by Candace Camp
“Good in what sense?” Lady Neville’s eyes sparkled. There was nothing she loved so much as a rousing discussion, and she could rarely goad the placid Violet into arguing.
“In the sense of happiness, my lady. My own parents were very happy.”
“But poor as church mice,” Aunt Ardis added tartly.
“What good would it have been for them to have married wealth and been miserable all their lives?”
They passed the rest of the time until the luncheon was served in a lively discussion. Sir Philip returned, Joanna hanging on his arm, with the twins trailing behind them, tired, their trousers smeared with grass stains, and quite happy.
“What are you ladies talking about?” Sir Philip asked, smiling. “It sounded as if you were quite impassioned about the subject.”
His grandmother smiled at him. “Why, Miss Verrere was telling us her views upon love and marriage.”
“Indeed?” He turned to Cassandra, his brows rising lazily and a slow smile curving his lips. “I should be very interested indeed to hear them.”
Cassandra felt herself blushing annoyingly under his scrutiny. “I fear ’tis a subject we have hashed out enough, sir. Besides, I am sure that you would find it quite boring.”
“On the contrary. I am all ears.”
“I shall tell you in a nutshell,” Violet spoke up unexpectedly. “Miss Verrere and I believe in love and in a man’s ability to love a woman for more than just her looks. Lady Neville and Mrs. Moulton do not.”
Cassandra was grateful to Philip’s mother for aligning herself with Cassandra, although she suspected that a touch of an enduring rivalry between the lady and her mother-in-law had also inspired Violet. The elder Lady Neville looked a little miffed at being lumped with Aunt Ardis.
“Indeed.” Philip’s smiled deepened, and Cassandra felt her heart speed up in response. “I am grateful to you and Miss Verrere for believing that we males are able to think and feel on a higher plane.”
“Come now, Sir Philip,” Joanna said with a playful pout, “do not tell me that you do not value a pretty face.”
“Of course I value beauty,” he responded easily, “whether in a painting or music or a woman.”
He disengaged Joanna’s fingers from his arm and guided her to a seat on the grass. She arranged her skirts attractively around her, expecting him to sit down beside her, but he stepped nimbly away and sat between his mother and grandmother. Cassandra had to smother a smile at Joanna’s startled and decidedly irritated expression.
“However,” Philip continued, his gaze returning to Cassandra, “I believe that there is far more to a woman’s beauty than a nice arrangement of facial features.”
“Hah! I won’t argue that,” Lady Neville said, reaching down to poke his arm with her fan. “But do you intend to marry for love? That is the real question. Whether you fall in love for beauty or a clever mind, would you marry her if she hadn’t a cent? Or couldn’t trace her lineage past her grandparents? What then?”
“You are bound to get me in trouble with someone, aren’t you? I cannot speak for other men, but I can say that I do not believe that I could marry where I did not love. But what are we doing, talking of such serious things? We are here, are we not, for amusement?”
Joanna was quick to agree with him and proceeded to launch into a silly story that Cassandra had heard many times before. Cassandra ignored her burbling voice, her mind going back to Philip’s words. He had said he could not marry without love, but that was not exactly the same as marrying for love. He had not said that he would marry a woman he loved even if she had no money. Not that it mattered, anyway, she reminded herself, for she had no reason to think that Philip loved her or would ever contemplate marrying her. Firmly, she turned her attention to her food.
When the luncheon was over, Lady Neville retired to the carriage for a discreet nap, and the twins, Olivia and Georgette began a lively game of tag. Joanna, dimpling, begged Sir Philip to escort her on a walk. Cassandra watched them set off, Joanna’s skirts swishing in the grass. She felt a sudden, intense hunger for a beautiful dress, something that was not made over or out of style, something in a rich material sewn up by a fashionable modiste.
Cassandra turned and strode away from the party, not much caring where she went, only wanting to distance herself from the others. She struck off down a narrow path, finding, to her surprise, that it led to a pleasant stream. She sat down on a large rock beside the stream, watching the water burble soothingly over mossy stones. She reminded herself of all the reasons why it did not matter that Joanna was pursuing Sir Philip so avidly—or even that she might catch him. All she herself needed from the man was his help in finding the Spanish dowry.
She tried to concentrate on the treasure, imagining how it would feel to find the missing map, how they would search for the treasure and find it. It would be so wonderful to pull out the old strongbox and know that they had located the treasure. She could picture herself touching the golden leopard, trying on a ring or a bracelet. Philip’s eyes would glow, his smile curving in pleasure. She would turn to him, and a look would pass between them. And he would…
“Woolgathering?” Philip’s actual voice intruded on her daydream, and Cassandra jumped.
She whipped around and glared at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” he admitted easily, strolling over to sit down on the large rock beside her. “Sorry I startled you. I thought you heard me coming. You must have been very deep in thought.”
“I was thinking about finding the dowry.” Cassandra hoped a blush would not betray where her thoughts had led.
“It appears we have quite a task before us. I hadn’t realized what slow going it would be, looking through the library.”
“It will take some time.”
“Hopefully we shall not have many more outings like this to delay us.”
Cassandra smiled faintly. “I am surprised to see you here. I thought you were walking with Joanna.”
“I was. Thank God she got tired, so I whisked her back to the blanket with Mother.”
A giggle escaped Cassandra’s lips. She could well imagine her cousin’s outrage when Philip had done that. Cassandra had no doubt that Joanna had timed her “tiredness” to coincide with a cozy spot where she and Philip could be alone.
Philip allowed himself a smile. “Yes. Miss Moulton was not too pleased, I’m afraid. How can you be related to her?”
“I didn’t notice you running very hard from her last night in the drawing room.”
He shrugged. “I was feeling out of sorts.”
Cassandra stopped. She did not want to pursue that subject, for it led straight back to what had happened in the library yesterday. She pressed her lips tightly together and turned her attention back to the stream.
“What have I done?” Philip asked after a long moment. “How have I offended you? When we were traveling here, you… Well, it was entirely different. What has happened since then? Is it your cousin’s flirting? Surely you must know that I had nothing to do with—”
“It is not Joanna.” Cassandra turned away from him, speaking toward the water rather than him. “I— Well, we need to concentrate on finding the map. That is what is important.”
“It is not the only thing in our lives.”
“Perhaps not. But disgracing myself is nothing I want in my life, either.”
“Disgracing— Cassandra, what are you talking about?”
“I think you know.”
“I would never do anything to harm you! Surely you know that. Do you still distrust me? Think I am trying to steal your treasure from you? I assure you that it is the farthest thing from my mind. I don’t care if—”
“It’s not that! I am not worried about losing the dowry.” Cassandra got agitatedly to her feet. “Please, co
uld we go back to the others?”
He rose, too, taking a firm grip on her arm. “Not until you tell me what is wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong!” She pulled her elbow from his and began walking away.
“Do you take me for a fool? Suddenly you hate me, and you say that nothing is wrong?”
“I do not hate you.”
“Then why are you running from me?”
“I am not!” Cassandra stopped, planting her hands on her hips and facing him.
“My mistake,” Philip said drily. “I seem to be making any number of wrong assumptions these days. You are not running away. You do not hate me. Nothing is wrong.”
Cassandra let out an exasperated noise. “All right. If you must know, it is not anything you did. I mean, nothing you did to me, specifically. It is your attitude in general. It is your smug, male—” She sputtered to a stop, unable to think of a way to express herself decently. “Oh, damn and blast!” She let out one of her father’s favorite oaths. “How could you put that home here?”
His jaw dropped. Whatever he had expected her to say, it was not this. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Silverwood, of course. How could you have set it here, not a stone’s throw from Haverly House?”
“You are upset because of where I put the boys?”
“Yes. It’s bad enough that everyone knows about them, that it’s common knowledge that you— But to insult your mother in such a way! And your grandmother, too.”
His face changed, settling into lines that, to Cassandra’s amazement, looked very much like disappointment. “That is why you have been avoiding me? Why you turned from me yesterday? Because I gave those children a home?”
“No. Not that you house and feed them. It is certainly decent of you.”
“Thank you. Your enthusiasm overwhelms me.”
“Surely you cannot expect me to praise you for doing your duty!” Cassandra flared. “But the way that you do it! Plopping them down right here, practically on your mother’s doorstep. She must be mortified.”
“Not all women are like you. Believe it or not, Mother is rather proud of me. She bruits it about far more than I care to have it known.”
“I am sure that is true,” Cassandra retorted sarcastically, stung by the contempt in his voice. How dare he act as if she were in the wrong?
“I would never have thought that you, of all people, would object to Silverwood. There are those who do, of course—straitlaced, arrogant snobs who think that children like that should be hidden away somewhere—but I would never have counted you in their number. Obviously I was mistaken.”
“Obviously you were, if you thought that I would countenance your setting up a house for your by-blows right in front of your family! Did you think me that loose, that I would not care that you have a score of—of—”
He stared at her, understanding dawning on his face. “Bastards? Is that what you were going to say?”
“Not exactly. But it will do. I agree that there are men who would have denied their obligation, but I cannot find it noble on your part not to deny them. It is, I think, basic decency.”
“I see.” His jaw tightened. “So I am a decent man to house and feed them, but a cur to do so near to my home.”
“No,” Cassandra flared. “Merely disrespectful to do that to your mother and grandmother. What makes you a cur is callously bringing them into the world to begin with.”
“I see. Pray tell, how did you find out all this?”
“’Tis a common rumor. Aunt Ardis told me.”
“And you, of course, believed her.”
“It is obvious, isn’t it? You have made no effort to hide it!”
“No. I am not ashamed of Silverwood.”
Cassandra felt hot tears starting in her eyes, and she turned and began to walk away again. She refused to let him see that she was crying because of him. How could he be so cold? So unfeeling?
After a long moment Philip began to walk after her. He stayed at a distance, not trying to catch up. Cassandra wished miserably that he would stop and let her get far ahead of him. It was a struggle to hold back her tears. She had been hoping that somehow Philip would explain away Silverwood, that there would be another explanation for it. But he had not said a word to deny it. He had not even seemed embarrassed. Indeed, he apparently thought that it was somehow reprehensible of her not to be in awe at his kindness in taking care of his own children!
She continued walking briskly, trying to ignore his silent presence behind her. It was a relief to see the small rise that lay this side of the broad and know that they were almost there. Cassandra picked up her pace.
At that moment a scream pierced the air.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CASSANDRA BEGAN TO run, lifting her skirts to keep from stumbling. The piercing shriek came again and again. Philip tore by her as she crested the rise and raced down toward the water’s edge. Someone was floundering in the water, not far from the shore. As Cassandra drew closer, she saw that it was Joanna. At the edge of the broad, everything was chaos. Miss Yorke, the twins and the two young girls were darting about, calling to the person in the lake. One of the maids was having hysterics, and the other one was hitching up her skirts to go into the water. The footmen were running, carrying something, followed by the grooms. Closer to Cassandra, beneath the tree, Violet and Aunt Ardis were standing, looking down at the pond in horror. Even old Lady Neville, in the carriage, had awakened and was looking about.
Cassandra hurried down the hill after Philip. Beneath the tree, Aunt Ardis was shrieking in concert with her daughter. By the time Philip reached the broad, the two footmen had already waded out into the pond, extending a long branch to Joanna. She flailed uselessly around, managing to both knock the branch out of everyone’s hands into the water and also to propel herself farther from shore.
“Stand up!” Crispin yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “It isn’t deep!”
But Joanna went under, splashing. Philip, who had been pulling off his boots, now shrugged out of his coat and walked into the broad. He moved to where Joanna struggled and reached down to pick her up in his arms. The water, Cassandra noted, did not even reach his waist.
Joanna was limp in Philip’s arms, her head resting against his shoulder, her eyes closed. Her velvet riding skirt was soaked with water, and the white cotton shirtwaist, Cassandra noticed, was almost transparent in its wet condition, clinging to her curves like a second skin. Her hair was down and wet, flowing about her shoulders like a mermaid’s.
“I told you it wasn’t deep,” Crispin commented disgustedly.
Philip set Joanna down on the grass and would have stood up, but Joanna clung to him convulsively. “Oh, thank you, Philip!” she cried. “You saved my life!” She looked up at him with melting blue eyes. “I am so lucky you were here.”
He shook his head. “No need to thank me.”
“I owe my life to you.”
This was too much for Crispin, who exclaimed, “Joanna, you goose! It wasn’t deep enough to drown in. I kept yelling at you to stand up. Didn’t you hear me?”
“Mort the groom says the whole broad is shallow enough to walk across,” Hart chimed in. “It’s just a pit where they used to cut peat, not a real lake.”
Joanna glared at the boys. “I almost drowned!” Her eyes narrowed. “It was probably you two who pushed me in!”
“What!”
“Joanna, don’t be such a goose,” Olivia said flatly. “You slipped and fell.”
“No. I distinctly felt a push on my back. I couldn’t see them, but it is just like one of their loathsome pranks.”
“We didn’t!” Crispin and Hart cried in unison.
“That’s not fair,” Crispin went on reasonably. “If you didn’t see, how can you say
it was us?”
“Who else would do it?” Joanna countered.
“You don’t want to admit that you did something as stupid as fall into a pond,” Hart said scornfully.
“I am sure it was no one’s fault,” Cassandra said firmly. “It was just one of those things that happen.”
“Yes, yes, I am sure that is it,” Miss Yorke agreed, obviously distressed by the conflict. “No one’s fault.”
One of the servants brought a blanket to drape around Joanna’s scantily clad body. Cassandra was sure she saw a flash of irritation in her cousin’s face as the maid wrapped it around her tightly.
Cassandra had her own ideas about exactly how Joanna had wound up in the water. She felt quite sure that her cousin had staged the whole thing in order to get Sir Philip to rush to her rescue. She had doubtless seen him go off in the direction Cassandra had taken, and she had decided to bring him back. With the water as shallow as it was, she would have had ample time to scream and thrash about without any fear of hurting herself until Philip came running back. When the servants had tried to pull her out, she had managed to thwart them and wait for Philip’s rescue. It was exactly the sort of thing that Joanna would do, but, of course, she could not prove it.
“Oh, Joanna! My darling! My baby!” Everyone had been vaguely aware of a low keening sound behind them, growing in intensity, and now Aunt Ardis burst into words as she rushed the last few yards to her daughter and threw herself down on the ground beside her. “Are you all right?” She clasped the girl to her bosom dramatically. “Oh, my baby!”
“I’m fine, Mama, really.” Joanna pulled away from her, turning back toward Philip, whom she had been clutching earlier. But Sir Philip had taken advantage of her mother’s embrace to rise to his feet and step back.
“Why don’t we move back and give her some air?” Sir Philip suggested.
“You are right, Sir Philip,” Miss Yorke was quick to agree.
Everyone stepped back a few paces, looking down at Joanna as if she were an exhibit in a museum. It occurred to Cassandra that with her heavy riding skirt soaked and her boots filled with water, the blanket wrapped around her, and her hair streaming down every which way, Joanna looked more sodden and unkempt than fragile and alluring.
