by Laura Parker
Merlyn chuckled. “Then say I’m turning over a new leaf in my middle years. Miss Lane,” he continued, using Cassie’s new surname, “is a refreshing young lady, don’t you agree?”
Hugh lightly fingered his pronounced widow’s peak, a habit that betrayed his thoughtful mood as well as drew attention to his extraordinary eccentricity. For, as all Bath and London knew, the young lord had adopted the remarkable habit of wearing his own hair dressed as a wig. His hair of natural rich brown had been waved and powdered to resemble a scratch-bob. The severe but excellent cut of his clothes was offset by his fondness for rings, which covered all but the thumbs of each hand. These caught Merlyn’s eye, but he resisted the impulse. He did not steal from those he liked, and the number was so few that he was seldom bothered by the fact.
“Tell me why you’ve brought her to Bath in the off season,” Hugh continued after a moment. “If she’s as talented as you say, she should be put to the test in London.”
“Ah, that’s the rub,” Merlyn answered. “She’s not professionally trained.” At the young lord’s knowing look he added, “That is, she’s afraid of crowds. Haven’t you noticed how she hides herself?”
Hugh nodded a greeting at a passing couple but did not check his stride. “I’ve noticed. I thought perhaps you had warned her away from me.”
“Should I?” Merlyn’s black brows drew together. “She’s no lightskirt, my lord. I’ll have that understood.”
Hugh exclaimed in mild surprise, “Sits the wind in that quarter?”
Merlyn’s expression betrayed vexation. “I will say I’m taken by a certain charm in the lady, but I have not paid court to her and would ask that you remember that.”
The two men regarded one another in silence. Nearly of the same height, the difference lay in their expressions. Lord Mulberry had a well-featured face that most often displayed a faint boredom for the world around him, but it was etched in concentration at the moment. Merlyn’s face, not so well favored but more immediately compelling, was a little angry.
“Very well, Ross. I’ll defer to you for the time being,” Hugh said finally. “However, I shall proceed as the future dictates. I mean to know the lady better. If she should betray an interest also …”
Merlyn smiled charmingly. “Of course. The field is open. I meant nothing more.”
It was thus that Cassandra found them, two elegantly but casually dressed young men, facing one another in the middle of the Pump Room. Entering from the abbey churchyard through one of the five arched doorways, she walked over to where they stood beside the Pump’s marble font.
“I hope I did not detain you,” she said breathlessly, stopping by Merlyn’s side.
Both men turned with delighted expressions to greet her.
“You appear to have taken well to the atmosphere of Bath,” Merlyn said as he took her hand and brushed it with his lips.
For an instant his sapphire eye met her burnished gold gaze and Cassandra knew the breathless sensation she often felt when there were only the two of them. Her cheeks were tinted pink by the lingering heat of her visit to Queen’s Bath and the curls at her temples beneath the brim of her black straw hat enhanced her femininity.
Cassandra smiled at him, pleased by the admiration in his gaze. One quick look about the room would have confirmed her suspicions that she was less expensively gowned than most of the ladies present, yet she knew she looked her best.
“Miss Lane,” Hugh intoned warmly, and also saluted her hand.
“Lord Mulberry,” she acknowledged with a shy smile. His eyes, the serene gray of a cloudy day, were fixed with more than casual regard upon her, and the color in her cheeks deepened.
“We were just commenting upon which should be your first opportunity to display your talent,” Hugh said, watching her closely.
“Talent?” she asked blankly, seeing Merlyn’s warning look too late.
“I am told you sing?” Hugh inquired politely.
“Oh, that.” Cassandra gave Merlyn a blighting glance. “I regret to say it was the folly born of desperate circumstance. When Mr. Ross found me I was anxious to secure funds to return to England.”
“But you found the funds?” Hugh suggested. Only his pleasant smile struck the sinister undertone from the question.
“Yes, Mr. Ross has proved a vast friend, though I don’t know when I’ll be able to repay him properly,” she answered hesitantly, wondering all the while why Merlyn left her to roast slowly over this questioning.
“Perhaps it is more than enough repayment to know he has helped a damsel in distress. We of the theater are incurable romantics, I fear,” Hugh said, adroitly turning back from the probing of his earlier comments. He was satisfied when Merlyn did not come to her aid. Certainly Ross would not have let the girl stammer painfully if he feared she might betray their liaison.
“Hugh, dear boy! And—can it be? Merlyn Ross!”
The three turned simultaneously to see a strikingly beautiful young woman coming toward them through an archway of the Pump Room. It was a measure of her belief in her own beauty that the woman wore her titian hair unpowdered. In contrast, she dressed in the height of the beau monde, in a satin gown of pale blue lined at the bodice and sleeves with gold and with an underskirt of white taffeta ruffled at the hem.
All of this was noted in an instant. Even before she reached them Cassandra saw that the woman’s blue eyes, as bright as diamonds, were fixed on Merlyn. When she reached him, she threw her arms brazenly about his neck in a manner that sent a wave of astonishment through the Pump’s visitors.
Cassandra believed herself to remain the only one unmoved by the demonstration. This error was corrected by Lord Mulberry.
“My lady, you’ve crushed your nosegay,” he observed in a mildly humorous tone just before he, too, received the lilac-scented embrace of the redheaded woman.
“Enough, Caroline. Beau Nash will have us thrown out,” Hugh protested halfheartedly as he disengaged her arms from about his neck.
“Lud! That dull man,” she exclaimed in a voice that carried even into the gallery where six musicians attempted to provide a pleasant background for the conversation below. “Don’t scold me, Hugh. Oh! I should call you Lord Mulberry in public, shouldn’t I?” She gave him an arch look that made the young nobleman uncomfortable.
“Really, Caroline. You’ll say anything to shock your admirers. Now behave while I introduce you to my houseguest. May I present Caroline Lambert, Miss Lane? Perhaps you are familiar with her work? She has quite taken the London stage by storm these two years.”
Cassandra did not miss the importance given her name in the introduction, and neither did Miss Lambert. “Miss Lane, did you say?” the actress asked in a voice dripping with false friendliness. “Haven’t we met before? You are from London, perhaps a niece of Lord Mulberry’s?”
Cassandra smiled. Cat, she thought. Yet something puzzled her, too, something terribly familiar about the woman, yet just beyond her recall. She chanced then to glance at Merlyn, and he, too, appeared deep in thought, for a scowl rode his brow. “No, I am not Lord Mulberry’s kin, and I’m afraid I am a country mouse. Yet I am happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Lambert. Lord Mulberry’s flattery is noted for its sincerity.”
This seemed to momentarily mollify the tall, voluptuous woman who had completely won the attention of the entire assembly at her arrival.
“What brings you to the country, Caroline?” Merlyn inquired. “The season has begun.”
“I’ve been sent here to rusticate,” Caroline said in a throaty timbre, her long lids sweeping shut over her eyes. “I caught a chill two weeks ago. Lost my voice entirely, just two nights before I was to open. Nothing would seem to cure it. Finally, I knew I must retire to Bath to take the cure.”
“You mean your theater manager would not succumb to your blandishments to alter your contract,” Hugh supplied amicably, laughing outright as her eyes flashed in anger.
“You’re a cad, Hugh,” she snapped.
“Nothing so mean-spirited, my dear,” Hugh answered. “You forget I’ve a finger on the theatrical pulse. Wind of your squabble with the play’s backers precedes you. They would not come to heel, so you’re playing the sickbed miss. Bravo, I say. Let them stew a few weeks with no proper lead to start their season. They’ll soon see reason.”
“Do you really think so?” she asked, then answered herself. “Of course they’ll see reason. They’ll come running out here by the end of the week. And I’ll refuse to see them at first, pleading illness. After a few days they’ll be begging me to return. And I may condescend … for twice my original demand.”
Cassandra did not like the brilliant mercenary gleam in the actress’s eye, but she smiled politely as the two gentlemen guffawed.
“You never change, Caroline,” Merlyn observed. “You only grow more bewitching with time.”
“And you, my lothario,” she purred, tucking her arm through one of his. “How do you grow with time? I seem to remember you grew well and fine and quickly.”
Hugh had the grace to look embarrassed, but Merlyn favored her with a lecherous smile. “Softly, jade. There are tender ears about.”
For the second time Caroline looked fully at Cassandra. “You are a friend of Merlyn’s?” she bluntly questioned.
“We are acquainted,” Cassandra replied more coolly than she felt.
“Merlyn is responsible for Miss Lane’s presence in my home,” Hugh added helpfully, an innocent look on his face.
“Really?” The word held a note of challenge.
“You’re not to sharpen your claws on children,” Merlyn admonished her with a grin, then turned to his friend. “When is your concert breakfast to begin, Hugh? The waters have left the taste of rotten eggs on my tongue and a vast emptiness in my middle.”
Hugh looked from Caroline to Cassandra. “You have not yet drunk your three glasses.”
Cassandra shuddered delicately. “I own I’d prefer a cup of hot chocolate.”
“Then it’s time. Caroline, you must certainly join us,” Hugh added gallantly.
“By all means. Merlyn and I have much to catch up on.” And she tugged on the man’s arm to draw him ahead of the other two. “You really must allow me to tell you of the most extraordinary gossip circulating about London. It all began at an occasion I attended up in Derbyshire last summer,” Cassandra heard the woman murmur as they moved away.
“Is something wrong, Miss Lane?” Hugh inquired at Cassandra’s sudden gasp.
She turned a pale face to the man beside her, not really seeing him for the tumult of her thoughts. “No—that is, I think the waters were too warm for me this morning. Perhaps I should have warmed myself more thoroughly.”
She took the arm he offered and leaned on it a little. Clammy perspiration broke out on her upper lip, and her heart galloped with fear. She now remembered where she’d seen the red-haired beauty. Caroline Lambert had been one of the marquess’s guests at the christening ball!
Surely Merlyn remembered, Cassandra told herself. He had been at Briarcliffe that evening, too. Did the actress know nothing of Merlyn’s disguise as the Comte de Valure? Perhaps, and perhaps the woman did not recognize her either. Was that why Merlyn had deliberately drawn the woman’s interest to himself?
Cassandra’s worried glance moved to pick out the couple moving rapidly away from her, and she frowned in annoyance. Caroline Lambert’s flame-bright head was inclined intimately toward Merlyn’s shoulder. She preferred to return to St. James’s Square, but she knew the only way her questions could be answered was by following them to the concert breakfast.
Dish after dish of lovely exotic fare passed before Cassandra’s view, but she could barely maintain the presence of mind to place a few items on her plate. The thought of consuming lobster patties and crimped salmon, broiled kidneys and dried haddock, before so potent a threat as Caroline Lambert made her feel ill. Instead, she sipped hot chocolate and nibbled an apricot tart which tasted like dry leaves in her mouth.
Suddenly, Cassandra heard her name called pointedly and she looked down the length of the table to see the actress’s diamond-chip eyes on her. “I said, you are a singer?” Caroline Lambert questioned in a tone that implied she had asked the question before.
“I am tolerably able,” Cassandra replied with a half smile.
“Then, by all means, you must sing for us,” the actress said. The younger woman’s start made her smile deepen. “My dear, you would not be so boorish as to decline a request made by your host.” She gave Hugh an encouraging smile. “Do ask her, Lord Mulberry. I’m eaten with curiosity to hear your new songbird.”
The hackles rose in Cassandra’s neck, and she would have declined in no uncertain terms had she not spied Merlyn’s pained expression.
He thinks I can’t do it, she realized in pique. He picks a profession for me out of thin air and is embarrassed now because he believes me incapable.
Cassandra rose to her feet and turned to Hugh, who sat by her side. “Is it the custom, Lord Mulberry?”
Hugh stood when she rose. “It is. The informality of Bath allows that any person, even a guest, may publicly perform for the entertainment of all.”
“Then, if it would please you, my lord,” she said sweetly, “I will sing.” She did not trust herself to glance a second time at Merlyn. Let him stew, she thought.
The little orchestra which had been hired for the day by their host was composed of two violins, a bassoon, a horn, a viola, and a harpsichord. Cassandra allowed Lord Mulberry to lead her to them for an introduction.
It was quickly arranged that she would sing one of her favorite pieces by Christian Bach, the youngest of the famous musical family. It was a gay, light tune, fitting for a morning’s entertainment. Only once, when she turned to face the twenty-odd breakfasters, did her confidence suffer a crack. Caroline Lambert had once more threaded her arm through Merlyn’s and she was studiously turned away from the stage, her lips raised to whisper in Merlyn’s ear. It was Lord Mulberry who encouraged her with a smile and a nod.
From the opening bars Cassandra knew she had chosen wisely. Accompanied only by the harpsichord, her voice rose clear and high over the assembly and the murmur of voices died almost at once. The constriction of fear at the base of her throat eased as the familiar words sang forth. She did not try for exciting embellishments, trills, or warbling scales to enhance her audience’s appreciation. Good sense warned her not to risk a mistake with an unrehearsed accompaniment.
Even before the last notes died away, she saw Lord Mulberry rise to his feet, a broad smile on his face and his hands raised in applause. But it was not his reaction she feared. Nibbling her lower lip in anxiety, she swung her dark honey gaze to Merlyn.
He, too, had risen to his feet, but he was not smiling. Only Cassandra could see fully the expression on his face, and it made her knees weaken. There was no denying the look. The passion that made other men smile foolishly or turned their expressions to leering masks did not so mar his. The concentrated power of that single sapphire eye held—her heart quickened in hope that she was right—longing as well as desire.
Cassandra released her tremulous lip, wondering if the desires of her heart were so plainly written on her features for all the assembly to see.
“You’ve an excellent voice, my dear,” Lord Mulberry said when he’d come to stand before her.
He blocked Cassandra’s view of Merlyn in that instant, and it was as if he had eclipsed the sun. Her senses drained of the heady magic of Merlyn Ross’s gaze. “Thank you, my lord. I fear I’m a trifle rusty. It’s been some while,” she murmured to cover the conflagration of emotions passing over her.
“Yes. Isn’t she clever?” Caroline Lambert said, coming up behind her host. She favored the younger woman with a stingy smile. “You may do quite well in something light, comic opera, perhaps. But, my dear, I must warn you to do something about your
dress. Your stature is indifferent, and the color of your hair common. Pretty singers are a shilling a dozen. You must cultivate originality. Don’t you agree, Merlyn?”
Cassandra’s treacherous pulse raced out of control as she again met Merlyn’s look. But this time, his was cool, indifferent to a point that made Cassandra wish, suddenly, impulsively, to slap his face. How could he be so calm a scarce moment after she would have sworn he had been as moved as she?
“You will favor us with something else?” was all he said. A flickering of the actress’s lids made Cassandra smile. So, the woman thought more of her talent than she admitted.
“Yes, do,” Lord Mulberry urged. “Something gay, something lovely.”
Cassandra looked from him to Merlyn. “Something romantic?” she suggested, and he answered softly in a quote, ‘“A love song, a love song. … Ay, ay; I care not for good life.’”
The cue gave Cassandra the courage to be daring, and she turned back to the musicians. “Do you know ‘O Mistress Mine’?”
The song was easy to sing and Cassandra unabashedly concentrated her full heart on the words, hoping one particular listener would hear the invitation in her voice.
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear—your true love’s coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers’ meeting,
Every wise man’s son doth know.
What is love? ’Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty—
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty.
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
Not until the song was begun did she realize just how apt the words were. They were surely at journey’s end and she now as never before desired this lovers’ meeting. Yet what lay before them was unsure. Perhaps their coil would come right as easily as it did for the lovers in Mr. Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.
