by Gayle Buck
Sir Marcus’s hollowed cheeks flushed. “I have told you not to mention that name to me.”
“I shan’t, at least just now when I know you are wearied,” said Cassandra, nodding her understanding. She smiled at her grandfather. “It would not be a particularly good time, would it?”
The anger drained from Sir Marcus’s expression. “Aye, you know just how to humor this old man, do you not? But I shall not discuss my private affairs with you, Belle, so don’t think it.”
“We shall see,” said Cassandra, undeterred by his stern warning. She felt that her sister would not have left it so easily. “What of Philip’s business interests on the Continent? Shall that interfere with your plans for the Hall?”
“I hope not. Of course not.” Sir Marcus scowled. He shifted as though one of his pillows had slipped and was digging into his back. “Don’t bother me anymore with foolish questions, Belle. I am deuced tired, and you make my head ache.”
“Shall I call Weems?” asked Cassandra, rising. She knew that there was no more to be gotten out of her grandfather. She held the string of pearls clasped loosely in her hand.
“Aye.” Sir Marcus’s lids had fallen shut, but suddenly he opened his eyes again. “Do not forget. I wish to see you in all your finery this evening before you go.”
“I shan’t forget,” promised Cassandra. She slipped the pearls into her pocket and went to tell the valet that Sir Marcus needed him. Then she left and traversed the hallway to her own bedroom.
* * *
Chapter 20
When she had entered and shut the door to ensure her privacy, Cassandra walked over to stand in front of the cheval glass. She withdrew the length of pearls from her dress pocket and held them up to her throat and studied herself. The luminous pearls looked magnificent against her creamy throat. She loved them.
Cassandra stared a moment longer into her own wide hazel eyes. Then she lowered her hands and looked at the pearls laying in her palms. Her grandmother’s pearls that had been saved for Belle, and she was to wear them instead. And she did not feel in the least guilty; on the contrary, she actually envied her sister.
“I am beginning to despise myself,” she whispered.
Cassandra turned away from the mirror and found a drawer that she could put the pearls in, wrapped safely in her silk stockings. She paused, then reached out to open another drawer. Cassandra withdrew the folded paper that she had put away. She read it again before folding it back up and placing it back in the drawer. It was not the right time, she thought. Not yet, at any rate.
Cassandra left the bedroom and went downstairs. She inquired of a footman if Mr. Raven was still in the drawing room. She nodded at the servantman’s answer.
Cassandra entered the drawing room. “There you are, Philip.” She glanced around to see that he was alone, and shut the door. “I am glad to see that Biddy is not here. I wish to speak privately with you.”
Mr. Raven set aside the morning papers and gestured to the wing chair opposite him. “Pray sit down. I must admit that you have roused my curiosity.”
Cassandra walked over and seated herself. “Philip, you were with my grandfather all this morning, I am told. I know that the post was taken up to Sir Marcus yesterday before I saw it. I thought perhaps that he wished to tell you that he had gotten some word about your affair. Or that you had yourself received a notice of some sort.”
Mr. Raven shook his head, his brows drawn together. “Unfortunately, no. That was not the reason for Sir Marcus’s request to see me this morning.”
“I had so hoped, for your sake,” said Cassandra, sighing. She looked across at him, curious. “Philip, were you aware that Sir Marcus is making you the heir to the Hall?”
Mr. Raven stared at her for several seconds. His expression was unreadable. “I suspected it, but I was not certain. He has not told me directly so, nor did he completely deny it when I inquired. Are you certain? He would have to completely disown Mr. Weatherstone if that is truly the case.”
“I am not positive. However, I am fairly confident that it is so,” said Cassandra with the slightest of shrugs to express her helplessness. “He will not hear of anything said to him about my uncle.”
“I am distressed to know that there is such a depth of bad feelings between Sir Marcus and Mr. Weatherstone. I must make clear to Sir Marcus that I will not accept an inheritance that cuts out the legitimate succession,” said Mr. Raven forcibly.
“I doubt that there is anything you might say that will have the least effect,” said Cassandra, shaking her head. “I very recently discovered that my grandfather had a letter from my uncle. It was a civil letter, requesting permission to allow myself and my sister to visit together. From all that I can deduce, Grandfather denied his permission. He will not have anything to do with my uncle, even for our sakes.”
“I am sorry. It is a harsh blow, I know,” said Mr. Raven.
“I shall not let it lie,” said Cassandra quietly. “I cannot.”
“What do you intend to do?” asked Mr. Raven, his gaze riveted on her face.
“I don’t know as yet,” said Cassandra, sighing. “I fear pushing the matter too strongly with my grandfather, for I don’t wish to throw him into such a passion that he will make himself ill again. Yet I must make some attempt to persuade him to listen to reason.”
“Forgive my blunt speaking, but it is my feeling that Sir Marcus uses his state of health as a sort of blackmail to cow his household into submission,” said Mr. Raven quietly.
Cassandra looked at him intently for a moment before she nodded. “Yes, so I have thought also.”
“You told me once that Sir Marcus is master of his own emotions. I have yet to hear that his heart has been unduly affected by his illness, so I do not believe you need fear that he will be carried off by a seizure of some sort,” said Mr. Raven. “I do not presume to be a physician. However, I can say with confidence that after spending several hours with him over the span of these last weeks, I do not believe Sir Marcus is in any immediate danger of dying.”
“Truly? Or do you say that simply to relieve the worst of my anxiety?” asked Cassandra.
“Believe me. Belle, I have seen the spectre of death in men’s countenances on too many occasions not to recognize it if it were haunting Sir Marcus,” said Mr. Raven.
Cassandra felt a lightening of the oppression of her spirit. “Thank you, Philip,” she said gratefully. “You have not only relieved my mind of its most pressing fear, but encouraged me, as well.”
Mr. Raven leaned forward from his chair and captured one of her hands between both of his. Very softly, he said, “I am most happy that I have been able to do so.”
Cassandra felt the security of his strong clasp. When she looked into his gray eyes, she read compassion and something else in his expression. There was a keen interest, a warmth in the depths of his eyes that sent a tingle along her spine. She was all of a sudden keenly aware of the intimacy of their pose. She blushed. “Philip—”
The door opened, and Miss Bidwell entered. Cassandra started and quickly pulled free her hand. Mr. Raven casually sat back in his chair. Miss Bidwell’s spectacles gleamed in the light as she looked swiftly from one to the other. “Here you both are! I have been looking for you, Belle. You must excuse us, Philip. We have a great deal to do yet if Belle is to be ready for this evening.”
Mr. Raven politely stood up to acknowledge the lady’s entrance. “Of course, Miss Bidwell.”
“Come along, Belle.”
Cassandra hesitated, looking at Mr. Raven. She didn’t wish to leave the drawing room, for she had the oddest sensation that something of importance had almost been said.
“Belle, you must know that I cannot allow you to have private tête-à-tête s with Philip,” said Miss Bidwell a little sharply. She was still standing at the door with her hand on the knob.
Cassandra’s ingrained training responded to her companion’s reminder. “Of course not. You are right. Forgive me, Biddy.” She
rose at once and walked over to join Miss Bidwell at the door. She glanced back over her shoulder.
Mr. Raven nodded to her, and she felt warmed by the amused understanding in his eyes. She said demurely, “I shall see you again later, sir.”
Mr. Raven bowed politely. There was a flare in his eyes that had nothing to do with the civilities. “I look forward to it.”
Miss Bidwell waited until she and Cassandra had passed out into the hall and she had closed the drawing room door before she spoke again. “My dear Belle, you know better than to encourage a gentleman. I don’t care that it is only Philip Raven, whom you knew as a child. It simply isn’t done. What were you thinking of?”
“I wasn’t encouraging him,” protested Cassandra, startled.
“My dear, when a gentleman looks just so at a young lady, and she speaks just so to him as she is walking out the door—” Miss Bidwell shook her head. “Your headstrong ways have never been in more evidence, my dear.”
Cassandra flushed. “Really, Biddy! We were just talking. It is not as though you caught him making love to me.”
Miss Bidwell turned red from embarrassment and annoyance. “Belle! What things you do say! I trust that you shall be more circumspect in your speech and manners at the soiree tonight.”
“You needn’t be anxious on my account, Biddy. I shall behave with complete propriety,” said Cassandra, thoroughly irritated. It irked her that she was being cautioned and scolded in such a manner.
“Pray see that you are. I should dislike to have to inform Sir Marcus that you had disappointed our trust in you,” said Miss Bidwell tartly.
Cassandra drew a slow breath to stop herself from saying something that she might later regret. “What is it that you wished to see me about, Biddy?”
“Oh, yes. I had all but forgotten,” exclaimed Miss Bidwell. “Come upstairs, Belle. I have questioned the housekeeper and discovered that one of the newer maids has had some experience in hairdressing. I thought it would be interesting to allow her to experiment a little this afternoon to see if there is a new way that you might like your hair done for this evening.”
Cassandra’s irritation at once began to dissipate. Despite how overbearing Miss Bidwell could be at times, it was perfectly obvious that the lady cared very much for Belle Weatherstone. “That was considerate of you, Biddy,” said Cassandra. “I shall be glad to see what the maid can do.”
She accompanied Miss Bidwell upstairs to her bedroom. The maid was already waiting for them, and Cassandra obediently sat down on a stool in front of the cheval glass.
* * *
Chapter 21
It was a cold night, brilliantly moonlit. Cassandra and Miss Bidwell sat in the carriage, hot bricks on the floor to warm their feet and rugs covering their laps. Mr. Raven sat opposite, their escort to Sir Thomas’s soiree. There was little conversation as the carriage rolled forward into the night, each occupant seemly preoccupied with their own thoughts.
Cassandra was feeling some apprehension mixed with her anticipation of the evening party. It was certainly ironic that she was being taken to Sir Thomas’s residence to meet her sister, who was pretending to be her. Of course, she could say nothing about it to her companions. Sir Thomas had not divulged to anyone who his guests were. Cassandra was positive of that. Otherwise, she felt certain that Sir Marcus would have said something and, knowing what she now did about her grandfather’s acrimony toward her uncle, she thought that he probably would have refused to let her attend the soiree. Though it was difficult, Cassandra had to pretend ignorance of Sir Thomas’s guest list.
Cassandra had a strong suspicion that Sir Thomas had not announced the inclusion of the party from the Hall to his other guests. As she envisioned Belle’s face when her sister saw her walk into the ballroom, she could not help smiling. Her sister would naturally be stunned and taken aback to see her, and to be introduced to Miss “Belle” Weatherstone. Cassandra only hoped that she and Belle could both maintain their composures. It was certain to be a strange moment, especially with Uncle Phineas and Aunt Margaret looking on.
Cassandra hoped that her aunt and uncle would not be too angry with her.
“Did you say something, my dear?” asked Miss Bidwell.
“What?” Cassandra looked over at the lady with surprise, before realizing that she had actually given a little laugh. “Oh, I was just thinking about this evening’s entertainment, Biddy. It ... it will be a vastly interesting evening, I am persuaded.”
“Yes, it will. You will be in company for the first time, Belle, so do, pray, mind your manners,” said Miss Bidwell sternly.
“You needn’t be anxious on my account,” said Cassandra, her lips twitching. It was obvious to her that Miss Bidwell was uncertain what to expect from her, or rather, from Belle. She was confident that Miss Bidwell would have no cause for complaint, for she was not entirely without the social graces.
Cassandra realized that Mr. Raven’s gaze was on her, and she smiled at him.
He returned her smile before addressing Miss Bidwell. “Pray do not fear, Miss Bidwell. I shall set myself to take good care of our fledgling.”
Miss Bidwell did not appear to be particularly reassured. However, she managed a polite nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you, Philip.”
The carriage arrived, and they descended from it to enter the well-lit house. In the front entrance hall their wraps were taken. Then they were shown upstairs to the ballroom, where the butler announced them to the assembled company. However, it was doubtful that more than a handful of individuals heard their names over the loud babble of conversation, laugher and music. However, Sir Thomas and his wife, Lady Kensing, had apparently been awaiting their arrival and came up at once to greet them.
“Miss Weatherstone, Miss Bidwell. And Mr. Raven! We have been expecting you. How happy we are that you have been able to attend our little function,” said Lady Kensing warmly. Her ladyship looked intently at Cassandra’s face, and a tiny smile touched her own countenance. “It has been a long time, Belle. You have grown up to be an uncommonly pretty young lady. I may call you Belle?”
“Of course,” said Cassandra, inclining her head graciously.
After greeting them all, Sir Thomas tucked Cassandra’s hand into his bent elbow. “You must not mind it that I bear you off on the instant, Miss Belle. There is someone here that I should like you to meet.”
“How very kind of you, Sir Thomas,” said Cassandra with a mischievous smile, at once leaping to the conclusion that Sir Thomas meant to reunite her with her family. She caught Miss Bidwell’s startled expression as their portly host bore her off.
Sir Thomas escorted Cassandra purposefully through his guests, briefly introducing her as he went. Cassandra watched as the polite expressions altered, becoming startled. There were astonished gasps, and the din of conversation gradually died away to a mere murmur. Cassandra felt increasingly uncomfortable as she became aware that she was some sort of unexpected attraction.
One gentleman went so far as to catch hold of Sir Thomas’s sleeve. “Oh, I say! Who did you say she was?”
“In a moment, Blackburn, in a moment,” said Sir Thomas genially, freeing himself and leading Cassandra on.
Cassandra had briefly met most of the house party before the masquerade and it was disconcerting to say the least to return in the guise of another. Sir Thomas’s houseguests had had ample time to become acquainted with her aunt and uncle and the other Miss Weatherstone. As for Sir Thomas’s neighbors, naturally they were acquainted with the fact of Miss Belle Weatherstone’s existence at the Hall, but until this moment Cassandra doubted that any had realized the striking resemblance between the two young women in their midst that evening.
Sir Thomas triumphantly brought Cassandra up to a small group. A singular stillness had fallen over the ballroom as all attention was focused on them. “Here we are! Phineas, Margaret, allow me to present a young neighbor of mine.”
Mr. Phineas Weatherstone and his wife turned. Their civil, s
miling expressions underwent radical change at first sight of Cassandra.
Cassandra, beginning to move forward with every expectation of welcome from her aunt and uncle, was completely taken aback by their reaction. They stood stock-still, staring at her. Amazement and disbelief were openly seen in their faces. She was shocked that they did not know her.
Cassandra started to address them as she always had done, but then she heard a murmuring of whispers around the ballroom. Instantly, she realized how imprudent it would be to unmask herself in company. There would be immediate scandal. The tale would be too delicious not to carry on to London. As much as she wanted to declare herself to her aunt and uncle, she could not. It would harm them, holding them up to the ridicule and comment of the world.
Sir Thomas looked from one to the other of the elder Weatherstones, watching their frozen features. “The young lady requires no introduction, of course.”
“No, no, she does not,” said Mr. Weatherstone stiffly. He glanced around the ballroom as though searching for someone.
Mrs. Weatherstone made a strange gurgling sound and put her gloved hand up to her mouth, her dismayed gaze fixed on Cassandra’s face. Her own countenance had paled, so that the alabaster of her skin was in sharp contrast with the deep sea green of her gown.
Cassandra was profoundly disturbed and disappointed. She had assumed that her aunt and uncle would recognize her as Cassandra. After all, she had resided with them for nearly all of her life. She had expected both recriminations and a glad reunion, not this blank astonishment.
When Cassandra saw their faces, she had to catch herself up. She almost trembled with the effort. She had felt such a strong wave of homesickness at the sight of them that she had almost run into their arms. She had sorely missed them.
But of course, they had not missed her. After all, they had had a Cassandra with them.
All Cassandra could do was to continue to play her role. Cassandra was beginning to wonder if she would ever have her own life back.