by V J Dunraven
She had confronted them repeatedly, but not one of them would explain anything to her. Every one of her ingenuous tactics to squeeze a confession out of them failed. The Rose hill butler, Morty, likewise seemed ill at ease and appeared to know something she didn’t, but no amount of bribery could finagle information from him—nor from the rest of the servants.
Whatever could be wrong? All she knew was that today was a special day—perhaps the most important day of her adult life. She was going to see Richard again after ten years. Her family should be sharing her joy and enthusiasm, instead of acting like they were on their way to the graveyard!
Cassandra peered out the window of the moving carriage as it passed through the gleaming gigantic brass gates ornamented with twin griffins at the top, and turned onto the long graveled driveway leading up to the palatial mansion beyond. As usual, Grandstone Park never failed to take her breath away, no matter how often she had been in and out of the estate.
Today, like any other spring day, the magnificent grounds brimmed with a variety of blooms in vibrant colors, planted artfully in beds of different shapes and sizes. In one of his more sentimental moods a long time ago, Richard told her a story about the multitude of rainbows that had become lethargic and lain down to rest on the grounds. Upon contact with the rich soil, colorful blossoms of every kind one could imagine magically proliferated, covering the barren soil.
Cassandra smiled to herself at the recollection, feasting her gaze at the beautiful spread of artfully crafted nature around her. Cobblestone pathways crisscrossed the grounds, bordered with low shrubs sculpted in interesting shapes. A sprawling, intricate labyrinth of towering boxed hedges occupied a large portion in the center, where she, together with Allayne, Richard and Jeremy, used to play hide and seek as children. She recalled how oftentimes during the game, she would become disoriented and lose her way. She would get so terrified she might never find her way out, but Richard always came back to rescue her.
As the carriage passed the perfectly manicured lawns and cropped hedges, she spotted old Ron, the groundskeeper, who paused from pruning a rose tree and waved at her. She stuck her hand out the window and fondly returned the gesture. After another minute or two, the coachman finally reined in the horses and eased the carriage to a stop in front of the imposing manor.
The main entrance was in keeping with the rest of the place, impressively elevated from the driveway by several broad stone steps leading up to the balcony-style landing. Intricately carved double doors gilded in gold opened into the opulent foyer, ornately painted from wall to ceiling with various images of cherubs frolicking with maidens. The residence certainly befitted the reputation of its owner.
The Duke’s butler, Gordon, greeted them at the threshold. “Welcome to Grandstone Park.” His starched outfit audibly crackled as he bowed to them with all the etiquette of twenty-five years of service. “Luncheon will be served at the Flower Garden.” He beckoned a footman to show them the way.
Cassandra purposely lagged behind to let her parents and brother go ahead, before she turned to the tall, thin, solemn-faced butler who had an uncanny resemblance to his cousins Morton, the Rose Hill butler, and Barton, the Waterford Park butler.
“Gordy, where’s Richard?” she asked in her usual teasing way, deliberately substituting the last syllable of his name as she did with his cousins. Each of them worked all their lives in the three neighboring estates, and since childhood, were familiar fixtures in her daily life.
The normally unperturbed man looked disconcerted for a moment. “He should be down soon, Miss, but in the meantime, Cook made your favorite strawberry rhubarb pie. Would you care to have some in the parlor?”
”Thank you, Gordy, perhaps I shall have some later.” She began to walk in the direction of the hall leading to the garden.
“But Miss Carlyle,” Gordon practically stepped in her path. “Cook will be so disappointed. She insists on serving the pie while it’s fresh out of the oven.”
Cassandra glanced longingly at the glass doors at the end of the corridor. Beyond them, she could see the other guests enjoying the beautiful day outside. However, she did not want to disappoint the wonderful Cook of Grandstone Park.
”Very well, Gordy,” she sighed. “But don’t bother to bring it into the parlor. I’ll go down to the kitchen myself.”
Several delicious bites later of not just the pie, but also the veal cutlets in gravy and potted lobster, Cassandra stood up from the table. “Thank you, Cook! That was superb! Now—I must be off and mingle with the rest of the guests. Mother must be wondering where I am.”
“But Miss—don’t you want to sample the roast beef too?” Cook, a rotund older woman with plump apple-red cheeks, wiped her hands on her apron.
“I would love to, but I’m stuffed. Maybe some other time—”
“How about some custard tartlets?” Mrs. Nell, the head housekeeper who seemed as stern as a governess, but in reality was as soft as a marshmallow, hurriedly interjected.
“Thank you, but—”
The young parlor maid poured steaming liquid into her cup. “Have some hot chocolate, Miss Carlyle.”
“Thank you, Mellie, perhaps later, I—”
“Ah, there you are, Miss Carlyle.” Gordon stood in the doorway with a platter of scrumptious-looking confections. “May I offer you some sweetmeats?”
Cassandra opened her mouth to say something and then snapped it closed again. She darted her eyes between Cook, who immediately stared at her shoes, Mrs. Nell, who gulped and bit her lip, and Mellie, who wrung her hands and avoided her gaze. Gordon seemed ill at ease, glaring at the sweetmeats quite intently on the tray.
“What’s going on here?” Cassandra arched a brow at the Grandstone staff who had practically watched her grow up from a little girl in pigtails to a young woman. After the Duke lost his wife some years ago, leaving him with Richard, their only child, the majestic house had become somber and hollow. Only the ruckus little Cassandra created whenever she came by to play with Richard had the power to make the Duke smile again. The servants appreciated the cheer she brought into their master’s life, doting on her so she would stay longer and call more often—which she faithfully did.
Even after Richard left, Cassandra kept her calls to the elderly Duke, who shared his son’s fondness for her. She made him laugh with silly stories she heard from Jeremy and entertained him by playing the pianoforte, kept especially for her use in the parlor. In turn, the Duke taught her how to dance and she had learned to be quite proficient at it.
Lately, however, her visits had become more difficult due to his illness. Though she still managed to put him in a better disposition, the old Duke tired easily and she always returned home with sadness in her heart. Richard disappeared from her life and now, his father—her only connection to him—was about to do the same. Every day, the inevitable crept closer. She could not bear to think about the impending doom—a feeling his servants knew and shared, which they tried to fix with food. Lots of food—which brought her attention back to the situation at hand. What were they up to this time?
She narrowed her eyes at Gordon and placed her hands on her hips. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Gordy?”
Gordon’s usual fine demeanor cracked. “I believe there’s someone at the door,” he announced to no one in particular and made his escape.
Cassandra lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Mrs. Nell, Cook and Mellie, tapping her foot impatiently on the flagstone.
“Oh dear, my roast is burning!” Cook took off in the direction opposite to where her roast was grilling over hot coals.
“I should see to the other guests.” Mrs. Nell swept out of the room, followed by Mellie who mumbled something about God striking them all dead with lightning.
Cassandra shook her head. Whatever mischief was brewing in the kitchen, had to wait. A lun
cheon was in progress and she had no intentions of missing it. She made her way out of the kitchen into the foyer, down to the hallway and out into the garden. Beneath the arched trellis bountifully adorned with climbing roses in pink and white, she paused and surveyed the gathering.
The luncheon was well attended. Several people from nearby estates were present and the others were obviously aristocrats from London. She had never seen such a large gathering of fine-looking guests in all her life. But then again—what could one expect at a party hosted by the Duke of Grandstone?
She searched the crowd with her eyes. Richard should be somewhere with Allayne and Jeremy, waiting for her. She quivered inwardly, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation at the thought.
What would he think of her? What would he say or do when he saw her? Would he notice the pretty dress and the upswept style of her hair she’d spent an hour fixing with her maid? Would he see her as a young lady, instead of the little girl he used to play with?
Cassandra stepped into the well-dressed coterie and wove her way through the lush, fragrant garden. She stopped and greeted the people she recognized from the local society, until she finally reached the elevated end of the lawn where the gazebo stood.
“Your kind attention please.” An older, but distinguished looking gentleman who sat next to the Duke of Grandstone in the gazebo, shook a hand bell.
The crowd quieted and heads turned in his direction.
“As you well know, we are gathered here to share a most splendid occasion,” the gentleman said. “But first, I would like to extend my delight in welcoming our beloved Marquess of Sunderland. It’s good to have you back, Richard.” He summoned him with a gesture of his hand.
The crowd cheered and parted.
Cassandra craned her neck and pushed her way into the throng as close as she could to the gazebo.
A tall gentleman with broad shoulders and long, straight blonde hair climbed up the three short steps to the structure. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said in a deep, rich voice, shaking the older man’s hand, before facing the waiting guests.
She held her breath in awe.
Gone was the youthful face, slim build and easy smile of the boy she used to know. The person who stood before the notable guests was darker, his face defined by a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a straight blade of a nose. He had a powerful physique, his long sinewy legs encased in tight breeches. His fine coat hugged his wide shoulders like a second skin, tapering down to a V to emphasize his lean waist.
Cassandra drew a lungful of air. The Richard she knew had changed. Not a trace of her old friend existed in this new version of him. This person was confident, sophisticated and devastatingly handsome. A certain air of mastery and dignified deportment commanded respect from his peers. This person was no longer a boy—but a man.
Clapping and whistling rang from the crowd, offering him a warm welcome home. He expressed his appreciation with a slight bow and accepted individual well wishes from the people nearest to him.
Cassandra squeezed her way to the front for a better view. Suddenly, he turned—his piercing sapphire eyes meeting hers across the short distance that separated them.
It is I—Cassie, she wanted to call out to him, but she quickly realized that was not necessary. His eyes lit up in recognition and he gave her a dazzling smile.
Cassandra’s heart somersaulted in her chest. She took a step forward, beaming with happiness and excitement, but someone else from behind moved past her and crossed the narrow patch of grass towards him.
“Darling.” An elegantly dressed woman reached out to take Richard’s proffered hands.
She stood next to him, refined and graceful; a perfect complement to the sophisticated man Richard had become.
“My dear friends and family,” Richard said, wrapping an arm around the stunning blond haired, blue-eyed goddess by his side. “To those of you who haven’t met her yet, may I introduce my lovely betrothed—Lady Desiree Lennox, daughter of his grace, Arthur Lennox, Duke of Glenford.”
Chapter 4
Jeremiah Devlin Huntington,
Marquess of Waterford
Jeremiah Devlin Huntington, Marquess of Waterford, plunged his fingers through his dark hair in consternation as he watched the entire scene unfold before him. He was standing with Allayne not far from where Cassandra stood rooted to the spot, oblivious to the well-wishers brushing past her to congratulate the happy couple. She looked so pale—so helpless, like a lone wet duck shivering in the eye of a hurricane.
”Damn you, Allayne!” He whipped his head reproachfully at her brother, who seemed torn on what he should do. “You didn’t tell her?”
A look of regret marred Allayne’s handsome face. “I tried to—but I couldn’t bear to break her heart. I didn’t know how to—” he shook his head and sighed. “Bloody hell, Jeremy—I have no excuse.”
“You’re damned right, you don’t!” Jeremy strode off, then stopped halfway, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Do you think this is better? Leaving her to find out for herself in a public manner? Look at her—damn you!”
Allayne grimaced. “I should take her home.” He began to walk towards his sister.
“No.” Jeremy raised a hand, bringing Allayne to a halt. “I’ll do it. You, my friend, have some thinking to do. You better be ready to explain yourself to her.” He stomped angrily to where Cassandra still stood motionless with shock, completely heedless of the curious stares his outburst had elicited. She had her eyes riveted to the spacious gazebo, blinking repeatedly as if she was trying to conjure an entirely different reality than what was taking place before her.
Jeremy muttered a silent curse. Damn Allayne for letting her go through this! It was cruel and uncalled for—easily prevented if the milksop had the balls to warn his sister! He would have told her himself if he had heard the news yesterday, but he was just as flabbergasted to discover Richard’s sudden engagement today.
“Come on, brat.” He took her arm gently and dragged her away from the festive crowd. “Let’s get out of here.”
Cassandra calmly acquiesced. Neither a sound nor a word spilled from her as they walked towards the front of Grandstone Manor.
Jeremy sent a footman to have his coach brought around, glancing at her with concern. Her eerie silence bothered him. The Cassie he knew was never like this. She had always been spirited and carefree, and her sharp tongue could slice and dice any man who dared leer at her. Her feistiness, not counting the profanities he had taught her, would be quite sufficient to induce her mother into a dead faint.
But this Cassie, who mutely stood by him with her head hung low and her proud shoulders slumped, was a complete stranger to him. She looked defeated and confused, and his heart ached for her sorry state. Jeremy had to concede, however, that in spite of what she had just gone through, she shed not a single tear nor launched into hysterics. He did not know of anyone among his acquaintances who could boast of similar fortitude—men included.
His carriage arrived and he handed her inside, taking his seat across from her.
”Pretty dress, brat,” he ventured, hoping he could wangle a smile out of her.
She looked out the window and remained speechless. He noted her pallor and the distant look in her eyes. She seemed far away—lost in her own thoughts.
An unfamiliar wave of protectiveness besieged him. What could he do to fix this? What could he say to make her feel better? There must be something in his power to put everything to right, damn it!
“Who did your hair?” he persisted, refusing to let her wallow in her misery. “I like it. You should show off that elegant neck of yours, more often.”
Jeremy waited for her reaction. God knows he was a Corinthian and a rake, and he’d had plenty of practice in flattering the opposite sex. Cassie however, knew him too well to bite on his bait. Either tha
t—or she was not hearing him at all.
She kept silent and continued to gaze outside.
Jeremy shifted in his seat. Her aloofness disturbed him. Yes, she was sitting not more than two paces away from him, but she wasn’t really there. He felt like she had shut a door in his face and disconnected herself from him. A twinge of anxiety lanced in his chest. He didn’t relish the thought of being cut-off from her at all.
Perhaps what she needs is a little respite, he convinced himself. For the sake of his own composure, he had to believe that her pain would recede with time. With some effort, he refrained from any more attempts at conversation and quietly watched her profile instead.
She had grown incredibly beautiful during the last few years. The local lads had been—ironically, as Richard had once predicted—falling at her feet.
But unlike other young ladies her age, Cassie never showed any interest towards any of the gentlemen who’d come to call on her. To her mother’s eternal vexation and her father’s ceaseless amusement, she would rather gad about with him all day long, than sit in a roomful of fawning young bucks.
Of course, it did not help that he purposely terrified most of her suitors with a cold, haughty stare if they even thought of touching a single hair on her head. He made it quite clear that no one—but no one—was allowed to hold her hand unless they wanted to meet the blade of his sword at dawn.
Consequently, many speculated and gossiped on why Cassie frequently spent time without a chaperone with a rogue like him, whose mere name could be detrimental to her reputation. But as luck would have it, he was a close friend of the Carlyles. Even her mother could not resist his charm and was very fond of him in spite of her disapproval of his incorrigible ways.