The Promise

by V J Dunraven

  Piglet. After all these years, Richard’s memory of her was still that of a little girl with the chubby little hands that dimpled at the knuckles, and pink round cheeks that he loved to pinch. To him, she was still the eight- year-old child who liked porcelain dolls and consumed an alarming amount of chocolate cherry bonbons.

  Piglet. Oh, how she hated it when he teased her with that name! To make him stop, she used to threaten Richard that she would start calling him by his nickname—the one that Jeremy said meant a boy’s little sausage. That threat always worked like a charm.

  She took the tin container and transferred the bonbons on a plate that Bess brought with the tray. Afterwards, she returned the tin in the box and refolded the note, placing it on top, the way she had found it. Then, she replaced the lid and retied the red bow.

  Her gaze settled onto the cabinet-full of presents she had faithfully saved over the years. Fancy tin containers and expensive dolls of all shapes and sizes sat in chronological order from the very first year Richard sent her a Christmas present a decade ago, to the very last one, preserved like sacred mementos suspended in time.

  Cassandra stood up and went to her sitting room. She opened the large closet on the corner and extracted two small trunks. Carefully, she set one trunk on the table in front of the glass display case and the other on the settee next to it. She began to pack her beloved dolls in the trunk on the table. After finishing that task, she packed the tins in the other trunk on the settee.

  In the dining room downstairs, Jeremy eyed the empty chair Cassie normally occupied as he sat down for his customary supper with the Carlyle family. “Where is she?” he asked her brother Allayne who was seated across from him.

  “Upstairs.” Allayne picked up his soup spoon and sampled the steaming lobster bisque the footman ladled in the small bowl in front of him.

  “Is she coming down to dine with us?” Jeremy quirked an eyebrow at his friend. Allayne’s habit of using single words in a conversation could sometimes be annoying.

  “Maybe,” Allayne replied between spoonfuls of creamy bisque.

  Jeremy hid his frustration as he snatched the napkin from his lap and dropped it on the table next to his plate. He pushed his chair back and stood up.

  The viscount and Lady Carlyle looked up from their soup.

  “Pardon me—” he inclined his head at them. “But I must investigate what is causing Cassie’s delay.”

  “Oh, but there is no need.” Lady Carlyle set aside her spoon. “She won’t be joining us. She’s indisposed.”

  “Indisposed?” Jeremy tried not to sound incredulous. He had known Cassie all her life and being “indisposed” was a word foreign to her vocabulary. The only times she refused to dine with her family were the days when the two of them quarreled and she did not want to see his face. Even then, being “indisposed” was not her excuse. She simply sent her maid to announce that she would never—in a million years—dine with a mean, selfish bully, or a rotten, cocky scoundrel—her two favorite appellations for him—depending on his current offense.

  “Yes, dearie.” Lady Carlyle motioned for him to sit down. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine in a day or two. Why don’t you try the soup? It really is superb. The rack of lamb will be served shortly. Isn’t that one of your favorites? Morton, could you please pour more wine for Lord Waterford?”

  Jeremy sighed and settled back in his chair as Lady Carlyle fussed over him. She may have some reservations about his friendship with her daughter and disapproved of his philandering ways, but the lady was genuinely fond of him, treating him like her own son since his boyhood years.

  Nevertheless, Jeremy had lost his appetite. He had been looking forward to seeing Cassie again after that fiasco at Grandstone Park, just to be certain if she was taking everything in stride.

  Apparently, she was not.

  Jeremy’s mood darkened and he pushed his unfinished plate of lamb away. He wanted nothing more than to see Cassie, but he could not disappoint his kind hostess by acting sullen. Christ—he could not wait for this particular meal to end.

  The dinner soon concluded and Lady Carlyle left the men to their port. Morton, the butler, came in and discreetly conveyed a message from Cassie’s maid, whispering that Miss Carlyle requests his company for luncheon on the morrow. Jeremy nodded his acceptance with little consolation. He wanted to see her now, damn it!

  The Viscount inquired about the investments he ventured in India and America with Allayne and Richard some years ago. Jeremy reported that the market had been brisk and their money had quadrupled. Viscount Carlyle crowed with delight. Truly, none among the three of them was reliant upon their inheritance. They were all independently as rich as Croesus, with unentailed wealth earned from their own fastidious business sense.

  As their discussion came to a close, Jeremy stood up and bid his thanks and farewell, declining to join the family in their usual after-dinner game of cards. His temper had not improved even with the Viscount’s excellent port.

  Allayne walked him to the door.

  “How is she—really?” he demanded as the footman assisted him with his coat. “And don’t give me a damn one-word answer or I swear—I’ll barge into her bedchamber and see for myself.”

  Allayne’s eyes glimmered with jocularity.

  Jeremy bit his tongue—Cassie’s brother was the only man he knew who could never be threatened. He may be a person of a few words, but he feared no one—and no one in his right mind would dare challenge him to a duel.

  “She’s fine,” Allayne drawled, deep dimples indenting his cheeks.

  A two-word answer. God help him if he has the sudden urge to strangle his friend, but the man is a comic!

  “Damn you, Allayne!” Jeremy scowled at him, grudgingly yanking his gloves on.

  “Damn you too, Jeremy,” Allayne chuckled and gave him a heavy-handed slap on the shoulder, before he let him out the door.

  Upstairs in her bedchamber, Cassie had finished packing away the entire contents of the cabinet. She pulled on the bell designated to summon the butler.

  Five minutes later, Morton knocked on her door.

  “Come in.” Cassie looked up from her desk, where she had just completed writing notes to the headmistress of the orphanage and the Vicar’s wife.

  Morton walked in and glanced at the trunks in the middle of the room.

  “Morty, see to it that this is delivered on the morrow to the orphanage.” She handed him the one of the notes and pointed at the trunk where she’d packed the dolls. “And this one, have it sent to the vicarage.” she indicated the trunk with the tin containers and gave him the other note. “The Vicar’s wife can use the boxes for gift giving.”

  “Yes my lady.” Morton’s eyes darted to the bare glass case behind her. “Let me call some footmen to help bring these down.”

  “Oh, and Morty?” Cassandra grabbed the plate of bonbons from the tray.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “Share these with Gordy and Barty.” she handed him the plateful of sweet smelling confections.

  “My cousins’ names are Gordon and Barton, Miss,” Morton replied primly.

  “I know, Morty.” Cassandra followed him to the door.

  Morton paused before stepping into the hallway. “Miss Carlyle—if I may be so bold.” He swallowed and dropped his gaze with a frown at the sweetmeats on the plate. “I truly am sorry. I—”

  “Don’t be.” Cassandra shook her head. “It is for the best—really. I know that now.”

  “Very good, Miss.” Morton cast another glance at the display cabinet and trunks. “I—er—we are all relieved and proud that you took everything in stride.”

  Cassandra patted Morton’s arm fondly. “Where is my family?”

  “They have retired to the library, Miss.” he held the door open for her.r />
  “Is Lord Waterford still here?”

  “No, Miss. He did not seem to be in his element and left as soon as he had his port.”

  Good, Cassandra thought, as she made her way towards the stairs. It would be better if Jeremy did not know about her plan—at least not yet. She went down the flight of steps and crossed the drawing room, steeling herself before veering off into the library.

  Her Papa and Allayne looked up in surprise from the books they were reading. Her Mama set aside her embroidery.

  “Are you alright, my dear?” the Viscount asked as he stood up and walked towards her.

  Allayne closed his book and placed it on a nearby table. “Feeling better, Cass?” he asked with concern.

  “What is it, my dear? Do you need something?” Mama rushed to her and took her hands in hers.

  Cassandra drew a long indrawn breath, released it with a hiss and straightened her spine. It was now or never.

  “Cassie?” Lady Carlyle peered at her with apprehension.

  Cassandra raised her chin and looked her mother directly in the eyes. “I’m done, Mama.”

  Her mama gaped at her. “Done with what, dear?”

  “Waiting.”

  “Waiting?” The Viscountess gave her a puzzled frown.

  “It’s time, Mama.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Her mama’s fine eyebrows lifted.

  “I’m ready now,” she said with sheer determination in her voice.

  “Er—ready for what, dearie?” Lady Carlyle tilted her head and peered at her with a mixture of anxiety and impatience in her expression.

  Cassandra turned her gaze to her papa who stood by her mother’s side. “Papa—will you take me to my first season in London?”

  Viscount Rose burst into a hearty laugh and ruffled the hair on the top of her head, the way he always did when she was but a wee girl. “Whatever you say, pumpkin.”

  “God help us.” Allayne scrubbed his face with his hand.

  “Mama?” Cassandra raised questioning brows at her mother who still had her jaw suspended halfway in shock.

  The Viscountess moved her lips, but no sound came out. Then, she turned white and her eyes crossed, falling into a dead faint—conveniently, in her husband’s waiting arms.

  Chapter 7

  The London Season

  Dear Jeremy,

  Forgive me, but I shall not be riding with you tomorrow and the rest of the coming weeks. I have decided to concede to my mother’s wishes and have my first Season in London. We are leaving at first light.

  P.S.

  Don’t you dare show up in London, Jeremy Huntington, and make fun of my fluffy new ball-gowns or terrorize my soon-to-be suitors. I swear I’ll hang you by your toenails and gouge your eyes out, if you do.

  Yours most affectionately,

  Cassie

  Jeremiah Devlin Huntington, also known as The Most Notorious Rake in all of England, stood smiling to himself at the top landing of the grand staircase of the Earl of Farthingale’s large ballroom. He had just finished re-reading Cassie’s letter and he could not wait to see her reaction once she discovered his presence.

  Ah—she would probably get mad and kick him on the shin when no one was looking, but he simply could not resist vexing her. He was in too much of a jovial, devil-may-care mood to be wary of what she might do. Moreover, he had come because he really missed her. Cornwall was agonizingly dull without his little brat pestering him every single day.

  He folded the letter and tucked it inside his dark blue tailcoat, then swept his gaze around the ballroom. Numerous crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the glittering, bejeweled crowd. Lively music emanated from the orchestra on a marble podium at the far end. In the center, several couples were dancing to the beguiling tune.

  He caught sight of Lady Libbey, one of the more pertinacious Matchmaking Mamas, heading towards him with her daughter in tow. Jeremy pursed his lips. Good God! Five minutes into the blasted ball and the hounds were already sniffing at his heels. He subtly slipped into the crush in an effort to lose them, only to be accosted by Lady Campbell and her two silly, simpering chits.

  “Lord Waterford.” Lady Campbell planted her plump self in his path, blocking his escape. “I’m thoroughly delighted to see you back in town.”

  “Er, yes—I’m sure you are.” Jeremy glanced about to look for any acquaintance of his, who could provide him with an excuse to make a swift exit. “If you’ll pardon me, my lady, but I have to—”

  Lady Campbell practically seized his arm. “My lord, surely you’d like to meet my daughters before you remove yourself to the card room.” she gestured to her girls to come closer. “May I present Lady Henrietta and Lady Georgia.” Both girls curtsied and fluttered their lashes at him.

  Jeremy stared at the girls. Both had square jaws, bushy eyebrows and a trace of a mustache beneath their thick noses. Henry and George, the peculiar thought struck him. Good Lord! They even looked like men! He suddenly wanted to put bags over their heads and run screaming from the ballroom.

  “My daughters would be charmed if you would sign their dance cards—”

  “Waterford! Is that you?” Jeremy blew a sigh of relief at the sound of Allayne’s voice.

  “Excuse me ladies.” Jeremy hastily inclined his head and walked away, not waiting for Lady Campbell to formulate a reply.

  “What are you doing in London?” Allayne asked as he met him near the refreshment tables.

  “Cassie sent me a note.” Jeremy snared a glass of champagne from a tray carried by a passing footman. “She said she’d decided to have her first season and informed me, or rather—threatened me in no uncertain terms—not to show my face in London.”

  “I see.” Allayne sighed and regarded him with vivid green eyes. “Jeremy—this is really important to Cassie. She must find someone to make her forget Richard. I know you mean well, but—” he plunged his fingers through his hair. “Just go easy on her. She needs plenty of encouragement and support. She needs us—now, more than ever.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jeremy nodded and patted Allayne on the shoulder. “That is precisely the reason why I’m here, old chap.”

  On the other side of the ballroom, Cassandra carefully parted the spindly bush she had been hiding in, to peek at the sea of faces around her. She had been keeping herself out of sight to avoid any more signatures on her dance card.

  Her feet hurt and she was ravenous, but her mother had particularly told her that it simply was not the thing to gobble up half the buffet. She had been handed a glass of watery lemonade and a piece of cheese, and that was that. Well now, her tummy had been growling like the very devil and she suspected her stomach might be planning to eat her other organs for dinner.

  A group of young debutantes giggled to her right as one of them pointed a discreet finger at someone whom Cassandra assumed must be one of the gentlemen.

  “Oh, but isn’t he fine?” the girl heaved a dreamy sigh and placed her hand over her heart.

  “I just adore that long, wavy black hair,” said the girl in pink next to her.

  “Oh—and those eyes!” another girl exclaimed.

  More giggles emitted from the group.

  “My, but he’s tall, don’t you think?” the girl nearest to Cassandra, said. “And look! There are two of them. His friend with the charming dimples is likewise very handsome.”

  “Who are they?” the girl in the blue gown, asked.

  “The dark-haired one is Lord Waterford. Unfortunately, I am not acquainted with his friend,” the girl who had pointed the finger, replied.

  Cassandra released the bushes with a rustle. So—Jeremy Huntington decided to show up and torment her, after all! The cad! She squeezed past the group and stomped back in the direction w
here she had left her Mama and Papa.

  Allayne and Jeremy were standing next to each other with their backs to her. The girls were right, she had to admit. Both men were very handsome.

  With her brother Allayne’s honey-blond hair, striking, chiseled features and startling green eyes, he could have any girl in the room.

  Jeremy, on the other hand, was the epitome of sin in the form of a deliciously gorgeous male with his tousled, longish black hair and eyes as dark as midnight. And if that weren’t enough, the Devil himself had most likely been responsible for lavishing him with thick, lengthy lashes any woman would kill for.

  In Cassandra’s opinion, Jeremy Huntington, with his looks and his gilded tongue’s power of persuasion, was a danger to the entire female population. A veritable wolf disguised in a perfect gentleman’s clothing; a philanderer and a rake, who must be castrated and locked in a cell with the keys thrown away.

  Cassandra chuckled at the thought and regarded him and Allayne with genuine fondness. Even from where she stood behind them, both men looked tall and very dashing indeed.

  She suddenly remembered how they used to tease Richard when they were younger by calling him “Tiny,” because of the three of them, he was the shortest. But that epithet was quickly extinguished when he grew by leaps and bounds within a single year at the age of fifteen, quite remarkably surpassing both Allayne and Jeremy by an inch.

  Cassandra bit her lip and smothered the echo of his name in her mind. No more, she reproached herself, pursing her lips in a rigid line. Think of him no more.

  Just then, Jeremy turned and saw her. He bestowed her with a smile devastating enough to send every chit in the ballroom aflutter, which he followed with a wicked wink. Cassandra just stood there, staring at him, astounded by how fine he looked in his splendid evening clothes. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Lord Winterley, the next gentleman in her dance card, striding towards her.