Cassandra's Deception

by Gayle Buck

  “Oh, I say! Miss Cassandra, pray introduce me,” said the other gentleman, taking hold of Belle’s hand while his gaze traveled with admiration and wonder to Cassandra’s countenance.

  Belle flashed a smile. “Benny, this is my sister, Miss Belle Weatherstone. She resides with our grandfather up at the Hall. Belle, pray allow me to present Mr. Benjamin Salter. He is Lady Salter’s nephew.”

  Mr. Salter bowed to Cassandra. “I am humbly pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Belle. I am in awe of the double portion of beauty and grace that we have been honored with this evening.”

  “Thank you,” said Cassandra, somewhat taken aback by the gentleman’s fulsome address.

  The two gentlemen exchanged names and civil pleasantries. Then Belle was claimed by Mr. Salter for the upcoming dance, and she went off with only a single backward wave for Cassandra.

  Mr. Raven turned to Cassandra, remarking gravely, “Your sister is quite memorable.”

  “Yes, she is very amusing and spirited,” said Cassandra, looking after her sister with mingled fondness and dismay. Belle was playing her role without reflection or caution, she thought. She still couldn’t believe that Belle had mentioned Mr. Raven’s childhood nickname. She wondered how else her sister had been so reckless. Cassandra hoped that Mr. Raven had forgotten her sister’s blunder, but she was quickly disabused of her frail optimism.

  “I had not expected to hear that old nickname after all of these years,” said Mr. Raven, looking intently at her. “Especially from a young lady whom I have just met.”

  Cassandra smiled quickly, a little nervously. “I am sorry. I suppose that I must have shared the nickname with Cassandra in one of my letters. It ... it really doesn’t fit you now, does it? I trust you are not offended.”

  “Not offended, no.” Mr. Raven regarded her for another long moment. Then he seemed to dismiss the subject. “Miss Bidwell sent me in search of you, Belle. Would you care for some refreshment or would you like to dance?”

  Cassandra looked at him in real surprise. “Why, Philip, are you asking me to dance?”

  “I did promise to take faithful care of you,” he said, smiling at her.

  Cassandra dropped her gaze. She felt a glorious feeling of happiness rising up. “Yes, so you did. I should like to dance, I think.”

  “I am at your command,” said Mr. Raven, and held out his hand to her.

  She laid her gloved fingers in his hand, and his strong fingers closed over hers. Cassandra allowed Mr. Raven to lead her out onto the gleaming dance floor. A last set was just forming up for a country dance. Cassandra glanced around curiously. Her sister and Mr. Salter were in another set. Belle was talking animatedly with her partner, and Cassandra smiled. Her sister was obviously not the least shy in company despite her sheltered upbringing.

  Cassandra could not help but notice that she kept meeting long stares from others around her and Mr. Raven. She responded to several civil greetings from complete strangers. “It seems that my face has given me an instant introduction to everyone,” she murmured to her companion. “It is really quite awkward.”

  Mr. Raven laughed. “Yes; I can imagine that it does feel very odd. However, I understand the curiosity your arrival has aroused. I was myself quite knocked for a loop when I saw Miss Cassandra Weatherstone.”

  The music struck up, and within moments the lively pattern of the dance separated them. When they came back together briefly, their hands linked, Mr. Raven remarked, “You are not very like your sister in personality.”

  Cassandra, turning with him in a full round, looked up at him in sharp surprise. “Am I not?”

  Mr. Raven met her eyes, his own gray gaze keen. “No, I think not.”

  They separated, each turning to a new partner in the dance. Cassandra could not stop thinking about what had been said. She wondered what Mr. Raven had meant by his statement. She and Belle were so much alike. How could he say otherwise and so flatly? She was almost afraid to ask him, but her curiosity could not be denied.

  When they came together again in the dance, she asked, “Philip, what did you mean when you said that my sister and I are not alike? We are twins, after all.”

  “True, but from the little I have seen of Miss Cassandra Weatherstone this evening, it leads me to believe that her nature is bolder than yours. Your manners are more refined and more gracious,” said Mr. Raven. He smiled across their linked hands at her. “I approve of the difference, Belle.”

  Cassandra was left bereft of words. She could only respond with a faltering smile. She wanted to defend Belle, and herself, too. Belle was high-spirited, certainly, but she was not a hoyden. As for the rest, she should have been able to receive Mr. Raven’s compliment as herself, not in her role as Belle! She was utterly confused and annoyed. Never had it seemed more irksome to be going by her sister’s name.

  The quick movements of the country dance brought them together again. “You are angered,” murmured Mr. Raven, looking at her.

  Cassandra instinctively shook her head, before realizing that it was true. “No ... yes! I don’t know what to say!”

  “I perfectly understand,” said Mr. Raven. “Your loyalty to your sister is admirable. I apologize if it seemed that I was insulting of her.”

  Cassandra threw an upward glance into his face as they passed each other in the round. She was still upset, though she was uncertain why it was so. “I ask that you not speak of it again, Philip.”

  He inclined his head, a faint smile on his face. “Of course.”

  Immediately after the country dance, Cassandra was introduced to another gentleman by Lady Kensing. Mr. Raven bowed and retreated, leaving Cassandra looking after him. She had only a moment to indulge her regret, however, for her new partner promptly whisked her onto the dance floor.

  The gentleman at once said, “I say, Miss Weatherstone, I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you look extraordinarily like Miss Cassandra.”

  Cassandra stared at her new dance partner in surprise. Surely, he was not as dense as his observation seemed to indicate. “Yes, I know.”

  The gentleman shook his head. “Extraordinary! Utterly extraordinary.”

  * * *

  Chapter 23

  As the evening progressed, Cassandra had no more time for reflection. Her hand was solicited for every dance. She was practically mobbed by the gentlemen, both old and young. It seemed everyone was fascinated that there were two identical Miss Weatherstones, and neither she nor Belle were ever without a dance partner.

  Cassandra noticed that Belle seemed to be on an easy footing with most of the guests, and she felt a mild twinge of envy that she could not abandon herself equally to the enjoyment of the evening. However, her nerves were constantly being fretted by the tension of sustaining her role.

  Cassandra recognized some of the guests from her short time as part of the house party, but others she discovered to be Sir Thomas’s neighbors. Naturally, alarm became her companion, for she felt put out of countenance when these personages claimed also to be neighbors of those residing at the Hall. Over and over again, Cassandra had to assume that she was supposed to share a common history with these people until something in their conversation proved otherwise.

  Cassandra became profoundly relieved that Sir Marcus apparently had a reputation for being something of a recluse because none could claim more than a passing acquaintance with Miss Belle Weatherstone. Still, she could feel the strain beginning to take its toll. Never would she have believed that she would find herself placed in such awkward circumstances.

  Her eyes once more sought out her sister, who was obviously enjoying herself, and Cassandra sighed. Cassandra felt that Belle had the easier part. After all, Belle didn’t have to know anything about any of these people and could develop a relationship at her leisure.

  Cassandra fielded innumerable questions about herself and Sir Marcus and the Hall in general. Cassandra found it difficult to believe how nosy some individuals could be. It was all solicited with
a polite smile and civil manner, of course, but the crux of the questions was a rampant curiosity.

  Cassandra might have felt completely beleaguered, except for the presence of Mr. Raven. He always seemed to appear at her elbow at the most crucial moments. Cassandra was fervently glad of his unobtrusive support. She wondered whether he had any idea how she was depending upon him.

  Almost without exception, each person who spoke to Cassandra made some comment on how extraordinarily alike she and the other Miss Weatherstone were. Cassandra became quite tired of it, but all she could do was to smile and civilly agree.

  Inevitably, there came an instance when Mr. Raven was absent. Cassandra was rapidly sinking before the onslaught of a particularly inquisitive lady when she was rescued by her uncle. “Belle, might I interest you in a lemon ice?” asked Mr. Weatherstone.

  “Yes, please.” Cassandra nodded to the lady and took her uncle’s arm with gratitude. As they walked away in the direction of the refreshments, she said with heartfelt relief, “Thank you, sir.”

  Mr. Weatherstone chuckled as he glanced at her. “I observed that you were beginning to look a trifle hunted in Mrs. Webster’s company. The lady can be quite overwhelming, as I well know. I have taken to ducking into the billiards room whenever I chance to see her coming down the stairs.”

  Cassandra gave a gurgle of laughter and looked up at her uncle with open affection. “I have not a doubt of it, sir.”

  There was a startled expression on Mr. Weatherstone’s face as he continued to stare at her. A puzzled question seemed to form in his eyes, only to vanish. Then he smiled, quite warmly. “My dear niece, have I told you yet what a great pleasure it has been to me to meet you tonight?”

  Cassandra was disconcerted. It had been so like her uncle to watch out for her, as he always had. She had forgotten, just for an instant, that he believed her to be her sister. It was dismaying to realize that he had come to her rescue, not out of affection, but because good breeding had demanded it.

  She felt her throat constrict with sudden tears. “Th ... thank you, Uncle Phineas. You can have no notion what it has meant to me to see you and Aunt Margaret. I ... I wish ...” Cassandra stopped, averting her face, afraid that if she said anything more that she would disgrace herself by bursting into tears.

  Mr. Weatherstone obviously thought that he understood the source of her surge of emotion. He pressed her ringers in reassurance. “My dearest Belle. I, too, wish that we had been closer. I had hoped to bridge the breach between Sir Marcus and myself, but unfortunately that has not come about.”

  Cassandra at once looked up. She clasped both hands about his arm. “Oh, pray do not give up, sir,” she said earnestly.

  Mr. Weatherstone studied her face. “Does it mean that much to you?”

  Cassandra nodded. “Oh, yes. I can’t imagine losing everything that I have gained.”

  “You humble me, Belle. Very well, I shall set aside my pride for your sake and that of your sister. We must see what can be done,” said Mr. Weatherstone.

  At dinner, Cassandra was placed at the farthest end of the table from her sister, an attentive gentleman on either side of her.

  She glanced the length of the table and saw that Mr. Raven was one of her sister’s dinner partners. For some unfathomable reason, she felt her heart skip a beat. As she observed them, she could not help but be a little envious of Belle’s apparent ability to engage in vivacious conversation with anyone she chanced to meet. Certainly Mr. Raven was listening to her with an intent look in his eyes, and he laughed more than once.

  When it came time to leave, Cassandra was glad. She was exhausted. The evening had been a huge disappointment to her, and she had developed the headache from the tension of maintaining the masquerade in public. She wanted nothing so much at that moment than to have her own life back and to return to quiet Bath with her aunt and uncle.

  It did not help matters that Miss Bidwell marveled over and over about the remarkable resemblance between the two sisters. “I don’t believe that I have ever seen anything quite so amazing. Your gestures and your facial expressions were positively identical to each other. If you had been attired just alike, why, I believe that no one could have told you apart,” said Miss Bidwell finally.

  “An interesting observation, Miss Bidwell,” murmured Mr. Raven.

  Miss Bidwell’s words had hit uncomfortably close to the truth. Cassandra at once felt the familiar sense of alarm. “Pray do stop going on about it, Biddy,” she begged. “It is all I heard all night. ‘Why, Miss Weatherstone, how much you look like your sister.’’’

  In the yellow gleam of the coach light, Miss Bidwell appeared surprised. “My dear Belle! I had no notion that it bothered you so. I am certain that I would not have mentioned it at all if I had but known.”

  “It was vexatious after a while, is all,” said Cassandra lamely. She knew that she had sounded peevish so she reached out to squeeze her companion’s hand. “I am sorry, Biddy. I never meant to snap at you. I am behaving badly. I have the headache, and it makes me short-tempered.”

  “My poor dear. I don’t believe that you have ever suffered from the headache before in your life,” said Miss Bidwell with instant sympathy.

  Cassandra sighed. Once again she had done something out of character. She did not reply. She was simply too tired to try to explain away the mistake. She leaned her head back against the squabs, hoping that the conversation was over.

  “I hope that you are feeling better tomorrow, Belle. I thought it might be a good day for a ride,” remarked Mr. Raven.

  Alarm again instantly shot through Cassandra, and her entire body tensed. She was supposed to meet with her sister at the crofter’s cottage. “No! I—” She bit back what else she was going to say, flabbergasted at how easily self-betrayal had nearly undone her.

  “What were you going to say, Belle?” asked Mr. Raven.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all,” said Cassandra. “I simply don’t wish to discuss the morrow just now.”

  “Just as you wish,” said Mr. Raven quietly.

  The remainder of the drive back to the Hall was silent. Cassandra bade her companions a swift good night and hurried up to her bedroom. She took off the string of valuable pearls at once and put them away, feeling as though she never wanted to gaze on them again. The beautiful pearls had become a symbol of her entrapment in her sister’s life.

  Cassandra was struggling with her gown when a knock sounded on the door and Miss Bidwell entered.

  “Here you are, my dear. I have mixed up one of my headache powders for you to drink. It will enable you to sleep,” said Miss Bidwell, setting the glass down on the bedside table. She came over to help with the buttons on Cassandra’s gown. “Let me do this. You are all thumbs tonight, Belle.”

  “Thank you, Biddy.” Cassandra stood still while the elderly lady expertly undid the buttons and she was at last able to step out of the gown. She felt that she had to say something to explain herself. “I don’t know what is wrong with me. I can’t seem to think straight tonight.”

  “Is it any wonder? I know that it was quite a shock for me to see Mr. and Mrs. Weatherstone and Cassandra, so I may well imagine how you were affected,” said Miss Bidwell.

  Cassandra forbore to tell her companion that she had had previous knowledge of their attendance. “I don’t think it was that, really. I think it was just being in the same room with my sister after all of these years and having everyone staring at us so and whispering about us.” Part of the distress that had so tangled her emotions and thoughts boiled over. “Oh, Biddy, I disliked it immensely. I felt as though we were some sort of freak show!”

  “I do not find that surprising in the least.” Miss Bidwell helped Cassandra into bed, smoothed the covers, then handed the glass to her. “You and your sister should have been raised together. Then there would not be occasion for such rude curiosity as you were made to suffer tonight. Oh, it is true you would still have garnered interest. However, on the whole, people wou
ld have been used to seeing you together. And you and your sister would have been immune to the looks and comments by the time that you entered society.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is true,” said Cassandra with a sigh. It was really of little help to her to think about the might-have-been, but she knew that Miss Bidwell was doing her best to comfort her.

  On the thought, Cassandra obediently drank the potion. She grimaced at the taste as she handed back the glass. “That is horrible stuff, Biddy.”

  “Be glad that your constitution does not require you to take it very often,” said Miss Bidwell. She bent to blow out the candle and then went to the door. “Good night, my dear.”

  “Good night, dear Biddy.”

  * * *

  Chapter 24

  Early in the morning, Sir Marcus summoned his granddaughter. Cassandra knew that he would naturally wish to be told everything about the soiree. Anticipating her grandfather’s interest, and feeling that there could be no better time to confront him, Cassandra slipped the letter written by her uncle into her pocket before she entered her grandfather’s rooms.

  Cassandra greeted her grandfather with a kiss on his heavily lined cheek. She greeted him cheerfully. “Good morning, sir. I trust that you are feeling well this morning?”

  Sir Marcus waved aside her solicitude. “I am as well as can be expected.” He propped up in a sitting position against several pillows. “Come sit down in the chair beside me, Belle.”

  Cassandra obeyed. She thought that he appeared to be in better health than he had in some time, though his dressing gown almost seemed to swallow his frail frame. She was encouraged that she had indeed chosen the proper time to bring to his attention the contents of the letter from her uncle.

  “Did you enjoy yourself yesterday evening, Belle? Was it as grand as you thought it would be?” asked Sir Marcus.

  “The evening met all of my expectations and exceeded them,” said Cassandra, quite truthfully. She would not confide in her grandfather that she was referring more to her acute disappointment than to any pleasure that she had taken in the evening. That information would not at all suit her purposes, as long as she remained in her role as Belle.