The opportunity to put his investigative skills to use partly explained his high spirits too. He had not taken up the avocation with the intention of earning a few pounds. Rather, he found the hunt interesting, even exciting, and money had flowed to him almost by accident.
He approached the coach house in an investigative frame of mind, half of his brain sorting though the questions he would ask the servants. The other half just as naturally analyzed the potential pain of having this particular tooth extracted.
There would be undeniable risk in marrying Cassandra. She might be more licentious than even the worst rumors suggested. She might cuckold him within a fortnight. She could make his private life hell if she chose. He might learn that she still had rendezvous with her French lover. He might discover that she could not be trusted in any way.
He might uncover evidence that he was bringing a thief into the family.
I want your word that you will protect her, no matter what. Cassandra had guessed what he suspected. What his father claimed. Perhaps she had always known, but it was possible that his questions about the earrings had caused her to review the past with new eyes.
Until recently, her Aunt Sophie had led a colorful life of frequent travel and amorous adventure. Everyone assumed her famous jewels had been gifts from her many lovers. Once he considered the possibility, however, he had seen how easy it would be for a woman with Sophie’s access to grand homes to help herself to a bauble or two, especially from the homes of those lovers. If Count Lover or Chevalier Lover discovered a jewel’s absence, how would he prove he had not given it to his paramour freely?
Cassandra had been Sophie’s companion for six years now. Wherever Sophie had gone, Cassandra had gone as well. She may have seen things that in hindsight took on new meaning.
For that matter, she may have helped, or followed in her aunt’s footsteps. If Aunt Sophie had an opportunity to steal jewels, so did Cassandra.
His thinking went to that conclusion of its own accord. The idea emerged from the others much like his footfalls fell in logical rhythm. His stride stopped as soon as his mind landed on that particular bit of ground.
He gazed at the carriage house up ahead that needed a new thatched roof. He noted the lone youth outside working on some tack in the shade. While he made his plans, he tried to discard the thought of Cassandra’s complicity as absurd.
The impulse to make excuses for her came not from any secure opinion of her character, or even from the new reality that she would soon be his wife. Rather, it had more to do with a wide red mouth and blue eyes that could appear both innocent and scandalously worldly at the same time. It also derived from his instincts. Lust and sensibilities were hardly sound reasons to form a judgment.
He walked on, trying not to contemplate the implications. In particular, he did not dwell on the one that suggested that in agreeing to marry him, Lady Cassandra Vernham had just found the best protection in the world from all of her possible past sins.
Yates found the coachman drinking beer at a table in a chamber at the rear of the carriage house. Open windows let in a breeze that had done little to dry the sweat that stained the man’s shirt. His embellished coats hung on nearby pegs, ready to be grabbed. He still wore his boots and cravat and wig. The small keg from where he had filled his tumbler rested in a corner.
He startled when Yates entered, then frowned. His gaze quickly slid down his intruder’s form, taking in the details. He stood. “Milord!” He reached for his coats. “No one told me you were visiting, sir. I’ll go straightaway and take care of your coach and people.”
“Do not dress,” Yates said. “It is too warm, and I do not require your services. I did not come in a carriage.”
That puzzled the coachman more. He waited to learn what was required, if not service.
Yates looked through the door to the carriages. “Lady Cassandra wants to take out the gig this afternoon. Since I was going to take a turn, I said I would inform you.”
“I’ll have it brought around.”
“Actually, she will come here for it. Have it ready in two hours.”
The coachman nodded. “Will she be wanting a footman?”
“No.”
The coachman gave him a hooded, sidelong glance for that. “It will be ready.”
Yates paced around the spare chamber. There were three beds against the walls, but no indication that two of them were in use. He eyed the coachman’s periwig and pantaloons. “Are you expected to be in formal livery all day?”
“Milord prefers it. There is always the chance he will want a carriage. He does not like to wait.”
It was not unusual, but normally an estate like this had more servants in the carriage house than Yates saw in evidence here. “It must be hard to keep livery clean while you in turn clean the carriages and repair them.”
“That is done at night by me and a boy.”
“And when the carriage is out very late, as it was three nights ago?”
“Then it is done before dawn by me alone.”
“Better to take a faster road and know that you will get some sleep.”
The fellow swallowed a derisive chuckle. “I take the road I’m told to take, even knowing it will add four hours to a day’s journey and make it two nights I do not sleep coming from London, not one.”
“I would think the quickest way from London is obvious to anyone, even Barrowmore.”
The irreverence was not lost on the coachman, who permitted himself the barest smile. “He knows his roads as well as any gentleman. An errand required a change through Hertford. His aunt accompanied him, and we needed to bring her to her friends near St. Albans.”
“She must have been grateful that her nephew inconvenienced himself for her.”
The coachman flushed. “I wouldn’t know. The footmen helped her with her things and such when we got there. I stayed with the coach. And with Milord.”
So Barrowmore had not even had the decency to present Sophie to her gaoler. He had sat in the coach while footmen took her in. Yates was tempted to ask if Sophie had fought them. If she had, it would not have slowed them much. She was small enough that one footman could carry her without any strain.
The coachman’s deep flush did not abate. Whether it was due to revealing his master’s business, or to memories about that stop, Yates could not tell.
He felt in his pocket for some shillings. Too many and his informant would worry about his recent indiscretions. Too few and his future silence might not be bought. The latter mattered more, so he erred on the side of generosity. “Lady Cassandra asked me to give you this, for her calling for the gig so late in the day. It is her request that you be discreet about her riding out. She tires of her current company and wants to take some different air for a while. It would be best if you tied the gig outside and remained in here when she comes.”
The man eyed the shillings. He hid whatever thoughts he might have about Cassandra riding alone with an unknown, unexpected gentleman. “I have never been instructed to report on the family’s comings and goings. No reason to start now on my own inspiration.”
“That was easy,” Cassandra said as the gig jostled down the road with Ambury’s horse in tow. “You have a talent for elopements, Ambury.”
“We were fortunate that the coachman was cooperative. Otherwise we would be walking across fields until I found an equipage to hire.”
Cassandra doubted that would have ever happened. Ambury was a man who arranged things to his liking. His birth, charm, and manner ensured the whole world cooperated. “I expect praise for thinking to send your horse out of view so my brother did not wonder why you were still on the property.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You were brilliant.”
The afternoon was waning and the air cooling. The excitement of their dash to the carriage house and quick escape had left her in a lighthearted mood. She pictured her brother explaining to Mr. Treedle that things had turned out rather badly and there would
be no marriage and hence no fat settlement.
She did not feel at all bad for Mr. Treedle. What kind of man agrees to such an arrangement without even meeting the woman? A very greedy one.
“My mother refused to tell me where my aunt is. I am sure she knows.”
“I learned enough to find her. We will not be able to remove her until tomorrow, however. She is closer to London than she is to Anseln Abbey.”
“You know where to go? You are the one who is brilliant.”
“Not exactly where to go. I know enough, however. The rest is just a matter of asking questions. Any doctor who keeps patients in his home will be known in his area.”
He sounded confident. Cassandra allowed herself to know relief and delight that at this time tomorrow she would have Sophie free.
“Will we ride all night? I do not mind,” she said.
“There isn’t enough moon. We will impose on Kendale tonight. His seat is not far into the next county.”
Her spirits sank. Kendale would ruin their adventure. He would probably say all the wrong things about this elopement. He would try to convince Ambury to send her back to Gerald and let Aunt Sophie fend for herself.
“Can we not stay at an inn?”
“If you are worried that I plan to seduce you tonight and you do not want such intimacy under his roof, let me reassure you that I have decided to wait until after we marry.”
“It isn’t that. Of all of you, he hates me the most.”
“I do not hate you at all, Cassandra. Nor does he.”
Perhaps hate had been the wrong word, but she was sure he knew what she meant. Just as he knew why she had said it.
“His home will be more comfortable for you, and his vicar can perform the wedding in the morning. I promise that Kendale will not be rude, and he and his servants will ensure your brother does not try to interfere.”
The logic of staying with Kendale barely sunk in. She was too startled by the discovery that Ambury planned to marry in the morning.
“You intend to say the vows so soon?”
“When you procure a special license and elope in a clandestine manner, it is customary to say the vows as soon as possible.”
She turned her attention to the passing countryside while she tried to accommodate just how soon her life, as she knew it, would be over.
Ambury guided the horses on. “So the notion of intimacy under his roof does not worry you?”
That pulled her out of her thoughts. How like a man to remember that passing response out of this entire conversation. “Not at all. I expect you to do this well enough that I will not notice where I am.”
“Damn. Now I am regretting my resolve to wait.”
“If waiting means we rescue Aunt Sophie first, I do not think you will regret it.” She moved her rump closer to his, and leaned over to nip and nibble his ear. Mention of intimacy had reminded her of one possible benefit of this marriage, and the implications swam in her head. Feeling devilish, she caressed his knee.
He suffered her taunts for a few minutes. “Hell.” He reined in the horse. He took the ribbons in his left hand and embraced her with his right arm and pulled her into a savage kiss. His hand circled around and closed on her breast.
They sat there on the road while a little storm possessed them. Arousal teased her mercilessly, and she ensured with her caress of his thigh that he would be no more comfortable. It reached a point where they either had to stop or tie the horse up and go into the field.
He broke a kiss in midpassion. Forehead pressing hers, his gaze locked on her eyes. “Tomorrow night, no matter where we are, I want you naked. No dressing gowns, no ceremony, no pretense. When I come to you, I want to see your breasts and your legs and your desire for pleasure.”
He released her and took the ribbons up again. She stayed near him and rested her head on his shoulder while she reminisced about a hard back and bum walking into the sea.
Dogs began barking a half mile before they reached the house. At least a dozen accompanied the gig the last hundred yards, and swarmed around it when it stopped in the dark drive.
Cassandra tucked herself closer to Yates, who held his whip at the ready, should Kendale’s hounds display as little social grace as their master.
The door opened and a tall, dark form became a silhouette in the light pouring out of the building. After a long, silent gaze, the figure stepped out. “What in hell are you doing here, Ambury? And in such a clumsy carriage at that?”
“Seeking sanctuary.” Yates hopped down and met Kendale halfway. The hounds followed, nipping at his boot heels and sniffing his legs. Kendale gave two curt orders that sent them scattering.
Kendale looked past him, to the carriage. “Is that Lady Cassandra?”
“It is.”
“Should I bother to say that you are both courting irredeemable scandal if you are traveling alone together at this hour in the middle of the country?”
“Do not waste your breath.”
Kendale sighed. “Fine. Bring her in. There is no one here that will be corrupted by your boldness. Should I tell the servants you need one chamber or two?”
“Two, of course.”
Kendale found that amusing. “Go and get her. Or should I extend a warm welcome to her too? Yes, I suppose I should.” He strode forward and proved quite effusive in that welcome, apologizing for the rustic nature of the hospitality and the lack of feminine comforts. Yates was impressed. He had not heard Kendale combine so many words at one time before in the name of politeness. Cassandra’s skeptical expression softened.
Yates helped Cassandra down. Once in the house, Kendale turned her over to an old housekeeper.
“She will be in the first chamber at the top of the stairs, on the second storey, if you go looking for her later tonight,” Kendale said after she had left.
Yates would not mind seeking her chamber tonight. After what had happened on the road, he was sorely tempted. He would not, he decided, although he was not sure why. He followed Kendale into the library, where Kendale poured them both some brandy.
“What did you mean, you are seeking sanctuary?”
“There is the chance her brother will try to interfere. He may turn up here if he can follow us.”
“Hell, let him come. Half my servants are ex-army. We could withstand a damned siege if we had to.”
“I assumed as much. It is why we came here. Now sit and I will explain all. Oh, before I do—there is a vicar on this estate, isn’t there?”
It took Kendale a few moments to understand the implication of the question. He shot Yates a good glare and reached for the brandy again.
On occasion, although not recently, Cassandra had imagined a wedding in which she was the bride. Although that fantasy had been distinctive in some particulars, it had not been unusual in its general unfolding. It had never included a wedding dress that was little more than a muslin bit of practicality, such as one might wear in the country on a hot summer day.
It definitely had not included a dour old housekeeper and a severe Lord Kendale as witnesses.
The vicar, a second cousin of Kendale who was new to his living, proved flustered and flushed and astonished to be called for such a duty. He required reassurance that the special license was authentic before taking his position in the drawing room.
Just as the ceremony began, a storm broke. Cassandra watched the downpour out of the corner of one eye. The opposite corner of the other eye noted that Ambury appeared the most tranquil person in the chamber.
He would be quite a catch under normal circumstances. A woman would have a hard time swallowing smug glee if he had proposed without a sword at his back, and if she did not have several unresolved matters with him that might bode ill for the future. They would not speak of them, he had decided, but that would not make them go away.
The moment came for the ring, and to her surprise, one emerged from Ambury’s coat. She wondered where he had gotten it. The gesture and symbolism made the ceremony ver
y real suddenly. Starkly so. All the bad nerves a bride might know over the entirety of her engagement assaulted Cassandra in one single moment when that ring came at her. Her hand shook so badly that Ambury had to clutch her wrist in order to catch her finger with the golden circle.
Then it was over. Done. No one moved for a long moment. No one spoke. The vicar appeared frozen, his hopeful, cautious smile beaming her way.
Finally, Ambury placed his hands on her face and kissed her carefully, as if he guessed the terror in her heart. “I promise to take good care of you,” he said quietly.
It was not the declaration of love from her girlhood fantasy, but it was more than some women ever could count on.
“And I promise to make sure you never turn staid and strict like your ancestors,” she said.
He laughed, and the sound broke the awkwardness. People moved. The vicar offered his felicitations. Ambury took her arm, and they joined the tiny wedding party as it went to the dining room for breakfast.
“I do not think we can ever repay Kendale for his help,” Cassandra said as the carriage rolled into St. Albans.
“We do not have to repay him. He is my friend.” Ambury was more interested in the outskirts of the town than her comment.
Kendale had been a better friend than most might be. Not only had he hosted their wedding, he had loaned them this coach without Ambury asking. For a man who lived in masculine indifference to society’s demands, Kendale had some unexpected insights, such as the one that said it would look very odd for Ambury to bring her to London in a stolen one-horse gig.
A gig with Aunt Sophie on the back step would be even odder. Cassandra decided she would let Kendale know how grateful she was that he had foreseen practicalities. The loan of two footmen and a coachman might be very welcomed too, before the day was out. She did not doubt that Ambury could intimidate any doctor into releasing Sophie when the time came, but it would not hurt if he had several strong men along.
“Wait here,” Ambury said. He called for the coach to stop and was out the door before it completely did. She peered out the window and watched him enter a tavern.
The Conquest of Lady Cassandra Page 18