Dash of Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

  As Merrick neared the notorious duelist with murder in mind, Duncan grabbed his brother-in-law’s arm and began to whisper hastily in his ear. Rupert nodded once, twice, then spun on his heels and strode off through the trees before the earl could reach him.

  Ice in his eyes, Merrick regarded Duncan with venom. “I never believed a gentleman could lower himself to the height of a worm, but you have succeeded this night, Eddings. Did you send him safely home to rape your sister again?”

  Duncan paled but held his ground. “Rupert has no need to rape anyone, and Cass takes care of herself. They will be in Calais by evening and on their way to Paris before the next dawn. This unfortunate incident will prevent him from returning to England anytime soon. I tried to stop him, but the young man was rather belligerent. I had not realized Cass had acquired so many followers.”

  “If he dies, I’ll personally see that you do not walk among polite society again, Howard.” Merrick did not reveal the fact that Cassandra was safely in his curricle only a few hundred yards away. Let Rupert fly to Paris alone.

  Swinging on his heel, he retreated to where Bertie lifted his young brother in his arms. He ought to kill Rupert for this, but now was not the time to do it. Thomas needed a physician and Cassandra needed safety before he could contemplate the pleasure of removing the vermin of society.

  ~*~

  Cassandra wasn’t waiting for the warrior heroes to return. Tears streaming down her cheeks but no longer hysterical, she calmly rent the skirt of her wedding gown and mounted Bertie’s horse. They would need Merrick’s curricle to transport Thomas.

  It was her fault that all this had come about. And because of her, Thomas lay dead or dying on the cold ground. Had she not meant to have her revenge on Duncan, had she not used Rupert as an instrument of that revenge, had she not been so damned stupid and arrogant...

  She was too tired to continue the litany of self- flagellation. It was obvious Rupert would never agree to an annulment or go along with her plan to beggar Duncan in retaliation for foisting off an unwilling wife on him. How very naive she was to believe Rupert might care whether she was willing or not.

  She slid off Bertie’s horse in the mews behind Rupert’s town house. With luck, she would escape before he came back. Without luck, she would kill him. Or he would kill her. It scarcely mattered.

  Lotta screamed as Cassandra raced into the bedchamber. A tall, lanky figure rose from the couch—Rupert’s valet. Cassandra gave Lotta and her cadaverous lover a cynical look. These two did not waste much time mourning her imminent demise.

  “Pack whatever you can, quickly. We’re leaving.” She had neither the patience nor the strength to reprimand her maid’s scandalous behavior. She strode to the wardrobe to find a gown suitable for traveling.

  “Where are we going?” Lotta ran to the dresser to remove the few intimate garments stored there. Rupert’s valet loped off in search of a bag.

  “Away.” Cassandra struggled out of the remains of her gown and grabbed her old riding habit. It was too tight in the bosom but it was warm. They might end up walking to Kent.

  By the time she had the skirt and shirt in place, the valet was discreetly scratching at the door. Lotta let him in and sent her employer an anxious look. “How will we go?”

  As if Lotta’s words jarred her memory, Cassandra began tugging at the various drawers in the room. Rupert had to keep his spending money somewhere.

  The lanky valet watched impassively as she dumped out drawer after drawer. Well over six feet, stoop-shouldered, with a face as lean and haggard as the rest of him, he appeared ancient, and not wholly stupid. He surmised the lady’s problem.

  “There’s a door at the rear of the desk, my lady. You’ll find a coin box in there.”

  Without so much as a grateful look, Cassandra ran her fingers over the polished wood at the side of the desk until she found a latch similar to the one in her father’s. The door sprang open and she grasped inside until she found the money box. Opening it, she discovered Rupert very conveniently kept his coins in the pouch from the bank. Without counting the contents, she swept the bag from its hiding place, shoved the box back, and slammed the door.

  “Let’s go.” Gripping the pouch, trailing the skirt of her habit, ignoring the long tendrils of hair streaming from her once neatly arranged coiffure, Cassandra strode across the garish bedchamber to the door.

  Sending the valet an anxious look, Lotta started after her. “How will we go, my lady? You cannot travel unprotected. Is someone waiting for us?”

  Cassandra swung around and gave her plump maid a look of disgust. “Rupert will be if we do not leave at once. Are you coming?”

  The lanky manservant stepped forward with an impassive bow. “If I may suggest, my lady, there are pistols in the wardrobe.”

  Cassandra nearly crumpled at the reminder. “Not anymore, they’re not,” she said sadly. Without another look back, she left the chamber.

  Chapter 9

  “Wyatt! You’re not listening to me!” The Countess Merrick indignantly drew up her wattled chin and glared at her only son.

  “No, Mama,” the earl replied absently, innocent of the irony of his answer.

  “Wyatt, put that paper down this instant and listen to me! You have been dallying about London far too long. Now that you’re home, you must right the situation. It’s wicked, what she’s doing, and you must put a stop to it! You are the magistrate, it is your responsibility!”

  “Yes, Mama.” Not having heard a word that was said, Merrick continued scanning the contents of the paper while sipping at his morning coffee.

  The scandal of Sir Rupert’s and Lady Cassandra’s disappearance after an illegal duel in the park had finally died down to an infrequent rumor in the gossip columns.

  It had been impossible to keep the episode quiet. Thomas’ large and noisy family had rampaged through Bow Street and Parliament seeking justice. Rupert’s disloyal servants had told stories to every reporter willing to wave a shilling. And Duncan’s arrogant denial of any knowledge of the event had infuriated the nobility as well as the general populace.

  Merrick sighed as he finally set aside the printed pages. He prayed Cassandra had not been caught in Rupert’s clutches. Duncan had sworn the baronet had sailed alone. Cassandra’s brother had looked gray and harried enough to almost make his promises believable.

  The earl removed his spectacles and toyed with his empty cup. It was no concern of his where Lady Cassandra might have gone, but he couldn’t help an uneasy feeling at the thought of her running loose.

  He had been with Duncan when they returned to Rupert’s house to see if she had returned there. The knowledge that Cassandra’s maid and Rupert’s manservant had also disappeared did not reassure. Merrick had insisted on hiring investigators to be certain the lady hadn’t been abducted.

  The investigators had brought a mountain of confusing information these past weeks, but all Merrick had learned was that Cassandra wasn’t in Paris with her husband and that France was an extremely expensive place to send hired investigators. Shrugging, he started to rise before his mother’s constant carping finally penetrated his thoughts.

  “Are you going over there today? She needs to be sent back to her brother, or to that scandalous monster she married. It’s not right that she remain here causing talk. I don’t know why the Scheffings haven’t had her arrested.”

  Finally, he focused on his mother’s tirade. “Who arrested, Mother?”

  The countess favored him with an irate glare. “The wanton Howard chit, of course. Honestly, Wyatt, sometimes I believe you don’t listen to a word I say. I have been waiting for you to come home to straighten out the matter. What are you going to do about it?”

  Merrick felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Had he spent all these weeks scouring London when the little witch was actually right here at his doorstep? Impossible! The Howard estate was no more than a burned-out ruin.

  Cat would never take her in, and the Scheffings would
have notified him. Surely she wouldn’t be staying in the village. His mother’s mind must be weakening.

  “What am I going to do about what, Mother?” he asked wearily.

  The countess rose to her full, somewhat shaky height and glared. “What are you going to do about Cassandra Howard living in that tumbledown wreck of a house and enticing our tenants away with promises she can’t keep?” The countess enunciated each word firmly, as if speaking to a child.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mother. Even Gypsies avoid that place. The framework could collapse any minute. Someone’s been telling you Banbury tales.” Merrick folded his newspaper and strode across the room.

  Wyatt ignored his mother’s cry of frustration. When he’d been an adolescent, he had allowed her to guide his hand in the managing of his life as well as his estates. She seemed to have some difficulty in recognizing that he no longer needed her advice.

  Mounting the horse he had ordered saddled and held for him, Wyatt set out to see how his lands had fared during his absence. He was unaccustomed to being gone during the spring planting, although his steward was well able to carry out his duties without constant supervision. To believe the estate ran itself would be to admit to his own uselessness.

  Near the edge of the field where the men were planting the early corn, he espied his steward, John MacGregor. The older man seemed to be in conversation with a woman who matched him in height, although her willowy figure was half the breadth of the stout steward’s. She wore her hair hidden beneath a cotton kerchief, but something in her gestures stirred Merrick’s recognition—that, and the fact that MacGregor spoke to her at all. The steward was a notorious woman hater.

  Swallowing past an odd catch in his throat, Wyatt kicked his horse in their direction. Lady Cassandra Howard—Percival, he added belatedly—did not belong in cotton kerchiefs and broadcloth gowns. She might be a glittering star in the firmament, but he could not see her grubbing in the dirt. This must be a newcomer to the area, and he was eager to greet her.

  Too eager. Wyatt’s pulse raced as he reached the pair. Just the possibility that it might be Cassandra had the strangest effect, one he hadn’t suffered since his schoolboy days. Scowling, Wyatt swung down from his horse.

  The blue eyes smiling up at him matched the color of the spring skies this morning, and Wyatt’s knees nearly gave way. She was only eighteen and another man’s wife, his conscience told him, but his senses swayed beneath her sensual perfume.

  Knowing he was surely losing his mind, Merrick continued to study her cream-and-rose features. His gaze caressed the fading bruise on her jaw while he clenched his fingers to keep from touching her. Cassandra’s smile faltered at his continued silence, but he had never been one for small talk, and he didn’t dare speak what was on his mind now.

  “Lord Merrick?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Lady Cassandra.” He bowed perfunctorily for the benefit of their audience. “I did not know you had returned.”

  A dimple appeared at his curt tones. “I did not know I was supposed to inform you.” Cassandra flicked her eyes in MacGregor’s direction to indicate she was hampered by a third party.

  Merrick ignored the hint as well as the jest. Turning to his steward, he nodded a greeting. “John, I take it you have met Lady Cassandra?”

  “It’s been a few years since she trampled my wheat making hiding places for her dolls,” MacGregor said, “ but aye, I remember her well. We were discussing which of her fields requires the least work to put it into production. I’d guess that back lot the tenants been using to run their cows.”

  Merrick raised incredulous eyebrows. “Is Eddings planning to restore the estate?”

  Her eyes danced with amusement. “I intend to restore the estate, my lord. My estimable brother has nothing to do with it. What do you think my chances are of earning enough to buy it from him?”

  ~*~

  Both the earl and his steward stared at her as if she were mad, Cassandra noted. Perhaps she was. The last three weeks of her life had been the most miserable and the happiest she had ever known. She was still not able to fully accept that she was responsible for a young man’s death. She woke up in the night screaming with the memories of that smoking pistol and Thomas’ crumpled body spilling blood at her feet.

  She would never lose that memory, never put another man in that same position again. She hadn’t yet figured out how she could ever show her sorrow to Thomas’ family or make it up to them, but she would.

  That was why she was happy. She had found her home and knew this was where she was meant to be. She could make something good here so Thomas would not have died in vain. It would take time, but she knew she could make a better life for many people if she worked hard at it. And then she would go to Bertie and his family and say, “Because of your son, I could do this,” and offer her sorrow and gratitude.

  Looking up in Merrick’s cold face, she felt a momentary trepidation, but the proud and righteous Earl of Merrick would someday look at her with respect.

  But for now she amused herself with teasing the scowl from his face. Wyatt had grown too stuffy with age and responsibility.

  Smiling and nodding a polite dismissal to the steward, Cassandra slid her hand around Merrick’s arm and steered him toward the hedgerow that marked the division of their properties.

  “You do not think a woman can manage these fields?” she taunted.

  “I do not think anyone can manage these properties without a large influx of wealth and labor. Has your husband signed over his fortune for such use?”

  Merrick knew the idle baronet too well to expect any such thing, but he had to say something to keep his tongue from sticking to the roof of his mouth. The memory of a certain heated kiss haunted him, and he felt none of the chill of this cool spring day.

  Cassandra waved her hand regally as if to dismiss her husband in the same manner as she had the steward. “Rupert knows nothing of this. Do not mention his name or that of my brother again in my presence. I will work these lands on my own, without anyone’s help.”

  Despite his physical attraction to her, Wyatt maintained his practical nature, and he shook his head. “Lady Cassandra, you have no idea of the size of the undertaking. The lands and tenants have been neglected for years. You have no cottages left. You do not even have a house in which to live. Where are you staying, by the way? Your brother has been looking for you.”

  Cassandra snatched her hand away. “I daresay he is, and he’ll find out soon enough, but certainly not by my words. If all you will do is offer discouragements, my lord, I will bid you good day.”

  Wyatt knew he ought to let her go. There was nothing he could say to her that she wished to hear. But in the brief space of a few weeks she had given him more vivid memories than he held of a lifetime. He could still see her now in the daring primrose gown, dashing into his arms, and later, with her glittering wedding dress torn and hanging from her shoulder and her jaw swollen and bruised as she begged him to save a young man’s life. He had to admire her for her courage, if nothing else.

  He caught her elbow and prevented escape. “Let me escort you, my lady. You should not be walking these fields alone.”

  “I did not mean to be sharp with you, my lord,” she answered. “It is only that I am tired of being told what I cannot do.”

  “You used to call me Wyatt. Can we not be friends and return to the informalities?”

  Eyes of liquid blue scanned his face, and a smile curved her mouth. “Are you sure you would cry friends with such as I, my lord? Or do you just wish to preach me sermons?”

  Merrick quirked an eyebrow at her. “I believe I wish to show you that you chose the wrong man, but that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, would it?”

  “Oh, no, I did not,” she protested. “Husbands are easily come by, but not friends. I would hate to lose your friendship by becoming your wife.”

  There was truth in what she said, Wyatt knew from experience, but how had an eighteen-year-old child
come to possess such wisdom? Holding his smile so as not to disturb her, he shook his head in disbelief.

  “I’ll not debate platitudes with you. Tell me where you are staying so I might reproach your hostess for allowing you to run wild and unprotected. Or is it the countryside that must be protected from you?”

  Cassandra sent him a sidelong look. “I am a married woman now, my lord, you must remember. I am entitled to a household of my own.”

  “You have found a bower of honeysuckle and roses over which to preside?” Merrick asked in amusement as they trampled across a neglected field in the direction of her former home.

  “Something like that,” Cassandra replied.

  She stopped as they crossed into the weed-strewn remains of the old carriage yard. A few blackened stable timbers stood in stark relief against the cloudless sky. Ivy had covered much of the fallen debris of her former home, and a wild morning glory bloomed rampantly over a fallen beam. The once magnificent stable had returned to nature.

  She held out her hand to Merrick. “Thank you for accompanying me, my lord. I do hope you will not mind if I take occasional liberties with Mr. MacGregor’s knowledge. I promise not to interfere with his work.”

  Wyatt looked from the vine-covered stable across to the empty stone walls of the once enormous mansion. Some former Marquess of Eddings had shipped expensive limestone from north of London to the Kentish countryside to build this palace of his imagination. That had most likely been the beginnings of the end of the Howard fortune. The impressive edifice had outshone the countryside, but the surrounding lands could not support the army of liveried servants required for upkeep. “Pride cometh before a fall” was as apt a quotation for the Howards as any.

  “I mean to see you safely home, my lady. These ruins are no safe place to be. The roof on that section there is likely to crumble at a moment’s notice, and any loud noise or vibration could send stones cascading to the ground. I know you must feel sentimental about your home, but it needs to be razed to the ground. I have told Duncan so on several occasions. The local children are fascinated with it, and they can only come to harm if allowed to play here.”