by Gayle Buck
When Mr. Raven raised his head, he was breathing harshly. He stared down at her shocked face. “I believe I have run mad,” he said quietly.
Cassandra shook her head, too bemused to respond. Her only coherent thought was that he had been right. She was already warmer, considerably so. If this was Mr. Raven’s notion of how to succor a lady in distress, it was highly effective.
Mr. Raven released her. He stepped back. “I apologize,” he said stiffly. “It was not my intention to insult you.”
“You haven’t insulted me,” whispered Cassandra, her eyes still on his.
Mr. Raven did not reply, only stared down at her with a naked expression. Cassandra felt a blush coming swiftly to her cheeks, and she turned away, pressing her gloved hands to her face. “Oh! Oh, I don’t know what to think!”
Behind her, Mr. Raven said with deliberation, “I think that we need Miss Bidwell.”
“Yes, yes, perhaps we do,” allowed Cassandra, her heart still beating fast. She turned around, to find that he was still watching her. “I don’t believe that we either of us meant this to happen.”
“No, I certainly did not,” said Mr. Raven shortly. He took a swift step toward her, then stopped. His hands clenched. “I wish nothing more than to kiss you again. But I cannot, for if I do I will not want to stop.”
Cassandra swallowed. She had never heard such words in her life. She was at once frightened and thrilled. “Philip, you must not say such things. You know that you must not.”
Mr. Raven laughed, though without amusement. “You are undeniably correct, Miss Weatherstone.”
“Pray—!” Cassandra threw out one beseeching hand toward him. The cold distance in his voice had cut her to the quick. “Pray do not! Do not go away from me like that.”
“I should never have come back,” said Mr. Raven, turning aside to catch hold of the stall railing. “It was too soon. There are things left unresolved, things that— He straightened with a sigh. “You would not understand.”
“Has it anything to do with your wife?” asked Cassandra quietly. She was breathing very shallowly, dreading his answer.
Mr. Raven reacted as though struck. Astonishment spread over his face, and his nostrils flared. “Sir Marcus told you? He told you about ... about Sophia?”
Cassandra turned her back to him so that he could not see her expression. She thought she would suffocate. She forced out a reply. “I did not know her name.”
Her arm was caught, and she was swung around. Cassandra glanced up, startled, into his intent eyes. Then she turned her face aside, afraid of what he might have seen. Apparently, it had been enough. His grip eased, though she was not let go.
“You little devil. You’ve tricked me, haven’t you? You knew nothing about her,” said Mr. Raven very softly.
Cassandra cast a quick glance upward. His expression was harsh. “I surmised there might be a woman. I did not know anything else for certain.”
Mr. Raven sighed. “I shall have to tell you the whole.”
“No! I don’t wish to hear it,” said Cassandra swiftly.
“Nonetheless, hear it you will,” said Mr. Raven, a grim set to his mouth. He led her over to a dry water trough and overturned it. “Sit down there. Please, Belle. I have never asked you for anything so seriously in my life.”
Cassandra could not withstand his plea, though it had made reference to a history that she did not share. Without a word, she drew her skirts around her and sat down.
Mr. Raven said nothing for a moment, seeming to be at a bit of a loss where to begin. Then drawing a breath, he said, “You must understand that I never meant to wed. It simply happened, being the result of a mad series of circumstances.”
“Do you love her?” blurted Cassandra.
“No! At least, not in the sense that you mean.” Mr. Raven shook his head, his jaw working. “I am beginning badly. I met Sophia after the siege of Badajoz. I saved her from a pack of soldiers.”
Cassandra stared at him, not fully comprehending. “I don’t understand.”
“The city was being sacked, Belle! There was looting and murder and death on every side. Sophia was not the only female dragged screaming out of her hiding place into the roads,” said Mr. Raven harshly.
“You mean—” Cassandra swallowed.
“Yes. They were going to rape her. I stopped it. I killed the two of them, just as the last one managed to put a bayonet in me,” said Mr. Raven. His voice became flat and unemotional. “A priest came to aid us. He helped us to safety, and I lost consciousness for a time. I think from loss of blood. Afterward, he urged me to marry Sophia. I appeared to be dying, and he told me that shortly it would not matter to me who bore my name. But for Sophia, it meant protection. As an officer’s wife, she would be entitled to protection and could be gotten safely out of Badajoz.”
“But you did not die.”
“No.” Mr. Raven sighed. “My batman found me and carried me back to our lines. He nursed me back to health. I remembered what I had done, that I had married Sophia. My batman set inquiries afoot, but no one knew where she had gone. All that was known was that the priest had accompanied her.”
“Did you never find her?” asked Cassandra.
“Not at once. Not for three years,” said Mr. Raven shortly.
Cassandra had a startling revelation. “Your business interests on the Continent that kept you there after you had sold out of the army.”
“Quite.” Mr. Raven sat down on the trough beside Cassandra and turned his head. He gave her a self-mocking smile. “You will never be able to guess where she had gone.”
Cassandra shook her head. “No, I have no notion. A young girl alone except for a priest. Did she have family?”
“I was able to track down a distant cousin who survived the war. He could tell me little, except that Sophia’s father had once written to him that she wanted to become a nun. He showed me the letter,” said Mr. Raven. “It was all the clue that I had. That, and the priest’s name. But eventually I found her. She had taken orders.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Cassandra could scarcely grasp the significance of all that he had told her. One thing was perfectly clear, however. He was married to a nun. “Philip, I don’t know what to say. What are you going to do? Are ... are you going to bring Sophia back to England?”
“I talked at length with Sophia.” Mr. Raven laughed quietly at his recollections. “My appearance was a grave shock to her. She had had no notion that I had survived, you see. It created a difficulty for her. As a married woman, she could not remain in orders; but she did not wish to leave the nunnery. She had the life that she had always wanted.”
“What can be done, then?” asked Cassandra. Without being conscious of it, she had laid her hand on top of his arm.
Mr. Raven covered her fingers with his other hand. “We have petitioned for annulment. It has been more than a year now. I am awaiting confirmation that our petition has been granted.”
Cassandra thought about what she had been told. She remembered after one of Mr. Raven’s visits how irascible her grandfather had been. Sir Marcus had insisted upon having his writing supplies and sent her away. “So you told Grandfather about Sophia,” she said slowly. “And he has written to Mr. Petrie-Downs concerning the matter. I suppose he hopes that some acquaintance of his will be able to exert some influence.”
“Did he do so? I hope that Sir Marcus does know someone who has access to the right ears in the Vatican,” said Mr. Raven. He rose to his feet, pulling her with him. “And now you know my idiotic story. You seem to have warmed up. Shall we return to the Hall?”
Cassandra nodded. She walked with him out of the stable, her thoughts keeping her silent. She allowed him to lift her into the saddle and thanked him. Before he could turn away, however, she stayed him by catching hold of his coat sleeve. “Philip, you are a good man. I ... I honor you for it.”
Mr. Raven smiled crookedly at her, an unreadable expression in his gray eyes. “Thank you, Miss Weatherstone. Would that I wa
s not quite so noble.” With that cryptic remark, he turned away and got up onto his own horse.
* * *
Chapter 18
Cassandra and Mr. Raven did not discuss his private life again. It was a subject that by mutual agreement they simply did not touch on. Cassandra thought about Mr. Raven’s unusual predicament often, however. She hoped for his sake that there would come some word soon from Rome that would make him a free man once more.
In a way, a bond had been formed between them that otherwise could not have existed. Cassandra at last had a tiny bit of shared history with Mr. Raven, and it allowed her to be more comfortable in his presence than she had ever been with another person in her life.
When the wind was too harsh to allow her and Mr. Raven to ride, Cassandra was perfectly content to work on a piece of embroidery as she sat in front of the warm hearth. Mr. Raven often joined the ladies, either reading or conversing quietly.
Miss Bidwell watched and listened without comment, only smiling at a particularly spirited exchange between the two. Occasionally, her expression was thoughtful as her gaze rested on Cassandra’s head as the younger woman plied her embroidery needle smoothly through the cloth.
One afternoon on a particularly blustery day, the doors to the parlor were opened wide by the butler. Sir Marcus was carried in a chair by his valet and a stalwart footman into the room. The ladies and Mr. Raven at once jumped up from their seats.
“Grandfather!” exclaimed Cassandra. “Whatever are you doing downstairs?”
“I’ve surprised you, haven’t I? I’ve surprised you all,” said Sir Marcus in a hoarse voice. He slapped one hand against the arm of the chair. “Put me down! I wish to sit over there in that wing chair. I’ll not stay in this invalid’s lift a moment longer, I say.”
“As you wish, my lord,” said the valet, nodding across the old gentleman’s head at the footman. “Careful, Timothy. We’ll put it down right next to—
“No, Weems! I shall walk to the wing chair, I tell you,” snapped Sir Marcus. “Put me down here, now, this instant!”
While Cassandra and her companions stood looking on with stunned concern, the valet and footman did as they were told. They lowered the chair to the floor. Weems took hold of his master’s elbow and levered him to his feet. Sir Marcus grunted from the effort and clutched the footman’s arm for support on the other side.
“Sir Marcus!” Mr. Raven leaped forward. “Let me help you, sir!”
“Thank you, Philip.” Sir Marcus relinquished his fast hold on the footman’s sleeve and grasped Mr. Raven’s strong arm. With the help of his godson and valet, he managed a few very careful steps to the wing chair that was situated in front of the cheerfully crackling fire. He was lowered into the chair and sank back with a weary sigh. “I’m as weak as a newborn babe,” he complained.
“It is to be expected, my lord,” said Weems repressively.
“You’re a deuced excuse for a nursemaid and no mistake,” growled Sir Marcus.
“As you say, my lord,” said Weems, not at all perturbed. The valet spread a wool blanket over his master’s thin knees and retreated.
“Well! Here I am downstairs at last,” said Sir Marcus. He glanced around the parlor complacently. His gaze fell on his granddaughter. “Are you not happy to see me up and about, Belle?”
“Indeed I am, Grandfather. I am just so astonished, however. Sir Thomas held out little hope of you leaving your bed for ... for some time,” said Cassandra, stammering a little because she did not wish to reveal how pessimistic the physician had been. She threw a glance at her companions. “I had no idea that you were so much better.”
“I suppose that is why you keep staring at me as though I were some apparition,” said Sir Marcus.
“We are all of us not unnaturally astonished, Sir Marcus, but nevertheless well pleased,” said Miss Bidwell. “Belle has had more faith in your rallying than anyone, I think.”
“Belle knows me too well to believe that I would die on her, at least before I had made things right,” said Sir Marcus. He turned to Mr. Raven. “And you, Philip? Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
“I, too, can only express my pleasure to see you out of your sickbed, sir,” said Mr. Raven with a slight bow.
Sir Marcus shook his head. “You’re still a dull stick, Philip. I am pained to have to say it, but there it is. I would have thought that being in the army would have broadened your outlook and given you some flair.”
“It was not flowery speeches that I exchanged with the French, sir,” said Mr. Raven dryly.
Sir Marcus threw back his head and laughed. His eyes rested warm on his godson. “No, of course it wasn’t. Bullets did well enough, eh? Now, what do you think of the Hall? It is a snug property, is it not?”
“Indeed, what I have seen of the estate is quite impressive. Belle and I have ridden over most of it,” said Mr. Raven.
“I have no doubt of that. Belle has always loved to ride,” said Sir Marcus. “There was a time that I could not keep her from trotting off at first light and not returning until dusk. I trust that you are a bit more circumspect these days, Belle.”
“Of course, Grandfather. Philip and I have enjoyed several sedate rides together with a groom in tow,” said Cassandra lightly. She would not mention the ride that she and Mr. Raven had taken alone, which had led to Mr. Raven’s astonishing confidences. She had sat down again and picked up her embroidery hoop. She began stitching, pulling the satiny thread taut with each smooth insertion.
“Aye, the escort rankles, doesn’t it? Never mind, it is for your own good,” said Sir Marcus. He paused, intently eyeing her. “What is that you are doing, Belle?”
“I am embroidering a chair cover for the dining room, Grandfather,” said Cassandra calmly. There was a moment’s silence. She looked up when she felt herself to be under close observation. Her grandfather was staring fixedly at her. “Is there something wrong, sir? Shall I call Weems?”
“No, no. There’s nothing wrong,” said Sir Marcus hastily, waving his hand at her. “Why don’t you entertain Philip for me? Miss Bidwell, pull your chair closer. I wish to speak with you for a moment.”
“Of course, Sir Marcus,” said Miss Bidwell in a slightly surprised tone. Mr. Raven moved the lady’s chair next to Sir Marcus’s, and she thanked him. Then she sat down, folded her hands primly in her lap and bent her head to listen to a low-voiced question from Sir Marcus.
Mr. Raven strolled over to the sofa upon which Cassandra was seated. He sat down on the end and picked up her basket of threads. Idly, he looked through them. “This is a pretty shade. What secrets do you think they are sharing?”
“Oh, I should think that my grandfather wants a report of how things go with us,” said Cassandra calmly, biting off her thread. “Could you hand me that other pink, please? Yes, that is the one. Thank you!”
Mr. Raven set aside the basket. He raised one arm and laid it across the back of the sofa, angling his body so that he better faced her. “And how does it go with us, Miss Weatherstone?”
Cassandra smiled at him. “Why, very well, I think. We can neither of us be accused of shirking our duty.”
“That is true. We have practically lived in one another’s pocket these past several days,” said Mr. Raven thoughtfully. “We have gone along surprisingly well. There has not been one cross glance or word between us.”
“You sound surprised, Philip. Have we changed so much, then?” asked Cassandra teasingly.
He looked at her, smiling. “Yes, yes, I think that we have. I like you better than I ever thought possible.”
Cassandra felt a blush stealing up into her cheeks. She cast her eyes down at her stitchery. “Surely not. You knew me well enough before.”
“No, I don’t think that I did,” said Mr. Raven quietly. “There is something very different about you. Belle. Something that I haven’t quite put my finger on. I shall reason it out eventually, I suppose.”
Cassandra looked up quickly. She felt an u
ncomfortable rush of dismay and delight. Her heart was beating unnaturally fast. “You ... you confuse me, sir. You speak in riddles that I don’t understand.”
Mr. Raven frowned. “I am not certain that I understand it myself.”
“Belle!”
Cassandra started at Sir Marcus’s summons. “Yes, Grandfather?”
“You will be happy to know that I have decided in favor of Sir Thomas’s invitation,” said Sir Marcus.
“Invitation?” faltered Cassandra. Her thoughts were still on Mr. Raven’s words. She was relieved that the unnerving conversation with Mr. Raven must necessarily be at an end. She felt that the gentleman’s perceptive nature was bringing him uncomfortably close to the truth, and she wasn’t certain how she should handle it.
“Listen to the girl! As though she did not know what I was talking about!” exclaimed Sir Marcus. “Aye, Belle, Sir Thomas’s invitation, which you had Weems bring in to me several days past.”
“Oh, that! I had quite forgotten it,” said Cassandra. “What did Sir Thomas have to say, Grandfather?”
Sir Marcus snorted in disbelief. “Merely that he wishes you and Philip and Miss Bidwell to attend a soiree tomorrow evening. I have just been telling Miss Bidwell that I think that you should go. I have already sent a note round to Sir Thomas that he may expect you.”
“Tomorrow evening?”
The possibilities tumbled through Cassandra’s mind. She felt relief that she would see her sister. They simply had to make some plan to meet privately. But almost instantly she realized that that was a moot point. She and Belle would be seen together for the first time by Uncle Phineas and Aunt Margaret. Almost certainly she would be recognized by her aunt and uncle, and they would realize that they had been duped. She hoped that her aunt and uncle would not be too angry with her. What explanation could she possibly give that would soothe their hurt and affronted feelings? A surge of homesickness swept through her. Oh, how she longed to see them again! She must look her best when she saw them again.
“Whatever am I going to wear?”