The Conquest of Lady Cassandra (5 page)

“He thought to do most of it himself. However, he lacks the strength, so more has fallen to me these last months than I expected.”

“Is that where you were this week?”

“Yes.”

“You are taking great care in this duty to him, it appears.”

“It matters to him that everything is in perfect order.”

“Is it your peace offering? Your attempt to mend the differences that grew over the years?”

He looked at her as if she had just said something surprising. He appeared almost vulnerable for a moment. “A small attempt, perhaps.”

“The reasons for those differences probably seem very insignificant now that time is running out.”

“Yes. Damned insignificant.”

So this was the reason for the repeated delays over the last months, as he put her off again and again. The harsh accusations in that letter now mortified her. Under the circumstances, they would read as unfair and cruel.

“The earrings are exquisite, and I, of course, will be glad to pay what I bid for them and finally take possession,” he said. “How did you come by them?”

“Almost all the jewels that I sold at Fairbourne’s were given to me by my aunt.”

“Were those earrings among the jewels that you received from her?”

The question sounded rather pointed. Now that she thought about it, he had asked this in one of those earlier communications too.

“Why do you want to know?”

He shrugged. “Fairbourne’s is very careful about the provenance and history of the paintings it sells. Less so about the jewelry.”

“The provenance is very clear. They came from
me
.”

“And before you?”

“A ruby is a ruby. A diamond is a diamond. The provenance, or history of ownership, is not needed to support the claim of what it is, like collectors expect with a Raphael drawing.”

“I suppose not. Still, I would like to know more of their history. Part of the pleasure of owning something rare and beautiful is knowing its history,” he said. “At least it is for me.”

She could tell him. There was no real point in not doing so. So why did she find herself hesitating, and feeling very suspicious? Perhaps because right now, for all his pleasantness, he did not really appear friendly. His best features, his eyes and that mouth, betrayed him in nuanced ways.

They rode along another hundred feet before he spoke again. “Then you did receive them from your aunt?”

His persistence made her ill ease increase. Her grip tightened on her reins. “You are too boring with your questions.”

He laughed. “Forgive me. I will try to entertain you with different ones. For example, how long were you up on that rise, watching me disrobe?”

He caught her off her guard completely. She flushed and stammered and acted just as she had scolded Lydia not to. “I am sure I do not know what you are talking about,” she finally choked out.

His blue eyes twinkled. He enjoyed her disadvantage too obviously. “It was very naughty of you, but I do not mind. It relieves me of a difficult decision I was facing.”

She was afraid to ask, but of course she had to. “What decision?”

“Whether to add you to my conquests. The plain evidence that you are indeed a woman of the world absolves me of
some irritating points of honor on the question that have made me hesitate.”

She felt herself flush again. Thoroughly, down to her toes. “Do you always announce your intentions so boldly?”

“Not usually. I thought it would save considerable time on this occasion.”

She pulled herself together. The man was having too much fun at her expense. “Do you expect me to faint from anticipation, Ambury? Wait for your sly moves for weeks on end? You are not even serious. You are playing a game and trying to make a fool of me, as a way of expressing your disapproval and disdain.” She turned her horse. “Now I will take my leave of you. Perhaps you would be useful and see if you can find Lydia before it rains again. I will ride alone the rest of the way back.”

He leaned and caught her horse’s bridle in his hand, keeping her in place. “I will call on you when I return to town.”

“I prefer you not do that. Fighting off such a cynical seduction would be tedious.”

“I will not call to seduce you. I do not announce my intentions
that
boldly. I need to settle about the earrings. Remember?”

The earrings. Of course.

“Perhaps your aunt will receive me too, for a short visit.”

They were back to that now, were they? “She never receives now.”

“I am sure that you can cajole her to make an exception for me.”

“I can’t imagine why I would.” Indeed, she could think of several reasons why she would not. She jerked her horse free. “I have changed my mind. I will continue riding, and find Lydia myself. As for our business, I will expect to see you early next week in town.”

C
assandra examined the garden, looking for the plain straw bonnet that her aunt wore when she tended the plants. She spied its deep brim bobbing up and down behind some high rosebushes.

Both she and Aunt Sophie had modest incomes, but they could have a gardener if they chose. A man was hired in the spring and autumn to do the heavier work, but Aunt Sophie preferred to save his fees and devote herself to the daily maintenance. Since she no longer made morning calls or attended parties, she had plenty of time to do so.

Cassandra made her way on the paths to that straw bonnet. As she drew closer, her aunt’s face showed with rhythmic regularity, framed by green leaves and red blooms. It was a handsome face still, despite its thinning skin and deepening lines. A little fuller now, just as Aunt Sophie’s body had thickened these last two years. The current styles did not hide that the way the corsets and stomachers of the past had done. Not that Cassandra expected to find her aunt
in a stylish column of muslin and a high waist. Sophie had not updated her wardrobe in ten years, but she no longer bothered with bone and lacing.

Did she only imagine that Sophie’s eyes appeared distracted by thoughts far away from these plantings? She wondered if her aunt’s mind dwelled in the past more vividly than normal memories would explain. That was what Gerald had said at that ugly meeting last week. That Aunt Sophie’s mind was not entirely with them anymore.

Cassandra’s chest grew heavy again with the worry his words had planted. She hated that her brother had turned his cruelty on Sophie. Not only worry saddened her, however. Guilt did too, and not only for being the cause of trouble for her aunt.

Ever since Gerald had raised the question, she found herself wondering if he were correct. Little things not noticed before—distant, vacant expressions such as Sophie wore now, loomed larger. Moments of forgetfulness carried more weight. Even Sophie’s choice to retire from society—Cassandra had never questioned the reasons in the past, but Gerald had her wondering about them now.

She paced forward with determination. She would not allow Gerald to do this to her. To both of them. There was nothing wrong with Aunt Sophie’s mind or judgments. Gerald would be grateful to be so sharp when he was past sixty years in age.

Turning around the roses, she found her aunt bending to pull out a vine that had assaulted the bed. Cassandra doubted a male gardener could have displayed more energy. Sophie’s work gloves grasped and entwined that long, green invader while one booted foot braced her weight into the effort. The roots gave way just as Cassandra arrived. Sophie nearly fell from the sudden surrender that burst through the soil.

Sophie threw the vine into a basket, picked up her shears, and began eyeing the rosebushes.

“Late summer is the best time for flowers,” she said, as
if Cassandra had been by her side all morning. “I think I will ravish these bushes and fill the house with roses today. Autumn’s sad fading will be here all too soon.”

“I will help. You cut, and I will put them in the basket.”

Sophie began her snipping. A fussy woman when it came to objects of beauty, she did not take just any bloom. She considered and debated for a few moments before each cut.

Cassandra laid each fragrant rose in the basket. The pile began growing.

“I need your advice, Aunt Sophie,” she said. “I have done something on impulse that I regret.”

Sophie eyed the bush, choosing her next trophy. “I hope you found pleasure in it at least. I have always thought impulsive pleasure was the best kind.”

Cassandra glanced askance at her aunt. It was advice of this nature from Sophie that made her mother and brother want her to come home.

“The impulse had nothing to do with—this is not about pleasure. Not in any way. I wrote a letter to someone that was indiscreet.”

“Did I not tell you that letters can cause trouble? Words, once written, cannot be retracted. It is hard for them to even be forgotten. I warned you many times to never, ever, write when your emotions are stirred.”

“You warned me, but you were speaking about affairs of the heart.”

“If you want to call them that, I will not shock you by calling them something else. Please tell me that you did not either in this letter. I believe that a woman should be forward when necessary if she wants a man, but not on paper.”

“I did not write to a man and declare my lust, let alone my love. Nor did I write to a lover already conquered and allude to our pleasure. I hope that I learned something from you all these years.”

That made Sophie happier. She began to snip the next rose, but stopped. She suddenly appeared more substantial
and alert. More
there
. “What was this letter you wrote, if not indiscretions to a lover?”

“I had some business with a man, and he was slow to conclude it. In a fit of pique, I wrote to him and demanded just that.”

Sophie dropped her shears into the basket. She pulled the gloves off her snowy white hands. “I suppose having a solicitor write would have been more delicate, but I do not think you need to feel you behaved badly.”

“I made accusations that in hindsight were rash. I suggested the delay was no accident. I used words that he might consider insulting. It would be better if he did not read it. I have reason to think he has not yet. I am wondering if I should offer his servant a bribe to find the letter and return it to me.”

“Do you have a particular sympathy with this servant?”

“I do not know him at all.”

Sophie strolled toward the house. “You should save your money, and not become distraught over this. Tradesmen are often called names, by each other and by customers. A degree of insult goes with the profit. This one will not react as badly as you think, and will probably even still welcome your patronage.”

“That would be good news, if this were a tradesman. I regret to admit it is a gentleman.”

“I see. May I ask which gentleman?”

“Does it matter to the advice you will give?”

“Oh, yes. It matters a great deal. One can’t anticipate his reaction unless one knows his name. Hopefully it is a stupid fellow who will manage to read flattery into your insults out of a desperate desire to be pursued by a beautiful woman.”

“I regret to say the gentleman is neither stupid nor desperate. It is Viscount Ambury.”

Sophie’s eyebrows rose. “Highburton’s heir? That handsome young man with the blue eyes? Your dealings with him are financial in some way, and not those of lovers?”

“Definitely not those of lovers.”

“What a shame. He is delicious. Don’t look at me like that. The day I stop noticing is the day I hope someone shoots me.”

“That letter will anger him. Bribing the servant is probably my only choice. How much will it take, do you think?”

“His manservant will never accept a small bribe. Ambury’s good opinion and recommendation are too valuable to risk for less than twenty pounds, is my guess.”

If she had an extra twenty pounds, she would not have written that letter to start. “Then I must do something else.
Soon
.”

She held the door so her aunt could enter the house with her bounty of blooms. Sophie set the basket down on a worktable in the cool cellar kitchen, took several containers off a shelf, then sat down to arrange her flowers.

Sophie eyed the composition she created in a French porcelain pitcher. With the precision of an artist, she broke the stem of one final rose and added it to the front, just so. She set the pitcher aside and pulled a fat round blue transfer vase toward her. Cassandra watched, and wondered if the topic of their conversation had drifted out of Aunt Sophie’s mind entirely.

Finally her aunt had finished with the blue vase too. She sighed heavily as she reached for a pewter bowl.

“Good heavens, Cassandra, what were you thinking in sending a missive full of insults to Highburton’s heir? If you are going to throw down a gauntlet before such a man, at least be sure there is an army positioned over the next hill to ride to the rescue.”

Cassandra laughed. The evidence Sophie had been considering the dilemma heartened her. She hoped her aunt had concocted a solution while playing with all those roses. “Perhaps you know where I can find an army.”

“In my youth, I could have summoned one with a smile,” Sophie said wistfully. “Now—there is no army, dear. There is only me.”

“T
his is the first time you have left the house in almost a year, and you are going dressed like that?” Cassandra said when Sophie emerged from her chamber late that afternoon.

Her aunt had been known for her style when she circulated in society, both at home and abroad. Today, however, she looked like an aging governess. Her old-fashioned gray dress lacked any adornments. She wore no jewelry. A large white cap with limited lace hid most of her hair.

“I am not leaving the house. Not officially. I am going as your companion. Let him think I am a servant. You are not to introduce me. I will be a lady’s maid who is beneath his notice.”

“I think it would be better if you were who you are. You could dazzle him so his brain is too numb to realize just how poor my bribe actually is.”

“If I come at all, I come like this.”