Still and all, as much as he sympathized with the maid, he could not let her slam the door in his face, which she seemed inclined to do. Deftly inserting his foot, which was safely clad in a heavy boot, into the opening, he growled, “I’m here to see Piggot. He’s expecting me.”
There was a string of violent curses from inside, and the maid was roughly shoved aside. Piggot, apparently, had used a more time-honored method of acquiring his patina of grime, because he was not only disgusting to look at, but also offensive to the nose.
“You got the keg?” the earl’s factotum said with a scowl.
“If you’ve got the money,” Digory countered.
“My master’s credit is good.”
“That ain’t what I heard.”
“You ain’t seen the quality of the merchandise he’s got his hands on.” Piggot’s description of Cassie was so crude, he almost earned himself a broken jaw, but Digory was well trained in dissembling, having sat in many a tavern in France drinking to the health of the Emperor with spurious bonhomie.
“I’ll sell you this keg on credit, though the price’ll be half again as much as we agreed upon, but before you get another, I’ll ask around again and see if you’re telling the truth.”
“Fetch in the keg then and be quick about it,” Piggot said with a snarl.
* * * *
Cassie was sitting up in bed reading the latest novel from the Minerva Press—or rather, she was staring at the pages, trying unsuccessfully to take her mind off Mr. Hawke. Whyever had she agreed to drive out with him, when he was the one man in all of London she wanted absolutely nothing to do with?
And more important, how could she get out of the appointment? She could not feign an illness, because her step-mother would not allow that. The evening before, when they were all returning from the party, Ellen had positively crowed at the thought of Mr. Hawke’s being one of Cassie’s admirers.
“He is as rich as Croesus, and it is quite a feather in your cap that he is paying you so much notice,” she had insisted. “Not that you would want to marry someone like him, who has been wandering around in America, no doubt picking up heathenish habits, but still and all, it adds to your consequence to be seen with him.”
Cassie had pointed out that as she was an earl’s daughter, it seemed unlikely to her that such a man could add to her consequence, but Ellen had merely laughed and said that there were earls’ daughters and then there were earls’ daughters, and a rich suitor must always be a welcome addition to a young lady’s train of followers.
Unfortunately, the wretched man had already cost Cassie a night’s sleep. Every time she had dozed off, she’d had dreams—no, nightmares—that she was sitting beside him in his carriage, but instead of merely driving to the park and back, the carriage had kept going on and on, carrying her farther and farther away from the people she loved ...
Suddenly, her solitude was interrupted by the maid’s entering in a huff. One glance at Annie’s face was enough to tell Cassie the maid had not come up to fetch the breakfast tray.
“This used to be a respectable house to work in.” Annie cast a fulminating eye at Cassie. “But very much more and I shall decide starving in the streets is preferable to continuing in service here.”
“Has my brother ...?” Cassie asked, not sure how to express her question politely.
“His ardor has cooled considerably since I let him feel the point of my knife,” Annie replied, “although I still have to be alert to keep from getting pinched. And that Piggot is worse, because he’s got a fouler mouth than ever I heard when I was following the drum, and he never misses an opportunity to bump up against me. But as bad as the two of them are, I draw the line at having a smuggler in the kitchen.”
Could it be? Cassie felt hope for the first time since she had left Cornwall. “A smuggler?” Oh, perhaps there was yet a chance that she could avoid driving out with Mr. Hawke!
“Yes, a smuggler! I’ll bet a quarter’s wages not a shilling was ever paid to the king for that keg of brandy he delivered just now.”
“Never mind about the brandy,” Cassie said quickly, throwing back the covers and rolling out of bed. “Tell me about the smuggler. What does he look like?” If it was Digory, then he would certainly be willing to help her this time when she explained about Mr. Hawke. Surely her brother could not approve of such a suitor.
“He looked like the scum he is,” Annie said, beginning to pace the room. “Like something thrown up by the sea to rot on the beach. Like—”
But Cassie interrupted. “Did you hear his name? Tell me!”
Annie stopped her pacing and looked at Cassie suspiciously. “His name?”
“Did you hear Piggot mention his name? ‘Tis most important that I know—oh, please, think hard.”
Although still scowling, Annie thought for a minute, then said, “I think Piggot called him Randall or—”
“Rendel?” Cassie asked quickly.
Annie nodded, and Cassie threw her arms around the Scottish maid. “Oh, Annie, that is the most wonderful news.”
“Since when do you number smugglers among your friends?”
“Since ... since ... oh, Annie, I am sure the man is my brother, Digory Rendel.”
“Brother?”
“Born on the wrong side of the blanket, but still a most wonderful brother. He has taken care of me ever since my father died, and I know he has come to London just to see if I am all right. I must talk with him, but...” She paused, suddenly realizing the difficulties. “Annie, can you help me? I must speak to Digory, but it will be disastrous if Geoffrey or Piggot learn his identity. I cannot meet him in this house, lest we be seen or overheard. Perhaps a note? Could you...? It is much to ask, I know, that you go down to the kitchen again and risk being insulted by Piggot, but I cannot go myself, and there is no one else to send.”
“Are you sure this man is your brother? He looks so ... so ...” Annie made a look of disgust.
Cassie smiled. “He is quite good at disguises. But if you ignore the clothes and the scruffy beard, then you will see he bears some resemblance to Geoffrey, although Digory is a little taller, and his shoulders are broader, and he is much stronger. To be sure, he is not as pretty as Geoffrey, but Digory is trustworthy and honest and—”
“An honest smuggler? Is that not a contradiction? Or is he only pretending to be a smuggler?”
“No, he has made his living for years by smuggling, and I shall relate it all to you later if you promise never to tell a soul, but not now—he may be leaving at any moment, so I must get word to him.”
“There’s no need for a note,” Annie said. “I shall go back to the kitchen and flirt with this paragon of virtue and entice him into carrying my basket to the market for me. If he is your brother, he will come with me because he will wish to have me make arrangements for you to meet with him. And if he is not your brother, then I still have my knife. As soon as possible, you slip out of the house and meet us in the alley beside the butcher shop. Wear your plainest dress—one of those you brought with you from Cornwall will do—because in a fancy London gown, you will attract too much attention. And cover your head with a shawl, and pull it forward so that it shadows your face, and—”
“I know what to do,” Cassie said, pushing the maid out of the room.
* * * *
Entering the kitchen where the two men were conversing in low tones, Annie took her shawl from its hook and picked up her market basket, whereupon the stranger immediately stood up from the table and swaggered over to block her path.
“Where are you going with such a big basket, girlie?” he asked with a leer for her and a wink for Piggot.
Yet despite the crudity of his manner, he made no attempt to touch her, which was, as she had learned on numerous occasions, quite out of character for such a man. As unbelievable as it had seemed at first, she began to suspect Lady Cassie was right about his identity.
“I’m merely going to the market, sir,” Annie replied softly
, doing her best to act as if she were flustered by his approach, even though she could easily have evaded him and darted through the door.
Sweeping his cap off, the man bowed in a mock-courtly fashion. “Never let it be said that Digory Rendel allowed a young lady to carry a heavy burden when he was around to assist her.”
Relieved to hear his name and know he was in truth Cassie’s brother, Annie handed over the basket. Seeing what she had done, Piggot, who had made numerous unsuccessful attempts on her virtue, gave an angry growl and started to get to his feet, but the smuggler casually brushed back his coat so that the handle of his dirk was clearly visible, and with a muttered oath, Piggot sank back down on the bench.
When they were well away from the house, the smuggler cast off his rough manner as easily as he could have shrugged off the ill-fitting coat he wore. “I assume Cassie told you who I was,” he said, his voice now well modulated instead of coarse.
“She said you were her brother.”
“Bastard brother,” he corrected absently.
“Those were not her exact words,” Annie said, reasonably sure that his casual tone hid pain at his situation in life—deeply buried, perhaps, but real pain. Still, her years of following the drum had taught her not to pry into other people’s feelings, so she did not press the point. “Lady Cassie is meeting us in the alley beside the butcher shop.”
They walked side-by-side for a few minutes, then he asked, “Why have you stayed on in that house? You have undoubtedly discovered for yourself what manner of man the earl is. I would think you would have resigned your position before now, not but what I am happy for Cassie’s sake that you have not.”
Dispassionately and succinctly Annie described her situation in life, concluding with a brief description of the ways her husband had taught her to defend herself.
“I am afraid your knife may not be adequate if the earl becomes determined,” Digory said. “In which case you may come to me for protection.”
Involuntarily she stiffened. Although more subtle and charming, he was unfortunately cut from the same cloth as all men.
“Excuse me,” he said with a grin, “but I fear I did not express myself properly. I shall try again. If you are ever in need of assistance, financial or otherwise, you may count on me to take care of you as if you were my own sister. There, have I made my meaning plainer?”
His smile was infectious, and for the first time since her husband had died in her arms, Annie tentatively began to let down her guard.
“Do you have any brothers of your own?” Digory asked casually.
It took her a moment before she could answer. “I had three,” she said simply. “But none of them lived to reach the age of ten years.”
“And your parents?”
“They died when I was sixteen, so I married Jamie, he took the King’s shilling, and I spent the next several years following the drum in Portugal and Spain.”
“Why have you never returned to Scotland? Are you not homesick?”
She thought for a moment. “Home for me was wherever Jamie was. There is no one and nothing for me now in Old What.” At Digory’s look of inquiry, she added, “Old What is in Aberdeen, in the parish of New Deer.”
Before he could question her further, they reached the butcher shop and found Lady Cassie there before them, well disguised in an all-enveloping cloak. Seeing them standing side by side, Annie could detect little family resemblance between the two of them except for the color of their eyes and hair. Cassie threw her arms around the “smuggler,” and for a half moment Annie wondered if they might both have conned her into assisting with an illicit assignation, but there was nothing lover-like in the way they spoke to each other.
“Oh, Digory, you have come to rescue me after all! And just in the nick of time!”
“Rescue you? What is this nonsense? You don’t need rescuing. I have been reading of your successes in the Gazette. You have already been declared an Incomparable. You should have no trouble catching a husband.” He kissed her affectionately on the forehead, but even to Annie’s suspicious eyes, it was in all respects a brotherly kiss.
“I have told you before, I do not want a husband.” Cassie pulled away from him and, hands on hips, positively radiated indignation. “If you are not going to help me avoid the future that Geoffrey is arranging for me, then you might as well go back to Cornwall.”
Turning to Annie, Digory asked with a smile, “Tell me, is marriage so bad a fate for a woman?”
“No, it can be wonderful,” Annie replied. “With the right man, of course.”
Cassie scowled and made a humphing noise, but Digory remained quite cheerful. “If you truly want me to go back to my boats, I shall, but I rather thought you would like me to make sure that your future husband is the right man for you.” He waited, but Cassie refused to look at him or reply. “Sulking will get you nowhere. You would do better to tell me who your most persistent suitors are, so I can investigate them.”
With a slight shudder, Cassie said, “As yet there is only one who stands out from the others, but I do not think my brother will find him an acceptable candidate for my hand. Although the man apparently has great wealth, he has no title.”
“And his name?”
“Hawke—Richard Hawke. He is a friend of Lord Westhrop, who is the grandson of Lady Letitia. I do not know why, but there is something about Mr. Hawke that frightens me.”
“Is he disrespectful? Does he seem cruel?”
Cassie thought for a moment. “No, he has always treated me with great respect, even kindness. But... Oh, I cannot explain. There is such an intensity about him, he quite unnerves me. Even when he is sleeping, he looks forbidding.”
No one, Annie decided, could look more forbidding than Digory now did. There was open anger on his face and undisguised menace in his voice when he spoke.
“Even when he is sleeping”? You had better explain yourself, Cassie, or I shall have this Mr. Hawke explaining to the point of my dagger.”
Her account of the stage coach journey was unobjectionable, but Digory was not satisfied, and at his insistence, Cassie related in complete detail everything that had happened between her and Richard Hawke on each and every occasion they had met. “As I said, I do not think Geoffrey will allow him to be a suitor for my hand,” she concluded, “but, Digory, you must do something to help me avoid driving out with him—you must!”
“A drive in the park will do you no harm. And as for the rest, what Geoffrey allows and doesn’t allow may not matter in the slightest. Men like the man you have just described to me do not generally allow anyone else to make the rules for them,” Digory replied, and all the blood drained from his sister’s face.
“I cannot marry such a man,” she whispered.
“As I said, I shall investigate further. If you have need of me, send a message to the Clarendon.” He turned to leave, but Cassie caught his arm.
“I mean it, Digory,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I cannot marry such a hard man.”
“You need a man strong enough to protect you from your brother.”
“But I need a husband who—No, no, I mean if I needed a husband, which I do not, I would want a man who was gentle.”
Digory smiled. “A man has to be strong before he will allow himself to be gentle. You will find that it is generally the weakest men who take delight in being cruel toward those who are weaker than they are.”
“No matter what you say, I shall not marry Mr. Hawke,” Cassie said, but she was speaking to Digory’s back. He had turned and was sauntering out of the alley. Within seconds, he lost himself in the crowd that was passing. Turning to Annie, she repeated, “I shall not marry Mr. Hawke, no matter what either of my brothers says.”
“This brother has the right of it,” Annie said. “Every soldier and every soldier’s wife learns early on that weakness aligns itself with cruelty and cowardice.”
“But he frightens me, Annie.” Cassie pressed both hands against he
r stomach. “Every time he looks at me, I feel...”
The look in her eyes said more than her words, and Annie abruptly realized what the real problem was with Mr. Hawke. It was not anything he was doing that was frightening her mistress—it was how he was making her feel. As sometimes happened with young girls, Cassie was afraid of the womanly emotions he was arousing in her.
How could Annie tell her that these very emotions could lead to one of the greatest pleasures in life? At two and twenty, Annie was barely two years older than her mistress, but the gulf between them was too wide to cross. Annie had shared a marriage bed for four years before her husband had been killed, whereas Cassie had doubtless never even been kissed—except on the forehead by her brother, which was not at all the same thing.
* * * *
Next week, Cassie thought. She should have told that wretched man that she was not free to drive out with him until next week. That would have given her an additional seven days to think of some way to avoid the forthcoming meeting entirely.
“Mr. Hawke,” the butler announced—or rather it was the footman, who was filling in as butler since the real butler had decamped with the majority of the other servants.
Footsteps approached her, but Cassie did not look up. Her heart, in fact, felt as if it had sunk down to her half-boots.
“Good afternoon, Lady Blackstone,” her unwelcome suitor said in his deep voice, which had become entirely too familiar to Cassie in the last few weeks.
Talk to him, Ellen! Cassie thought. Tell him every bit of gossip you have heard since you arrived in London—anything, everything—if only to postpone the inevitable for another fleeting moment.
But Ellen did not cooperate. “The weather has turned so beautiful, I shall not detain you a minute longer. Fetch your bonnet, Cassie. You will not wish Mr. Hawke to keep his horses standing.”
The Unofficial Suitor Page 10