A Match Made in Bed

by Cathy Maxwell

  Soren laughed and stood out of respect to his friend’s title. Cassandra wished she could crawl under the table. She started to stand but the duke waved her to sit.

  “Please remain in your chair, my lady, and finish your meal. And don’t look so mortified. I envy my friend. I’m happy the marriage seems off to a good start.”

  “Please join us, Your Grace,” Soren invited easily.

  Cassandra had set down her fork and knife. First, it was always uncomfortable eating in front of someone who wasn’t dining. Secondly, she caught herself comparing the two men. She wondered if God had brought the duke to their table as a test.

  Yes, Camberly was extremely handsome. Almost physically perfect. She understood why at one time she’d been excited over the thought that he might have been interested in her.

  However, now she believed he lacked the character Soren possessed.

  Indeed, the duke didn’t look as if he was feeling quite well. There were dark circles under his eyes, the sort that were caused by anxiousness.

  “I can see that Lady Dewsberry won’t eat in my presence,” he said, taking a step away. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Please sit, Your Grace,” she heard herself saying. “Have you eaten yet?” The words flowed out of her. Before she’d been too self-conscious around Camberly to say very much of anything. Their conversations together had been quite stilted as a consequence. However now, her concern for him set her at ease.

  “That’s very kind of you. But I can’t intrude any longer.”

  “We are traveling to Pentreath today,” Soren said. “If you have the opportunity, it would be an honor if you visited.”

  “I may.” The duke shook Soren’s offered hand but he did not let it go immediately. He looked from Soren to Cass and smiled, the expression sad. “I’m envious of your obvious true affection for each other.”

  On those words, he released Soren’s hand and went striding toward the door.

  Soren sat. He leaned toward Cassandra. “Do I have a reason to be jealous?”

  She grinned. “Are you?” She bit into the sausage.

  “A bit. You were once quite taken with his looks.”

  “You knew that?”

  Soren’s gray gaze met hers. “Sometimes, Cassandra, I believe I know everything about you.”

  “Not everything.” It felt good to be able to say that, especially after the day she’d had yesterday. She picked up a piece of toast. “Although you do know what I like for breakfast.”

  “You are English. We are predictable.” He rapped the table once and said, “Spill it, what were you thinking when you were talking to Camberly?”

  “I was thinking he appeared quite downcast. Did you not notice?”

  “No, I was too jealous.”

  That made Cassandra laugh and then she stopped, struck by a new thought. “If I had married the duke, do you believe Camberly would have stayed beside me once he learned MP Holwell had spent all my inheritance?”

  “Matt is a good man. However, you are not dispelling my jealousy.”

  “I do not believe you have anything to be jealous over, my lord.” MP Holwell had been right—Camberly would never have chosen her. Her statement made Soren smile. “However, I sense the duke is upset.”

  He reached for a piece of her toast. “And why do you think he is?”

  “I believe he is not taking Letty Bainhurst’s defection lightly.”

  His brows rose as if she might be right. “It is still a good thing she has ended it.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had a broken heart.”

  “Camberly’s supposed love life doesn’t interest me. My focus is on you and Logan. Come, let us see what can be done about Holwell stealing your inheritance.”

  Mr. Forrester was a thin man with a pleasant disposition. He treated Soren with respect and, of course, extended that courtesy to Cassandra. He apparently was working with Soren on properly entailing Pentreath Castle. Part of the pearl money would go to that endeavor.

  After Soren laid out what he and Cassandra knew about her inheritance, Mr. Forrester gave the matter a moment’s thought before saying, “You are quite right, my lord. There probably is little money left in Lady Dewsberry’s inheritance. This is not a singular case. There are often dangers when a guardian has control of a minor’s money. It is well known that MP Holwell spends prodigiously. I have heard rumors of disastrous investments he’s made. I wondered why any sane man would throw about money in such reckless manner, and now we know. Perhaps he was attempting to recoup losses. I admit I have been jealous of that new coach he purchased.”

  “You mean, that I purchased,” Cassandra said.

  “Quite so.”

  “There is nothing I can do?” she pressed. “He stole my mother’s sapphires from me.”

  “If the jewels had belonged to his late wife, then they would have gone to him.”

  “Except my grandfather’s solicitor visited and clarified that in my mother’s will the jewels had been meant for me. He made my stepmother hand them over to me.”

  Mr. Forrester leaned forward. “Do you have a copy of the will?”

  Cassandra sat back uneasily. “No.”

  “Do you know your grandfather’s solicitor’s name?”

  “Mr. Calder. I am told he is well respected.”

  “He was. I regret to say he passed away several years ago,” Mr. Forrester said. “Do you have any documents that can support your claim?”

  “I do not. My father had those. I’m certain he will not share whatever papers he has.”

  Mr. Forrester’s face grew long. “Then it is your word against Holwell’s, my lady, unless someone else knows he took them.”

  Helen knew, but she would not side with Cassandra. Ever.

  The solicitor continued, “As for the money, he will claim he spent it, as a guardian should, on your welfare.”

  “Then may I claim his London house?”

  “We may try . . . but again, do you have documents naming you as your grandfather’s sole heir?”

  “Everyone knows he left his fortune to me,” Cassandra answered.

  “But we don’t have papers that say as much, do we? I’m not trying to beleaguer you, my lady. However, the courts will demand proof.”

  “If Mr. Calder is no longer with us, then it will be my word against MP Holwell’s.”

  “Exactly. Including any discussion on how much money you were to inherit.”

  “Or whether or not I owned the sapphires.”

  Soren leaned toward her. “It is up to you. If you wish to go after him, I’ll give it all I have.”

  But they didn’t have much. Cassandra stood. “Thank you, Mr. Forrester. I appreciate your counsel.” Soren followed her out of the office.

  Outside on the walk, he placed his hand on her arm. “We do not need the money from the sapphires. Your pearls have given us enough. We will manage.”

  She shook her head. “The money never seemed real to me. But those jewels are all I truly had of my mother.” She touched the pearl on its ribbon. She thought of the garnets she kept hidden. “As time goes by, I grow further and further away from her. I used to remember her perfume, but now I can’t recall it. Sometimes I can see her face, but it is hazy. And there are many things I wish I knew about her. Such as the story of my father. I wonder why he did not do what was honorable?”

  She squared her shoulders. “Are we taking the mail to Cornwall? Or do we have the funds to travel privately?” She believed she was being very brave to put forth the idea of the mail. It was a horrible, crowded way to travel, but she’d do what she must.

  “I thought we would go by chaise.”

  She couldn’t hide her relief, and Soren laughed. While she prepared for them to leave at the hotel, he made arrangements for a vehicle. Within two hours, they were on the road.

  And Cassandra regretfully said farewell to the city that had once been her every dream.

  Chapter 15

  One th
ing Soren had learned over his years was that chasing vengeance was an empty endeavor. There would come a time when Holwell would pay for his betrayal, but it would not be at Soren’s expense.

  He firmly believed the best action he and Cassandra could take was to pour their energy into something that had meaning, such as Pentreath. His vision was of the two of them and Logan living as a family.

  He knew Cassandra had doubts. He’d had a moment’s twinge when he’d brought the post chaise and driver to the hotel to collect her. She could have bolted, but she hadn’t.

  And he was pleased, because he was in love with his wife.

  Deeply in love.

  And it had little to do with their bed sport, although that made him very happy. Every man wanted a partner who matched him in passion.

  However, Cass had always attracted him. The youthful infatuation he’d felt for her had given way to a strong admiration for her resilience. He knew how hard leaving London was for her. He’d felt the same when he’d left Canada.

  She had stared out the window as they rode through London as if she would memorize all the sights and sounds.

  Once they left the city, she’d lowered her head, resting it in her arms as if in deep grief.

  “It will grow easier, Cassandra.”

  She nodded but didn’t look at him. In time, she fell asleep in that pose. He reached over and gently pulled her to rest her head on his shoulder. His thought was to make her comfortable—

  “Why did you marry your first wife?”

  Ah, so she wasn’t asleep. Soren shifted his weight so he could settle them both more comfortably in the close quarters of the post chaise’s interior. The road was good here and the ride smooth for a hired vehicle. The afternoon sky had promised rain, but the clouds were beginning to clear.

  He answered her question because he had vowed honesty. He wanted her trust. “I thought she was the most exotic woman I’d ever met.”

  Cass stirred. “Exotic?”

  “Being an interpreter is man’s work. She didn’t hesitate to take her rightful place. I told you the Lenape were matriarchal.”

  “To the point they’d let their women roam freely?”

  “Her father trusted our commander. We valued our native allies and knew our boundaries. Mary was treated with respect.”

  Her head returned to his shoulder. “I can’t imagine having such freedom. Or purpose.” Her voice was wistful.

  Soren found her hand and laced their fingers together. “You will have freedom in Cornwall,” he said, wanting to make his point. “You will be the lady of Pentreath. You may do as you wish.”

  “But what will there be to do?” She paused and then added, “Besides pleasing you?”

  “Cassandra, there will be plenty. Were you raised on a pillow to be carried everywhere?”

  “I was chaperoned and escorted and watched everywhere I went,” she said in her defense. “My father insisted on approving who I saw and what I did . . . while he was stealing what had been rightfully mine. It was all a ruse.”

  “Then live a real life,” Soren answered. “Find what gives you meaning.”

  “It is easy for you to say those words. You are male. You can do whatever you wish.”

  “That is nonsense. We all have restrictions. Mary had more liberty to make her own choices than I had as an officer. They told me I couldn’t marry her. They were set against it. I made the decision to choose my own path.”

  “And now you are back in this world.”

  “By my choice. And for a strong reason.” He leaned back in the seat. “This is not the journey I thought I wanted. However, good things have come to me.”

  “Such as?”

  “You.” He couldn’t believe she had to ask. “I have you now.”

  And I love you, he could have added, but he didn’t. She’d not believe him. Her heart was too busy mourning for what she believed she had lost. There was no room for him right now. A humbling truth. But she would rise above her disappointments, and when she did, he planned on being right beside her.

  Cass was quiet for a long time. Her head rested on his chest, directly over his heart.

  “I wish I did have a new dream,” she said at last.

  “You will, love. You will.”

  He’d done it again. Called her “love.” Was it just an easy word for him?

  Did he know how wary it made her feel? And how vulnerable? She knew he wanted her to trust him, but she didn’t dare. After all, she was on the way to Cornwall.

  Cassandra sat up. The time had come to quit moping. She looked out the window and took in the sight of the driver riding the lead horse. This would be her view for days.

  Soren pulled a pack of cards from his jacket. “Do you wish to pass the time?”

  “I’m not a good card player.”

  “Then let me teach you.” He waved a hand for her to scoot over to her side of the seat so they could use the space between them for their cards.

  Playing games turned out to be a good idea. It did shake Cassandra loose from thoughts that were dangerously full of self-pity. Both she and Soren knew it.

  His mind was quick with math and numbers. He remembered the cards.

  As for herself, she was hopeless at piquet. She rather enjoyed a form of faro that they designed for themselves, but she lost more than she won. They played with imaginary money, and she was soon deeply in debt to him.

  “I’d rather be reading,” she grumbled as she lost again.

  “Is that how you usually travel?”

  “Always with a book,” she answered. “I had been looking for a book the night I ended up in your room.” The incident seemed ages ago.

  “Then I am blessed you like to read.” He gathered the cards to shuffle.

  She sat back in her corner of the vehicle. “If you keep speaking this way, Soren, there will be those who will think we are a love match.”

  Her words had been spoken lightly, but once they were in the air between them, they took on a deeper meaning.

  Gray eyes met hers. His lips parted as if he was going to say something, and her breath caught, waiting, hoping . . .

  He looked away, focusing his attention from her to the cards he deftly shuffled.

  She could have cursed. She shouldn’t have used those words. And yet, she believed Soren valued her for more than the money she was supposed to have brought to the marriage, and found herself yearning for words from him of what he truly thought of her. After all, in poetry, it was the gentleman who made the grand declarations. It seemed safer to her that way.

  “I’m tired of cards,” she murmured.

  “Then I will tell you stories,” he answered, and he did. He spoke about his adventures in Canada. Cassandra didn’t know that she wanted to listen to him. She leaned against the door so that she could look out the window at the passing scenery. It would take them days to travel to Pentreath.

  Against her initial desires, she found herself caught up in his narrative of native tribes and soldiers, of an untamed country, and of the foolhardy souls who were bent on seeking their fortune. Soren could tell a story. In fact, listening to him was better than reading.

  And at some point, her sense of the world righted, just a little.

  In this manner, they arrived at his favorite inn, the Rams Head.

  Soren was greeted with a glad shout. The innkeeper, Mr. Piper, had seen service in Canada as well. He couldn’t bow and scrape enough to Soren and Cassandra. His wife took them to a private room for their meal. It was a simple repast of roasted capon and barley and vegetables, but it was tasty.

  The cider served was Mrs. Piper’s pride and joy. “The recipe has been in my family since before my grandmother.”

  “Sit and have a drink with us,” Soren invited.

  “Oh, no, I can’t, my lord,” she said.

  “Of course you can. Where’s Piper? I’ve been boring my lady with stories all afternoon. It is time she heard from a true storyteller.” Ignoring Mrs. Piper’s prot
ests, Soren went and fetched her husband herself. The portly innkeeper didn’t have any hesitation at sitting and swapping stories with Soren, while his wife was so nervous, she barely touched her cider. However, she did look pleased to be in such company in spite of needing to excuse herself from time to time to the kitchen.

  “You stay here,” she said to her husband, as if sensing this was a good thing for him.

  Cassandra was fascinated by the camaraderie between her husband and Mr. Piper. She couldn’t imagine her father sitting with an innkeeper and his wife. He would have been too proud.

  The stories they shared were different from the ones Soren had told her in the post chaise. As the evening progressed, and the cider was sipped, the two men talked of battles for new frontier. Occasionally, the story was left unfinished. She sensed they didn’t feel it necessary to trouble her.

  The table candles sent flickering shadows across the wall behind Soren. He was leaning in the chair, his long legs crossed, a smile on his face over something Mr. Piper had just said. He looked the picture of a country lord at ease, and she was suddenly glad he was away from that frontier. Away from war.

  And that he had brought his son to a land of peace.

  She slipped her hand in Soren’s. He smiled at her before laughing over a quip from the innkeeper, and she found herself content.

  The hour grew late. Mr. Piper stood. “I must help Carrie. I’ve left too much of the burden on her this night. Thank you, my lord, my lady. You honor the Rams Head with your presence. Is there anything I may fetch for you?”

  “We’re fine, Piper. In fact, I believe we’ll be happy to be taken to our room,” Soren said.

  “Come with me, my lord. I had the lad take your luggage up, and we have fresh hot water in the pitcher.”

  Soren helped Cassandra stand. Rising, she realized how tired she actually was.

  Their bedroom was well-appointed. There was nothing fancy about it, but the sheets were clean and the bed ropes tight. There was a desk and chairs, and she thought it far more to her liking than the Pulteney.

  They didn’t waste time in seeking their bed. She thought she would fall asleep in a blink. Instead, she lay awake. Finally, she rolled toward him, wondering if he was asleep.