Cassandra's Deception

by Gayle Buck

  Belle laughed. “Of course Rolly knows. No one else does, but you do, don’t you, boy?” She patted the gelding’s nose, and a thoughtful expression came over her face. “You say that Young John watches you?”

  “Yes, I think that he may guess, but he is not certain,” said Cassandra.

  Belle shrugged. “Well, if he does say something to you, just tell him that I am impersonating you at Sir Thomas’s house party. He won’t approve, but he won’t worry, either. More important, he won’t betray us to anyone.”

  “It doesn’t matter now, Belle. You’re going back to the Hall today,” said Cassandra resolutely.

  For a moment Belle stared at her as though stricken. Then her expression smoothed. “Bother! I had forgotten. When you told me that Grandfather was better, I started to think that—

  “That we might continue the masquerade a bit longer?” Cassandra turned the thought over in her mind. It would be the answer to all of her suppressed yearning. She would be able to see Sir Marcus on the morrow after all.

  Belle nodded, looking a little guilty. “Yes, I did. You see, I am enjoying myself so much. It is the novelty of being in society.”

  “I suspect that the challenge of playing me has its allure, too,” said Cassandra, making a shrewd guess.

  Her sister laughed, sliding a glance at her from twinkling eyes. “Yes, I admit that there is a certain piquancy to that! My word, Cassandra, you have no notion how gauche I have felt. I have never been dressed by a maid before. I’ve never been to so many parties before or been made up to by gentlemen who are not Grandpa’s age. And I have learned to like our Uncle Phineas and Aunt Margaret very well. It is like a pleasurable dream that one does not wish to end.”

  “And I feel the same. At least, I do about not wanting to end my stay at the Hall just now. I haven’t had nearly enough time with Grandfather,” said Cassandra.

  “Then let’s not change places today,” said Belle, straightening from her negligent pose, appeal in her expression. “Oh, Cassandra, pray let’s let it go another fortnight.”

  “I will admit that I am sorely tempted,” said Cassandra honestly. “But I have done such a bad job of impersonating you.”

  “You did say that you had managed,” said Belle.

  “Well ... yes,” agreed Cassandra slowly. “But I think only because every mistake I’ve made has been put down to my—or rather, your—anxiety over Grandfather.”

  “Well, I see nothing to worry about, then. Oh, Cassandra, I know that you will do just fine. And I am going along splendidly. I have had my moments of doubt, of course, but I believe that I am quite able to pull it off,” said Belle.

  Cassandra laughed. “I am not at all surprised.” She sighed suddenly. “I do envy your confidence in yourself, Belle. I wish I were as intrepid as you.”

  “All it takes is a bit of fortitude, which you have, dear Cassandra,” said Belle fondly. “Only see how well you have done already.”

  “Yes, well. Belle, I don’t know. Now there is Mr. Raven to think about. I have been avoiding him as best I may, but that cannot continue indefinitely. It is very awkward. I don’t know what to do or say to him,” said Cassandra.

  “Well, neither would I,” said Belle with a shrug. “As I said, I haven’t seen him in years. It is not as though he actually knows me, nor I him.”

  “Perhaps not, but our grandfather and Biddy appear to believe that you might treat him unkindly even so,” said Cassandra.

  “I can’t imagine why they—” A light seemed to come on in Belle’s eyes. She began laughing. “Oh, I wonder if that is it? Cassandra, I think I may have put my finger on it.”

  “I wish you would tell me,” said Cassandra.

  “It is simply too amusing. You see, two or perhaps three years ago Grandfather started talking about how grown-up I was becoming and that he must see me settled in the world before long. He told me that he had been thinking about a proper husband for me, and that since Philip and I had gotten along so well as children, he thought Philip might be just the man,” said Belle.

  “Oh, dear. What did you say?” asked Cassandra, fascinated and appalled all at the same time. She knew that her uncle and aunt would allow her to make her own choice of husband. Of course, they meant to look out for her best interests; but that was not the same as prearranging a marriage. How very medieval of Grandfather, Cassandra thought.

  “Naturally I told him what a nonsensical notion that was!” Belle shook her head, smiling at her memories. “I told him that I didn’t want a husband. I wanted a proper come-out in London. Oh, we had a battle royal! Biddy sided first with Grandfather and then with me and finally threw up her hands, saying that there was no use in going on about it because it would be years before either of us need concern ourselves with the matter. That silenced both of us, which was just as well.”

  “Then ... do you think that is the reason that Grandfather has sent for his godson? To see you affianced?” asked Cassandra.

  Her sister looked startled for a second, then burst out laughing. “No, no, I’m certain that it is not! Why, even Grandfather would not entertain such a silly notion all of these years. And even if he did put forth such a suggestion to Philip, I am positive that Philip would reject it. I know that he would. We knew one another just as children. Why would he agree?”

  “You did exchange a vow to wed,” Cassandra reminded her.

  “Yes, but that was just child’s play. Philip probably wouldn’t recall that we had done so, and even if he did, what is there in that? I certainly don’t consider myself bound by words I spoke when I was nine years old, and it stands to reason that he won’t expect me to, either!” said Belle. She shook her head. “No, Philip’s visit has only to do with Grandfather’s will, I am certain.”

  “Grandfather did say that he had sent word to Mr. Raven that he was on his deathbed,” said Cassandra.

  “There, you see!” said Belle. Her brows drew together again. “Though I do dislike Grandfather talking about himself like that.”

  “Never mind. He was undoubtedly simply feeling at a low point. He will improve in the days to come,” said Cassandra, as much for her own benefit as her sister’s.

  Belle’s expression cleared. “Yes, of course. That is only to be expected. He is getting better, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, that is what I am told,” said Cassandra.

  Belle nodded. She drew her whip through her hands for a moment, before she looked up and smiled. “Come, Cassandra, the hour grows late. I am expected back shortly, even though I know that you are not. How very hedged about I—you!—are! We must make a decision. Shall we continue the masquerade for a little longer?”

  “A fortnight,” said Cassandra, nodding. “I should be able to see more of Grandfather in that time.”

  “And I shall drink my fill of society while I might,” said Belle. She shot her sister a mischievous glance. “I am flirting quite desperately with a certain young gentleman. Perhaps when we reclaim our own lives, you shall discover yourself to be engaged!”

  Cassandra laughed. “I trust not. I should not like to have to jilt him.”

  As they both remounted and prepared to go their separate ways, Belle called out, “Do not be concerned about Philip Raven! I daresay he doesn’t recall much about me at all. I was such a flighty girl, always on the go, and he was very studious. He was a dear, but a bit of a bore, I thought!”

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  Cassandra kept busy for the remainder of the day with housewifely duties, consulting with both the housekeeper and the cook on how best their newly arrived guest could be made comfortable. She learned quickly enough via the servants’ grapevine that Mr. Raven’s servantman was not at all an uppity fellow. Quite the contrary, in fact. The man waxed loquacious below-stairs about the adventures that he and his master had survived. It seemed that Mr. Raven had at one point been captured by the French and had made a daring escape back to his own lines, carrying with him a wounded comrade-in-arms. There h
ad been a rare set-to with Spanish brigands, and the servantman had hinted at a romance with a Spanish senora while in winter quarters. Oh, yes, the servantman was more than willing to tell his tales of wartime, but when asked about Mr. Raven’s present circumstances in the world since selling out of the army, the batman became strangely reticent.

  “Which must lead one to wonder, Miss Belle,” said Steeves, giving a swipe with his handkerchief at an imaginary speck of dust on the mahogany desk. He carefully picked up the salver, preparing to take away the post that was to be franked. He had come in upon hearing the bell pulled and had added his own bits of news to what Cassandra had already heard.

  “Yes, indeed it does,” agreed Cassandra. She leaned back in her chair, thinking about Mr. Raven. There certainly was something odd about the gentleman. He had sold out of the army and remained on the Continent, ostensibly for business reasons, until the letter from Mr. Petrie-Downs had found him. His batman talked about everything under the sun, except what his master was presently doing in the world. It was very odd, indeed. She shook her head and smiled at the butler. “Well, Steeves, I am certain that all will come clear in the end. If you will post my letters, I shall be grateful.”

  The butler lingered. His lined face was impassive, but his knowledgeable eyes were fixed upon her face. “Miss Belle, I thought you should know that Sir Marcus wakened not above an hour ago and demanded to see Mr. Raven at once.”

  “My grandfather asked for Mr. Raven and not for me?” asked Cassandra quickly, looking up at the elderly butler.

  Steeves bowed slightly. “So Weems informed me, miss. The gentleman is above-stairs still.”

  “I see.” Cassandra felt a spurt of jealousy. She had waited and waited to see her grandfather. When Sir Marcus had finally wakened and was able to see someone, this stranger, this interloper, had usurped her right. Then it hit her. She was as much, or even more, of a stranger than Mr. Raven. Cassandra wondered, with some hurt, whether Sir Marcus had ever wanted to become acquainted with his other granddaughter. She tried to put a good face on it. “Apparently my grandfather’s mind has been exercised more about his will than any of us knew, Steeves. He wanted Mr. Raven found because there were things he wished to discuss with the gentleman, and I perceive that he is wasting little time in doing so.”

  “As you say, miss,” said the butler.

  “That will be all, Steeves,” said Cassandra quietly.

  “Very good, miss.” The butler exiled, slowly closing the door behind him.

  Cassandra rose from her chair and walked over to one of the library windows overlooking the tumbled gardens. She looked through the leaded panes, one hand grasping the corded edge of the drape. Il was not a brilliant day, being overclouded and threatening rain. The weather exactly suited her present mood, she decided—a bit dreary and gray.

  She heard the door open and turned, expecting to see Miss Bidwell or one of the servants. Instead, she met the gaze of Mr. Philip Raven. Neither of them said a word of greeting. Cassandra’s heart skipped a beat and then began racing. Mr. Raven stood for a moment in the doorway, looking at her, then came in and closed the door.

  “Steeves said that I might find you here,” he said.

  “Indeed. I was leaving just this moment, actually,” said Cassandra coolly, starting toward the door. She had no desire for a tête-à-tête with the gentleman. Further, if Mr. Raven was no longer up with her grandfather, then she most certainly intended to go up to see him herself.

  Mr. Raven did not politely move aside as Cassandra had anticipated he would. Instead, he lightly possessed himself of her elbow so that she was forced to stop beside him. “Miss Weatherstone, I came downstairs with the precise intention of talking with you. I beg your indulgence for a few words.” He indicated with a gesture of his free hand the wing chairs in front of the blazing fireplace. “Pray, won’t you grant me a few moments?”

  Cassandra looked down pointedly at his hand on her arm until he removed it. Then she looked up, a somewhat angered expression in her eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Raven. I am not used to being accosted in such a manner.”

  “Of course you are not. Forgive me. It seemed to me that you intended to brush past me without even a nod,” said Mr. Raven, a slight smile touching his mouth. “And it is very important that I speak to you without delay.”

  Cassandra raised her brows. “Truly? I did not know that there was anything of such immediacy between us, Mr. Raven.”

  Mr. Raven once more gestured toward the chairs situated in front of the hearth. “Please, Miss Weatherstone.”

  Cassandra stood undecided for all of a split second. Then she nodded. “Very well, Mr. Raven.”

  He escorted her to the chairs and politely handed her into one of them. As Cassandra sank down on the seat cushion, he seated himself in the other wing chair. “Thank you, Miss Weatherstone. I find this an awkward task, one which I had never anticipated. However, in talking with Sir Marcus it became more and more obvious to me that it was very necessary to speak to you,” said Mr. Raven. He stopped, turning his eyes away from her to frown into the fire.

  Cassandra’s attention had been firmly caught by his reference to her grandfather. She was no longer so impatient to be gone. She clasped her hands in her lap. “Yes, Mr. Raven?”

  He looked back at her, his frowning expression still in place. “I find this very awkward, Miss Weatherstone.”

  “Yes, so you have already said,” said Cassandra dryly.

  A fleeting grin suddenly touched his lips. His expression lightened, and his gray eyes actually twinkled. Then the gravity returned to his face. “That is so very like you, Belle, to make a joke in an effort to smooth things over.”

  Cassandra was startled by his unexpected renewal of intimate address. She was made nervous by it. She hoped that he did not intend to bring up again the brief time of childhood that he and her sister had shared. Cassandra touched her lips with her tongue in an unconscious gesture that revealed her discomfort. “Mr. Raven, you said something about my grandfather.”

  Mr. Raven had been watching her, and now he nodded. “Yes. You may guess what we spoke of, Miss Weatherstone.”

  “I would really rather not,” countered Cassandra, quite certain of it.

  Mr. Raven brushed one hand through his thick, dark hair. “You are going to make me say it, I see,” he muttered, half under his breath.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Raven. I did not precisely hear you,” said Cassandra, wondering what was the matter with the man. He was displaying definite signs of discomfort, and she found that fascinating. Discomfort was supposed to be her role to play in this scene, surely, she thought irrelevantly.

  Mr. Raven settled back against the squabs, squaring his broad shoulders. His long fingers beat a nervous tattoo on the chair arm. “Miss Weatherstone, I believe that there has been enough history between us that we may lay aside all constraints. We know one another well enough not to play games. In short, we must be honest with each other, you and I.”

  “Well, of course,” said Cassandra. She shook her head. “I am sorry, Mr. Raven. You will have to make yourself more clear. I have no notion what you are actually trying to say.”

  “Miss Weatherstone ... Belle ... what I am trying to say in my poor fashion is that you have nothing to fear from me,” said Mr. Raven.

  “I should hope not!” said Cassandra, her brows rising in surprise. It scarcely registered with her that he was once more addressing her in a familiar manner. That fact paled beside the astonishing thing that he had said. “Why should I fear you, sir?”

  Mr. Raven sighed, as though a weight had escaped him. “I am glad. I was afraid that everything had been so settled in your mind that— However, I perceive that we may come to an understanding, after all.”

  “So I should hope,” said Cassandra, floundering for something intelligent to say in response to what was to her a completely obtuse statement. It seemed safe enough, however, to agree with his sentiment.

  “Good. Miss Weatherstone,
I would naturally not cavil for a moment to perform your grandfather’s request if I thought that you stood in the least need of succor,” said Mr. Raven. “However, it became obvious to me that you are well cared for and that Sir Marcus plans to leave adequate provision for you so that you shall never want. Therefore, I thought it unnecessary to accede to his wishes. I trust that this is acceptable to you?”

  Mr. Raven looked at her, his expression inquiring but his eyes a bit guarded.

  Cassandra sat there for several seconds, feeling quite at a loss. She had no idea what he had been talking about. What request? What task had Sir Marcus wished his godson to do that Mr. Raven was so obviously reluctant to perform? She had to say something. He was staring at her, waiting for her to respond.

  Cassandra cleared her throat. “Are ... are you certain that you shouldn’t simply do it? Grandfather is in rather a precarious state of health. Surely, it would not tax you overmuch to set his mind at ease.”

  Mr. Raven reacted as though he had just that moment noticed he had sat down on a horse tack. He leaped up from the chair. “Are you mad? Simply do it! Not tax me! My dear girl, have you any idea what you are saying?”

  “Actually, none at all,” said Cassandra candidly. A bubble of laughter came out of her. It was mad. The whole thing was mad. He was talking in riddles, and she was trying to answer them without being caught while she was doing it. She chuckled again.

  When his face darkened, Cassandra was instantly contrite. “I am sorry, Mr. Raven. But your expression—if only you could have seen it. And this situation is so ... so bizarre!” She waved her hand helplessly, for he would not understand. He could not possibly understand her position.

  Mr. Raven breathed heavily through his nose. There was a wry look in his eyes. “I had forgotten. I had forgotten how you could always get the best of me. You little devil, playing me along like some poor fish on your line.”

  “Was I? I was not aware of it,” said Cassandra, managing a weak smile. There, he was doing it again. Referring to Belle and their childhood relationship.