The Conquest of Lady Cassandra

by Madeline Hunter

  The depth of his anger made no sense. He knew where she had gone, and why. True, the plan had been to spend two weeks together down at Essex, and become used to each other as a married couple. Theirs had not been some love match, however, and her departure had hardly interrupted a sought-after romantic tryst.

  She left the house dressed for the day and strode toward Oxford Street. No matter how much she talked herself through it, his obvious displeasure had left her unsettled and a little sad. Her reaction made even less sense than his behavior. Of the two of them, she was the one who had a right to be angry, not him. He had no cause to get all lordly with her about it. He definitely could not claim that she had wounded him.

  She paused in her tracks as that word came to her. She had sensed that in him, along with a masculine dismay. She tried discarding the notion as even less logical than all the others. She was incapable of wounding Ambury, of that she was sure. Yet she could not shake the feeling that last night’s conversation had revealed a new fissure between them that had not been among the other ones when they said their vows at Kendale’s house.

  The melancholy swelled inside her again. The sadness included a sense of loss, perhaps for the easy familiarity she and Ambury had shared. She marched on, hoping the dull weight on her spirit would ease as the day wore on.

  An hour later, she stepped out of a hackney in front of Fairbourne’s auction house. The building appeared cold and still. She trusted Emma had received her letter yesterday and had made the arrangements that she had requested. Upon finding the front door unbolted, she knew it had been done.

  Further evidence that all was in order showed on the big gallery wall. A few paintings hung there, including the odd primitive one that had so entranced Emma when it arrived for examination.

  Emma came out of the office, looking fresh and lovely in a pale green dress that complemented her golden brown hair. She gave Cassandra a kiss, then stood back and crossed her arms. “What are you up to? Southwaite is not pleased that you spirited your aunt away while he was absent from the house. He instructed me to find out where you took her.”

  “It would be better if he did not know, which means you should not know either.”

  “His concern is for her safety. I hope that you know that, Cassandra. He has no desire to see your brother take her away.”

  “Your husband is a part of the government and sworn to uphold the rule of law. Please do not press me for her whereabouts, Emma. You know I am right to keep it a secret.”

  “Even from Ambury?”

  “Yes.” Especially Ambury.

  “Will you stand against the whole world, and all alone at that? And now this business with Herr Werner. Am I to know why you had me invite him to see these paintings?”

  Herr Werner was the private emissary to Count Alexis von Kardstadt, a member of Bavaria’s royal family, who had brought his master’s art collection to London last spring. The count’s paintings had been the main attraction at the Fairbourne auction where Cassandra also sold her jewels.

  Herr Werner knew how Aunt Sophie amassed her jewels, because the count had been one of the lovers who had bestowed some upon her. Cassandra hoped to convince him to explain that to Ambury, to put an end to any suspicion that Sophie had stolen them.

  “I assume he is here not only to sell but to buy as well. With the funds from that auction weighting down his purse, I thought your auction house might be a good place for him to lighten his load.”

  “How good of you to have Fairbourne’s best interests at heart. I know there is more to it than that, but I will allow you to keep your own counsel on this matter too, if you insist.”

  Cassandra took Emma’s hands. “Are you hurt that I am not confiding in you? Should I tell you everything and leave you to debate with yourself what you should tell your husband if he demands it of you? I never want to be the reason for you to know his displeasure.”

  Emma smiled ruefully and squeezed her hands. “It has become complex, has it not? This friendship we have, now that we are married? I am not hurt, but I do worry about you.”

  Cassandra began to reassure her, but sounds out on the street distracted them both. The fancy coach that Herr Werner had taken to using in London had stopped outside the building.

  Herr Werner looked quite different from how he had in the early summer. Some fashionable haircutting gave his blond locks a tousled crop. His garments had lost the military flavor from when he first came. As he approached Emma, he displayed all the deference he had earlier shown her husband, but a twinkle of familiarity entered his eyes, perhaps due to his knowing her when she was merely an auctioneer’s daughter.

  “Countess.” He kissed her hand. “It was kind of you to think of my lord, regarding the rarities your family has discovered. I am eager to see them.”

  “You will not be disappointed. You remember Lady Cassandra Vernham, now the Viscountess Ambury, I am sure. She has also come to examine the paintings.”

  “Of course. Lady.” He kissed Cassandra’s hand in turn. “I am doubly blessed by the invitation now. I am so glad that I was in town. I rarely have been the last few months. The hospitality of so many of your gentlemen has meant that I could tour your fascinating country.”

  “Let us view the art together, Herr Werner, and chat about your travels as we do,” Cassandra said. She accepted his agreement and his arm. She looked over her shoulder at Emma as they strolled toward the wall, and shook her head when Emma took one step to follow.

  They stood in front of the little peculiar primitive painting that Emma liked. Herr Werner seemed as befuddled by its value as she was. She repeated what Emma had said about it being very old.

  “Have you been shooting in the counties as you toured?” she asked as they moved on.

  “How did you guess? The brown of my face, no? Even a good hat does not spare one from hours in the sun. I acquitted myself with the muskets very well, I am relieved to say. As the count’s representative, I would not want to appear a clumsy fool.”

  The count’s representative now, no longer the count’s servant. Herr Werner had been elevating himself over the months in England, which explained the generous hospitality from those gentlemen.

  She bent to examine the Dutch painting that depicted the interior of a house. “The woman in this reminds me of my aunt.”

  He peered as well. “I trust Lady Sophie is faring well.”

  “She is as well as when you saw her in March. You were the last person she received, however, and the only one in almost a year. I suppose that makes your friendship exceptional.”

  “The honor was not mine, but the count’s, and the friendship as well.”

  “He must have been happy to learn you had retrieved the ruby. It was a magnificent piece. I was sorry to lose it.” She probably saw a twenty percent decrease from the auction after Sophie made her turn over the ruby and pearl necklace to Herr Werner.

  “He was more relieved than happy, I believe. It is an important family piece, with a long history, and it belongs in the family treasury.”

  “He must have been intoxicated to give it away,” she said with a laugh. “I have heard that my aunt had that effect on men. It was good of her to understand that his regrets were not for their passion, but for his intemperate generosity. A different woman might have sent you off empty-handed.”

  Herr Werner’s gaze remained on the Dutch painting. “The count is very generous, and he had no regrets, that is true. But he is not a fool when it comes to women, and he is never intemperate enough to give away family jewels to a passing lover.”

  He moved on to the next painting. Cassandra stayed in place, trying to conquer her wrenching disappointment. Herr Werner had just let her know that necklace had not been a lover’s gift. The implication was damning to Aunt Sophie. And what about all those other jewels?

  She had been blind not to see it, even years ago. Herr Werner was right—counts did not give away the family treasury to lovers and mistresses. They bought new jewels i
f they wanted to give gifts to those women.

  To have family pieces seen bedecking the body of a paramour—she had thought those little notes had been written so Aunt Sophie ensured that never happened. Now it appeared the notes might have only intended to make sure that this peer or that prince did not know who had taken the treasures to begin with.

  No. She would not think such things of Aunt Sophie. It was unfair and unworthy to do so.

  Herr Werner walked back to her. “Perhaps I should have been more discreet. I had assumed you knew, since you gave up the necklace so easily yourself. You must understand—I cannot have anyone saying the count demands the return of gifts he gave freely. It impugns his honor.”

  “Are you suggesting they were not freely given? I doubt she held a gun to his head before he made a gift of them to her.”

  “You are distraught now, and angry. I am sorry. Let us say that there was a misunderstanding that resulted in your aunt’s acquisition of the jewels. That was the count’s way of putting it in the letter he wrote to her, and she accepted his view of it as soon as she read his words.”

  A misunderstanding? What sort of misunderstanding could there be? The count was a scoundrel who had regretted his gift after the affair had cooled, that was all. The only other alternative was unthinkable.

  A memory came to her anyway. A recent one, of Aunt Sophie all gray and quiet, slipping into Ambury’s library while his valet was distracted by someone else.

  Then others rushed in, from her tour with Sophie, of being the center of attention at salons, bedazzling nobles the way Sophie used to, while Sophie faded away. Surely her aunt had not been in dressing rooms, poking into jewel boxes. It was wrong even to wonder about such a thing. And yet…

  Herr Werner offered his arm again. When she blindly took it, he patted her hand. “Let us view the rest of these paintings while you calm yourself, dear lady.”

  “It was a waste of time, as was the last summons,” Kendale said. “Lights on the sea, I was told. If there were any, it was our own naval militia. The sea is thick with them, although it isn’t clear what they would do if a French fleet headed their way.”

  He gave the report while he and Yates stood with Southwaite and watched a young gelding auctioned at Tattersall’s. Men of all stripes filled the courtyard, with a thick knot of them near the shed overhang where the auctioneer touted the current offering.

  Southwaite had come to sell, and perhaps buy. Yates was here to keep Southwaite company until one of his studs went on the block. He assumed Kendale had joined them so someone would hear him complain.

  “They would not know what to do,” Southwaite said. “You would, however. That is why it is so wise for you to be the one to answer the summons when it comes.”

  “Do not insult me with flattery fit for a boy. Any of us would know what to do. I keep going because you are taking advantage of me. Well, next time it will be your ass, not mine.”

  “It is not as if we are spending our time having fun,” Yates said. “Marriage is not all pleasure. You will find out what I mean soon enough.”

  “Not too soon, after a testimonial like that. Hell, Ambury, you only said the vows a fortnight ago and suddenly you sound like a man married forty years.”

  “That is because while your ass was in the saddle, mine was on a solicitor’s chair most of the day. Since marital duty occupied me, I am not in the mood to feel sympathetic for a man who has no damned obligations in that area.” He returned his attention to the men milling around them, keeping his eyes out for one in particular.

  “He is in a sour mood, Southwaite, and I do not think sitting in a chair is the reason. Do you know why?”

  “I can guess. Have you discovered the whereabouts of Cassandra’s aunt, Ambury?”

  “I have not even tried yet. I expect to learn all that I require later today.”

  “Do you now? I expected to learn it all yesterday, and yet here I am, still in the dark.”

  “Is the aunt lost?” Kendale asked. “If so, you should not be standing around here. Tell me what you know, and I will help you find her.”

  Yates gave Southwaite a glare for mentioning the topic. “She is not lost as such. I have been assured she is in a very safe place.”

  “A place known only to one person,” Southwaite added. “If my wife knew where, I am sure she would have informed me as I commanded. Since she has not…”

  “Ahhh.” Kendale mostly kept amusement off his expression, but his eyes betrayed him. “So this is why marriage is not all fun right now, Ambury. You have had a disagreement with your new bride while I was gone. Surely you are not too surprised if she is being disobedient, since her spirit is so free of commonplace restraints.”

  A storm that had been brewing for two days broke in his head. “Be very careful what you say, Kendale. You are treading very close to insulting her, and I will not wait to hear it made explicit before calling you out.”

  Kendale’s vague smile froze. His eyes turned cold. “That would make two men quick to kill for her, which is two too many. Disobedient or not, she has cast her spell. Since you are well entranced, I wish you nothing but happiness with the lovely lady.” He turned and walked away.

  Yates started after him, to deliver the thrashing he needed to give someone or he would burst. A grip on his arm stopped him.

  “You are indeed in a sour mood,” Southwaite said. “Do not allow it to turn you into a madman. What are you thinking, speaking of challenges over such a small thing?”

  “He insinuated—”

  “Nothing untoward. You do not like that she is refusing to tell you what you want to know, but he was correct that you cannot be surprised if she shows the same independence now as she always has.”

  That Cassandra had not revealed Sophie’s whereabouts was the least of it. He resented like hell that she had decided he could not be trusted, and he hated the fact that her discovery about the earrings gave her some cause.

  If it began and ended there, time and logic might heal all. He did not think it would, though.

  Even as he spent hours today putting in place the promises he had made to her, he had seethed over her manner last night, over her precipitous departure from Elmswood, over the degree to which she intended to remain independent in every possible way. It was if she had examined their alliance, then taken a pen and drawn a box around him, and another around herself, with only one connecting line labeled pleasure. He did not like it. She was his wife, damn it.

  He shook off Southwaite’s hold. “Excuse me. I have been looking for someone, and I am going to the subscription room to see if he is there.”

  Only Jockey Club members had access to Tattersall’s subscription room, and it served as that membership’s outpost in London. Yates entered through the courtyard door. The servant standing guard greeted him.

  There were no tables nor comfortable chairs. No one played cards here, and no library encouraged intellectual pursuits. A table in the center provided writing implements and paper for recording bets and wagers, but otherwise the paneled walls and high ceiling with its square skylight had spare furnishings. Mostly men came here to gamble, and the odds established in this chamber dictated those all over England for major races.

  Yates had won and lost his share of those wagers in the past, but he was not here today to bet again. Instead, he looked over the men chatting and passing the time until the horse they coveted made its way to the courtyard. He spied the man he wanted when a clutch of bodies in one corner shifted, revealing him as the center of its attention.

  Yates walked over and joined the fawning group. One by one, they noticed him and slid away, casting wary glances over their shoulders as they left. Soon Yates faced his quarry alone.

  “It appears the whole world knows we rarely speak now, and fears this conversation will end badly,” Penthurst said.

  “Your upcoming trial probably has them expecting the worst. Or hoping for it. Town is dull these days, and could use some good theater,” Ya
tes said.

  “Did you come over to wish me well in that trial? Or to say that you hope the unthinkable happens and I swing?”

  Penthurst would not swing. Dukes never did these days, least of all for duels. He would say it was a matter of honor, the peers would agree, and it would be over.

  “I did not intend to speak of that at all, but something else.”

  “Of course.” His tone implied the refusal to speak of that duel were a failing of character, and predictable.

  Yates battled the urge to indeed speak of it, loud and long. He had spent more than six months damning Penthurst in his head for not finding a way out of that challenge, or a means to have it end differently. If he started, he would not stop, today of all days, and the men watching them now would have their drama for certain.

  “I wonder if you know if the plans to set up towers on the coast are going forward,” he said instead. Penthurst was an intimate friend of Pitt, and while he had refused a ministry himself, he heard almost everything before anyone else seemed to.

  “Not towers as such, but the fortifications would serve the same purpose,” Penthurst said. “There are some who think it is foolhardy and a waste of money. It has taken on its own life, however, since that business in Ireland.”

  “Is it known yet where they will build them?”

  “That is currently being decided, I believe.”

  “By whom?”

  Penthurst smiled the smile of his that could be confidential if you liked him but damned irritating if you did not. “Does Highburton have some particular location to recommend? If so, you will have to stand in line with all of the other property owners who anticipate leasing at inflated prices to the government and feeding at the trough.”

  “The money does not interest me. I would like a property on the list for other reasons. It could be removed later. It need never be leased, when all is settled.”

  Penthurst turned dark, deep-set, thoughtful eyes on him. “You are up to something. Since it is you, I know it is not the first thing that enters my mind, which is fraud. One of your investigations?”