment on Rupert’s face was palpable. Had Miles been anything less than deadly serious on this score, he would have been amused, ever one for a good joke. Now he tried soothing, dulcet tones with his high-spirited relative.
“Try not look so woeful, young man. I am charging you with a very great responsibility and you look as though you’ve just been whipped. Cheer up, I must beg of you! Has it not occurred to you that Miss Beaumaris may be in a measure of danger?”
“Danger?” Rupert brightened considerably.
The duke nodded. “I want you to see to it that she is well protected. I’d not put it past that cur to set one of his confederates to snooping. Sooner or later, they’d be bound to spy out this estate.”
Rupert looked interested, then frowned a little and shook his head. “I doubt he’d have the impudence. Why, Pickering would send him the rightabout for sure. He wouldn’t get past the first bell-pull. Besides, how is he to know where Miss Beaumaris is residing? I hardly think he’d suspect you, Miles, a man of the first stare! I daresay he’ll send posthaste for Harrowgate or some such place. He’ll think her at some watering hole or other, you can count on it.”
Miles looked at him fondly. “Can I, cawker? Sir Robert Harrington is hardly a fool, you know! He knows I’m one of the few of last night’s party likely to take the northbound road. He is bound to suspect I may have stopped or noticed her predicament.”
“Yes, but ...”
“Listen, Rupert. You know as well as I how disastrous it would be if he found her now. Just think a moment. Her ruin would be in his hands without a doubt! The blackguard will stop at nothing to secure her fortune, believe me!”
His tone changed, his jaw set intractably. “I have good reason not to wish for this eventuality.”
Something in Miles’s voice made Rupert yield at once. He could not but feel proud to be in his guardian’s confidence and charged with such a trust. All thoughts of accompanying Miles disappeared.
“And Rupert?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Wish me happy.”
Rupert did not miss the duke’s meaning. Like the twins and the butler and the maidservant, he had taken an instant liking to the auburn-hai
red beauty who’d confronted him at the breakfast table that morning with such good-humored aplomb.
There’d somehow been such a sympathetic twinkle in her eye as she’d caught sight of him grappling with the fall of his fob. He’d had the devil of a time trying to get it to swing in just the same, unobtrusive manner as his guardian. To this moment he was not sure whether it had been his imagination, but he could have sworn he felt a light palm brush his hand as a helpful tap alighted on the shiny gold ornament. Imagination or no, he was quite as much at ease with her as ever he was with his young sisters.
“Wish you happy? You may be sure I will, Miles! Very happy! And be sure I’ll look after her as if she were the greatest treasure on earth!”
“She is.” Miles uttered this softly, looking past his young nephew as if to something very beautiful and quite, quite unexpected.
His eyes twinkled. “Tell her I love ... but no! Tell her I’ll be back shortly to test her skill against mine. Have ready a pack of cards, my brass dice, and the chess set left to me by the Baron of Stratford-Hithe. Polish it up, will you, Rupert? I reckon on a very interesting series of games.”
He caught sight of the look of bafflement on his ward’s face and chuckled. “Better sport, I wager, than hunting! And a better prize, too.” This last, murmured softly, escaped the attention of the young viscount.
“Games? Why games? I thought you never played?” Rupert looked puzzled. As light dawned on him, bewilderment changed to shock. “You’re not thinking to fleece her in cards, are you? Miles, that’s monstrous!”
A gleam appeared in his mentor’s eye. “The lady claims she can win, Rupert. Who am I to say nay? It does promise to be a worthwhile match, however. Perhaps I’ll invite you to keep the score!”
By Way Of A Wager Page 11
