by Kerryn Reid
Lewis was skeptical. He believed Fuller’s fondness for Cassie was genuine, but as to the rest of it…
“I will investigate all that, Cass,” said Sir John. “Send him to me when—”
“He told me, Papa! He’s a gentleman, he would not lie to me.”
“I trust not, my dear. If he’s—”
Cassie uttered a wail of frustration. “Oh, this is the outside of enough! After all Neil has done for me, for Lewis, even for Jack, who can’t speak a civil word to him. You’d prefer I marry Gideon, I suppose! He’s been sniffing around me like a…”
“Cassandra!” Lady Wedbury jumped to her feet. “Have you forgotten all standards of conduct? Yes, Gideon is a very eligible parti. We used to discuss the match, we and the Aubreys.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mama, but I will never marry a reptile like Gideon Aubrey!”
From the middle of the room, Lewis felt the gust of wind as the door slammed shut behind her.
Chapter 14
A half-hour later, Lewis found Cassie in the morning room, pacing like a wild pony cooped up in the home paddock. Her cheeks flamed and her eyes glittered with fury. She greeted him with a loud sniff and marched away to the window where a glimmer of late afternoon sunlight shone through the haze. There she stopped, facing the little shrubbery behind the house that Londoners called a garden.
If she’d been crying, he could have comforted her, but he’d learned years ago not to touch her when she was angry. Particularly when her anger was directed at him. She knew how to make a fist, and she knew how to use it.
“Aw, Cassie. You knew they wouldn’t like it.”
No reply.
“I did what I could. I’d expect them to investigate any man you wanted to marry, wouldn’t you? Whether it’s Neil Fuller or the Duke of Bedford, that’s what parents do. At least, if they care about you.”
She sighed, and her shoulders drooped. “Bedford’s married.”
Chuckling, Lewis walked over and put an arm around her. “That’s my sensible girl. Though I believe he has an heir…”
Cassie choked on a laugh. “Six years of age, perhaps? Just a little too young for me.” She rested her cheek against his chest and sighed again. “What am I going to do, Lewis?”
He took hold of her shoulders and gave her a shake. “You’re going to let your father do his duty. If he finds Fuller’s circumstances to be as you described, I have no doubt they’ll give in.”
“Say, Cassie.” Lewis led her to the sofa and sat beside her. “You were joking about Gideon, weren’t you?” He’d seen nothing. But since Miss Spain left town, he’d avoided most of the Society events Cassie attended.
“About the attentions he’s been paying me? Not at all.” She giggled. “He wants to dance with me, and in between he glares at Neil and tries to keep him away from me. He seems quite lovelorn, can you imagine? He’s amazingly good at it. I used to think Anna and the others a bit silly, but I can understand falling for him.”
What was that devil up to? In all these years, Gideon had never shown any interest in Cassie. Was it possible that seeing her with a serious suitor had engendered some hidden jealousy? More likely, he couldn’t tolerate being bested.
But Cassie seemed to think he might be serious. Lewis jerked straight up in his seat, banging his knee against Lady Wedbury’s tambour frame. “You’re not—?”
“Heavens no!” Cassie exclaimed, throwing her hands up in horror. “There’s Neil, for one thing.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “But how Gideon could think I might, with all the horrible things I know about him…”
Relaxing, Lewis reached into his pocket. “Here’s your letter back. It’s a bit worse for wear, I’m afraid.”
“So I see. I thought it a very pretty apology, to both of us, but I collect you did not feel the same.”
“It’s pretty enough.” He leapt to his feet and paced the room as Cassie had done. “Do you believe it? Do you know what these goddamned—sorry!—circumstances are she makes so much of?”
Cassie shook her head, perusing the letter. “They must be the reason they left town.”
“I wondered if she was ill. But that would hardly keep you from writing to her. I’ve been thinking such horrid things about her, calling her names…”
“No, why?” asked Cassie, dropping the letter in her lap. “She’s heartbroken and confused. Would you expect her to switch her affections so quickly? It doesn’t work like that, Lewis. But the fact that she makes such a point of apologizing to you in this letter must mean she likes you a great deal.”
Lewis had taken up Cassie’s former stance at the window, but he saw nothing of the view outside. After a few moments’ silence he said, “I’m going to Bristol.”
She clapped her hands and jumped up. “Oh, yes, do! I hate mysteries! Then she’ll understand beyond a doubt how much you like her, and maybe… Well, if it is mutual, you’re not too young to marry.”
Good God. Marriage! Lewis rather thought he was too young. By at least five years.
Make it ten, or twenty. Yes, Anna Spain had him thinking about it. But he understood not one thing about women. How could he expect to build a successful marriage?
Two months ago, he would have collected Jack and gone for a good, hard ride. The right sort of ride could not be had in London, however…and Jack might no longer be the right sort of friend. Instead, he turned his energies to the arrangements for his visit to Bristol.
In his room, he pulled out the things he would need. A day of travel each way, plus morning and evening wear for the day in between. He might be kicked off the doorstep, or he might be invited to dinner and the theater. Best to be prepared for anything.
Jack did not appear for dinner. No surprise to anyone—his place was not even set. Probably he’d been told not to come unless he could act like a gentleman, which made it easy for him to do what he wanted to do anyway.
Afterward, at Jack’s door, Lewis lifted his hand for the particular rat-a-tat-tat-tat they had used since childhood—and hesitated. If they were no longer friends… Don’t be a dolt. At least he’ll know who’s knocking.
He heard something in response, some utterance he chose to interpret as a welcome, and pushed the door open.
The room was dark, though the sun still shone this midsummer evening. Standing on the threshold, Lewis squeezed his eyes shut against a memory…
Once, when they were children, Gideon had lured Lewis and Jack into a hut on the Aubrey estate. One ramshackle room with weeds growing through the rough plank floor, empty but for some old hay in one corner and a generous sprinkle of mouse droppings. After Gideon slammed the door and barricaded it from the outside, the only light came through cracks between the rotting wallboards. They’d torn their hands to shreds pulling those boards apart to make their escape.
Lewis blinked. What had brought that to mind? The light, he supposed—in Jack’s chamber, it sliced between almost-closed drapes, laying bright stripes across the rug hidden in the shadows. And the smell, close and musty and sour. The hut had been far worse, darkness infused with mildew and fear. Yet somehow his fear felt the same, here in this luxurious London bedroom.
“Lewis?” Jack’s voice came muffled from the bed, which showed as a dim structure in the deepest-dark corner. Then, sharper, “For the love of God, shut the door and draw the curtains. It’s too damned bright.”
Lewis frowned at that, but did as requested and made his way to the bedside, stumbling over one of Jack’s boots. As his vision adjusted, he could see parts of Jack lying there—the white pillow framing his dark hair with a pale face inside that, the white of his shirt collar and sleeves, two fists against a black waistcoat.
“You’re ill,” Lewis said. He touched Jack’s arm and fever burned through the linen.
“I’m fine. It’s only a touch of influenza or something. If only this damned headache would go away.”
Lewis touched his friend’s forehead. In the short second before Jack knocked his h
and away, he felt its heat, like half-cooled iron. “Let me help you get undressed.”
With much groaning and complaining, Jack submitted to Lewis’s inexpert assistance. Robert would have done a better job of it, but Jack would not have him. “He’d go haring off to Mother, and she’d have some money-grubbing sawbones in here poking at me and thinking up tortures to justify his fee.”
Clothed finally in his nightshirt, he collapsed against his pillows, sweating from the exertion. Then he gripped Lewis’s wrist. “Promise you won’t do that to me. I’ll be better in the morning.”
“I promise.” Jack released his arm and Lewis straightened the covers. “For now. But I’ll check on you later, and if you seem any worse, I’ll go get the doctor myself.”
Captain Fuller stopped by during the evening and spent half an hour closeted with Sir John. When they arrived in the drawing room, Sir John’s manner was noncommittal, Lady Wedbury’s haughty. Cassie laughed and chatted with him in the corner, more loudly than usual, as though to prove that her parents’ hostility made no difference to her. Lewis joined them for a time before excusing himself to check on Jack.
Jack flinched from the single candle Lewis brought with him, throwing an arm across his face. “Mama?”
“No, it’s me.” Mighty hard to mistake Lewis for Lady Wedbury.
Lewis lit the oil lamp and took hold of Jack’s wrist. His skin was hotter than ever. His pulse raced and fluttered. His eyes were glazed, his legs caught up in the covers. The sheets were soaked with sweat.
Taking time only to straighten Jack’s nightshirt while murmuring something comforting, Lewis bolted from the room.
Captain Fuller had left, thankfully. Some sort of argument was underway in the drawing room, but Lewis paid no heed as he burst through the door.
“Jack needs a doctor.”
Three pairs of eyes turned toward him, uncomprehending. Too abrupt a transition from whatever they’d been discussing—the captain, no doubt—but there was no help for it.
“He’s burning with fever. Do you know someone here in town?”
It seemed to take forever, but was likely mere seconds before fear and urgency overlaid the blank stares.
Lady Wedbury was the first to move, plunging willy-nilly toward the open doorway. She paused as she reached it, croaking out, “Cassandra, go to your room. It might be contagious.”
Jack’s bedchamber was brighter now, but the smells and the fear assaulted Lewis anyway as he stopped inside the door. Beside him, Sir John must have felt it too, for his eyes grew wide, his breathing rapid.
Lady Wedbury and the housekeeper flapped about the room, tossing soiled sheets to the floor and working clean ones under the flailing body on the bed. One of the housemaids, her gaze rigorously averted from Jack’s hairy legs and other parts so carelessly displayed, piled the discarded bedding into a basket.
Jack kept up a stream of groans and gibberish, an intelligible phrase occasionally breaking through. He’d been restless before, but all the commotion had made him wild with hysteria. Lewis had only read about delirium, but he figured that was what he saw.
Shouting something about a hellhound, Jack hurled himself out of bed, knocking into the housekeeper. She let out a shriek and grabbed the bedpost to keep from falling. Limbs stiff, Jack staggered toward his father and Lewis. His bulging eyes held no recognition, no reason. Was Jack in there at all?
Sir John made a strangling noise. Lewis stepped forward and planted himself in Jack’s path. As they collided, he forced Jack’s arms to his sides and bound them there with his own.
Jack struggled against captivity. Lewis had knocked him senseless less than twenty-four hours ago—could he do it again? Then, he’d had fury behind him. Now he had only dread. Not for himself, but for Jack, and the family he loved better than his own.
He did not need to test the power of his fear. Abruptly, Jack went limp.
Chapter 15
These should have been their last days in London.
Cassie should have been gadding about town, enjoying end-of-Season balls and picnics and barge rides on the Thames.
Her parents should have spent the week with their London friends. In between social engagements, Sir John would enjoy his club while Lady Wedbury shopped for items she could not obtain in Wrackwater Bridge.
And Lewis… Lewis should have been on the fast coach from London to Bristol, suppressing the flop of his heart when he thought about seeing Miss Spain, planning what he would say to her when he did. Meeting the father and brother she’d barely mentioned, figuring out why a manufacturer’s lovely daughter should be so perplexing.
It didn’t matter a whit. All through that week, the Wedburys hid away in the house on Brook Street, biding their time between visits from the doctor and watching for signs of improvement while Jack lay in bed, dosed into oblivion with laudanum.
With Jack’s life teetering on the edge, Lewis would be going nowhere. He spent most of his waking hours in the sickroom, most of those at night while Lady Wedbury slept. He dozed when he could, and when he could not he talked to Jack or read aloud. He saw no sign that Jack heard him, but he did seem calmer at those times. Unless Lewis opened a book of poetry. Jack never did have much use for poetry.
Though little was said on the subject, Lewis knew Sir John was pursuing his inquiries concerning Captain Fuller. Lindale called twice during the week, and Fuller spent much of his leisure time in Brook Street. “Just keeping my girl’s spirits up,” he said, one arm around Cassie’s shoulders as they sat together on the sofa. Lewis approved of the sentiment, if not the arm. His own company must be depressing as hell. Miss Spain’s blasted circumstances kept him on the fret, and he could do nothing. Certainly not put an arm around her.
At the end of the week, on the last day of June, Sir John put his head into the morning room where Lewis stood, laughing with Cassie about something in the Times. Seeing them, he came in and closed the door. Lewis could see how busy his hands had been, mussing and muddling his remaining hair as he always did when anxious. Lewis peered into his face for some inkling of what was on his mind, but the man would not meet his eyes.
Cassie went to her father’s side. “What is it, Papa? What’s wrong?”
“My God, is it Jack?” Lewis jerked into motion, slapping down the newspaper and heading for the door.
“No, no, not so bad as that.” Sir John held up his hands to fend off the thought. “It’s only… I fear you won’t like it, Cass. Let’s wait for your mother.”
Cassie exchanged a baleful look with Lewis and crossed to the window where she stood, arms crossed, toe tapping in impatience.
Lady Wedbury arrived. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. We were giving Jack his medicine.” She sat on the sofa beside Sir John. “Sit down, Cassandra.”
Cassie complied, but her jaw was set hard, her eyes narrowed. Lady Wedbury stared back, wearing much the same expression. No, Cassie would not like it at all.
Sir John cleared his throat. “I have concluded my investigation into Captain Fuller’s finances. I regret there was not more to find. He had funds invested in two entities, but one closed its doors in April. The East India Company is of course a solid choice, but his investment is small and so are his dividends.”
Sir John went on. “His parents left little—those moneys were used for the investments. His expectations I would categorize rather as hopes, stemming from his godfather, who is a man of property and some wealth. He purchased Fuller’s captaincy upon the death of his parents so evidently he has some interest, and no children of his own. I have been unable to confirm the existence of a will, however. And without specific provision, there will be nothing for his godson.”
Cassie stuck her chin in the air. “We’ll persuade him, then. A good marriage might be just what’s needed.”
“It’s possible.” Sir John sounded skeptical. “But there’s more. Gideon was kind enough to undertake some inquiries on my behalf, and has uncovered a significant number of debts here
in London.”
“Kind? Ha! Gideon would be delighted to rub Neil’s face in whatever filth he could find, and if he couldn’t find any, he’d make some up. I love Neil and he loves me. If necessary, we’ll survive without my inheritance until I come of age.”
“On what? Love?” Lady Wedbury scoffed, standing to face her daughter. “No, Cassandra. At least, not until that love has proven its durability. If, a year from now, you and he both feel the same, we will accept the match.”
“A year?” Cassie’s wail reverberated around the room. “Without even seeing him?”
“We’re not so cruel. Captain Fuller is welcome in Wrackwater Bridge whenever he has leave, and we’ll return to London next Season.”
“Mama!” Cassie turned to her father and dropped to the floor at his feet. “Papa, please. I thought you loved me.”
Lewis had little doubt that Sir John would have given in at that point. But Lady Wedbury stood fast.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Cassandra. We could dismiss him out of hand, and probably should.”
Cassie rose from her knees, flushed and trembling. Her face six inches from her mother’s, she spat out, “I hate you, Mother,” before running from the room.
Lewis paced the confines of Jack’s bedchamber dreading the night ahead, the sixth anxious, appalling night in a row, praying Jack would get well, fearing he would not. And now this trouble with Cassie. Could nothing go right? There were people who might say the Wedburys were paying the price for some terrible sin, but he didn’t believe in such rot. Besides, they’d committed none. Nor had Anna Spain, to justify all her heartache.
Gulliver’s Travels, which he’d been reading aloud the past few nights, lay unopened on the desk. Even if he managed to sit still, he doubted he could speak without cursing. His thoughts blared so loudly in his head that there was hardly room for a real sound to penetrate. By the time he noticed the surreptitious scratching at the door and started toward it, Cassie had slipped inside. And she’d closed the door again—oh, so quietly—before he got his mouth open to remind her that Jack’s room was off limits.