by Gayle Buck
“Not aware of it, indeed! You must do better than that, Belle,” said Mr. Raven with a small laugh. He shook his head. “I am amazed, nevertheless. It is a bizarre situation, and yet you are still able to find the fortitude to poke fun.”
“Mr. Raven, I would prefer that we maintain a formal footing,” said Cassandra. She almost trembled at her own daring in bringing him up short on the matter. “Pray do not address me by my given name. It ... it is disconcerting, given the circumstances. I am positive that you will understand.”
He nodded, looking suddenly thoughtful. “You are very right.” He threw an appreciative glance at her. “Is that why you have held me at arm’s length in our conversation? Why you have not responded to my gambits to join me down memory lane? Your insight amazes, Miss Weatherstone.”
Cassandra inclined her head, hoping that would be sufficient reply. She could find nothing to say. Her fingers twisted in her lap. Mr. Raven was dangerous to be around. She never knew what to say or what she was talking about when she did speak.
Mr. Raven noticed the unconscious movement and put his own construction upon it. “I understand that knowledge of your grandfather’s request to me must have been quite disturbing to one of your temperament. It would have been shocking to any well-bred young woman. I am only surprised that you received me as graciously as you did.”
“My grandfather wished to see you. That was all that actually mattered,” said Cassandra, bending her head. She was ashamed now. What she had felt or wanted had nothing to do with the circumstance, which was that Sir Marcus had bent considerable effort to find his godson. “I apologize if I appeared rag-mannered. I am not usually so.”
“It was an ultimatum, wasn’t it?” asked Mr. Raven quietly.
She looked up, startled. “What?”
“Sir Marcus told you that you were to wed with me.”
Cassandra stared up at him, her lips parting in shock. She could not formulate a single coherent thought, but a tumble of emotions passed through her breast.
Mr. Raven bent to pick up one of her unresisting hands and raised it, holding it clasped gently in his own. He regarded her solemnly. “My dear Belle, you only had to express your objections to me. Surely, you knew that I would not agree carte blanche to such an archaic arrangement.”
Cassandra nearly choked. She snatched her hand away and leaped up from the chair. Now she knew. She knew exactly what it had all been about, and the situation was more than she could possibly handle at just that moment. In fact, it was intolerable. “Excuse me! I ... I must go.”
“Belle!” Mr. Raven put out his hand as though he would delay her, but Cassandra backed away, evading him.
“I cannot stay. Forgive me!” She practically ran from the library, leaving the door wide open in her haste to be gone.
The gentleman stared after her with a look of consternation on his handsome features.
* * *
Chapter 11
Cassandra fled upstairs, her chaotic thoughts running ahead of her. By the time she reached the landing, however, everything she was feeling had crystallized into anger. She found herself standing outside her grandfather’s door, and with only a bare knock to announce her presence, she went in.
“Miss Belle!” exclaimed the valet, turning as she emerged from the dressing room and entered the bedroom.
“Is my grandfather awake, Weems?” asked Cassandra without preamble.
“Why, yes, miss, but—
“I shall speak to him, Weems, if you please,” said Cassandra, marching up to the bedside.
Sir Marcus had watched her approach from under heavy lids. “Now what has overset you, puss?”
Cassandra looked down at his heavily lined face. “As though you did not know! Grandfather, how could you tell him such a thing!”
Sir Marcus gave a deep chuckle. “I thought there might be a few fireworks when you found out. But it is not a great thing, after all.”
“Really, Grandfather! You have tried to arrange a marriage! I think that a rather great thing,” said Cassandra. “How could you do such a thing without saying a word to—
“Now, Belle, you mustn’t allow yourself to be so taken by emotion,” said Sir Marcus soothingly. He lifted his hand to brush her arm in reassurance. “I am merely attempting to settle your future comfortably. Philip is a good man, as good as they come. He has expressed some reservations, which I do not think ill of him. Naturally, he felt some surprise, some reluctance when I first told him. I recommended that he reflect on it. I am confident that when he does, he will see all the advantages.”
“He might, but I do not! This is utterly ridiculous, Grandfather.” Cassandra had caught hold of her anger, thankful that she had not betrayed herself. She had so nearly blurted out her sister’s name. She sat down on the chair beside the bed. “Come, Grandfather, let us reason together. You know that what you have done can have no favor with me.”
“Aye, well I know it. You made yourself very clear two—no, three years ago. I had not forgotten that row. And so I said nothing, in hopes that when you met Philip again your objections would fall away,” said Sir Marcus.
“Well, I do object,” said Cassandra.
“Is he ill-favored? Does he repulse you?” demanded Sir Marcus.
Cassandra was taken aback. “Why, no, of course not. Mr. Raven is pleasing to the eye, and his manners are very nice. That is not it at all, Grandfather, as you would realize if you would but think about it.”
“I fail to see what other objection you could possibly have. Philip Raven is my godson. I shall see that he is well provided for in my will, as you will be. He is a fine figure of a man, honest and direct in his speech. You have liked him all of your life,” said Sir Marcus. He started to close his eyes. “It is decided, Belle. You are to wed Philip Raven.”
“No, it is not decided,” said Cassandra tightly. “I will not allow you to dictate my future so arbitrarily.”
“You will not allow? You will not allow?” Sir Marcus roused himself, pushing up against his pillows. His bushy brows were drawn tight making a solid line across his long nose. His raspy voice rose. “It is not for a young girl to tell me what she will and will not allow! You will do as I say, Belle.”
The valet hurried over, alarm registering on his face. “Pray calm yourself, sir. Miss—”
“Go away, Weems! At least you must obey me!” Sir Marcus glared first at the valet and then at Cassandra, before dropping back down on his pillows. A tic jumped in his jaw. He closed his eyes again.
The valet gave Cassandra a reproachful look as he retreated.
Cassandra drew deep breath. “Grandfather, I do not wish to anger you. You must know that you are very dear to me. Nor do I wish to disobey you.”
Sir Marcus opened his eyes and stared at her. His winter blue eyes looked cold. “Then you will wed Philip Raven. That is how you may show your affection toward me.”
Cassandra saw that she was not making much progress. “Grandfather, I shall most willingly wed Philip Raven—if I fall in love with him. But you cannot expect me to agree to this ridiculous plot of yours as it stands. What’s more, I am positive that Mr. Raven has no more intention of tamely falling in with it than I have.”
“Told you so, did he? Well, I cannot fault him for it. He struck me as a careful man, and anyone could see that you would be a handful, Belle,” said Sir Marcus sharply.
Cassandra decided to ignore that provocative statement. She mustn’t let herself be sidetracked from the main issue at hand. She remembered what her sister had said about Philip Raven and how Belle had said it. Belle had expressed only a mild curiosity about her old playmate’s arrival. There had been nothing in Belle’s attitude or words to lead one to suppose that she would wish to be married to the gentleman. Quite the contrary, in fact. Belle had said that Philip Raven was a dear but a bit of a bore. Cassandra thought that scarcely constituted grounds upon which to base her sister’s entire future, and she certainly was not going to agree to something now
that Belle would most assuredly later regret.
“Grandfather, I’ve never had a proper come-out. I’ve never been presented to society. I’ve never been made up to by a circle of admirers,” said Cassandra, thinking that it was all true and how much more so for her sister.
“I’ll not have a bunch of young jackanapes dangling after you, Belle,” said Sir Marcus bitingly. “Philip is worth more than the whole lot. He has been to war. He knows what it is to fight for his life. He knows who he is, and that is more than any lounging London Lothario can claim, I can tell you! As for society, bah! You are missing nothing great there, either. It is why I have remained here at the Hall all of those years.”
“You know that is not quite true, Grandfather. I am certain of it,” said Cassandra quietly. “You know that it is important to become known in society, if not for yourself than for your descendants. I used to wonder about our family. I felt awkward because I did not know anything about my antecedents. What could I talk about when I came in contact with others? How should I act? How would I establish common ground and make friendships?”
Sir Marcus’s expression altered, losing some of its testiness. It seemed that she had at last struck a chord.
“Ah, Belle. I did not realize that I had cloistered you so closely,” said Sir Marcus regretfully. “I am a selfish old man. No, no, do not gainsay me. I am and I admit it.”
Encouraged, Cassandra leaned toward him. “That is why it is so important for me to come out, Grandfather. I should like to experience what other girls do and go to parties and form friendships. I might find a suitor that you would think acceptable. Or I might discover that Mr. Raven was right for me, after all. Is that so wrong?”
Sir Marcus worked his jaws. “You have always been able to tie me around your little finger, from the time that you were a baby.”
“Then you will agree to a come-out?” asked Cassandra, her heart lifting. She could imagine how Belle would feel when she told her sister that she would be going to London. It would be the most exciting thing imaginable to be able to do something so wonderful for her sister.
“I know no one to sponsor you,” said Sir Marcus, shaking his head.
Cassandra looked at him. She suspected that he simply did not wish to trouble himself by putting his mind to the problem. However, she would not accept his sweeping statement so tamely. “Surely, you know someone—a friend or relation of some sort.”
Sir Marcus shook his head again, quite firmly. “No, I know no one. If I once did, they’re all dead now.”
“Then Biddy could—
“Miss Bidwell! Why, she could no more introduce you to polite society than you could do it for her,” said Sir Marcus, waving aside the suggestion. “She is naught but a paid companion, Belle. She has no connections to speak of, worthwhile or otherwise. No, there is not any way that I can arrange a proper come-out for you. You must resign yourself to it, Belle.”
Cassandra realized that when she had visualized her sister in London, she had seen Belle and herself together. Suddenly, she knew what could be done. She saw no hindrance, for she knew the depth of heart possessed by her own guardians. She was confident that they would accede to her plan. “Uncle Phineas and Aunt Margaret—”
Sir Marcus shot up from his pillows. He shook his finger at her, roaring, “Never mention those names to me, miss! Never, do you hear! I’ll not have it!”
Cassandra was shocked by her grandfather’s vehemence, but she recovered sufficiently to hold her ground. “Nevertheless, Grandfather, I shall say it. Uncle Phineas and Aunt Margaret could bring me out. Why, they are bringing out my sister this very spring. Cassandra wrote me about it. I do not perceive a problem in asking them to sponsor me as well.”
Sir Marcus’s face had darkened as she spoke and was now mottled with his fury. “That is enough! I’ll hear no more about it! There will be no come-out, this spring or any other, do you hear?”
The valet rushed over to the bedside and started to murmur soothingly to his overwrought master.
Cassandra stood up. She looked down at her grandfather. Very quietly, very precisely, she said, “Oh, yes, I hear you very well. I thought you to be quite fond and indulgent. I see now that I was wrong. Very wrong, indeed! You are a selfish, pitiful old tyrant, and I wish that I had never come here.”
“Miss! Pray do not—!”
“Do not worry, Weems. I am leaving. I am leaving as soon as I may,” said Cassandra. She turned on her heel and walked rapidly from the presence of her irate grandfather.
“Come back here, Belle! Belle! I’ll not have you defy me, do you hear?”
Cassandra retreated to her bedroom, and it was not long before the tears began. She did not know how long she cried. She only knew that her heart was breaking. She had built up such a wonderful picture of her grandfather. She had always longed to see him and to have him know her. She had been so certain that he would be everything that she had envisioned him to be.
There had been hints in her sister’s letters. As Cassandra dried her eyes, she remembered them now. Belle had more than once expressed her frustration of being shut up at the Hall without any social life to speak of. She had written several times that she only felt free when she was riding cross-country on her horse. Now Cassandra understood perfectly her sister’s yearning for company and her willingness to embark upon a masquerade as her twin. A whole new world had opened up to Belle.
Cassandra could not imagine that her sister would ever wish to give it up and return to her former existence, once having tasted such heady freedom.
Cassandra changed into her riding habit. She had made up her mind to leave her sister a note at the crofter’s cottage. She did not wish to continue the masquerade for the agreed-upon fortnight. In any event, it would be a welcome relief to get out of this place for an hour or so on Rolly.
Cassandra hurried out of the manor before anyone saw her. She took her ride, and she felt much better for the fresh air and exercise by the time she returned to the yard. When she slid off the gelding’s back, she saw that Young John was peering out of the stables at her. Defiantly, she stared back while she fed Rolly a carrot. Let the old groom think what he would, she thought. It made no difference to her.
The elderly groom came up to take the gelding’s reins.
He nodded to her. “A good day for riding, miss. Ye’ll not see many more of them, though.”
“What do you mean?” asked Cassandra suspiciously.
The old groom jerked his chin upward. “The weather be fixing to turn, miss. We’ll see a bad storm soon, I’ll warrant.” With that, he turned and led the gelding away.
Cassandra cast a glance upward at the leaden gray sky. It did look rather ominous, as a matter of fact. A shaft of anxiety struck her, but she shook it off. She and Belle would be able to make their switch without complications, she was certain of it. It was really too early in the year for bad weather.
When Cassandra entered the manor, it was to be accosted almost at once by one of the servants with the news that the master had taken a turn for the worse. Cassandra felt something sick in the pit of her stomach. She hurried upstairs to discover the truth for herself.
When Weems refused to open the door to her, saying that it would not do the master any good to see her, Cassandra was devastated. She had been angry, but she had never meant to cause her grandfather harm.
“There you are, Belle!”
Miss Bidwell caught hold of her elbow and practically dragged her down the hall to Belle’s bedroom. She opened the door and gestured for the younger woman to precede her. “In with you, my girl.”
Cassandra obeyed, feeling that she definitely deserved whatever terrible scold Miss Bidwell should see fit to dish out to her. Cassandra set aside her whip and gloves and started to take off her hat.
“What in the world did you say to Sir Marcus earlier? Weems told me that he was ranting in the bed after you left him,” said Miss Bidwell sternly. “Now we have had to send for Sir Thomas to come bleed
him before he puts himself into one of his fevers.”
Cassandra did not reply directly to Miss Bidwell’s question. Nor did she acknowledge the information that had been given her, though she felt extremely guilty. There was something more that was exercising her mind just then. “Biddy, did you know that my grandfather had summoned Philip Raven here to request him to wed me?”
Miss Bidwell sat down rather suddenly on the settee in front of the hearth and stared at her. She put up a hand to touch the lace at her throat in an unconscious gesture of dismay. “Oh, dear! I think that I understand now. I understand all too well, in fact.”
“Well, did you know?”
Miss Bidwell shook her head, the light refracting from her spectacles. “No, my dear. I did not. I thought that foolishness had been put aside the last time that you fell into such an argument with your grandfather. Sir Marcus has apparently harbored his ambition all this time, quite without comment from me or anyone else.”
“But you suspected, did you not? That was why you wanted my reassurance that I would be civil toward him, isn’t it?” asked Cassandra, beginning to change out of the riding habit. She looked straight at Miss Bidwell and saw the guilt shift across the elderly lady’s face. “I see that you did. Biddy, why ever did you not tell me so that I would have some sort of warning?”
“I hoped I was wrong. I did not wish to set your back up against Philip Raven needlessly. I hoped that you and Philip—I am sorry, Belle. I have failed you miserably. It was just that I hoped that everything would turn out for the best,” said Miss Bidwell, sighing.
“That I and Philip Raven would fall instantly in love and ask Grandfather’s permission to wed,” said Cassandra with a tiny smile. “Yes, I see. That would be so much easier, wouldn’t it? After all, you probably knew that my grandfather would not consent to my uncle and aunt sponsoring a come-out in London for me.” She went to the wardrobe and selected a light blue gown to put on.
“Did you really ask Sir Marcus for that?” asked Miss Bidwell, her eyes widening behind her spectacles. “Why, my dear, you were taking your life in your hands. No wonder he was thrown into such a passion.”