“That is a lot of paintings to be smuggled out of France.”
Marielle shrugged. “People are clever when they need to be.”
Cassandra had always found this daughter of France a little too mysterious. An émigré herself, and the niece of a comte, there were those among her own people who believed her to be a charlatan. Cassandra had not decided yet, but at least one émigré had confided to her that he did not believe Marielle was even French.
Emma could be too trusting sometimes. If she liked someone as she liked Marielle, her normal shrewdness could abandon her.
“You know that Emma is married to the Earl of Southwaite now, don’t you?” Cassandra said. “It happened a few weeks ago. You appear surprised. It was in all the London newspapers.”
“That is happy news. I knew they were affianced, but I thought it would be some time.”
“I am sure that Emma will tell him everything about Fairbourne’s now. We must make sure that every item we bring her is impeccably legal.”
Marielle nodded. “D’accord.” She looked Cassandra right in the eyes. “Both of us must be most careful in the future. Especially when it comes to jewels, I think. N’est-ce pas?”
Cassandra tried not to let that direct gaze make her uncomfortable. Marielle was warning her just as she had warned Marielle.
“I go now,” Marielle said. “Tell Emma that I will bring the man who owns the paintings to her soon.”
Cassandra returned to the office. Emma sat at the desk, with the small painting propped upright in front of her, angled so the window’s light washed it. Cassandra watched for a minute, branding her memory with Emma practicing the skills taught to her by her father, using her expert eye to see more than most people ever would in a work of art.
“Marielle is gone,” she said.
Emma looked up. “So soon?”
“I must leave as well. You can examine every inch of these paintings at your leisure then.”
“I admit that I want to. I have never seen anything like this small one. I judge it to be at least four hundred years old.”
Bracing herself to control the emotions that threatened to inundate her, she stepped around the desk. She bent and embraced Emma. She held her a moment longer than she might have otherwise, then straightened and kissed her cheek.
Emma looked up with a little frown. “Is something amiss, Cassandra?”
“Not at all. If I appear less than happy, it is because I am already anticipating listening to my mother’s criticisms.”
“I will see you when you return, dear friend. Be safe on this little journey that you take.”
Chapter 14
Cassandra faced her mother across the table that the servants had set on the terrace. Silver and crystal glittered in the sun on the linen that separated them. Refreshments arrived, coffee for her and cocoa for Mama.
They drank in silence while bees made free with flowers growing in a nearby bed. Since she spent most of her time in town, Cassandra always found the silence in the country strangely vacant. That she could hear bees only reminded her how little happened out here.
“I expect London is full of talk of nothing except the invasion.” Her mother said it like the French had landed in Ireland merely to provide an excuse for politics to bore everyone for weeks on end.
“I would not say that. Nelson’s victory on the Nile is still discussed, and there is always a spot of gossip here and there to enliven things, even in summer.”
“Anyone I know?”
Someone you know very well. “I do not think so.”
More silence. More buzzing bees. If she listened very, very hard, she was sure she would hear mice crawling and ants climbing.
“I plan to go to town in a fortnight for a few days, for my wardrobe. You could return with me.”
“I am only here for three days, as I told you. I must leave tomorrow.”
“Three days. Why even bother?”
“I bothered in order to see you, Mama. Why else?”
Mama flushed. She looked away. Plumpness had settled on Mama the last few years. That often softened an older woman’s face and made her appear amiable, but it had done the opposite with Mama.
When had they become such strangers to each other? When had silence become welcome and conversations awkward? It could probably be traced to the same event that had changed so much in her life. Mama had been even harsher than Gerald when she refused Lakewood.
“I also want to talk to you about Aunt Sophie,” she said.
“Sophie has become a trial, Cassandra. It is very unfair of her.”
“She bothers no one. She does not call on others, nor receive. She tends her garden and reads her books and exasperates the cook. How can she possibly be a trial to you?”
“Her hold on you has not loosened, I see. It was bad enough she was so reckless with her own life and reputation. It is unforgivable that she has led you to do the same.”
It was an old argument, and Cassandra did not want a row today. “It is not her life and her past that I want to talk about, but her future. You may not know of Gerald’s designs, but I believe I must share them now. He has become very direct, and I fear that only you will be able to dissuade him.”
Mama did not appear confused or curious about this little speech. She did not even look over to show attention. Instead, she concentrated on folding her napkin, pressing each step with her palms. “I am aware of his concerns regarding her. And his plans.”
“You must stop him. It is wrong for him to do this, and very unfair.”
“Unfair? Unfair? Sophie has lured you away from me, and you think your brother is unfair?”
“She did not lure. She gave me a home when this one became inhospitable.”
“She dragged you all over the Continent and exposed you to the most disreputable behavior. She encouraged your disobedience and rebellion. Do not expect me to risk Barrowmore’s displeasure by defending her. I have no idea what I could even say.”
“She was your friend, Mama. Does that count for nothing? You met Papa because of her, and she encouraged her brother to make the match.” She reached across the table and grasped her mother’s hand. “She was at your side when Gerald came. Have you forgotten that summer together with her? She has not. Do years of friendship and love count for nothing?”
Mama’s composure cracked. She turned her head and closed her eyes. Her expression turned slack and, finally, soft.
Cassandra waited, hoping this emotion meant she would have an ally. Finally Mama’s head shook ever so slightly.
“Barrowmore will not listen to me, Cassandra. He has resolved to force a break between you and Sophie. He is very determined. He wants what is best, even if his means might be harsh.”
“So you will not help me? And her?”
“I cannot help. Nor is it really about you, or her.” Mama looked over, sadly. “You have never understood, but this is bigger than that. It is about the honor of Barrowmore.”
“If I am such a stain on that honor, he can disown me, and I will no longer matter. He does not have to threaten Aunt Sophie.”
Her mother gazed away with misting eyes. “You do not understand.”
“If you will not or cannot stop him, I will take her away. Both she and I will be out of his life.”
Her mother’s attention sharpened on her. “He said that was your plan. I did not believe him. Do we mean so little to you now that you would abandon us? Is that why you are here? To say good-bye? Or did you not even intend to do so as you left?”
“I am here, aren’t I? You cannot mean so little if I came to see you.” A sick sensation had lodged in Cassandra’s stomach at her mother’s first words. “When did he tell you that he guessed it was my plan?”
“Before he went up to town this time.” Her mother looked guilty, as if she had spoken out of turn. “I am not sure, but I do not think he intends to permit you to take her away.”
Panic pounded in Cassandra’s head. Gerald had spoken of
a fortnight before he came for Sophie, but he already had his own plans for her in place. If he had guessed she might flee…if the rumors about Ambury had angered him…
She had been a fool. A stupid fool. She had left Sophie alone with Merriweather. Neither one could stand against Gerald. Maybe she could not either, but at least she could try.
She stood. “I must go back to town. At once. He might be up to no good there. Please loan me one of the carriages and a coachman. If you were ever Sophie’s friend, help me to return quickly.”
“It is too late. He wrote yesterday that he would return here today. He knows you are visiting, and commanded that I keep you here.”
“How does he know? Did you write and tell him?”
“He knows because he did not find you at Sophie’s house.” Guilt colored her mother’s voice, but so did resignation. “It has already happened, Cassandra.”
Yates moved his horse to a gallop on the ground that flanked the road out of London. He sped past the long line of carts, wagons, and carriages that had poured through the gates and into the country. He kept up the pace until he left the town far behind and had passed the knots of conveyances that slowly picked their way along the dusty road.
On the other side of the road, Kendale kept pace. They would keep each other company until Kendale turned away toward his property in Buckinghamshire.
The horses tired just as the road cleared. They met in its center and continued on at a leisurely pace.
“So, are you going to Ireland?” Yates asked. Kendale’s army experience and title meant he could obtain a commission if he chose.
“No.”
“That surprises me. You have just cost me a hundred pounds.”
“You wagered on it?”
“I thought it was a sure way to grow a hundred pounds richer. I did not think you could resist, especially since the enemy had the audacity to land on British soil.”
“If I would only be fighting Frenchmen, I would not hesitate.”
“The others are rebels. Traitors.”
“I am not needed in this campaign. It has become apparent I am not needed in any of them.”
Yates never expected Kendale to reconcile to leaving the army when his brother died. This new acceptance surprised him.
“It is a fair day. I can smell autumn already,” Kendale said. “Let us not speak of wars and invasions. I am escaping London because I tire of the talk of it.”
“I think you merely tire of talk itself. You do not want to speak of politics, investments, or society. You have never joined conversations about natural science, philosophy, or literature. Now that I think about it, I was a fool to suggest we ride together, since you are unlikely to help the time pass.”
“That is not true. There are many topics I am willing to discuss.”
“Name one.”
Kendale thought it over. Expecting nothing more to be said for many miles, Yates let his own mind wander.
As was common these days, its path meandered back to Cassandra very quickly.
She had been very cool when he called on her. Perhaps he had been a fool to worry that she had been insulted. If she had been, she overcame it quickly enough.
The whole time they sat and spoke, invisible and inaudible language had passed between them, however. The memories of the pleasure created tethers, and even the desire itself. They might both deny its power. They might agree they had been rash. They might resolve to set their dealings with each other back in time, even to before the wedding. None of that changed the truth that intimacy had destroyed most barriers between them in ways even distance and time would not rebuild totally.
“Lady Cassandra Vernham.”
Yates startled at hearing the woman in his thoughts named aloud. He looked over to where Kendale rode, back straight and profile firm.
“What about her?” Yates asked.
“That is a topic I will discuss. You said to name one.”
“That was ten minutes ago.”
“It was a long list that I considered. She was not at its top, but I discarded the others before her as too tedious.”
“Have you taken a liking to gossip? Is that why she was not too tedious a topic too?”
“I am not interested in the gossip, but in the facts of the situation. What you are doing is common in the army. Not our army so much, although there are episodes that are known but not spoken of. It is very common on the Continent. The French favor it, among others. It is as old as war itself, I suppose.”
“What in hell are you talking about?”
“Treating women as the spoils of war. Proving victory by claiming a woman. She defeated Lakewood, and now you conquer her in order to avenge him and raise the flag.”
“You are not making any sense. I have not set out to conquer her.” Except he had. Only that war was a different one, and even older than military conflicts.
“Forgive my choice of words. You pursue her. You seduce her. You beguile her. You—”
“Lakewood has nothing to do with it either.”
“Doesn’t he? How can he not? In the heat of passion, he may be far from your mind, but vengeance is the only explanation for your interest in her to begin with. There is little about her that is attractive, and much that is not.”
“Are you mad? Made of stone? Blind? She is beautiful. Zeus, those eyes—that mouth. How can you speak such nonsense?”
Kendale looked at him as if he were mad. “If both of you found her so bedazzling, I will have to accept that some men do. I do not see it myself. As for revenge, it is the assumed explanation, and I see no way to disabuse the world of that.”
Riding suddenly became inconvenient to this conversation. “Stop. Now. Right here.”
Kendale commanded his horse to stand.
“What do you mean the assumed explanation?” Yates asked. “Why would you think that?”
“I have heard them speak of it. Two days ago, in Brooks’s, several members were assessing it. Last night I had dinner with friends in the Horse Guards, and it was mentioned. Hell, while I was tying my horse on Oxford Street, I overheard two women gossiping about it as they passed.”
“I thought you were unaware of the gossip?”
“I said I was uninterested in the gossip. It would be impossible to be unaware at this point. Did you not know?”
“No.” He had been sequestered in the damned study examining damned leases in preparation for this damned journey.
“I did not see the clouds blow in, but the rain started around the fashionable hour two days ago,” Kendale said.
If even Kendale was hearing the rainfall, a deluge must be under way.
He turned his horse.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to town.”
He could not leave Cassandra to drown all alone.
Chapter 15
Anseln Abbey showed all the signs of being the seat of a family with more prestige than money to its name. Barrowmore was an ancient title, and Yates assumed this land had come to them under King Henry, when so many monasteries were absorbed by peers.
A year ago, he might not have noticed the evidence of poor maintenance, but examining Highburton’s estate had honed his perspective. As he rode toward the jumble of eaves and walls, he itemized the obvious lack of improvements and the toll that was taking.
An ancient gutter promised a damp attic, and the mortar around the stones needed tending. At least one chimney stack needed to be rebuilt, and another would only be good for a few years longer.
Cassandra’s brother should not have wanted her to marry Lakewood, who had little fortune of his own. Although that might have been the appeal, if by chance Barrowmore welcomed the match. Lakewood’s demands might be far less than another man’s when it came to the settlement, since he had little to offer on his own side.
He truly wished that old friend did not invade his thoughts today. He wanted to believe he had reconciled himself to all the ambiguities surrounding Lakewood’s death,
and the open question of whether it had involved Cassandra’s name or person. He liked to think he had achieved a philosophical view and buried any resentments. He would continue wondering for a while, he expected. He trusted the day would come when he no longer did.
He presented his card and asked to speak with Lady Cassandra, half expecting to be told she was not in residence. Her intention was to go abroad, and her unexpected absence from London could indicate that was where she had gone now, despite what she had told Emma.
The servant bore the card away. Another footman came five minutes later and escorted him to the drawing room. One could tell the chamber was original to the abbey, perhaps its refectory, from its size. Redecorating over the years had given it a proper ceiling and floor, but it still retained its medieval character in its small casement windows and uneven walls.
He waited with some anticipation to see her. He wanted evidence that she was still here, and not on a ship to America. He also wanted her vitality to make the day more interesting than days had been for some time now, except when she was in them.
He smiled at himself. It was not love, but at least he was fascinated in ways that happened with less frequency these last few years. Thank God for that.
As soon as she entered the chamber, he knew something was wrong. She smiled brightly and her eyes sparkled, but she wore her manner like a wax mask that would melt if the sun shone too brightly. It was not Cassandra who greeted him, but an actress who played a role she had studied for years.
“Have you come to congratulate me, Ambury?”
“If congratulations are in order, I will gladly give them. It would be nice to know the reason.”
“The whole world will know in a few days. Such news travels fast, even in late summer. I thought it had already.” She held out her arms in a gesture of astonishment. “I am to be married! Can you believe it? He is an upstanding man from Northumberland. Or is it Cumbria? One of those counties at the end of the earth. I am assured that he is handsome enough and good enough, and once we are wed, I suppose he will be wealthy enough, since my reputation necessitated rather a large settlement. He and I will grow old together, raising sheep.”
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