Cassandra tensed as anger flooded her. Still standing by her side, Emma gently pressed her shoulder with a calming hand.
“I have seen her,” Emma said. “When I visit Cassandra, her aunt is often there. You are quite correct. Her presence is always refreshing, and her distinctive outlook on life is clever and lively.”
Cassandra welcomed Emma’s lie from the depths of her heart. “And, of course, I see her daily,” she said with a big smile. “My brother does not. Gerald has never been comfortable with my aunt’s choices in life, so he is unlikely to understand her current ones.” She angled closer and shared a knowing look with Hortense. “You know how vain a man can be. If a woman does not flatter his sense of his own importance, she must be ill. My brother’s view is swayed by my aunt’s refusal to receive him along with everyone else, that is all.”
Hortense and Amelia smiled like conspirators. Cassandra could not tell if they were relieved or disappointed to learn that all was well with Sophie, however. Cursing Gerald in her mind, she began plotting how to handle the gossip that might spread after this party.
As she did, the door opened and the men arrived. Gerald appeared in deep conversation with Southwaite, who listened politely. Emma left her post beside Cassandra and advanced to welcome her guests.
People moved. Conversations began. Some guests took to playing whist. Cassandra watched Gerald and wondered if she would escape a conversation with him.
Ambury made his way over and sat in a chair he moved to her side. “You appear vexed. Has someone been rude?”
Gerald was still on her mind, and in her sight, as she answered. “No one has been rude. If I appear vexed, it is because I learned something tonight that I had been ignorant of before. I am vexed with myself for being naïve, although I want to believe my trust in human nature speaks well of me.”
“What is this great discovery?”
“That the matrons of society will overlook much if I am received in a good house.”
It was another lie. She had always known it would not take much to reclaim full respectability. If she had been damned, these women would have missed Emma’s wedding rather than be seen in the same chamber with her. The cuts would not have been subtle, but direct, and Southwaite would never have permitted Emma’s friendship to continue.
No, today’s discovery was far more devastating, so much that her heart broke. She had always assumed that the gossip about her came from the idle speculation of bored minds. She had never suspected that instead it might be the result of someone’s concerted effort to humiliate her.
She looked at Gerald. He had their father’s eyes. Sophie’s eyes. Only he always looked to be peering hard at the world. That killed their warmth. It affected his whole face. Not a bad face in its features, but there was nothing friendly about it. His countenance and body had a rigidity that made him unappealing.
Had he done it? Was his current game regarding Sophie a new tack after an old one had not worked as well as he hoped? Had he ensured that her reputation for being too wild and too independent took as big a toll as possible? He had wasted no time today to gossip about Aunt Sophie. Perhaps he had been planting gossip for years.
He appeared to be a man who could do that. Even his smiles looked like they could cut stone. And his manner—she remembered a full-faced boy who got into mischief too easily. Now she observed a severe lord who would most likely whip that boy if he ran into him.
Gerald noticed her watching him. To her horror, he began walking in her direction.
“You appear faint,” Ambury said. “Perhaps you would like to go out to the terrace and get some air.”
Escape held enormous appeal. Only it was too late. In the next moment, Gerald stood in front of her, gazing down as a father might on an errant child. “You appear lovely tonight, Cassandra.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Ambury said. That forced Gerald to acknowledge that Ambury sat close enough to be included.
“The turban is a little too dramatic, however,” Gerald said. “I cannot decide if it is the style, the fabric, or the way it makes you look like an ancient sibyl from the Near East.”
“The world is never hurt by a little drama, Barrowmore. It is rude to flatter a woman in one breath and insult her in the next, even if she is a sister.”
Her heart swelled with gratitude that Ambury defended her. He appeared amiable and casual, but his attention possessed a sharpness that suggested his daggers were ready, should they be needed.
Perhaps Emma had requested his aid again, in looking out for her friend. If so, Emma could never have expected the worst of the night to come from Gerald.
Gerald should have let Ambury’s rebuke pass, but, being Gerald, he could not. “Because she is my sister, Ambury, and because all that she does, and is, reflects on me and my family, it is my duty to correct her if I see the need.”
“That has worked so well in the past, Barrowmore, that of course you would want to continue. However, a hat? You feel the need to correct her regarding that? The world is at war, the French breeched our borders, the economy is going to hell, and you concern yourself with your sister’s turban.”
Gerald flushed to his ears. “It is symbolic of much more.”
“It is? Who knew? You must tell Southwaite’s aunt that. She too wears a turban, and I doubt she guesses its meaning. When you do speak to her of it, what will you explain it symbolizes?”
Gerald’s gaze narrowed on Ambury, then shifted to her. “Is he the latest? Or has he only just joined the queue?”
She was horrified he would say such a thing in Emma’s drawing room. Their conversation had drawn attention too. Out of the corner of her eye she could see others darting glances at them.
Ambury’s smile did not waver, but only a fool would misread his temper now. “In insulting your sister further, you also impugn me now. You are being unforgivably rude to our host and hostess by abusing their hospitality with family squabbles.”
“Squabbles? Your arguments with your father were family squabbles. Rather more is at stake between Cassandra and me.”
Cassandra’s breath caught at the mention of Ambury’s father. Real danger entered his eyes on hearing it, but he acted as if Gerald only bored him. “If more is at stake, that is even better reason to avoid such conversations in public, Barrowmore.”
“See here. I hardly need lectures from you, of all men, on comportment.”
“Don’t you? Perhaps you should move on before you cross what line is left.”
“I gladly will take my leave of your company. However, I need to speak further with my sister. Privately.”
Ambury looked around. “I would say that privacy is nigh impossible tonight.”
“In here, yes. With you eavesdropping, yes. However—Cassandra, I will wait for you on the terrace.” With that, Gerald turned on his heel and marched away.
“Don’t go,” Ambury said. “I angered him, and he looks to be the sort to take it out on you.”
She stood. “It would be unwise to refuse to hear what he has to say, or to risk a row here that will embarrass Emma. As for enduring his anger, it will be a price worth paying for having seen you slice his pomposity to shreds.”
Gerald waited in a corner of the terrace, arms clasped behind him and posture straight as an iron rod. Shadows obscured the details, but she knew his stance boded ill. Indignation poured off him. Cassandra wondered if the few other guests who had come outside noticed how his mood ruined a beautiful night.
“Here I am, Gerald.”
“Yes, indeed. Here you are. For now, while the blush of passion is still fresh with our host. Soon Southwaite will come to his senses about his marriage and not allow his common bride to lead him by the nose into such indiscretions as allowing your friendship and permitting your attendance at dinners where ministers eat.”
“I told Emma that you would be confounded by it all. That you would never understand. She was going to cross you off the list to avoid any spectacles, but
I convinced her to let you come too.” A third lie for the night, but oh, she enjoyed this one.
He found the notion that he, not she, might have been excluded so shocking that he startled. He hid his reaction by crossing his arms and peering through the night in what she assumed would be a very severe stare if she could see it.
“I am told Aunt Sophie was invited as well. I had hoped to see her.”
“She decided not to attend.”
“Did she fear her condition would become too apparent if she had to spend hours in the company of others?”
She hated him for putting it into words. “She has no fear of company. She merely does not care for the superficialities of society any longer. People like you have made parties too boring for a bright spirit such as she.”
“See here—”
“I will leave at once if you get puffed up and tedious. You demanded to speak to me, so speak. You did not need privacy to inquire after our aunt’s whereabouts tonight.”
He did not speak. Not right away. He unfolded his arms and tapped his fingertips on the low terrace wall beside where he stood. He watched those fingers, as if making sure he played the correct tune on the stone.
“Mother wants you to come down to Anseln Abbey,” he said.
“Tell her that I will see her when she comes to town next month. She always makes at least one visit in autumn, to attend the theater and see her dressmakers.”
“I want you to come down too. I must insist on it. I will send my coach to bring you and Sophie. You need only stay a week if you prefer.”
He sounded so reasonable that this might appear to be a casual conversation between a brother and sister who enjoyed each other’s company. Alarm throbbed in Cassandra’s head anyway.
“Sophie will never agree to it.”
“I think you can convince her.”
“I am sure I cannot.”
His teeth flashed in the dark as he smiled. “Then you will come alone, if that is how it must be.”
“Why do you want me there?”
“Mother—”
“Mother knows that if she wants me there, I would be more likely to come if she made the request herself. Yet it comes from you. So why do you want me there?”
More finger tapping. A new tune. A faster one. “I need you to meet someone.”
“Oh, Gerald. Please, no. Who is it this time? Some second son in need of a settlement who is willing to take your scandalous sister off your hands?”
“It is past time for you to wed. Mother agrees. If not for Aunt Sophie—”
“If not for Aunt Sophie, you and mother might have browbeat me into marrying Lakewood, and I would have never forgiven either of you. As for now, Aunt Sophie is not what stands between you and me. She has nothing to do with it.”
“She has everything to do with it, only not the way I thought.”
“What does that mean?”
“I assumed she influenced you badly. Spoke against marriage since she has never married. Advocated certain…freedoms of a shameful nature because she is reputed to have enjoyed them. Your behavior has suggested as much.”
“You have realized your error in that? I am heartened, Gerald.”
“Oh, she influenced you, but it was not her doing. It was your own. Nor is it why you have refused every gentleman’s offer that has come along in the last few years.”
“You are correct there. My refusals were entirely my own doing, influenced only by the fact those gentlemen were uninteresting and, in truth, uninterested.”
“I don’t think so.”
“They wanted a settlement and connections, but not me, and were not even clever enough to pretend for politeness’ sake.”
“Well, a woman with your history cannot be too particular. But I think you really refuse to marry because she needs you. She needs your care. She protected you, and now you think to protect her. You dare not let her live on her own. You probably worry when you leave her for a few days, or even of an evening now.”
He was terribly close to the truth. So close that it frightened her. “You speak nonsense. She will bury you and me both, and her mind is twice as clear as Mother’s. She does not require that I devote my life to protecting her.”
“I am sure that I am correct.” He lowered his head so his face was very close to hers. “I’ll not have it, Cassandra.”
A chill shivered down her spine. “Leave her alone, Gerald. It is cruel and ignoble of you to involve her in your designs for me.”
“I do not plan to involve her. I plan to remove her for her own good, as is my duty as her closest male relative. I have found a home for her. It is not too far from Anseln Abbey, and run by a doctor who is assisted by his two sisters. It is—”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Lower your voice. You are creating a spectacle. Now, as I was explaining…”
His unctuous voice droned into her ear in its sotto voce confidences. She battled the urge to create a very big spectacle indeed. She wanted to hit Gerald, or scratch at his face. She wanted to tell him how insufferable he was. Her mind upbraided him in the strongest words she knew while she stood there mute and impotent.
She pictured Aunt Sophie reading at home, unaware of just how far Gerald’s scheme had progressed. She had promised to protect her aunt, but her brother was leaving little time for that.
“We will do it in a fortnight,” he repeated. “Write and let me know if you will have her things packed and ready, or if I should send servants.”
“You must not. It is unfair.”
“It is necessary. It is for the best. You will see that soon enough, once your emotions calm.” He pushed away from the terrace wall, to return to the party.
“I will not allow it.” Tears swelled her throat, and she barely got the words out before he was out of hearing.
He paused. Light from a terrace lamp washed his face, revealing his smug smile. “I am Barrowmore. You are my rebellious, disobedient sister. No one cares what you think to allow.”
Yates kept his eyes on the terrace doors while he chatted with Southwaite and Kendale. Cassandra and her brother had been out there a good while. Whatever Barrowmore was telling her, it had led to more discussion than one would expect from siblings who were estranged.
“I think it is going well,” Southwaite said, surveying his guests.
“Your lady has more than acquitted herself well,” Kendale agreed.
Southwaite gave him a friendly look that still contained a degree of exasperation. “She has managed larger affairs than this over the years. There was no question that she would acquit herself well as a hostess. I referred to other things.”
“He is speaking of Lady Cassandra, Kendale,” Yates said. “The company has been very accepting of her presence.”
“They had no choice, unless they wanted to insult Southwaite and Barrowmore as well as the lady.”
“They did not have to attend at all,” Southwaite pointed out. “No doubt some hoped to enjoy the discomfort of both Cassandra and her brother, but instead it appears that a rapprochement is under way on the terrace. Word of that should spread as fast as the post can carry it.”
Southwaite appeared very satisfied with his efforts to make Cassandra’s reputation safer for Emma’s friendship. Yates looked to the other lady who would enjoy Cassandra’s company once gossip did its work.
Lydia sat at the card table, across from her Aunt Hortense. Hortense had recently joined the play, but Lydia had been in her chair for more than an hour now.
“Your sister has taken to whist, it appears,” he said.
“With Hortense as a partner, she should fare well enough for a novice.”
“Actually, she has been winning all night,” Kendale said.
The three of them watched the play from afar.
“Are they wagering?” Southwaite asked, squinting to see.
“No point in playing if you don’t,” Kendale said. “It is only pennies.”
“That does not look
like a stack of pennies in front of my sister.”
“Shillings, then. No one will go to the poorhouse,” Kendale said.
Southwaite set his glass down on a table. “It is not the amount that draws her, but the thrill. I think it would be better if that stack shrank a good deal. Ambury, come with me. We will insert ourselves in opposition to her and Hortense and ensure that my sister experiences the despair of defeat that inevitably comes in gaming.”
Just then the terrace door opened. Barrowmore walked in. Everything about the man, from his bearing to his bright eyes to the smile on his face, said that he had just enjoyed defeating an opponent more than was decent.
“Take Kendale if you want to teach her such a lesson. I do not have the heart for it.”
He was halfway to the terrace door before the last words had left his mouth.
Chapter 11
Cassandra stood in a far corner of the terrace, near the low ribbon of wall that marked its edge overlooking the garden. No light from the lamps reached her, but she was clearly visible as a very pale column.
She did not move while he watched her. She just stood there, facing the summer plantings. Her posture and immobility suggested she reflected on something and did not see the dots of white amid the flowers below that glowed as much as she did.
He waited for her to compose herself, if that was what she was doing. Instead, the opposite happened. The thin pale lines of her gloved arms rose, and she buried her face in her hands.
He walked over, making it a point to put his body between her and two women who chatted near the center of that wall.
“Are you unwell?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
She shook her head, but her hands did not leave her eyes.
With a loud sniff that stopped the conversation behind him, she composed herself. Her hands dropped. Tiny stars glinted on her face as the moonlight reflected off her tears.
“I am going home,” she whispered. “I cannot bear to go back in there. If I see him again, I shall do something that will finally give the gossips facts to savage me for, instead of fancy.” She opened her reticule, removed a handkerchief, and dabbed her cheeks. “Please tell Emma that I will explain all tomorrow. I will write to her.”
The Conquest of Lady Cassandra Page 12