Dash of Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

  Bertie tugged at his neckcloth and, red-faced, attempted to be polite. “Dash it all, Cass, you and Christa would get along fine. You ought to be out and about more. You ain’t still in mourning, are you?”

  It was on the tip of Cass’s tongue to say she had never mourned her father, but she caught Merrick’s eye and bit back the bitter reply. All this had been his idea, she knew. He wholeheartedly disapproved of her rackety family. The Howard name and Eddings title dated back through centuries, but Wyatt’s Puritan antecedents cared little for such things. Perhaps it was kindness that made him want to rescue her from herself, but she preferred to believe it was his smug moral righteousness. Experience had taught her kindness did not exist.

  “That’s most thoughtful of you, Bertie, but really not necessary. Mama will be better soon, and I’ll have a proper come-out then. I haven’t seen Christa in this age or more. Perhaps someday you could take me to call. We haven’t kept in touch with our neighbors from Kent very well. Would you care for some tea?”

  She prayed they would not. In all likelihood she would have to go to the kitchen and prepare it herself, and even then it was doubtful that she could offer anything more. But it was the only polite phrase she had left in her repertoire.

  Lord Merrick rose and bowed. “I fear we have other engagements and must be leaving, my lady. If it’s convenient for you, one of us will be around tomorrow at this time to take you to Lady Cunningham’s. I’m certain she will be delighted to have the visit.”

  He was all that was proper, making her realize all that she was not. Resentfully she offered her hand and allowed him to bow over it. His grip was strong and firm and somehow disconcerting. “Thank you, my lord. It has been good seeing you again.”

  “I say, Merrick, let’s not do it too brown. Christa ain’t exactly the Queen of Egypt,” Bertie objected when Merrick did not immediately release her hand.

  Cassandra immediately transferred her attention to Bertie and murmured polite farewells. She was uncomfortably aware of his lordship’s gaze, but she had no wish to decipher what might be behind his observant eyes.

  After they left, she sat staring at the lighter-colored square on the wallpaper where a portrait had once hung. Her argument with Duncan overshadowed the visit, and her fingers clenched and unclenched in her palm as she tried to sort out a strategy.

  She shouldn’t have been so hasty about declining Lady Cunningham’s chaperonage. She might have met some decent gentlemen that way, but Duncan had been right. Her reputation and that of her family would dissipate any chance she had and potentially harm anyone who supported her.

  When she was a child, she had always considered it something of a lark to accompany her father to places other ladies would blanch to hear of. She wondered what society would think if they knew she was good friends with the Cyprian who had been her father’s mistress these past years. Undoubtedly, she was corrupt beyond redemption, but she hadn’t wanted to be that way.

  All she had ever wanted was her parents’ happiness and a decent home. That she had gone about it in all the wrong ways was a difficult lesson to learn—and not one understood when she was younger. Now that she was old enough to know better, there didn’t seem to be any way out of the hole she had dug. She was tarred with the same brush as her brother and father.

  Or would be soon enough. She stood and paced the room. Obviously her reputation hadn’t preceded her yet. Perhaps she had behaved rather badly at the few social affairs Duncan had condescended to take her to, but that was because he had insisted on foisting her off on his miserable friends. She could do better. Her mother had taught her the niceties.

  She only had to find a decent man to rescue her from this morass, and she would be the epitome of all that was proper. She could provide her mother with a decent home—if she worked fast enough.

  It would take a man of immense respectability and wealth, one who was far above gossip. With a smile as much of spite as decision, she lifted her skirt and set off in search of the one remaining maid.

  The illegitimate daughter of a long-departed parlor maid, Lotta had been with the Howards literally since her birth. There were some that said she was as much Howard as the legitimate son and daughter, but Cassandra and Lotta had decided it was more likely that Lotta’s father was one of the late marquess’s rakehell friends.

  While admittedly Cassandra favored her blond mother and possessed little of her father’s dark, aristocratic looks, Lotta bore no resemblance to anyone at all, not even her deceased mother. Her round cherub face and blond locks had more the appearance of a good yeoman than of any aristocrat either knew. But both girls were equally certain that Lotta’s mother would never have given her virtue to a simple farmer. Somewhere out there a nobleman with a rotund face and a yeoman’s build had a daughter he knew nothing about.

  Cassandra rather favored Bertie’s father as the culprit. Wouldn’t the new Lady Cunningham be surprised to discover she had a half-sister scrubbing ladies’ linens in the Howard basement? Reaching the laundry room, she dodged suds as Lotta took the wash paddle to the kitchen cat, spraying soapy water across the already slippery floor.

  “Lotta, how would you like to put on your best bonnet and go courting?”

  That caught the older girl’s attention. The maid dropped her paddle and hastily dried her hands on her apron. “Courting? Who’s to go courting, ye or me?”

  “Both. First, you must find out where my beau will be so I can make certain to be there too. That you can do if you woo one of his lordship’s men. Surely you must know one or two on Merrick’s staff?”

  Lotta’s eyes grew large at the earl’s name, but she had no reason to question Cassandra’s decision. “If I don’t know them, I soon will. Will you lend me your old gloves, too, so I can look proper?”

  Cassandra smiled in delight. It would be only a matter of time now.

  ~*~

  Lotta had long since returned with her devastating news when Cassandra entered her mother’s room with tea. She felt her stomach knot as she arranged the bed tray. She couldn’t let her mother see how many of her hopes were pinned on the outcome of this conversation.

  “There is entirely too much here for both of us to eat, child. Are you expecting company?” Lady Eddings arranged her napkin over her satin bed gown and lifted her large blue eyes to her daughter.

  “Of course not, Mama. You must eat more if you are to get well. Will you have one sugar or two today?” Cassandra settled in the bedside chair and poured their tea. Her mother really ought to have full-time care, but good nursemaids did not stay long when their duties were not monetarily rewarded.

  “One, thank you. Lotta said you had gentlemen callers this morning. I trust they were respectful. It really is not proper to have callers with no other lady in attendance.”

  “You need not worry about the conventions, Mama. Lord Merrick is everything that is proper. He meant to call on us both, but I had to explain that you weren’t receiving. You remember Lord Merrick and Mr. Scheffing from home, don’t you?”

  Lady Eddings smiled. “Which Mr. Scheffing? It seems to me there are dozens of them. A quite respectable family, as I recall.”

  “Albert, of course, Mama. He is a little less than Lord Merrick’s age, I believe.”

  The invalid nodded knowingly. “And never been married, now that I recall. A quite presentable young man. They’re not wealthy, but I suppose young Albert would come into a competence one day. You could do worse, I daresay. Will he call again?”

  Cassandra looked exasperated at this digression from her plans. “I don’t know, Mama, he’s just a friend. It’s Lord Merrick I want to talk to you about. I wish to attach his interest, but he’s to go away and stay at Hampton Court with some others for a week, and I fear he will forget all about me while he’s gone.”

  Actually, since he had managed to forget her for years, she was quite certain he would forget. Her urgency was a result of servants’ gossip that the earl would set a date with Lady Catherine ov
er this next week. It was expected there would be a wedding before the Season ended. Cass could overset a betrothal without a qualm, but a wedding would put finished to her plans.

  Lady Eddings regarded her with suspicion. “Wyatt Mannering is much too old and set in his ways for you. His first wife was a mouse who never spoke a word of her own. That harpy mother of his saw to that. Besides, haven’t I heard you say that he has become betrothed to Lady Catherine? An unlikely couple, I admit, but their lands do march together.”

  Cassandra had no recollection of Wyatt’s mother or his first wife, but as a schoolroom miss she could scarcely be expected to make their acquaintance. Her knowledge of Wyatt came more from his association with Duncan and the other young men of the area. That had been before the fire, of course.

  “He won’t be happy with Cathy. And our lands march alongside his as well. And we have a much higher rank than the Montcrieffs. I don’t see why I shouldn’t be the one he weds. Just think, Mama, we could go back to Kent. It would be just like old times.”

  Lady Eddings gazed at her daughter with affection. “Very well, child, if your heart is set on it, I will write to your Aunt Matilda. She does not go out much anymore, but she is great friends of the dowager Lady Hampton. They will enjoy a visit, and I see no reason you shouldn’t accompany her. Bring me my writing desk.”

  Exhilaration swept through Cassandra. She had done it! Within a fortnight she would be in constant proximity to Wyatt. Surely she would find some way to attach him. It was just a matter of knowing her cards and playing them well.

  The jackpot would be returning to the safety and respectability of Kent and providing the home that her mother deserved.

  She would worry about the duties of married life later.

  Chapter 4

  The moment Cassandra entered the portals of Hampton Court with her aunt she had the premonition that she had committed a dreadful mistake. The elderly butler greeted her great-aunt with respect and did not deign to so much as announce Cassandra’s presence to the company.

  An aging dowager in the sweeping silks and turban of another generation haughtily bore down on them, taking Aunt Matilda into her protection and leading her away, leaving Cassandra to trail behind as they were shown to their chambers.

  Unhappily, she listened to the sounds of voices and laughter from behind all the closed doors of this monstrous edifice, but Lady Hampton made no effort to introduce her to the other guests. She was abandoned in a small chamber adjacent to her aunt’s.

  Well, she was accustomed to looking after herself. She would just have to learn to do the same in these strange surroundings. She was the daughter of a marquess. They could not keep her in hiding forever. Then she would show Merrick that she was all that she should be. Somehow, she would have to make him see that Catherine was not what he wanted.

  Duncan had refused to allow her any more gowns, so she had only the emerald and the primrose to choose from as she prepared for dinner. Merrick had seen both, so she had to decide based on the merits of the entrance she would make. Without a lady’s maid to advise her, she settled on the primrose silk. She dressed her hair herself so that the disorderly strands fashioned into a neat coil on top of her head and only a few wisps spilled about her face.

  At the dinner bell, Cassandra descended the stairs to join her aunt in the salon. The titters and shocked stares as she entered warned all was not well, but Cassandra held her chin high and surveyed the room in seeming search for her aunt. In reality, she wished for a corner in which to hide.

  Her faux pas was immediately apparent. Most of the guests assembled were considerably older than herself, and one or two indiscreetly displayed as much of their bosoms as Cassandra. But it was obvious even to her that such a display in this proper household was the exception rather than the rule. In addition, the one or two young ladies of her own age wore modest muslins primarily of white with discreet dashes of color in their sashes or ribbons. None revealed more than a hint of the valley between their breasts, and even this much was concealed behind a properly draped shawl. Cassandra’s vibrant silk with its daring decolletage was fit only for the wicked women of Duncan’s world. Why had she never noticed that before?

  Cassandra had no time in which to berate herself for her blindness. She could not run and hide. She was a Howard, and thereby of higher rank than almost everyone in this room. She had to smile bravely and keep going forward.

  She had no awareness of Merrick’s nearness until she heard the deep rumble of his voice behind her and felt his large hand upon her elbow. “The room is damp. Shall I send someone to fetch your shawl?” There was neither mockery nor warmth in the question.

  Cassandra steeled herself from the condemnation in his eyes and looked up into his lean face. To her surprise, she found no emotion there, only a certain patience as he awaited her reply. She nodded in acknowledgment. “If you would, please. I was in such a hurry, I forgot it.”

  Merrick summoned a nearby footman and sent him on the errand.

  “I trust you are not within these illustrious halls without a chaperone, my lady. Perhaps you would introduce me to whomever you are searching for?”

  Cassandra mistrusted the velvet softness of his voice, but she had vowed to be on her best behavior. She saw Catherine advancing upon them, and she offered Wyatt a brilliant smile before he could be swept away. “If you could find my Aunt Matilda in these cavernous spaces, I would be happy to introduce you. Perhaps she is by the fire. She has a fear of cold.”

  They did not advance far before Catherine confronted them, her icy gray eyes sweeping over Cassandra’s revealing costume with derision. “You are making a spectacle of yourself, Wyatt.” She turned her glare back to Cassandra. “You would do well to eat with your aunt in her room, Cassandra. The men here tonight are gentlemen. You’ll not find them very entertaining.”

  Malicious mischief welled up, and Cassandra spoke before she had time to think. “Cat, you have not changed. Do you still use handkerchiefs to fill your bodice?”

  Before her nemesis could utter an outraged reply, Cassandra made a proper curtsy to Merrick. She felt his gaze resting on her own natural abundance, and she sent him a knowing gaze as she rose. “It is good seeing you again, my lord. I wouldn’t wish to intrude upon a private conversation. Good evening.”

  Merrick had half a mind to catch the brat’s arm and give her the proper verbal thrashing she deserved, but with a guilty start he realized it wasn’t just a verbal thrashing he had in mind. Lady Cassandra Howard had grown into a proper armful, and he felt a surge of lust as he imagined any number of other chastisements he could offer her.

  With a jolt, he realized that she hadn’t minded the way he looked at her. Catherine would have very properly slapped his face, but he suspected Lady Cassandra would only laugh and encourage him. The idea of actually dipping his hands into the bold chit’s bodice so shocked him that he scarcely heard a word of Catherine’s scold. It was time he married and found a release for his physical needs.

  ~*~

  That one small triumph scarcely weighed against all the minor disasters of the evening, Cassandra decided later as she retired to her room. To avoid being asked to play the piano, she had allowed a rather decent-looking gentleman to lead her out to the terrace.

  She had successfully fended off his amorous attentions with a slap, but not before Merrick had seen it. He had scolded and ordered her to her room, but she had refused to go. It was the public humiliation of having her hostess suggest that she see to her aunt’s comfort—at Merrick’s behest, of course—that made Cassandra’s blood boil with fury.

  She could hear the other guests now, laughing and singing and chattering gaily in the salon below, and she wanted to weep in frustration. She wasn’t a baby. She was a woman grown. What would it take to make them realize it?

  After seeing that her aunt was comfortably settled in bed and not inclined to accompany her downstairs, Cassandra grimaced and, chin lifted in resolution, prepared to storm the ci
tadel. She would not be sent to bed like a child.

  The billiard room wasn’t hard to discover. She had spent many lonely hours perfecting her game over her father’s table.

  The two gentlemen lackadaisically knocking a ball around stood up in surprise when Cass helped herself to a cue and began to chalk it. The game quickly became animated and the room filled with others ready to take on the challenge of her prowess.

  Heady with triumph, Cass was slow to notice the silence enveloping the room. She did not look up until her shawl unexpectedly dropped upon the table, cascading her balls hither and yon. She straightened with a start. Merrick stood disapprovingly behind her. The other players retreated to the shadows, leaving her alone to face him.

  “I believe your aunt is looking for you, my lady.”

  There was that about his voice not meant to be denied. Had it been Duncan or any of his friends, Cassandra would have flouted his authority and challenged him to a game. But this was Merrick, the proper, upstanding earl whom she wished to marry, although at the moment she could not quite remember why. Still, she had set herself a goal, and she was in danger of losing it.

  Draping her shawl about her shoulders with studied grace, Cassandra dipped a demure curtsy and offered a vapid smile. “Thank you, my lord. It is good of you to play the messenger boy. I bid you good night.” This last encompassed the remainder of the company as she beat a hasty retreat.

  The memory of Merrick’s dark eyes upon her sent her scurrying even faster. He had been assessing her, she knew, and she feared she had come out lacking. Heavens above, how would she make him come up to scratch if he thoroughly disapproved of everything she did? How was she to prove to him that she could be as she ought?

  As the week drew on, the company made it quite plain that she could not prove what she was not.

  Her lack of education did not merely encompass the inability to play a musical instrument. She had no notion of how to go about fluttering a fan and batting her eyes and speaking in musically modulated whispers. She did not know how to sit still and speak idly for hours on end in all-female company, waiting patiently for the men to join them. She much preferred to be in male company, riding, hunting, playing cards and billiards as she had done in the past. Every time she sought more interesting entertainment, Merrick was there to restrain her.