A Match Made in Bed

by Cathy Maxwell

  The duke mumbled, “I am happy to be of service.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Soren said. He looked to Bainhurst. “Let us not let this matter linger. We meet tomorrow at dawn. I’m certain the duke can provide the weapons.”

  “Ah, yes, I can,” Camberly dutifully answered.

  “Then we are all done. I’ll see you in the morning, Bainhurst.”

  “But it is so soon,” he protested. “Surely we should consider the matter a day or two?”

  “I’ve already considered. I know what I want to do.” Soren returned to his room, slamming the door on a sobered Lord Bainhurst.

  Chapter 6

  Once out of sight of the gossips, Cassandra slowed her step as she walked to her parents’ room. Her father had never publicly repudiated her before. Then again, she’d never given him cause. She’d always done as he expected. She believed she could soothe his anger, but she’d learned over the years it was always best to tread carefully when his pride was hurt.

  As she turned the corner onto their hall, a door opened and a woman in a nightdress backed out of the room still kissing her lover. Cassandra stopped in her tracks. There was nowhere to hide, and she wasn’t going to make the mistake of jumping into a convenient room again.

  Male arms tried to draw the woman back but she broke the kiss with a giggle. “Tomorrow,” she whispered, and the promise must have been enough.

  The door shut and the woman turned, alarmed at the sight of Cassandra.

  The woman was Dame Hester, Admiral Sir Denby Clark’s wife and a woman as old as Cassandra’s stepmother. She was also one of the moral prioresses of Society. Many a young woman had been coldly dismissed from the ranks of being marriageable because of this woman’s yea or nay.

  Having met the admiral on several occasions, Cassandra knew those strong arms did not belong to him. He was so slight of stature, he looked comical in his uniform jacket and wig.

  Dame Hester’s eye took on a frozen stare as she moved forward. She walked right past Cassandra as if she wasn’t there. Nor was Cassandra going to do anything to call attention to herself.

  She waited until she could no longer hear a footstep from the older woman. Only then did she look back. Dame Hester was gone, vanished around a corner in this labyrinth of a house.

  Cassandra released the breath she was holding. Now she realized why everyone was so quick to jump to conclusions about her and Soren. Didn’t anyone stay in their rooms?

  Or with their mates?

  This house party appeared to be nothing less than an opportunity to hop from spouse to lover, and it was confusing to someone like herself who had always believed in honoring vows and moral codes. The image of Lady Bainhurst and the duke rolling on the floor would be burned into her mind for eternity. Camberly had known Lady Bainhurst was married. He obviously didn’t care.

  The infatuation Cassandra felt for him died a quick death. Her poet hero was fatally flawed. He didn’t value the sanctity of marriage, and she was disappointed. Yes, most of the poets of her acquaintance were rascals. They wouldn’t pledge fidelity to anything. However, Camberly was a duke. He had been a scholar. Shouldn’t he be held to a higher standard?

  Meanwhile, Soren York, the man she’d dismissed as shallow, had performed with the gallantry of a true gentleman.

  Cassandra was not naïve. Her fortune would have greatly compensated Dewsberry if she had accepted his marriage offer. However, few would have stepped up as he did on her behalf.

  She reached her parents’ door. She drew a deep breath, released it, and knocked lightly in case they were not awake.

  Immediately, her father’s voice said, “There she is. I told you she would come to us.” The door opened.

  Her father stood in his nightshirt and stockinged feet as if he’d quickly risen from the bed. The hairs on his head went this way and that as if he’d been pulling on them.

  She felt as if she was six again. He was her family, her blood. They were the only two left who remembered her mother . . . although she was rarely mentioned.

  He motioned her inside and shut the door. “Did you refuse his offer?” His voice was cold.

  “I told him I couldn’t make a decision.”

  “But you will reject him,” Helen said, sounding surprisingly anxious. She sat in the bed, the covers pulled to her waist.

  Cassandra looked from her stepmother to her father. In spite of Soren’s poverty, Dewsberry was a respected title. Wasn’t marrying a nobleman what they wanted her to do?

  She tried to choose her words wisely. “If I don’t accept this offer . . . then what future would I have? Everyone believes the worst of me.”

  “As they should.” Her father sat in a bedside chair. “What the deuce were you doing in his room?”

  “It isn’t how it looked. I couldn’t sleep without a book to read. There was a small library on that floor. I just wanted a book. You know how I am.”

  “And then?” His expression was unrelenting.

  “Well, I couldn’t find one. The shelves were bare except for one book in the whole room. It was on a table at the far end. I went to see what it was and then this couple came in and started—” Heat rushed to her cheeks, making her feel slightly faint. “They were very indiscreet.”

  “I told you she acted as if she was afraid,” Helen said.

  “Was Dewsberry part of that couple?” her father demanded. “Did he force you into his room?”

  “Force? Oh, no, absolutely not,” Cassandra hurriedly assured him. “I escaped the library, hopefully without that couple detecting who I was.” Another wave of heat crept up her neck. She hated how easily she blushed.

  “Was one part of the couple Bainhurst’s wife?” her father asked.

  Cassandra thought it an obvious question considering the way Lord Bainhurst had been carrying on. She didn’t wish to answer it. Her father had a taste for gossip, especially when he could use it in politics, but she would not lie. She nodded.

  And then, as she feared, her father leaned forward with interest. “Who was the man she was with?”

  “I couldn’t see his face.” That part was mostly true.

  “You didn’t recognize him?” There was doubt in his voice. “He had to be one of the guests here.”

  “The library was dark,” she answered, making herself meet his eye. “I was also worrying about how I could remove myself from the situation. I did not want to be involved.”

  “How long were you there before you could leave?” He believed she was lying. He’d always been able to tell.

  “It was a bit.”

  “Then why couldn’t you tell who the man was?”

  She hated this questioning. “Because they went down on the floor. The man was hidden behind a chair.”

  “But you could see the woman was Letty Bainhurst?”

  “Yes.”

  Silence met her answer, and then her father shocked her by throwing his head back and laughing. Her stepmother appeared as confused as Cassandra until she made a gasp of understanding and laughed as well.

  Cassandra frowned. “Where is the humor?”

  Her father leaned toward Cassandra. “My sweet, naïve little birdie.” Birdie had been his name for her from as long as she could remember. “Bainhurst will not want this story making the rounds. And if he can’t figure out who the man was, he’s a fool.”

  “I’m surprised we didn’t see it immediately,” Helen agreed. “Camberly was by her side most of the evening except we thought he was paying attention to Cassandra or Miss Reverly. He kept one of them close to him at all times. Our young duke is clever.”

  “But not clever enough,” her father answered.

  “Not for us,” Helen agreed. “But tell me, Cassandra, how did you end up with Dewsberry? Everyone was whispering you were found in his room?”

  “I was returning to my room when I heard Lord Bainhurst approaching. He was in a high tear. I panicked. I didn’t want to be part of the scene so I opened the nearest door and
jumped in. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “And it was happenstance that you chose Dewsberry’s room?” her father asked.

  Cassandra nodded.

  “What a bloody mess,” her father said with disgust.

  Hope surged through her. “Then you believe people will understand that everything was very innocent?”

  Her stepmother spoke. “No, Cassandra, you are ruined. It is through no fault of your own. This one night will give you a reputation. However, you needn’t fear being alone. You will be with us. My daughters, their husbands, their children, we will all gather around you.” She looked to her husband. “This is a good solution to our ‘predicament.’ ”

  “Yes, yes, you are right. This is very good.” Her father stood and faced Cassandra, his arms opening to her in loving benevolence. “You were wise to reject Dewsberry’s offer. Everyone knows he made it under duress. It is actually a humiliation to you.”

  “It is?”

  Gentling his voice, her father informed her, “He wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t being forced to do so.”

  But Soren had made his intent clear, she could have said. Earlier. When they had their confrontation during dinner. He wanted to marry her—

  No, she corrected herself, he wanted to marry her money.

  “Don’t worry about your future,” her father continued. “As Helen said, you have your family. We’ll take our leave on the morrow. We’ll be gone from this place and these people. We’ll go directly to Cornwall and return you to Lantern Fields. The more I consider the matter, perhaps this is all for the best. You were never cut out for married life, birdie. You are too tall and too independent thinking.”

  He wanted to return her to Cornwall? Cassandra challenged him. “Why send me to Lantern Fields? And how can I be too tall for marriage? You always told me to be proud of my height, that it wasn’t a deterrent.”

  “Not to me, it isn’t. Your mother was taller than I was, God rest her soul.”

  “And you just said that this whole incident tonight was not my fault.” Cassandra rejected his logic. “I don’t want to be buried in the country.”

  “You won’t be buried,” her stepmother said, rising out of the bed to come around to her as if from maternal concern. “You can still plan your little literary salons. They will be traveling ones. Doesn’t that sound fun? You can go up to Manchester to see my Amanda and to Devon to visit Laura.” She spoke of her daughters, Cassandra’s stepsisters who were married to industrious young men.

  “You will be in the bosom of your family,” her father said enthusiastically.

  But Cassandra didn’t want to be in their bosoms. “What of my fortune?” It would come to her only upon marriage. Until then, her father managed it for her, sometimes asking her opinion on expenditures such as using a portion for her stepsisters’ dowries. “If I don’t marry, I will never claim it. Isn’t that the terms of my mother and grandfather’s wills? I’ll be penniless and a burden.”

  “Nonsense. You needn’t worry about money. We will take care of you. Isn’t that right, Helen?”

  Something was not making sense here, but Cassandra too overwhelmed to work the problem through. They spoke as if it was fine for her not to inherit her mother’s money.

  “Nothing happened between Lord Dewsberry and myself.”

  “That is a relief. We wouldn’t want any York by-blows,” her father said cheerily.

  “But why should I be branded by this whole incident? Why, less than fifteen minutes ago, I saw Dame Hester leaving the room of a man who is not her husband. No one will punish her.”

  “Dame Hester, eh?” She could see her father squirrel that bit of information away.

  However, it was Helen who brought home the truth. “My dear, it pains me to tell you, but your life as you knew it is over, whether the standards are fair or not. There are rules for when a woman can do as she pleases. You broke the rules—”

  “I was only searching for a book,” Cassandra insisted.

  “Well, that is what comes from reading,” Helen breezily answered. “As your father said, you are fortunate to have the loving arms of your family.”

  “Helen is right, my dear. Dewsberry did you no favors. In fact,” he continued, his temper flaring, “I wouldn’t be surprised if that blackguard hasn’t orchestrated the whole sequence of events. Yorks are crafty that way. My father saved old Lord Dewsberry’s hide and we’ve been paying for it ever since.”

  Cassandra couldn’t imagine how. To her, it seemed as if the Holwell fortunes had risen while the Yorks had suffered over generations of bad decisions.

  Helen sat Cassandra on the edge of the bed. She raised a hand to smooth Cassandra’s hair. The gesture was comforting. When Cassandra was younger and Helen new to her life, she had yearned for her stepmother’s touch. It was rarely given.

  “I know this is hard,” Helen said. “Your father and I had great expectations for you. As you did for yourself. What we need to do now is make the best of things. We will see that you have a good life.”

  “But I wanted to marry.” Cassandra’s words sounded plaintive even to her own ears. “It isn’t just that I wished the status to improve my literary salons . . . I want children.”

  Her father clasped his hands behind his back. “Ah, birdie, that is what I wanted more than anything else for you. But now, you are beyond redemption.”

  Cassandra frowned. On one level, her spirit challenged such a verdict. On another, she realized he was right. The story of her being flushed out of Soren’s bedroom would be standard gossip once the other guests returned to London. With Bainhurst involved, there were too many juicy tidbits.

  Tears stung her eyes. “I’m sorry, Papa. I—” She broke off, almost overcome with bitter disappointment and regret for the role she’d played in her own demise. Why had she thought she could wander around the halls of a strange house? “I feel ashamed.”

  “Oh, here now.” Her father put his arms around her. “You don’t need a husband. Not when you have a father who loves you as much as I.”

  Cassandra nodded. “I just don’t want to return to Cornwall.” She’d never fit in there. Ever.

  “You’ll need to be there for a bit,” he regretfully informed her.

  “Will you and Helen be with me?”

  “Parliament is in session, birdie. You know I will need to be in the city. Can’t be a thorn in the high and mighty if I’m rusticating.”

  He relished fighting for the common man, even though he’d wanted his daughter to marry a nobleman. He’d wanted his grandchildren to be titled, and now Cassandra had failed him. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, taking the blame on herself.

  “Here,” he said, rising, “you need to be off to your bed. Tomorrow, we will pack up for Cornwall. Your life will be good. As Helen said, her girls and I will do all we can to see you are included. Don’t forget, you will have your books. Now come, I’ll walk you to your room.” And so he did. They didn’t say much. He seemed to understand that Cassandra needed to process this unexpected turn of events.

  Alone in her room, and once she was in bed, especially on a mattress as uncomfortable as this one, a hundred scenarios of what she could have done, what she should have said played in her mind and kept her awake.

  Why had she panicked over the appearance of Lord Bainhurst and run into the first available room? Or why hadn’t she just stayed in her corner in the reading room? She could have been quiet. Yes, Lady Bainhurst had seen her, but she doubted if Her Ladyship would have brought her presence to the duke’s attention. Even if she had, this whole affair would have been between them.

  And why did Soren York sleep naked?

  Perhaps if he’d been wearing a nightshirt, people would not have drawn the wrong conclusions. She knew it was silly to believe the other guests wouldn’t have put the worst possible slant to the incident. Still, decent people wore clothes to bed. Even now she was suitably clad. What was wrong with him?

  By the time that dawn was approachi
ng, an overwrought Cassandra had herself convinced that her father was right. Her life had been ruined, and Dewsberry was completely to blame.

  In a few hours, her family would leave Mayfield. She’d be trundled off to the country, where she would live the role of a relation who had embarrassed her family. She would die alone, an eccentric who would serve as a warning to new debutantes of the danger of being caught in gentlemen’s rooms. She would be the odd setting at a table, the one that family members would shake their heads over, wondering what to do with her.

  She would also not know the marriage bed.

  For years, she’d read poetic allusions to it. It was a rite of passage that would not be hers, even though all the scandalmongers would believe she’d already reveled in it.

  As for Lord Dewsberry—well, he’d probably find an heiress to marry. He was handsome, and very well built. She had seen that with her own eyes. The image of his naked buttocks had been burned into her memory. She’d never thought overmuch about male bums. Now she couldn’t stop thinking about them.

  He would go on with his life to the acclaim of all, while her dreams, her hopes were ended. She would not inherit her mother’s fortune. She’d lost it all through her own gullibility. In fact, she had no doubt that once her father put her in the family coach bound for Cornwall, Society would rarely see her again.

  Soren deserved to know what his ill-thought actions, including his supposedly honorable proposal of marriage, had done to her. In her frantic state of mind, she found herself believing that he had known her father would never let her marry him. He’d been saving his own face when he’d made the offer.

  She threw back the covers. It was almost dawn. Good. Hopefully those tiptoeing around the hallways had finally settled down to whatever bed they chose. With the sense of indignation born from having her life turned inside out and very little sleep, she threw on her robe and slipped her feet into the kid slippers, just as she had the night before. Soren’s room was only a few doors from hers. She could have her say and be back in bed before anyone was the wiser.