Sweet Release (27 page)

“You know very well, Geoffrey, that nothing can change my mind once it’s made up,” she said sweetly, settling herself on a painted wooden settee next to Lucy Carter and smoothing her skirts. “I was determined to attend your birthday celebration, and nothing, certainly not a silly bump on the head, could keep me away.”

“Bump on the head? What happened, Cassie, dear?” Lucy asked. The youngest of Robert “King” Carter’s five daughters, Lucy was one of the few young women Cassie looked forward to seeing. She and her elder sister Mary, though both younger than Cassie, had always shown her kindness, never turning up their noses at her less fashionable attire or her unorthodox upbringing. She hadn’t seen them more than two or three times a year in the entire time they were growing up, but she considered them true friends. Their mother had died at a very young age, and they had been a source of solace for Cassie after her own mother passed away.

“I struck my head on a branch while riding and was knocked from my horse.”

A collective gasp went up from the women. Lucy raised one smooth white hand to her lightly rouged lips in a gesture of dismay. Cassie’s own hands were freckled from working in the sun, her nails neither long nor manicured. The difference had never seemed important before. Why should she care now?

“You’re damned lucky to be alive, young lady,” said King Carter, who sat otherwise engrossed in a game of whist with Geoffrey’s father.

“I’m afraid she fainted this afternoon just after she arrived,” said Geoffrey, provoking another round of gasps. “She’s fortunate I was there, or she might have struck herself again on our front stairs.”

“Yes, Geoffrey. Thank you for your gallant kindness.” Cassie fought to keep the censure from her voice at Geoffrey’s lie. It had been Cole, not he, who had caught her and carried her indoors, though she was not supposed to know that.

“Does it hurt?” Lucy asked, brushing her cool fingers gently over the bruise on Cassie’s temple.

“A little.”

“How is your father faring these days?” asked the senior Geoffrey Crichton. “Still looking for new breeding stock?”

She heard someone snicker and forced herself to ignore the double entendre. “He is doing well, though his search is not going as smoothly as he’d hoped.”

“Did I mention, Father, that Blakewell sent his convict to race Aldebaran?” said Geoffrey, flicking the lace at his wrists. Master Crichton’s head snapped up from his cards, and he fixed Cassie with a glare. “What’s this?”

“He didn’t want to be falsely accused of cowardice again.” She lifted her chin higher. She’d never liked Geoffrey’s father. He’d always frightened her.

Carter laughed. “Sounds to me like the man is tired of your insults.”

Master Crichton murmured something Cassie couldn’t make out and returned to his cards.

“Hello, I say!” came a voice from inside the manor.

It was the younger Robert Carter, lately of Nomini Hall, and his wife, Priscilla. Lucy squealed with delight and ran in a swish of blue skirts to greet them. Cassie sighed with relief, grateful she was no longer the center of attention.

The afternoon passed without further incident, the remaining guests drifting in slowly: the Braxton’s, the Randolph’s of Turkey Island, the Fitzhugh’s, the Lee’s, the Byrd’s, the Nicholase’s, the Ludwell’s of Green Springs. Cassie spent most of her time getting the news from Lucy and Mary, who had much to report. Judith, their elder sister, was still in mourning, her husband having died suddenly in January. She had remained at home, as custom demanded, with her six children. Lucy and Mary had met Governor Gooch and his sister-in-law, Anne Staunton, in February and found them good-natured and hospitable. Their older brother, Landon, now a handsome young man of twenty, was lately smitten with young Elizabeth Wormley, but no one expected this infatuation to last any longer than the others. Most exciting, Lucy was to wed William Fitzhugh next spring.

Cassie was genuinely happy for her friend and had congratulated her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. But, rather than feeling uplifted by the good news, Cassie felt her spirits fall. She’d had little to share with them. What could she say? That her father was wasting away before her eyes? That she’d been deceiving them all for more than a year? That she thought night and day of a man society deemed unworthy even of simple compassion? She had picked at her food during dinner. When she’d gone to the nursery to tuck Jamie in for the night, she’d been so distracted she’d repeated the same verse of his favorite lullaby until he’d grown impatient and corrected her. At least he’d had an exciting day, helping Cole with Aldebaran in the stables and playing with the other children in the hayloft.

What was Cole doing now?
she wondered as climbed the stairs to her room. Probably adjusting to his first night of sleeping with horses. Whether he was Cole Braden or Alec Kenleigh, his character spoke of a man accustomed to feather beds and fine brandy, not blankets spread over hay and corn whiskey. The image of him bedded down in the stables made her want to laugh.

She opened the door, expecting to find Elly asleep on her pallet. Instead the girl was twirling about in front of the looking glass, lost in a daydream, holding Cassie’s finest gown to her chin.

“Oh!” Elly froze and dropped the gown to the floor. Remembering herself, she picked it up and clumsily hung it in the armoire.

“I brought these from the kitchen.” Cassie pretended not to have seen and opened her handkerchief on the dressing table. Inside were several morsels from her own plate, including a sliver of roast veal and a piece of sugared white cake.

Elly moved shyly toward the food, then grabbed the entire handkerchief and ate greedily.

“Do you like it?” Cassie asked, sitting down in front of the looking glass and pulling the pins from her hair.

“Mmnun.”

“I’ll bring more tomorrow.” She gave Elly her warmest smile. Despite everything Cassie had tried to do for her, Elly still seemed to dislike her. Cassie had no idea why. Perhaps their stay at Crichton Hall would be the beginning of a more comfortable relationship. Cassie certainly hoped so.

Her head had begun to throb again, and she found herself longing for the comfort of her bed. What she needed was a good night’s sleep. She ran the brush carefully through her hair. Tomorrow she would awaken refreshed, her spirits restored, her mind unburdened by thoughts of a dark-haired felon.

For Cole Braden was, indeed, a felon, even if his real name turned out to be Alec Kenleigh. He had stolen her heart.

Elly took the last bite of cake and watched from her seat on the , windowsill as Miss Cassie brushed her hair and dressed for bed. She’d never tasted anything like this before. It was so sweet—and fluffy, like a cloud.

If she were a wealthy planter’s wife she’d eat cakes like this every day. Though it was kind of Miss Cassie to remember her, Elly could not bring herself to say even one word of thanks. Miss Cassie still thought her a silly servant girl. But Elly was growing more and more tired of being ordered about. Miss Cassie was not as important as she liked everyone to believe. Nor was she the lady she pretended to be. Elly had seen the Carter sisters this afternoon. They were true gentlewomen, with silk gowns fit for princesses, fair faces, beautifully styled blond hair.

Oh, to “be one of them! They never walked barefoot in mud like Miss Cassie, or washed dishes or worked in the fields. So many things were not as Elly had first believed, but her eyes were beginning to open. She’d thought Blakewell’s Neck grand when she had first arrived in Virginia. But Crichton Hall made Miss Cassie’s home seem a hovel. With ceilings so high you could not see the cobwebs, polished wooden floors that could have been mirrors, and stairways so tall they seemed to go straight to heaven, Crichton Hall was a palace.

Elly might one day be the mistress of this grand place. Geoffrey loved her now. He’d told her so this afternoon. When she’d gone to fetch lemonade for Miss Cassie, he’d found her and pulled her with him into an empty room. She’d protested at first when he tried to kiss her. But then he’d told her he truly loved her, that he’d loved her since the first time he’d seen her. If the kiss had not made her bum the way Zach’s kisses did, it was only because Geoffrey was a gentleman and had not set out to arouse her so. What mattered was that Geoffrey loved her.

The next morning dawned cool and rainy. Cassie found herself staring impatiently out the drawing room window, while the other women, joined by their daughters, engaged in needlework and listened to Lucy accompany Mary’s singing on the harpsichord. Cassie had wanted so badly to go riding this morning. The rain hadn’t kept the men from hunting, but the women were expected to stay indoors in such weather. It hardly seemed fair.

“I say, Cassie, haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, Priscilla. My mind seems to be wandering.”

“I said I have more embroidery upstairs if you’d like something to keep your fingers busy.”

“No, thank you. I’m afraid my stitches would only spoil your work.”

It was the truth. Besides, she hated needlework.

“Did your mother never teach you how to ply the needle?”

“She tried. I’m afraid I wasn’t a very attentive pupil.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to work with little Anne on her sampler.” Cassie ignored the muffled giggles and smiled at Anne, Priscilla’s three-year-old daughter, who looked up from her practice stitches at the sound of her name.

“My sisters-in-law tell me you’ve refused two offers of marriage,” continued Priscilla. “May I ask if you’re planning on remaining a spinster?”

At Lucy’s shocked gasp, the room fell silent.

Cassie felt her face flush.

“It is unnatural for a woman to remain unwed and childless.”

Priscilla shrugged.

“Unlike some, I find love, not money, the only incentive to marry. I did not love those men, and so I could not marry them. But then I wouldn’t expect you to understand, since it was the size of Robert’s purse, not his person, you found so attractive.” Her pulse racing, Cassie turned and walked quickly from the room, ignoring the stunned look on Priscilla’s face.

“Priscilla Churchill Carter, you should be ashamed of yourself!” she heard Lucy exclaim before the drawing room door closed behind her.

Outside, rain fell in a fine mist. Cassie inhaled the fresh air, letting the cool breeze carry away the frustration that boiled inside her. She had no idea what she’d done to provoke Priscilla’s nastiness. Lucy had once told her the other women were resentful of her freedom, but Cassie rather doubted that. They seemed to take great pride in their limitations, condemning women who lived any other way, raising their own daughters to suffer the same. Cassie wrapped her shawl over her head to ward off the rain and walked toward the stables. She needed to check on Aldebaran, she told herself, aware at the same time that it was only an excuse. She wanted to see Cole.

She found him brushing the stallion’s coat, his sleeves rolled up above the elbow, the ties of his linen shirt left undone. If he was surprised to see her, he did not show it.

“Miss Blakewell,” he said with a perfunctory nod.

“How fares Aldebaran, Mr. Braden?” She scratched the animal’s withers.

It seemed strange to speak so formally to the man whom she’d kissed more than once and who’d so recently seen her naked, but with other grooms standing only a few yards away, she could ill afford to do otherwise.

“He’s restless.”

The stallion snorted and tossed his head as if to concur.

“Have you recovered from yesterday’s fainting spell?” he asked. “Yes, thank you,” she said, puzzled by the faint smile that came to his lips.

“I had no idea you were such an accomplished actress,” he said in a whisper, his smile broadening to a wide grin.

“You knew?”

“Aye.”

“But you—”

“Played along? Of course. I couldn’t let you hit the ground. Besides, it is seldom a man gets to hold a woman as lovely as you in his arms.”

Cassie could tell by the warmth in his eyes that he meant what he said.

“What I want to know is whom you thought you were protecting with your timely swoon,” he continued, brushing the horse with rhythmic strokes. “If it was me, you have sadly underestimated my abilities. I assure you I am quite capable of handling that popinjay.” The comment was meant to reassure her, she knew, but she felt herself growing irate.

“You don’t realize the nature of your position, Cole Braden. Geoffrey could easily have you beaten or flogged. I’ve seen how cruel he and his father can be. You’re on their land now. There would be little I could do to stop them.”

“So it was me you were protecting. You do so hurt my pride,” he said, his voice full of feigned self-pity.

One look at the pout on his handsome face, and there was naught she could do but smile. “Men! Their arms may be strong, but their pride is easily wounded.”

He turned toward her, his face suddenly grave. “There may come a day, Cassie, when the enmity between Crichton and me turns to violence. When that day comes, don’t interfere.” His blue eyes gazed at her unblinking, no hint of humor in their depths. She felt a shadow pass over her and shivered involuntarily.

“Cole, you cannot mean that!”

“There are some things a man must do to remain a man, Cassie.