Snowbound With The Baronet

by Hale Deborah

  She considered using the dull weather and enforced seclusion as an excuse for her low spirits, but her ever-present thoughts of Sir Brandon Calvert prevented her. Her reluctance to be a burden to him had made it impossible for them to be together. But at least she could honor her feelings for him by trying to be as truthful as he would wish.

  She arranged her features into the best imitation of a smile that she could manage. “I am sorry to have disappointed you, Aunt Augusta. I shall endeavor to do better. Would you like me to read to you? Or perhaps we could move to the music room so I could play the pianoforte.”

  She could scarcely afford to jeopardize her position here. It was her only means of providing Evie with an opportunity to seek the kind of love that had eluded her sisters.

  Had love truly eluded her? An inner voice of truth challenged Cassandra. The voice sounded like Brandon’s. Had love eluded her, or had she run away from it because it threatened her precious pride and self-reliance?

  “I am tired of being read to,” the viscountess complained, “particularly in that lifeless monotone. Neither do I wish to quit this room since it is the warmest in the house. Would a little conversation be too much to ask? Tell me more about the time you spent snowbound at that farmhouse. It has the makings of a rather diverting tale.”

  For the first time since coming to Noughtly Hall, Cassandra truly looked at her great-aunt. Not for her the light muslin dresses and natural hair styles currently in fashion. She continued to wear a towering, powdered wig and the elaborately hooped, corseted gown of a more formal era. Cassandra could not imagine Lady Augusta ever crossing the threshold of a farm cottage.

  She knew her great-aunt had made an arranged marriage to a wealthy nobleman many years her senior. Their only child had died at a young age and her husband not long after... of a broken heart, perhaps? In nearly fifty years since then, the viscountess had lived in comfortable splendor... and bitter loneliness?

  “I will tell you,” Cassandra replied, “if you will first tell me why you never remarried.”

  The instant the words were out, she wondered how she had dared to ask such an impertinent question. She expected to be roundly rebuked for it.

  Much to her surprise, her great-aunt answered as she might have to a confidante. “It was not for lack of suitors, of that you may be certain.” She nodded toward a portrait of herself above the mantel. “I was accounted rather handsome in my youth and not without accomplishment.”

  Her stern countenance softened as she recalled those lost years.

  Cassandra’s lips curved in their first true smile since she had left the Martins’ farm. “You must have been a most eligible prospect indeed. Did you break many hearts when you refused all the proposals you received?”

  “Hardly!” The viscountess gave an unladylike snort of laughter. “I disappointed a considerable number of ambitions, no doubt, since my fortune, estates and connections were the true objects of my suitors’ desire. That, of course, was why I rejected their proposals.”

  That made sense, Cassandra reflected. Why should a woman of independence and property want to surrender both to a husband she could never be certain cared anything for her?

  “There was one, though...” the viscountess mused, perhaps not aware that she had spoken aloud.

  “Tell me about him,” Cassandra leaned forward in her chair. Who would have thought she and her great-aunt might share a common bond of romantic regrets?

  “I would have accepted him if he had so much as hinted at a proposal.” Her ladyship’s eyes took on a misty, distant look that made the years melt away from her features. “But he was too proud to take a wife of greater consequence than he. In the end, he went away to India to make his fortune. I always believed it was so he could return and marry me without any suspicion of fortune-hunting.”

  Cassandra sympathized with that proud young man. If only it were possible for a woman to earn her fortune in a respectable way, she would have been tempted to follow his example. “He sounds like a fine man. Whatever became of him?”

  The viscountess rose abruptly and strode to the window to stare out at the barren, white garden. “He worked himself to death in that dreadful climate.”

  “Poor man!” Cassandra cried.

  “Proud young fool, you mean,” the viscountess rapped out in her accustomed brusque tone. Yet the hoarseness of her voice betrayed affection and regret. “If he cared for me so much, why did he throw away the happy years we might have had... the family?”

  “What else could he do?” Cassandra could not resist the urge to defend the young gentleman who had died long before she was born. “You would not have wanted him to be like all the others you despised. If he had married you with no fortune of his own, you might have come to despise him in the end.”

  “Never!” Great-aunt Augusta turned back from the window, her face pale as a ghost but her eyes blazing. “If he cared for me, he should have known I would place a higher value on his company than on any plot of land or pile of gold.”

  For a moment, Cassandra glimpsed the lingering grief the formidable old lady had hidden so long under her irascible facade. The prospect of Brandon carrying such a burden of unhappiness grieved her.

  “Forgive me Auntie.” Cassandra rose and backed toward the door. She did not wish to give way to her feelings in front of the viscountess. “Perhaps the gentleman was only trying to spare you... to protect you.”

  Before the viscountess could announce her intention to send her impudent great-niece packing back to Rosemeade, Cassandra fled the sitting room.

  Fortunately her composure had not entirely deserted her when she met Mrs. Davis carrying a letter. “The post has arrived, Lady Cassandra.”

  In spite of everything, her spirits rose a little. Perhaps if she made a particular effort to divert Great-aunt Augusta, the viscountess would allow Viola or Miranda to come for a visit.

  “Thank you for bringing it.” Cassandra took the letter and glanced at the unfamiliar handwriting. Who besides her sisters or Letty knew she was visiting Noughtly Hall?

  The thought made her too curious to retreat all the way to her bedchamber to read it. Instead she broke the wax seal immediately and scanned the mysterious missive.

  “Oh my!” she cried aloud when she realized who had written it.

  “Is anything the matter?” Mrs. Davis asked in an anxious tone.

  Cassandra shook her head. “I am surprised, that’s all. This letter is from Miss Calvert at Everleigh.”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Davis’s eyebrows flew up. “I did not think the two of you had parted on such friendly terms as to correspond.”

  “Nor did I.” Cassandra recalled the Calverts’ abrupt departure from the Martins’ cottage on Twelfth Night.

  They had only gone as far as the inn at Cherhill to spend the rest of the night. It had been a wrench to part from Brandon again under even worse circumstances than they had met. But there had been an element of relief as well. After what had transpired in the Martins’ kitchen, Cassandra was certain Imogene Calvert would have refused to share a bed with her and Mrs. Davis that night.

  “Distance appears to have softened her hostility toward me. She apologizes for not being more civil.”

  “As well she should,” Mrs. Davis muttered. A badly-concealed glint in her eyes betrayed her curiosity about the contents of the letter.

  It was impossible to tell how much she’d guessed about Cassandra and Brandon’s history and what had recently transpired between them, for she was the soul of discretion. Yet something in the housekeeper’s manner suggested that she knew more than she would ever reveal.

  Cassandra glanced back at Miss Calvert’s letter.

  “Ever since Twelfth Night,” the young lady wrote, “I have been burdened with regret over how I misjudged your character. When Brandon told me you rejected his proposal that night, it made me realize your motives were pure. The more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder if you’d had a good reason for refusing
him the first time.”

  Cassandra’s eyes widened. That insight showed greater perception than she expected from Imogene Calvert.

  “I hope you can forgive my rudeness and ingratitude,” the letter continued, “though I understand if my conduct has made that impossible.”

  What a change a fortnight had wrought in Brandon’s cousin! Then again, that was five times longer than they’d been snowbound at the Martins’ farm. In that brief span of time, Miss Calvert had gone from fawning over Cassandra to detesting her.

  A dismaying thought made Cassandra’s breath catch. Did Imogene Calvert suddenly feel more charitable toward her because Brandon was now safely engaged to Miss Reynolds?

  “Is it bad news?” asked Mrs. Davis. “You look pale just now.”

  “Not at all.” Cassandra tried to make light of her distress. “Perhaps I am turning blue from the cold.”

  It was not exactly a lie, she assured herself. She had not yet read the news she feared. Even if it were true, such information should be cause for rejoicing, not dejection. She would rejoice for Brandon’s happiness once she grew accustomed to the idea.

  “Perhaps you should go check on her ladyship,” Cassandra suggested, fearing she might not be able to conceal her dismay from Mrs. Davis when she read the fateful announcement. “Tell her I will return to keep her company shortly.”

  “Of course, my lady.” The housekeeper bobbed a hasty curtsey then headed off.

  Cassandra drew a deep breath and lifted a silent prayer for courage to face the news and behave correctly. Then she forced herself to read on.

  A moment later she flew into the sitting room, her heart racing and her breath coming in shallow little gasps. The viscountess and the housekeeper turned to stare at her.

  Before either of them could demand the reason for her abrupt entrance, Cassandra held out the letter with a trembling hand. “I was wrong Mrs. Davis. It is bad news. The very worst! Auntie may I have a carriage to go at once to Everleigh? Miss Calvert writes that her cousin is very ill. She fears he may not live!”

  “You don’t look well at all, cuz.” Imogene hovered around Brandon as he tried to read his newspaper. Not that there was much news to report except how all the snowstorms had brought much of the country to a halt. “Don’t you think you ought to go lie down?”

  “Why?” He lowered his copy of the Bath Chronicle enough to peer over it at his cousin with narrowed eyes. “Do you want me out of the way so you can throw yourself at young Sandiford without hindrance?”

  “I do not!” Imogene looked highly offended—a sure sign, in Brandon’s experience, that she was up to something. “I have given up any notion of Lord Sandiford. He is a dry stick for such a young man and so disapproving of anything the least bit amusing. I am certain he would make me quite miserable.”

  Brandon dropped his newspaper to his lap. “It took you long enough to come to that conclusion, but I believe you are right. I am sorry this house party has not lived up to your expectations.”

  Imogene dismissed his sympathy with a toss of her golden curls. “Don’t fret for me. Mr. Geoffreys is very nice and Lord Holbrook. I feel much worse for you. I can see now that Miss Reynolds is not at all the right woman for you. I wish I had not spoiled things between you and Lady Cassandra.”

  “You did not spoil anything.” A sigh escaped Brandon in spite of his best effort to contain it. “You were the least of our problems.”

  Ever since they’d driven away from the Martins’ farm, he had been plagued by questions, doubts and regrets. Cassandra had given every indication of caring for him yet she had refused to do the one thing that would insure his happiness. And what was the great mystery of her visit to Noughtly? Was she trying to protect him again, as she had from her father’s pernicious influence? Did she not understand he could bear any other calamity better than that of losing her? After many sleepless nights, he had finally come to a decision.

  “If it makes you feel any better, Imogene, I have resolved to call in at Noughtly on our way home to see if the passage of a little time might have eased some of Lady Cassandra’s objections.”

  “What a fine idea.” His cousin looked more alarmed than pleased with his plan.

  If he lived to be a hundred, would he ever understand women? He would give anything if Cassandra would permit him the opportunity to understand her.

  “I still say you ought to take a nap,” Imogene continued with a hint of desperation. “You look dreadfully tired. You would not want to delay our departure by falling ill.”

  “Will it satisfy you if I recline on the chaise lounge to read my paper?” Brandon knew the futility of trying to put his cousin off once she got an idea in her head.

  “Yes, I believe that will do.” She took his elbow and helped him from the chair as if he were quite ancient.

  Brandon settled on the chaise lounge and returned to his reading. But the news was so very dull and his sleepless nights were finally catching up with him.

  The drone of conversation from other members of the house party playing cards in the adjoining room lulled him into a doze. He was vaguely aware of someone easing the newspaper from his hands then covering his lower limbs with a blanket. With a decision made regarding Cassandra, Brandon surrendered to his fatigue.

  Some time later he was violently jolted awake by a woman’s cries and a soft, cool hand upon his forehead.

  “I came the moment I read your letter!” The lady sounded quite distraught. What letter was she referring to? “I hope I am not too late. What is he doing down here? He should be in bed, attended by a physician. He does not feel feverish. Has he been bled?”

  Cassandra? Brandon struggled to open his eyes. If he was dreaming about her, he did not want to wake up. But he could not bear to hear her so upset.

  “Brandon, dearest, can you hear me?” Her hand ran over his forehead and through his hair in an anxious caress. “Please, my love, you must not give up! I cannot bear to lose you forever. I was a proud, stubborn fool. I should have told you the truth. How could I have thrown away a precious second chance with you? If that is what made you ill, my darling, I do not know how I shall ever forgive myself!”

  It must be a dream, though quite the most vivid one he had ever experienced. Brandon had almost convinced himself of the fact, when he became aware of other voices in the background.

  “Who is that madwoman and what is she doing in my house?”

  “She looks like one of the Whitney sisters.”

  “Is Sir Brandon ill? He looked well enough at breakfast.”

  Then he heard Imogene. “Out, all of you, out! Leave them in peace. I will explain everything.”

  The sitting room door shut quite forcibly.

  Suddenly he knew he was not dreaming. But he had an idea what was going on. Did he dare tell Cassandra she was the victim of a deception? Tempting as it was to play the invalid and take advantage of her concern, Brandon could not bear to prolong her anxiety.

  He opened his eyes and seized her hand. “Cassandra, I cannot tell you what it means to see you here. I have never woken to a more beautiful sight in all my life. But there is something I must —”

  He had no opportunity to say anything more. While he was trying to speak, Cassandra threw her arms around his neck and began to weep with relief. “You woke! You recognized me. Dear, dear Brandon!”

  If he’d needed anything more to convince him of her true feelings, those warm, sweet tears would have been the final proof. Nothing she could say or do from now on would ever make him doubt again.

  His past doubts had not been of her, he realized in that moment, but of himself and his ability to inspire the love of such a woman. Could whatever held her back from him have been rooted in that same poisonous soil of self-doubt? Reclined on the chaise with Cassandra kneeling on the floor beside him, Brandon wrapped his arms around her.

  “Hush, my love, hush!” He pulled back her bonnet so he could nestle his cheek against her hair. “I promise you I am not dying
. I am not even ill unless you count being heart-sick. In that case my condition was very grave indeed. But the sight of you has been just the tonic I needed. If we can come to an understanding as last, I believe I shall be cured altogether.”

  “Not ill?” Cassandra pulled back from him far enough to examine his countenance. She dashed the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I don’t understand. Your cousin’s letter said—”

  “I can well imagine what it said.” Brandon hoped she would not be too vexed when she learned the truth. “I shall have to lecture Imogene on the evils of deception, though it will not be easy when I am so pleased with the result.”

  “What have I done?” Cassandra tried to hide her face in her hands. “I burst in here like a raging lunatic!”

  “No!” Brandon sat up then lifted Cassandra onto the chaise beside him. “You did what I would have done if I had received such a letter about you. In fact, I had every intention of calling at Noughtly Hall before I left Somerset. You may ask Imogene if you do not believe me. On second thought, perhaps my cousin is not the best witness in my defense.”

  He braced for a blast—perhaps accusations that he had put Imogene up to this cruel trick. Instead, Cassandra broke into wild laughter.

  That had to be a good sign.

  He must act swiftly, while her guard was down. “Whatever the reason for visiting your great-aunt, I swear it will not alter my feelings for you. If you are disgraced, time and marriage will remedy that. If you are with child, I will raise it and love it as my own.”

  His words turned Cassandra’s laughter to astonishment. “You would do that for me? What if I bore a son?”

  So that was her secret. During several long, dark nights, Brandon had confronted the possibility. He’d struggled with many aspects of such a situation, but in the end love had conquered all his reservations.