The Promise

by V J Dunraven

  “Jeremy, what have you done?” Cassie finally wailed from the corner, where she had collapsed onto a chair in front of the fireplace, drawing everyone’s attention to herself.

  She had been very quiet during the ride home, much like the way she had behaved when she discovered Richard’s betrothal. Even now, as the glow from the fire illuminated her beautiful angelic face, she looked older than her eighteen years. A certain anxiety haunted her eyes and Jeremy could not help but blame himself for being the most likely cause.

  He calmly pried his collar from Allayne’s death grip and sat down on the cushioned footstool in front of her, gently reaching for her hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping her cold fingers in his warm ones. “But it was the only way for me to protect you. You must see that.”

  “I don’t need you to watch over me.” she slipped her hand away from his and tucked it underneath her skirts.

  “I know you don’t.” Jeremy inwardly winced at her refusal to hold his hand so he brushed a wayward curl from her face instead. “But tonight, Cassie, was different. The ton is as fickle as the weather. You can be cast out without a second glance if you fall out of favor. That spectacle at the Soiree would have had tongues wagging for weeks. I had to think of a way to divert everyone’s attention.”

  “By announcing our so-called engagement?” she snapped angrily at him. “How could you, Jeremy?”

  “How could I not? Believe it or not, news of a betrothal to a high-ranking peer is a more favorable topic of conversation than your show of boorish behavior. The ton is more likely to forgive and forget your misstep because of your alliance with me. I saved you, brat—accept it and stop complaining.”

  “How could you have saved me? I’m mistakenly engaged to you, you oaf!” She pointed a forefinger at his face. “I’m ruined!”

  The note of revulsion in her tone rendered Jeremy speechless. He gaped at her, shocked at the unexpected hurt he felt at her words. Did she really have that low of an opinion of him?

  The mist clouding his brain suddenly lifted and he realized the truth of this epiphany. She may like him well enough as a friend, but Cassie thought very poorly of him as a prospective life partner. Why else would she have reacted with such repugnance at the mere idea of becoming his betrothed?

  He clenched his jaw and abruptly stood up, turning away from her to prop an arm on the mantelpiece as he struggled to hide his bruised feelings from the others. Unfortunately, his reaction didn’t escape Cassie.

  “Jeremy—” she uttered his name with a tinge of contrition, her skirts rustling as she crossed the distance between them. She wrapped her fingers on his arm and gently turned him to face her, but he sullenly averted his eyes, refusing to meet her gaze.

  “Jeremy—I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching out to cup his cheek with her hand. “I didn’t mean what I said. Please forgive me.” She searched his face with large green eyes and then hugged him tightly, laying her head on his chest. “You know I adore you.”

  “I know, brat. It’s all right—no harm done.” Jeremy sighed and kissed her forehead, before fixing his gaze on the smoldering tongues of flame greedily lapping on the fragrant logs in the fireplace. What the fuck was he moping about, anyway? He had always known he wasn’t good enough for her and didn’t deserve her. Of course, she had the right to be offended by his audaciousness in taking the upper hand and spinning a betrothal out of thin air!

  Jeremy placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her away from him, ignoring the impulse to return her affectionate embrace. “If it makes you feel any better, I suggest that we simply maintain the charade for two more fortnights. By that time, you will be back into society and you can cry out from our betrothal. I don’t give a fig what you tell them,” he shrugged, trying his damndest to sound insouciant. “Perhaps you can concoct a story that I’ve been a scoundrel and slept with other women while we are engaged. No one will question you—my reputation precedes itself.”

  Cassie regarded him with a startled stare, visibly distressed, before she lowered herself slowly onto a nearby chair.

  Lady Carlyle blew her nose loudly in the silence that briefly descended in the room.

  “He’s right, Cass.” Allayne broke the awkwardness and walked over to her, squeezing her shoulder. “After you cry out from your betrothal using the excuse Jeremy had suggested, you will earn the sympathy of the ton and will be welcomed back into its fold. Your engagement will be brief enough to be unremarkable. Your chances of finding another good match will be propitious again.”

  Cassie swiveled her head towards her brother with a concerned expression on her face. “What about Jeremy? What will happen to him?”

  “Jeremy will be unaffected and forgiven as always.” Allayne sat on the chair opposite hers and leaned forward with his elbows propped on his knees, clasping her hands in his. “It’s different for men, Cass. Society is more tolerant of our misconduct—especially if one is wealthy and well-connected.”

  “I agree,” Jeremy said from where he stood in front of the fireplace. “Don’t concern yourself about me. I will manage, as always. You must know, however, that for this plan to work, we must keep up with the pretense that we are truly betrothed. The eyes of society are on us and they are not easily fooled.”

  Cassie lowered her gaze and became pensive.

  Jeremy watched her furtively, bedeviled by his conscience. She looked so sad. He made her so sad. He wanted to shoot himself.

  After a moment, she heaved a deep sigh and nodded. “Very well.”

  Jeremy restrained himself from rushing to her side to reassure her that everything would be all right. “No one must know about this ruse,” he uttered firmly instead, bestowing everyone in the room a pointed look. “Not a single word of it must be spoken outside of this room. If we betray our confidence and word gets out, we will all suffer the consequence of being ostracized from society.”

  Lady Carlyle flew into another round of hysterics, saying she’d rather face the gallows than be shunned. “This is all your fault, George Carlyle!” She pointed a quivering finger at her husband. “You spoiled her into becoming a hoyden and let her spend too much time with this—with this—this—” She shifted and shook her finger frantically towards Jeremy.

  “Favorite scoundrel of yours?” Jeremy waggled his eyebrows fondly at her. The Viscountess may constantly nag about his friendship with Cassie, but in truth, she doted on him and practically adopted him after he lost his mother at a very young age.

  “Oh! You shameless profligate!” Lady Carlyle covered her nose with the handkerchief her husband offered and hefted another trumpeting blow. “If I wasn’t so very fond of your late Mama, who was the very epitome of kindness and moral uprightness, I would have skewered you with a poker and roasted you over the fire!” She glared at him and furiously wiped her nose. “Oh, if only she lived long enough to see to your upbringing—my poor, dearest Marjorie, God bless her soul!” Lady Carlyle wailed as she folded and refolded the square piece of linen in her hands. “Lord knows—me, and that loyal butler of yours, Barton, tried to keep an eye on you and bring you up to snuff—but did you ever listen?”

  Jeremy opened his mouth to respond. “Ah—”

  “No!” the Viscountess went on. “You twirled poor Barton around your little finger, ignored my lectures and did what you wanted! Did you ever stop to reflect whether your behavior upset me—your poor Mama’s one true friend, who only wanted what’s best for you?”

  “Er—”

  “No!” the Viscountess prattled onwards. “You philandered about town, chasing any living thing with two legs and a skirt! And did your scandalous behavior end there?”

  “Uh—” Jeremy darted his eyes left to right, before focusing back on the lady. “No?”

  “No!” the Viscountess reiterated in a huff. “You had to concoct this madcap scheme with the e
ntire family involved! Oh!” She touched the back of her hand on her forehead and heaved an exaggerated sob. “I give up! May your poor mama forgive me for failing her, but I don’t know what to do with you anymore!”

  “There, there, Mama.” Cassie stood up and went to her Mama, sitting on the chair next to her and rubbed her back. “You must gather yourself together. This situation is only temporary and will be over before you know it. Be brave now. Remember, we must all pretend that Jeremy and I are engaged, or else—”

  Lady Carlyle smothered a sniffle with the handkerchief. “God in heaven, but we’re all sinners! Lying and deceiving society like a bunch of devil-worshipping criminals! I will never be able to look at the Vicar straight in the eyes again! My lord husband—have you anything to say about this?”

  “Indeed, my dear. I think this ruse far surpasses the opera!” The Viscount held up his glass of port in a semblance of a toast. “Well done, Jeremy, my boy!”

  “George Carlyle!” Lady Carlyle flung the wet handkerchief at her husband’s face.

  “Don’t worry, Mama, it will be all right,” Cassie said. “In fact I do wish to go home as soon as possible. I don’t think I could walk into another ballroom again.”

  “On the contrary,” Jeremy interrupted, and they all turned to look at him. “I propose we stay in London for the next five days. We shall have to fulfill our duty and call on my grandmother. I also expect to see several invitations from friends and acquaintances who would wish to meet Cassie and the whole family. We must endeavor to make our relationship look authentic.”

  “I agree.” Allayne inclined his head.

  “Do I gather that we are all of the same mind?” Jeremy swept his gaze around the room. He waited until everyone had concurred, whether willingly or otherwise, before pushing himself upright from the fireplace. “Well then,” he said, as he made his way towards the door. “If you will excuse me, I must retrieve something from upstairs.”

  Back in his bedchamber, he removed the large framed oil on canvas and opened the safe concealed behind it. He took out what he needed, reclosed the safe and hung the painting over it once again. For a few minutes, he stood staring at the stunningly beautiful woman in the portrait. She looked back at him with dark eyes fringed with long black lashes, an impish smile insinuated on her full red lips. Her long hair tumbled down to her waist in thick, shining waves of black silk, foiled against the background of her flawless ivory skin.

  She looked so much like him. He could still remember the way she used to hold him in her lap and caress his hair, as he drifted off to sleep on her shoulder. Her scent, a heady blend of roses and lilies, still wafted in the air to this day and wrap around him. And her voice—low-pitched, smooth and vivacious—would sometimes echo in his dreams and wake him in the middle of the night.

  Sadness swept over him and made his heart ache so badly, he thought it would explode out of his chest.

  Long ago, she used to have that sparkle in her eyes, the glow in her cheeks and laughter in her voice—before his ass of a father drove her into hopeless despair with his evil vices. The blissful haven he used to know was broken and taken away from him inch by painful inch, as he watched his father crush his mother’s spirit until she withered away into the welcoming arms of death.

  He reached out to touch the image of her delicate hand with the diamond ring on her finger. “I miss you, Mama,” he whispered, blinking back the sudden onset of tears.

  He returned shortly to the library, carrying the elegant red velvet box with the Waterford coat of arms embroidered in gold silk thread on its cushioned lid that he had retrieved from the safe.

  His gaze went directly to Cassie as he entered the room, and somehow, the grief that had overtaken him upstairs evaporated into nothingness at the sight of her face.

  He knelt before her on the luxurious Aubusson carpet and opened the box to reveal a magnificent ring with an exquisite round diamond surrounded by rubies.

  Cassie covered her mouth with a gasp—a reaction echoed by Lady Carlyle who sat next to her, as both of them riveted their eyes on the sparkling gem nestled in a bed of black satin.

  “This was my Mother’s.” he took the ring out of its luxurious cradle and paused to look at it for a moment, remembering the woman who was the love and light of his life, the guiding beacon who illuminated his path—extinguished and gone too soon. “I want you to have this.” Jeremy lifted his lashes to look into Cassie’s eyes, the girl whose friendship brightened his dark, dreary days and whose unquestioning acceptance of his true self—both the good side and bad—brought him back from the gloom.

  “Oh, no, Jeremy—you can’t—I can’t—” she briskly shook her head and held her palms up. “That is meant to be worn by the lady you’ll someday marry.”

  He smiled crookedly and took her left hand anyway. “Of course you can.” He poised the ring at the tip her ring finger. For a split second, his heart lurched and he felt suddenly nervous. What the devil was the matter with him?

  “Jeremy—” Cassie gently tugged her hand, but he tightened his hold on her fingers.

  “You’re my betrothed.” He swept his long, thick lashes upward and met her wide-eyed gaze. “The girl I’m going to marry—at least for the next twenty eight days.”

  And with that said, he slid his beloved mother’s ring on her finger.

  Chapter 15

  Coming Home

  Grandstone Park, Cornwall

  Nine days later

  Richard Christopher Radcliffe needed some air. He inhaled the cool, salt-tinged breeze from his saddle-seat atop his horse, Artemis, as he admired the breathtaking panorama before him. The beach curved in the shape of a sickle, blanketed with fluttering curtains of spume crowning the breakers.

  “Ah, it’s good to be home,” he said to himself with a contented sigh. He needed this to clear his mind and revitalize his soul.

  A few days ago, he felt so suffocated that he left London with his father the day after that disgraceful embarrassment at the Templeton Soiree. Although most of the gentlemen had jovially patted him on the back and nonchalantly brushed off the incident as a jest, Desiree had fussed and yammered until his ears bled and his eyes glazed over. By the time they arrived at Glenford House in the heart of Mayfair, he was ready to bolt back into the carriage and leave the stale, smoggy city in haste.

  The walls of uncertainty closed in on him like an invisible, impenetrable film. He returned to England on a mission to fulfill his father’s dying wish—to oversee the vast responsibilities he neglected, but which now awaited his attention. He finally carried out what he had promised to do—embraced his fate selflessly and bound himself to a future with a woman of his father’s choosing, whom he barely knew. It had been so easy and right at the time, and he wondered why now—when everything was done and carved in stone—was he inundated with such an overwhelming shadow of a doubt?

  Hence, he ran away to the only place he knew that could give him solace in the midst of the circus his life had become—Grandstone Park—his home. He needed to find himself again and the sight of green meadows, the sound of wildlife in the woods, the rolling sea beyond and frolicking birds up above, were the things he craved to help lift his spirit, to make him feel in control of his destiny, to restore his life the way he envisioned it to be, once more. He wanted his old self back, the one who laughed easily and did not take life too seriously. The person who used to notice the beauty all around him, who was always thankful for the bounty bestowed upon his family, who met each waking hour with zest.

  Ah, yes—he had always been an early riser. Even now, sunrise had barely crept in the horizon and his senses already tingled with the anticipation of a new day. This was who he used to be—someone who loved to ride, to feel the wind on his face, to witness the grace of God’s work splashed in a spectrum of colors in the distance, where the sun, earth and sea co
nverged in a secret rendezvous. He used to memorize this magnificent view, each stroke of The Master. Then, he would translate it onto canvas—his personal tribute to the magnum opus of the Great Immortal, interpreted by His humble mortal son.

  Ah, no words could describe the depth of his love to paint. Every single day of his life, he gave thanks to the Lord for His generosity in blessing him with the gift of art.

  Richard cast another admiring gaze at the slowly rising sun in the horizon. In Europe, when he was lucky enough to commune with his Creator in the tranquility of a moment like this while the rest of the world slumbered in peace, he always pretended he was back home in England. For only here—with the gentle lull of the waves and the constant hum of the wind, could he feel his soul soar and touch the heavens with the seagulls. Here, he was free—far from the bane of earthly life, removed from the grasp of regret and the hypocrisy of society.

  Richard closed his eyes. Only here, could he feel the spirit of the Most High fill his senses and wash away his transgressions. Here, His glory surrounded him, allowing him to surrender his troubles and open his heart for Him to heal.

  He bowed his head in prayer. “Father, grant me the strength to accept the things I have no power to change. Fortify me with the courage to admit defeat and still be gracious as a friend. Watch over her, Father, for I love her dearly and always will.”

  Richard drew in the scent of the sea to find comfort from the tender stirrings of his heart. He had never expected this. Never in a million years did he anticipate he would fall so swiftly in love. He had always scoffed at the romantic notion of love at first sight, yet here he was, drowning in the sweetness overflowing from its cove.