by Emma V Leech
Stop it, she chided herself. She ought to be happy for Eliza. Eliza was good and kind and never said anything rash. She never lost her temper, unlike Lottie. Lottie was not good and kind, either. She couldn’t be, or she would not be so angry, so horribly, wildly jealous. Only it wasn’t fair. Cassius had left before she’d been able to make him see what was right in front of him. Was she really the only one who could see Cassius and Eliza were all wrong for each other? They were friends, yes—the best of friends, and that ought never change—but… oh, but there was no passion, no desire, no love, not of the sort Lottie wanted, the sort she saw between her parents, or between Montagu and his Marchioness.
The world still feared Montagu. Indeed, he was intimidating, but the way he looked at his wife… good lord, it made Lottie blush to think of it! And they were ancient, nearly fifty at least. If they still felt that way after all these years, what must it have been like when they were young? Goodness, it was a wonder they hadn’t gone up in flames.
That was what Lottie wanted. She wanted to see that wild hunger in her husband’s eyes, desire that could not be tamed.
“Are you all right, Lottie? You look awfully flushed,” her younger brother Fred observed.
“Of course I’m flushed. It’s dreadfully hot in here,” she retorted, mortified.
She snatched up her fan and waved it vigorously. How shocking she was to be thinking of such things. Lottie stole a glance at her sister; elegant, with not a hair out of place and not looking the least bit as though she was hot and sweaty and would throttle the next person who asked if they were nearly there yet. No doubt Eliza didn’t think of such things at all, which was precisely why she was all wrong for Cassius. Cassius was raw masculine beauty and, beneath the veneer of elegant nobleman, he had a core of wildness that called out to Lottie. He longed for adventure in wild, exotic places and to see the world in all its aspects. Eliza hated adventure, she did not understand it, had never understood the make believe worlds that Lottie had created in their games. Cassius had. Eliza would never understand his need to go away and would not wish to follow. Yet all the world knew they had made their choice years ago, when they were little more than children.
Cassius would marry Eliza. He was coming home to propose to her, not to Lottie, and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.
Chapter 2
Cassius,
I look forward to seeing you again on your return. Rumour has it a proposal is imminent. Surely not?
―Excerpt of letter to Cassius Cadogan, Viscount Oakley, from Mr Ashton Anson—son of Lord Silas Cavendish and Lady Aashini Cavendish.
29th June 1838, Holbrook House, Sussex.
“Mother, I do not understand your objection. I thought it was your dearest wish that I marry Eliza?”
Cassius regarded his mama’s troubled expression with trepidation. She was thinking, and that was often cause for alarm. As a child he had believed his mother had the power to read his mind, for there was no mischief that he got into that she wasn’t very well aware of before he had even bestirred himself to begin it. Surprising her seemed nigh on impossible. She sat in her favourite chair in her favourite room: the library, the place where she was most often to be found if she was not with his father. Naturally, there was some incomprehensible and weighty tome in her lap.
“My dearest wish is for you to be happy, and I do not think it wise to rush into anything after such a long time apart.”
Something that Cassius refused to identify as relief unfurled in his chest. “So you forbid me to propose to her?”
Had that been a hopeful tone? Surely not.
His mother’s eyes grew sharp behind her spectacles, studying him.
“Of course not,” she said at once. “You are a man grown and your decisions are just that, but decisions have consequences, Cassius, and not just for you. I love Eliza as dearly as if she were my own child and, if I were confident you would be happy together, I would not murmur the least objection.”
“But you are not confident.” Cassius turned and frowned down at his father’s desk, tracing a finger over an ink stain that marred the polished wood.
“Neither are you.”
That was the trouble with his mother, Cassius reflected gloomily. She was a dashed sight too perceptive for a fellow’s comfort and she never minced her words. He said nothing, unable to contradict her, his stomach churning with an acidic brew of guilt and anxiety.
“She’s expecting me to propose to her. She’s been waiting all this time. How can I—?”
“How can you marry a woman to whom your heart is not fully engaged? That would be horribly unfair to you both.”
“I don’t know that it isn’t,” Cassius replied, frustrated now. “It always used to be, but….”
But what? But he’d fallen out of love with her? No, he did not think that was it. Not exactly, for he loved Eliza just as he always had, but… but, damn it.
“But it’s been two long years. Years in which you have changed dramatically, I can see that much with my own eyes. You’ve become a man, you’ve seen something of the world. Childish visions of what you wanted for the future now jostle with reality, and it has shaken your resolve.”
Cassius nodded, wretched. He had longed to see Eliza for months now, to tell her about everything he had seen and done, yet the closer he had got to home, the heavier the burden of his future had grown. The weight of it had sparked a thread of resentment towards his dearest friend, for which he had no explanation and for which he felt himself to be an utter brute. He promised her he would be ready to settle down on his return, a promise he now saw had been beyond foolish. His two years away had not settled his desire for travel but increased it. He’d met so many interesting people who’d told him stories of far off lands that he longed to explore. Eliza was no adventurer. She did not dream of far off places. As a child she had never quite understood the make believe games her sister Lottie had created of travelling through a foreign land, searching for lost treasure. Eliza had always been a little perplexed by the idea, though she had joined in gamely enough in the end. No, Eliza had plans for her future, grand ambitions which he had admired and encouraged, but they all began at home.
“What do I do?” he asked helplessly. “I cannot hurt her, cannot disappoint her.”
His mother pushed her spectacles up her nose, set her book aside, and got to her feet before moving towards him. Her expression was grave but full of warmth as she took his hands in hers and gave a little squeeze.
“You need not do anything, not yet. Take pleasure in seeing your friend again, talk to her of everything you’ve done and let these weeks unfold as they will. You are among friends and family. There is time, Cassius. Maybe you will realise it was merely cold feet and she is the one you want above all others, and you may propose with a happy heart, or it may be that she too will be relieved. You are not the only one who has changed during your time apart.”
Cassius nodded and let out a slow breath. He had been out with his father when Eliza and her family had arrived, and the ladies had immediately gone to change out of their travelling clothes.
“Prue has gone for a lie down, but I suggested a walk about the gardens to Bedwin and the girls.” his mother said. “I always prefer to stretch my legs after a carriage journey, and it will give you a chance to introduce the friends you brought with you in an informal setting. I imagine they all will be awaiting us by now, so we had best not delay.”
“It will be good to see everyone again,” he said, offering his arm. “The children must have grown up so much.”
“They have indeed. Fred is becoming a fine young man, and Harry quite a handful. Rosamund and Victoria promise to be every bit as lovely as their sisters, naturally.”
Cassius guided his mother out onto the terrace where their guests awaited, seated beneath a shady awning. A tea tray was set out with jugs of lemonade and plates of cakes and biscuits displayed prettily among cut glass bowls of sweet peas and roses. The duke
, who had been leaning against the balustrade, straightened and smiled warmly as they approached.
“Harriet, your hospitality is as wonderful as always. We so look forward to our visits to Holbrook.”
“And we to having you all here. Jasper will join us shortly, and he is very much looking forward to seeing you again.”
Bedwin nodded his approval and turned to Cassius. “Well, young man, your travels appear to have agreed with you. How good to see you, and looking so well.”
“I am well, sir, and it is a pleasure to be home and in such excellent company.”
Movement to the duke’s left caught Cassius’s attention, and he turned his head to discover Eliza smiling at him. She was as neat as a new pin, her presence as calm and reassuring, as dearly familiar as the scent of rain on an English summer day.
“It is good to have you home, Cassius,” she said softly.
All at once his anxieties fell away, replaced by the simple pleasure of seeing his friend. They had been playmates since they were little more than months old, and no amount of fallings out and childish bickering had ever impacted on a relationship that had steadied them both through the ups and downs of their lives.
“Eliza.” Cassius put out his hands to her and Eliza took them. He looked down for a moment, seeing her slender fingers engulfed by his much larger hands, her skin ivory white against his golden tan. She wore a pretty muslin gown with a small, printed pattern, and a cap of white tulle and lace and ribbons hid most of her glossy dark hair. When he met her gaze, her green eyes lit with pleasure. “It is good to see you again.”
She smiled a wide, radiant smile that made him grin.
“Ah, and here is Lottie, late as usual,” Bedwin said with a chuckle.
Cassius turned his head to greet Eliza’s naughty little sister. Two years Eliza’s junior, she had driven Eliza to distraction when they were younger, always pleading to be a part of their secrets and their games, but Cassius had always liked her and enjoyed her mad schemes. Most of the trouble they’d been caught in as children had been of Lottie’s devising.
“Lottie,” he began, but whatever he’d been about to say he could not fathom as his gaze settled on her and his breath caught in his throat.
He could not breathe, could not think. Time froze as a creature exploded onto the terrace, so vivacious and vibrant that everyone else seemed to be a paper cut out. She burst out of the doors in a flurry of skirts and petticoats, everything about her alive, everything in motion, running to him with every expression of joy. Before he could speak or react, she had flung her arms about his neck and Cassius was enveloped in softness and a frothy excess of femininity. Acres of lace and silk and rustling petticoats foamed about his legs like a gentle sea, and instinctively his hands went to her waist and… oh. what a waist. She was slender and yet curvaceous in all the right places, her hips flaring and… and her breasts pressing against his chest. Desire slammed into him, hot and fierce and totally unexpected, wrong-footing him so he did not know what to do, what to say. The scent of her rose about him, delicate and yet maddening. The barely there perfume of jasmine tinged with something green, something fresh and spring-like, and—oh God—the scent of a woman, not a child, not a girl, a woman.
Who in the blazes was this creature and what had she done with Lottie, the little girl with scabby knees and arms and legs like sticks? Where was that girl with freckles and an infectious laugh that made him laugh too, no matter how blue devilled he was?
“Cassius!” she cried, such delight in that one word it was as though he’d given her the most splendid gift imaginable. “Oh, how we’ve missed you! How wretched of you to have been gone for so very long, and you hardly ever wrote to us. What have you been doing all this time? Have you had all the adventures you’d hoped for? Are you a marvellous artist now? Are you the talk of France? Did you go to Paris and have lots of scandalous love affairs?”
“Lottie,” her father protested. “Calm yourself, child. Put the poor man down and don’t be so impertinent, you wretched creature. You might remember you are a young lady. However is the poor man to answer a single question if you keep adding another before he can draw a breath?”
“Sorry,” Lottie said, chastened, colour flushing her cheeks.
To his regret, she unwound her arms from his neck and took a step back. He hated the look of mortification in her eyes and wanted to take it away, but she carried on, quieter now.
“I’m so sorry, Cassius. I did not mean to embarrass you. I got carried away. Only it’s so wonderful to have you home again.”
Cassius stared at her. His heart was thudding too hard behind his ribs and he felt giddy and disorientated, as if he’d been hit with a brick. The world had changed around him. This new version of it looked the same but was not the same at all, and neither was he.
“That’s all right,” Cassius said, finding his tongue at last, which appeared to have been temporarily nailed down. Good God, what had happened in the time he’d been away? Was this… this goddess truly Lottie, the girl he’d known all his life, the girl he’d helped teach to ride and laughed with and pulled out of more muddy puddles than he could count? When had she transformed from the gawky, awkward little scrap of mischief he’d known into… into….
His heart gave a definitive and uncomfortable thud behind his ribs, and Cassius knew without a doubt that he was in a world of trouble.
Nicolas Alexandre Demarteau leaned against the wall, regarding his half-brother, Louis César de Montluc, the Comte de Villen, with amusement.
“Arrêtez,” Louis said, catching his eye in the mirror.
Nicolas snorted, aware that Louis hated being observed when he was getting ready. His valet, a precise Englishman by the name of Elton, fussed about like an aggravating bluebottle, adjusting here and there and brushing invisible fluff from his master’s exquisite person. Elton took his work seriously, and why not? The man considered himself an artist, and if an artist were to show his work to advantage, he needed the very best canvas available.
Blessed with thick dark hair, the looks and physique of a young god and those startling blue eyes, Louis César de Montluc was most certainly that.
“If you have quite finished primping?”
“Oui,” Louis replied, giving an impatient click of his tongue.
“English, Louis,” Nic reprimanded him.
For that he was rewarded with an arctic glare.
“I am quite finished. Thank you for your patience, Nicolas. A pity you did not take five minutes longer on your own toilette or, indeed, five minutes.” Louis flicked an elegant finger at Nic’s cravat and sighed. “Quelle horreur.”
Nic batted his hand away. “Come along, we did not come ‘ere for the fun of it.”
“Here,” Louis corrected him with a smirk.
Nic glowered with irritation. “As you say, brother. We did not come here for our health.”
Louis’s eyebrows quirked. “Really? I thought that was precisely why we’d come.”
“Very well, if you need me to remind you what this is all for. We have come so you may woo the eligible Lady Elizabeth Adolphus and marry the girl as soon as may be and take your rightful place in society.”
Louis snorted, a flash of some dark emotion glinting in his eyes.
“My rightful place,” he said in disgust.
“It is your right,” Nic said, angry now. “And after everything we’ve done, I’ll not let you mess it up now. Your blood is as pure as the duke’s, and don’t you forget it.”
“I am unlikely to do so, when my very own guard dog growls the truth of it at me whenever I am in danger of enjoying myself,” Louis said with a wry smile. “Come along then, Nic, let us play nicely with the ladies and gentlemen, and do try not to bite anyone.”
Nic favoured his brother with a smile that showed too much of his teeth, and Louis laughed as he opened the door and walked out.
They made their way down the stairs and were greeted by the butler who led them through the buildi
ng. Nic tried not to stare about him like some country bumpkin, but he had never seen a house as vast, as lavish, or as ancient as Holbrook. Not in daylight, at least. Creeping about in the dead of night was a more familiar experience.
The brothers had accumulated a vast fortune between them in Paris, and Louis César had made a name for himself in society. Not an entirely respectable one, but marriage to the right girl would do a great deal to smooth his way, to bring him acceptance among the higher echelons of society where he ought to be welcomed with open arms. They had been working to that end, despite the rumours about their past and the suspicion that still clung to them, and then that damned letter had arrived, threatening to ruin everything. They had decided they would do well to leave Paris. After all, English society was far more rigid, more demanding of respectability. If they could triumph here, no one would ever look down their noses at Louis César again.
Nic could not say the same for himself, having committed the heinous crime of illegitimacy—as if he had a choice in the matter—but he cared nothing for that. People could look down at him to their hearts’ content if his brother and their illustrious bloodline were secured for generations to come. So here they were, having befriended Viscount Oakley during his time in France, and having heard much of the house party his parents gave each year. The Marquess of Montagu would be here, and they had met his daughter some years ago in circumstances the marquess would certainly wish to keep quiet. Not that they would tell tales, but it was a connection they had every intention of using to the full. Most importantly, though, was the information pertaining to the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin, and more specifically their lovely daughters.
The two eldest girls were of age, and Nic had wondered if Cassius had any interest in either of them. He had told Nic and Louis at some length of their beauty and accomplishments, but he only ever spoke of them with the affectionate tones of a proud older brother. Nic hoped that was the case, at least, for the viscount had become a good friend, and it would grieve them both to hurt him by interfering with any romantic plans he may have. Indeed, Nic had been enchanted by his stories of the two sisters, especially by the description of Eliza. From what Cassius said, and the little pencil sketch he’d done to illustrate, Nic had imagined her as some angelic vision of goodness. She seemed to him to embody every charm and quality that a man could wish for in a wife. She would be perfect for Louis. Impeccable lineage, good-natured, kind and gentle… the perfect wife, and a good mother. How could Louis fail to be happy with such a sweet creature at his side? Especially if she was as lovely as Cassius had indicated.
