Chapter Twenty
Cassian was going to marry her! Matthew was going to marry her! What were the odds her true love was also an eligible suitor? ‘It’s perfect! It’s like those stories where the girl kisses a frog and he turns into a prince. Only Matthew was never quite a frog.’ Pen gushed to Margery the next morning. She felt giddy and silly. She could hardly contain herself. ‘He’s coming to talk to Father today. Father will be so pleased!’ She grabbed Margery’s hands and spun her around the bedroom. ‘Just think, Father and I agreeing on a suitor! I would have thought that was impossible.’
Pen plopped down on the bed. ‘Now, what shall I wear? The primrose? That gown reminds me of the sun and I feel all sunny inside.’
‘I have yellow ribbon for your hair and your little heart charm too. Today would be the ideal time to wear it, a token of his affections.’ Margery picked up a brush just as the sound of a carriage harness jangled outside.
‘Is he here already?’ Pen rushed to the window overlooking the street. It was only eleven, too early for a call, but perhaps he couldn’t wait either. She was sure she’d slept last night only out of sheer exhaustion. Lovemaking, it turned out, was fine exercise.
Pen pulled back the curtain just enough to spy on the street. It was not Cassian’s bright blue phaeton parked at the kerb. She shifted her gaze to the door, recognising the straight-backed posture and sombre clothing of the man on the front step. Wilmington. He was an odd visitor at an odd time—perhaps her father had Parliament business with him.
‘Perhaps he wishes to propose too, miss,’ Margery suggested.
Pen dropped the curtain with a breezy confidence. ‘He can propose all he likes. I will accept only Cassian.’
* * *
Half an hour later, there was a scratch at her door. Margery opened it, exchanging hushed words with a footman. Pen did not care for the look on her face when her maid turned around. ‘Miss, your father wishes to speak to you in his office immediately. Your brother is with him.’
* * *
Something was dreadfully wrong. Pen shifted her gaze between her brother and her father and back again, looking for a clue as to what, but all she received in return was the briefest shakes of a head from Phin. Her father’s face was stoic and blank. He was ashen with restrained emotion. It took only a moment to realise he was angry. Angry beyond words. She’d only seen him this mad once before, when the news had come of her mother. ‘Father, what’s happened?’ Pen took the one empty chair in the room.
‘Viscount Trevethow has asked for an appointment this afternoon. I believe he wishes to discuss marriage. What do you say to that, daughter?’
Pen smiled—perhaps she’d misread the emotion. This should be pleasing news for him. ‘I hope he does. I would welcome his proposal.’
Her father’s hard gaze softened for the briefest instant, but with sorrow, not happiness. ‘Then it is as I feared. We have been played falsely, you most of all, Penrose.’
‘How so?’ She furrowed her brow and glanced at Phin for clarity. He offered none. ‘The Viscount and I are very much in love,’ she tried to explain to them, to herself. How could falling in love mean being played falsely?
Her father shook his head. ‘Trevethow does not love you. He would have courted you if you’d been an old crone. I have it on authority from Wilmington this morning that Trevethow is only after your dowry.’
‘Nonsense, he has wealth of his own. He’ll be a duke some day,’ Pen argued. It was as if they were talking about a different man. ‘You can’t take Wilmington’s word. He despises the viscount. Wilmington would say anything.’
‘It’s the land, Pen.’ Phin spoke quietly from his corner. ‘He wants the land to build a pleasure garden.’
‘You misunderstand, I’m the one that told him about the land,’ Pen countered hopefully. This was all a misunderstanding. She would put it straight, although she had to do it carefully.
‘When?’ her father asked.
‘Yesterday, on the way home from Gunter’s.’ It wasn’t technically a lie. They’d just made a stop by the Albany first.
‘Yesterday? You’re sure?’ her father pressed her.
‘Yes, absolutely.’ Pen smiled, feeling confident this solved her father’s riddle. But her father was more stoic than ever.
‘Then it seems Wilmington is right.’ Her father held out a pair of letters. ‘Trevethow was after that land long before yesterday.’
Pen took the papers and read them. It was hard to focus with her pulse racing and her emotions high. She could barely comprehend the import of the words. ‘This is a land development firm, the Porth Karrek Land Development Company. What does this have to do with me?’
‘Read what they want to do with the land,’ her father coached. ‘And note the date.’
Her eyes scanned the top of the letter. ‘This was written last autumn.’ She read the letter, past the salutations and expressions of politeness. There it was, in the fourth paragraph after the request to buy the land—the desire to build a pleasure garden. She moved to the second page, her stomach tightening as her eyes moved over the arguments for the park: to boost the economy, to create jobs, to educate people—all the reasons Cassian had given her.
‘It’s the first letter.’ Her father passed her a packet of papers. ‘If you like, you can read the subsequent correspondence. It will show that the Redruth estate rejected the first offer and the second. It will show that the development company doubled their offer and was refused. The last refusal was first of March.’ Her father held her gaze with angry, weary eyes. ‘I know you think your heart’s engaged, Pen, that’s why I’m showing you this. You don’t have to believe me. Believe the proof.’
She set the letters in her lap. ‘What is this proof of? That two people had an idea for an amusement garden? What does this have to do with Viscount Trevethow?’ But she knew, as she said the words, that the coincidence was too great for it not to be connected. She just didn’t know how.
‘Pen, Viscount Trevethow and his father own the development company,’ Phin explained.
The room spun. As pieces came together, her world slowly unravelled. She stared at the date on the last letter. Absolute refusal had been in March. Word fragments spun through her mind: ‘There’s a gentleman I wish to purchase something from... He is stubborn...he doesn’t see all the good it could do...’ ‘It sounds like your gentleman and my father have much in common.’ They were one and the same. Her mind was reeling now. When Cassian had spoke of his problem, it was the problem of acquiring land for his pleasure garden. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner?
Cassian’s first outing of the Season had been her debut ball in May. The society columns had remarked upon it. Dear Lord, he’d come straight after her, whoever she might have been, knowing that marriage was the only way he was going to get that land. Pen swallowed hard. Now she knew what it was he’d wanted so badly. He’d been after her land all along.
Oh, he’d been relentless and crafty. He’d not even mentioned the pleasure gardens until she was well and duly impressed with him, besotted with a man who laid the world at her feet and overcome her resistance in the most spectacular of ways, all the time knowing what he wanted in exchange for his efforts: thirty-two acres on the coast.
She’d made it easy. He hadn’t even had to trick her out of the acres. She had offered them to him yesterday, in his bed, thinking she’d come up with the perfect solution, that it was all her idea. Her throat tightened. This was her nightmare come true. Her worries from the start had come to life: that Cassian or Matthew—the distinction hardly mattered—was nothing but a flirt, who would say whatever was required to get what he wanted. In this case, he’d not wanted her, but the land. She just happened to come with it. No, that couldn’t be right, that couldn’t be all there was to it. She couldn’t accept that it had all been a lie. ‘He loves me. He wants to marry me.’ Pen made the feeble argumen
t.
‘He wants to marry you, that’s true. But not for love.’ Her father was stern. ‘At least we know before it’s too late. Imagine how much worse this would have been if you’d actually wed him.’
Pen shook her head. ‘There is room for love and land, Father. He loves me. I know it. The land is just an extra benefit.’ But the sun was going out of the day, her happiness turning to grey doubt. He had come straight from Em to court a girl he’d never seen with the intent to marry her. She’d accused him of it that night at the ball. He’d denied it, but it was exactly what he’d done. Had he truly only courted her for the land, had he not loved her at all? Had he not fallen for her? She thought of yesterday. She’d given him everything. Had it meant nothing? Just a means to an end? Had he meant to compromise her in case he failed to persuade her to marry him legitimately? Pen pressed her hands to her stomach. She wanted to be sick at the thought of such treachery. No, she couldn’t give in to such belief. She knew better. She had to fight.
‘I don’t believe it and I don’t think you should either. You should talk to the viscount and hear it from him.’ Pen pushed on, frantic to make sense of this turn of events. ‘What’s so wrong with marrying for love and land?’ She was desperate now. ‘You picked Trevethow yourself, Father. In May you were over the moon about the prospect of me becoming a duchess. I invested in him, emotionally, and now that I’ve decided on a man I wanted to marry, you are pulling him away.’ Pen lowered her voice, determined to not become hysterical. She played her ace. ‘You said I could come to London to find a suitor. Well, I have. I choose Trevethow.’
‘And I refuse to sanction the union.’ Her father’s answer was sharp, cold and fast. He hadn’t even taken a moment to think. The speed of his answer rendered Pen temporarily speechless. That had been her ace and he’d trumped her without hesitation.
‘Father, I choose him,’ she repeated dumbly.
‘My daughter will not marry a man who seeks to so blatantly mislead her about his intentions. It is one thing to arrange an alliance through marriage, as long as both parties understand that’s what it is. It is another thing entirely to feign affection and deceive a young girl with no experience in the world, who was susceptible enough to fall for the first man who showered her with attentions.’
Pen’s temper flared and she rose. ‘That is not what happened. I am not a young girl. I am twenty-one years old and I am not naive. I might have lived behind castle walls, but I am not ignorant of how the world works.’ Tears stung and this time she could not stop them. ‘How dare you think I am too stupid to not know the difference between love and cheap flattery. Mother raised me better than that.’
‘You leave your mother out of this.’ Her father rose, too, bracing his hands on the desk. ‘I have had the task of keeping you safe for the last ten years and I will not falter in that duty now. Your marriage to a bounder like Trevethow would disgrace her memory. That’s the end of it. We are going home tomorrow. I’ve already instructed Margery to pack your things.’
‘No!’ This was Em and Matthew all over again—she was being pulled from Cassian. Would he think she’d changed her mind? Would he think she didn’t love him? ‘I won’t go.’ Not until she heard from his lips he didn’t love her, that he’d used her. Only then would she believe it had been a lie.
‘You will go. We are going home where it’s safe. There’s measles at the Royal Military Asylum. The Hawaiian court has come down with them, including the King, and there’s been talk of a strange vigilante walking the streets at night, meting out justice as he sees fit. These are not conditions I want you exposed to. Besides, Wadesbridge has written once more, expressing his continued interest in marriage. I will accept the offer on your behalf. You’ll be settled with a decent man close to home who won’t break your heart.’ He smiled, trying to soften the blow. ‘I know it seems disappointing now, but in a few months you’ll see this was the right decision. We’ll have a grand wedding at Trescowe among the autumn leaves and you can wear your mother’s wedding dress. It will be the biggest party Cornwall will have ever seen.’ He was trying to placate her. This time it wouldn’t work.
‘Pen,’ Phin said, trying to make peace. ‘Trevethow isn’t honourable.’
She shook her head. ‘Please, Phin. Don’t. You can’t make this better. Not this time.’ She gathered her skirts and her dignity and left the room. She would not let them see her cry. She would save those tears for when she reached the safety of her room and hope that at some point she would be able to stop. She doubted it. Her heart was breaking, shattering into a thousand pieces. She’d been betrayed not by one man today, but three and all of them claimed to love her. If that was love, she wanted nothing to do with it.
* * *
The hall clock at White’s chimed three. Redruth was late, but that did not dim Cassian’s spirits, nor had the request that they move their meeting to the club as opposed to Redruth’s town house. He was going to marry Pen. He’d meet Redruth at the tailor’s if that was what it took.
‘You’re cheery today.’ Inigo sauntered over and took a chair. ‘What’s the reason?’
‘I’m asking for Pen’s hand. Redruth is meeting me.’ Cassian kept his voice low, well aware of how the news would affect the betting book.
‘He’s meeting you here?’ Inigo was surprised. ‘That’s rather public for him.’
‘It’s how he wanted it, but he’s late.’ Pen had been ‘late’ once, too, and she’d never come. He was starting to wonder if it was a family trait.
‘Well, then, congratulations are in order.’ Inigo waved for a waiter. ‘We’ll have an anticipatory drink while we wait and I’ll tell you all my news. All anyone wants to talk about aside from your courtship is the Hawaiian King with the measles and the vigilante—apparently this week hasn’t been the first time he’s struck, merely the first time someone has put all the pieces together. Interesting, don’t you think? A man who goes about dealing out justice on his own?’ Inigo took his drink from the tray. ‘Cheers, my friend.’
‘Is it any different than what we do? Eaton with his school, me with the pleasure garden, you with your loans and investments, all of which are guided by the principle of making Cornwall better? This man apparently wants to make London better, one night at a time.’ Cassian mused, one eye on the door. Any moment, Redruth would walk in. A group entered and Cassian’s nerves eased only to tighten again. It wasn’t Redruth, merely Wilmington and his cronies. Wilmington gave him a sardonic nod as he passed.
‘We don’t wear masks.’ Inigo chuckled at the analogy. He jerked his head towards Wilmington’s group by the window. ‘What was that all about?’
‘I don’t know. He’s been angry over Pen for weeks.’ Cassian smiled and looked beyond his friend’s shoulder. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Inigo, Redruth is here.’ At last. Only a half hour late.
Inigo clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck, then. I’ll be over there reading my newspapers if you need me.’
Cassian motioned the earl over and summoned refreshments, playing the consummate host in his little part of the club. ‘French brandy is your drink, I believe.’ Cassian shook the earl’s hand. ‘It’s good to see you. Thank you for coming.’ Although by rights, the earl ought to be the one thanking him for making this accommodation.
The earl was taciturn as he took his seat, ignoring the offer of brandy. ‘This won’t take long.’
Chapter Twenty-One
An odd little chill crept through Cassian. The earl wasn’t known for his social graces: he ought not be unnerved. Still, ‘things’ were starting to add up: wanting to meet outside his home, a desire to make the meeting brief, no apology for being late, the refusal to drink with him.
Cassian opted to plunge in. Clearly, the earl was no lover of small talk, and probably not a lover of sentiment. ‘As you are aware, your daughter and I have become quite close during the time we’ve spent together. I have deve
loped an affection for her and I believe she’s developed one for me.’ That was an understatement based on yesterday afternoon. ‘One that has led me to want to ask for her hand in marriage and make her my duchess.’
Sharp green eyes with dagger tips met his gaze. This was not the look of a man who welcomed a proposal for his daughter. He’d seen that welcoming look just weeks ago. Something had changed. ‘I am well aware where your affections lie, Trevethow. They are not with my daughter as much as they are with her land and your damnable amusement garden. I will no more consider your suit for her hand than I did your land company’s offer for the land.’ He ground out the last words.
‘I’m sure I don’t understand,’ Cassian replied coldly. He was frozen inside, paralysed by the revelation as his mind grappled to make sense of it. Redruth knew. How could he have known? But, more importantly, Redruth did not believe his feelings for Pen were genuine. ‘Your daughter discussed the land with me yesterday. She voluntarily suggested it as a site.’
‘After you turned her head with opera boxes, nights at the theatre and weeks of dancing dazzling attendance on her. She is not worldly, Trevethow. You took advantage of her. You did not tell her you deliberately targeted her for her dowry.’
‘She is more worldly than you think. I mean that as a compliment, sir. She is a fine woman, intelligent, thoughtful and kind. You underestimate her.’ Cassian kept his voice low. People were starting to look, to wonder. It had been bad enough to know eyes had been on them covertly since Redruth had walked in. This was the meeting the ton had been waiting for since the Redruth ball. To have it take place in public was a gossip’s dream come true. Cassian had no doubts stories of this would regale dinner tables around London tonight. He’d been jilted just like his brother.
The Passions 0f Lord Trevethow (The Cornish Dukes Book 2) Page 18