by Gayle Buck
Sir Marcus subsided, and his eyelids drifted low. Cassandra was afraid that he was falling asleep before he could finish what he wanted to say to her. She touched his hand. “Grandfather.”
Sir Marcus roused himself, blinking in the candlelight. “Where was I? Aye, I recall now. Belle, I’ll not force you to wed Philip.”
Cassandra took a deep, shaky breath. This was what she had hoped to accomplish for her sister. She was grateful to have been able to turn Sir Marcus from his hardheaded course. Feeling that she should acknowledge what had been told her, she said, “I am sorry to disappoint you, Grandfather.”
“You haven’t, my dear. Never think that. I should like to propose a compromise, however. Now don’t fire up at me before I’ve told you what I have in mind, Belle,” said Sir Marcus, lifting his hand to stem what objections he obviously expected. “I’ve given your expressions of concern over this match grave consideration. I have come to recognize the force of some of your arguments, at least.”
“I am glad,” said Cassandra. She meant it, too. She had been so horribly disillusioned in her grandfather, and now he was restoring himself in her eyes—at least, to some extent. He had mentioned a compromise, after all. “What is this compromise that you propose, sir?”
“It is a small matter, Belle. I merely wish you to spend time with my godson. I want you to get to know one another more fully. If you still do not care for the notion of a match afterward, then I shall not say another word to you about it,” said Sir Marcus. “That is fair enough, is it not? Will you do that much for me, Belle? For my sake?”
Cassandra thought about it briefly, turning over her grandfather’s proposal carefully in her mind. She could find no hidden flaws in it. Surely, there could be no possible objection her sister might have against such an inoffensive request. She was not obligating Belle to a betrothal, after all. “Very well, Grandfather. I will do as you ask.”
“You are a good girl, Belle.” Sir Marcus patted her hand. He eased himself back more comfortably on his pillows with a sigh. “Now I may rest easy. Weems!”
The valet appeared seemingly from nowhere. With a gesture, he silently indicated that the interview was over. Cassandra rose. “Good night, Grandfather,” she said quietly.
The valet escorted her out of the bedroom. Weems handed a lighted candle to her. As he showed her out the door into the hall, he said, “Thank you, miss. He will rest now, as he said.”
“I am glad that I was able to help, Weems.” Cassandra went off to bed feeling much better about her, or rather, her sister’s, relationship with their grandfather. It was just a pity that Sir Marcus didn’t know her for herself, thought Cassandra with regret.
At breakfast, Cassandra was joined by Miss Bidwell. The elderly lady was attired in a demure cap and a dark gray gown. There was not a bit of ornament in her dress, and Cassandra thought that her companion looked unusually austere. Miss Bidwell greeted Cassandra with unwonted reserve. “Good morning, my dear.”
Cassandra perceived that she was still out of favor with her companion. She decided to ignore Miss Bid-well’s obvious displeasure in her. She nodded and said very civilly, “Good morning, Biddy. I trust that you slept as well as I did.”
“Yes, thank you for inquiring,” said Miss Bidwell with restraint. She told the footman that she wanted just tea. When she had been served, she dismissed the manservant and waited until they were alone in the breakfast room before she addressed Cassandra again. With raised brows, she said, “I understand that you and Sir Marcus have come to an agreement of sorts.”
Cassandra looked at her in surprise. “Why, yes. Grandfather sent for me late last night, and we talked. How did you know? Have you been talking to Weems?”
“Certainly not! I do not discuss Sir Marcus’s activities with his valet,” said Miss Bidwell. She poured cream into her tea and stirred it vigorously. “I have myself visited with Sir Marcus this morning.”
“A bit early for it, surely,” said Cassandra, glancing over at the mantel clock. It was just past nine in the morning. She thought that her grandfather must have had a very short night’s rest, since he had sent for her in the predawn hours and then had wakened again to send for Miss Bidwell.
Miss Bidwell gave the slightest nod. “It was, indeed. However, Weems informed me that Sir Marcus should not be put off, and so I went along before breakfast. Belle, Sir Marcus has told me that he has your assurance that you will cooperate with his wishes.”
Cassandra thought she needed to be certain that Miss Bidwell understood exactly what had been discussed between herself and her grandfather. She looked levelly at Miss Bidwell. “I merely agreed to get to know Mr. Raven a bit better. That is all, Biddy.”
“Yes, of course. That is perfectly understood. Belle, Sir Marcus made a request of me that I felt I could not refuse,” said Miss Bidwell. She cleared her throat. “I daresay you shan’t care for it, but it is certainly meant for your own good. I thoroughly agree with Sir Marcus that it is necessary. I am to act as your chaperone while Philip Raven is here at the Hall.”
Cassandra looked at the elderly lady in quiet surprise. She had assumed that function was already being filled by her sister’s companion. “Why, of course.”
Miss Bidwell mistook her statement for sarcasm. “Belle, pray do not be cast into the sulks,” she begged. “I know it is not what you like. You do not like to be hedged about, as you have often enough told me. You must realize, however, that in this instance I must abide by Sir Marcus’s command.”
“Biddy—”
“Pray let me finish, Belle. I agreed with Sir Marcus that even though you and Philip were children together, circumstances have changed. You are a young lady now, and Philip is an eligible parti in the eyes of the world. I would be shirking my duty as I know it if I were to leave you and Philip to your own devices,” said Miss Bidwell.
Cassandra tried to reassure the lady, who was obviously laboring under some emotional upset. “Biddy, I understand. I do understand. And I shall be as decorous as anyone could wish, I assure you.”
Miss Bidwell nodded, though there was still a tightness in her expression. “You have not heard the rest, Belle.”
Cassandra’s heart sank as she began to dread whatever the condition was even before it was spoken. Miss Bidwell’s attitude hinted so strongly that she would dislike it.
“Sir Marcus has voiced his concern that you are of an age when it will be frowned upon by the neighbors if you are allowed to ride without supervision,” said Miss Bidwell. She cleared her throat. “He ... he told me that he is giving orders that you are to be accompanied by a groom from now on when you go out riding.”
Cassandra was at once relieved. Her sister had told her that the groom could be trusted. However, she was thoroughly cognizant of the part that she had to play and so no hint of her true emotion could be revealed. She said hastily, “A groom? What nonsense! I have always ridden when and where I chose. I’ll not have it.”
“Belle, I have been entrusted with Sir Marcus’s orders, and I have no choice but to see that they are carried out,” said Miss Bidwell sternly.
“I have agreed to all the rest, but this last—! Biddy, I cannot have a groom following me about everywhere,” exclaimed Cassandra.
“I believe that Sir Marcus has already sent a message round to Young John,” said Miss Bidwell. “I am sorry, my dear, but the matter is already closed.”
Cassandra struggled to maintain her facade of outrage when what she really felt was relief. “I cannot be expected to give up all of my freedom!”
Miss Bidwell threw up a hand, a pained expression on her face. “Pray, Belle! Pray do not be difficult. I ask only for your cooperation in what can justly be termed our present difficult circumstances.”
“I perceive no difficulty, Biddy, none whatsoever. I simply refuse to be hedged about like this,” said Cassandra, forcibly voicing her opposition to the plans made for her. Her sister would have been heated by such unwelcome restrictions, she knew. And
Miss Bidwell had just told her what Belle would have said. “I shall speak to Grandfather about it if I must.”
“Belle, you mustn’t. Sir Marcus must be allowed to rest without new anxieties thrust upon him,” said Miss Bidwell in swift alarm. “Surely, you must see that your best course is to submit—
“Nonsense, Biddy. This is simply my grandfather’s way of having things his own way. He has unleashed you and the rest of the household to see to it that I do just as I ought, in hopes that Mr. Raven shall find me to be an acceptable, proper bride. I am not so dense that I do not understand that. Really, Biddy, I would have thought you, at least, to be above such subterfuge,” said Cassandra heatedly.
“Belle!” Suddenly, there were tears in Miss Bidwell’s eyes. “You have been angry with me. You haven’t confided in me as is your wont. I have felt it keenly, believe me. Pray do not be angry with me anymore. I cannot bear it.”
Cassandra was taken aback. She had no idea what Miss Bidwell was referring to, except that she had not shown Sir Thomas’s note—which she still needed to deliver to her grandfather—to the lady. Miss Bidwell was the one angered the day before. She simply had not reacted to it. A light dawned in Cassandra’s mind. That was it, of course. Miss Bidwell had expected her— Belle—to try to assuage the lady’s displeasure. When she had not, Miss Bidwell had interpreted her continued civility as anger. Cassandra instantly felt sorry for the elderly lady. Miss Bidwell had been confused when Cassandra had not reacted as her sister might have done in the same circumstances. “I am not angry with you, Biddy. I know well enough that you find your position as my companion onerous at times.”
“Oh, no, no!” exclaimed Miss Bidwell, pulling out a delicately embroidered handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing at her eyes. Her spectacles bounced on her nose as she pushed them up. “Scarcely onerous, dear Belle. It is just that I feel my duty so strongly and so many times I am unable to ... that is to say, I fear that you have been raised so unconventionally that ... oh dear!”
Cassandra could guess what the elderly lady was trying to say. She had noticed at first meeting that her sister was more plain-spoken and spirited than herself, and she had envied Belle for those qualities. However, she could well understand how her sister must have frustrated a high stickler like Miss Bidwell. She said dryly, “Perhaps you shouldn’t say anything else, Biddy.”
“I suspect that you are correct, my dear,” agreed Miss Bidwell, giving a last sniff. “I seem to have lost the art of diplomacy altogether. Oh, my! It is all so very awkward!”
“What is awkward, Biddy?” asked Cassandra, toying with her toast. She really wasn’t as hungry as she had thought, she decided. This whole affair had overset her appetite. She could easily accept Miss Bidwell’s chaperonage, for that would scarcely differ from her aunt’s close watch over her. Besides, with Miss Bidwell constantly in company with her, it would be much more difficult for Mr. Raven to speak to her on any but the most mundane topics. He would not be as able to trot out memories of which she had no recollection.
“Why, Philip Raven, of course. Really, Belle! One would think you had not a wit of sense,” said Miss Bid-well with asperity, putting away her damp handkerchief.
“Oh—Philip Raven.” She smiled at Miss Bidwell. She was fairly confident that she and Mr. Raven had come to an understanding. That fact, coupled with her interview with her grandfather that morning and Miss Bidwell’s announcement that she would be chaperoning them closely, had completely lessened her anxiety of being exposed by the gentleman. “As far as I am concerned, there is nothing at all awkward attending Mr. Raven’s visit. He is my grandfather’s godson and guest. That is a perfectly legitimate reason for his presence here.”
“Belle, you haven’t forgotten why Sir Marcus sent for him! And why Sir Marcus wants me to strictly chaperone you,” said Miss Bidwell, raising her brows.
“Of course not.” Cassandra took a sip of tea before she continued. “Biddy, I have agreed to get to know Mr. Raven better. I have not agreed to anything more. In short, Biddy, I have not the least desire to wed Mr. Raven, and so I refuse to acknowledge any awkwardness attending our association.”
“Bravo, Miss Weatherstone.”
* * *
Chapter 15
Cassandra looked around quickly. She saw that Mr. Raven was lounging in the doorway of the breakfast room. He had apparently opened the door so quietly that neither she nor Miss Bidwell had heard him come in. “Mr. Raven!”
“The same.” He bowed, then strolled toward the table. His bottle green frock coat showed to advantage his broad shoulders, and his fawn breeches molded to his muscular thighs. His boots were polished to a high gloss and reflected the morning light as he moved. “Forgive me, ladies. I could not but help to overhear at least part of your conversation.” He looked faintly amused, but there was speculation in his eyes as he glanced at Cassandra.
Cassandra felt heat steal into her face. Her embarrassment at being overheard speaking so openly about the gentleman was not mitigated by Miss Bidwell’s scrambling apology.
“Philip, how very disconcerting for you, to be sure. I pray that you will forgive us!”
Mr. Raven raised his hand. “Really, there is no need to apologize, Miss Bidwell. Miss Weatherstone’s forcibly expressed opinion merely confirms my own inclinations.”
Miss Bidwell was completely disconcerted. “Indeed,” she faltered.
“Oh, yes. I do not wish a match between myself and Miss Belle Weatherstone any more than she does. I am actually rather relieved to discover her true feelings,” said Mr. Raven blandly.
Miss Bidwell was stupefied at the gentleman’s bluntness. “I ... I see.” She rolled her eyes toward her charge.
Cassandra was unaware of Miss Bidwell’s mute appeal. She watched Mr. Raven with the faintest of frowns between her brows.
Mr. Raven strolled over to the sideboard loaded-with covered dishes and began filling a plate with steak and kippers and eggs. Over his shoulder, he said, “It is better to have all of the cards on the table at once, don’t you agree, Miss Weatherstone?”
“I agree completely, Mr. Raven,” said Cassandra slowly. She searched his face as he came over to the breakfast table and sat down. She had detected an odd tone in his voice as he posed his question. “Shall you think me overly bold in asking you to declare your cards, sir?”
“Belle!” exclaimed Miss Bidwell, aghast. “I am not at all certain that this is a proper conversation to pursue.”
“Rest easy, Miss Bidwell. Miss Weatherstone is completely in her rights.” Mr. Raven smiled at Cassandra. “I should prefer it, actually. However, I suspect that you may not wish to reciprocate.”
Cassandra inclined her head. She felt a small thrill of fear and anticipation. “You are quite right, sir. I do not wish it.”
“Every young lady is entitled to her secrets,” said Mr. Raven thoughtfully.
“I can assure you that my charge has no secrets, Mr. Raven,” said Miss Bidwell stiffly.
“You devastate me, Miss Bidwell. I had quite hoped to discover an elusive mystery attached to her,” said Mr. Raven quietly.
“There is nothing elusive or mysterious about me,” said Cassandra with a small shrug, quite in her best imitation of her sister. For a split second, no more, it had flashed across her mind that Mr. Raven suspected her of not being who she was purporting to be. But that was impossible. There was absolutely no way that he could know, she thought. Strangely enough, she felt a twinge of disappointment.
“No, of course not. The Belle Weatherstone I knew as a boy was always completely straightforward with her thoughts, and she could never sit still for anyone or anything,” said Mr. Raven, his keen gray gaze resting on Cassandra’s face.
Cassandra gave a quick smile. “As you say, Mr. Raven.” She again had the oddest sensation that he was questioning her identity.
“This is an inappropriate conversation, Philip,” said Miss Bidwell firmly. She stood up. “I think it high time for Belle and myself to
retreat and leave you to enjoy your breakfast in solitude. Come, my dear.”
“Please stay, Miss Bidwell,” said Mr. Raven. His smile was persuasive. “You are Miss Weatherstone’s chaperone, and in light of what has already been said, I believe it to be necessary to smooth out any remaining questions that either of us may harbor.”
“Biddy,” murmured Cassandra, glancing across at the elderly lady.
“Perhaps that is true,” said Miss Bidwell reluctantly. She sat back down and folded her hands on the tabletop. “Very well, Philip. You may proceed.”
“Thank you, Miss Bidwell,” said Mr. Raven, making a short bow from the waist in deference to the lady. “I have always respected your wisdom and never more than now, when Miss Weatherstone and I are caught in what could easily be considered a compromising situation.”
“Oh, my presence must surely dispel any such unworthy suspicions,” said Miss Bidwell with an abrupt nod of reassurance.
“I rely upon you completely, ma’am,” said Mr. Raven. “Your untarnished reputation must lend us protection from the servants’ gossip.”
Cassandra listened with amused respect as Mr. Raven exerted his quiet charm to smooth over her companion’s ruffled feathers. Miss Bidwell’s countenance was not nearly so forbidding as it had been just seconds before.
Mr. Raven turned back to Cassandra. “I was actually quite glad to hear you express your sentiments a moment ago, Miss Weatherstone. As it happens—and I realize that I must be categorized as ungentlemanly for saying so—I feel just the same as yourself.”
“As we have already established,” murmured Cassandra.
Mr. Raven inclined his head. “Quite. I do not have a desire to wed. Frankly, I am uncertain of my feelings about such a step just now. And there are sundry other reasons, too, that I must take into careful consideration before making such a commitment.”