The Tigresse and the Raven (The Friendship Series Book 1)

by Julia Donner

  “Jealous, Farnsby?”

  Rave laughed at the groom’s crude reply and slid the toe of his left boot into the stirrup Farnsby held still. Rave savored the familiar sound of squeaking leather when he settled into the seat. He adjusted his gloves and glanced down at the groom.

  “She’s off, then?”

  Farnsby stretched out a long arm, pointing in the direction Cassandra had taken. She could still be seen limbering the gelding in the hollow beneath the house and stables.

  Farnsby lowered his arm. “Wouldn’t let me go with her, just like you said. Couldn’t send the dogs with her, since I didn’t stop to think and put her up on Rufus. You know how he hates dogs.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll be with her.”

  They watched her turn the sorrel and head for the trees. A high fence enclosed the copse that surrounded the pond. A closed gate stood before the bridle path that led through the trees in a fog-shrouded avenue. She headed the gelding for the gate at a hard gallop and pulled up neatly with just the right pacing. They sailed over the fence with room to spare. The sorrel came down gently on the other side, smoothly keeping his pace. His russet-colored rump disappeared under the trees a moment later.

  Rave whistled softly through his front teeth. “By Jove, did you see that, Farnsby?”

  “Poseidon will catch him.”

  “I hope you’re right. I’ve never seen the gelding perform for anyone like he does for her.”

  “Aye, Rufus took to her right away. She’s got hands light as feathers and no crop.”

  “At dinner last evening, Lady Duncan assured me that Miss Seyton could take on anything our stables offered. She said that her niece was of the opinion that spurs and whips are superfluous. If she needed a crop to ride a horse, she didn’t want the horse. Says that any mount should and can be handled with the hands and an aggressive seat.”

  “If I may say, your lordship, my compliments.”

  Rave looked down at his cousin from the other side of the blanket. “Why, Jed, you old dog. Found me out, have you?”

  When Farnsby had no answer to that, Rave continued, “You said the bay stud is doing well over at Fettingham’s, but I still want you to check on him every other day.”

  “Aye. He settled in nicely. A bit and on the rank side from too many mares, but steady enough. Just don’t let him see you with a saddle over your arm. You’re dinner meat if he catches you. Sir Bosley is fair crazed to put him on the mare that won twice last year.”

  “Give him my leave to do so, and tell him I want that stud gently treated. I’ll have his ears if his stablemen mistreat him. The old boy has suffered enough, and make sure he gets an extra sweet mash during these damp nights. I wasted too much time sending my steward all over the countryside to find that stud. I’d have been better off to let you handle the transaction.”

  “Aye. I would’ve gotten a better price. Truth to tell, the stud’s legs are gone to pieces. His nose is scarred up from chain twitching.”

  “A blasted shame. Let Sir Bosley know that I want him brought over next week. And Farnsby, if Miss Seyton learns about this before then, I’ll have your ears.”

  “The wife already considers me deaf. Take’em and let me have some peace and quiet.”

  Rave laughed and cantered across the road and down the hillside, eager for his first encounter with a tigress.

  Chapter 17

  When Cassandra met up with Ravenswold, she felt refreshed and relaxed after her morning romp. He rode up to her, impeccable in brown jacket, snug buckskins and glossy boots. Even though he was unfashionably bareheaded, he made her feel drab and shabby in her soaked and worn-out habit.

  “Miss Cassandra,” he called, concerned and stern faced. “Have you suffered a mishap?’

  “But of course not.” She reined in her blowing mount and patted the sorrel’s wet neck. Rufus bobbed his head in happy agreement. “We’ve enjoyed an excellent morning!”

  “I must protest, Miss Cassandra. Surely, there must have been some accident. Your habit is torn and soaked through.”

  Cassandra appreciated how Ravenswold politely kept his attention on her face and not on the saturated habit stuck to her skin.

  “Please, you mustn’t concern yourself, sir. ‘Twas only a slight mishap at the pond. Rufus decided to take exception to a rabbit. We ended up in the water, but all is well, as you can see.”

  She wasn’t about to tell him she’d shed the habit and gone for a swim in her lacy, lawn shift. The riding habit got wet from the spray of the horse playfully splashing and pawing the water. Eager to play in the pond, she chose a bush too close to the water.

  He thoughtfully studied her face. “The pond? It’s quite deep. You might’ve drowned.”

  “Oh, foot! I most certainly would not have come to any harm. I was half-raised in the River Tamer and swimming since free of leading strings. I grew up like a tadpole, as at home in the water as I was on my first pony.”

  Ravenswold smiled, and she stilled, caught in the hypnotic draw of his expression. Without releasing her from that intense gaze, he unwound the scarf from about his neck. His horse obediently came alongside Rufus.

  Rave extended the scarf. “Please, you must wear this. I can’t have you down with a chill and missing the ball.”

  “It’s quite unnecessary. I’ve never been prey to illnesses of any kind.”

  “I insist.” He dropped his reins and murmured, “Stand, Poseidon.”

  Cassandra felt her heart thump in her chest when he leaned over and wrapped the downy wool scarf around her neck. His nearness surrounded her with a disturbing fragrance that reminded her of cedar and leather. Her eyes lost focus as her senses registered his scent and warmth embedded in the soft cloth. She caught herself breathing in his scent and restrained the urge to rub her face in the cloth.

  “Thank you,” she managed to whisper, angry because she sounded and felt timid. She shivered, chilled under the shade of the trees. “Rufus is wet and shouldn’t be kept standing here where it’s so cool.”

  “Then let us ride into the sunlight.” He turned his mount around.

  Cassandra pressed her calf against the sorrel’s side. Rufus pivoted and moved into an extended walk. Ravenswold’s stud paced beside the sorrel, his black-rimmed ears pressed flat to let the gelding know who was in command. She kept her mount’s nose slightly behind the dapple-gray’s to appease Poseidon. The sorrel relaxed when he understood that he wouldn’t be forced to challenge the stud’s need to lead.

  Cassandra stopped herself from snuggling her nose into the soft scarf around her neck and shoulders. She lifted her chin and said, “My lord, I should like to apologize for sleeping through dinner last evening.”

  “Quite understandable after a journey. Lady Duncan proved to be excellent company and had much to talk about.”

  Cassandra suspected that her aunt had done nothing but praise her unwed niece to the skies while introducing more intimate details of her life and personal habits.

  Cassandra asked, “You mentioned something about a ball?”

  “In honor of your visit. My neighbors are forever on the lookout for a reason to throw a do. They’ll be tediously grateful for your coming to visit.”

  He continued when a vague smile was her only response. “I’ve invited some friends up from London. They should be arriving throughout the week. You’ll know most of them. Do I spy a frown, Miss Cassandra? Did you think to come all this way to escape society, only to be followed and hounded by your admirers? I assure you, it will be a small affair, very small. There will be neighbors of mine to meet and mutual friends.”

  Cassandra hoped that she covered her reaction when he talked about their mutual friends. When he hastened to reassure her, she felt relieved that he’d misunderstood her response.

  “I assure you, Miss Cassandra, it will be a modest affair. Nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly not on the scale of a town gathering.”

  When she only nodded, he added, “Will you find this…a prob
lem? I don’t wish to sound impertinent, or indeed, indelicate, but if there is some difficulty concerning your wardrobe, perhaps Mrs. Gliddens can supply you with the name of someone local.”

  That wasn’t the reason but it didn’t stop the burn of chagrin. Defensive anger flared to cover her shame. “Sir, if my clothes are a cause of offense, be assured that I shan’t embarrass you further with my presence.”

  Before she could gallop away, his gloved hand shot out and captured her reins. “Forgive me. That was very clumsily done when I only meant to be kind.”

  Cassandra stared at his grasp on the reins until he withdrew his hand. “Sir, you are mistaken. I expect only that which is kind from you. Now, you will please excuse me.”

  This time she pressed a heel into the gelding’s flank, and Rufus lunged forward, flinging up clods of turf in his wake. Cassandra flew down the bridle path unable to enjoy the gelding’s rippling power and speed. She knew that any hurt suffered from Ravenswold’s remark originated with her easily upset pride. He couldn’t help but notice the deplorable condition of her clothes, most of which were held together by the miraculous aid of her will for them to do so. She never realized that the game of provoking her aunt and maid would end up the cause of so much embarrassment.

  She became impatient and angry with herself when she felt disappointment when Rave didn’t follow her. It appeared beneath Ravenswold’s dignity to placate. Well, it was beneath hers to relent.

  For the next four days she did her utmost to stay out of everyone’s way, meaning Ravenswold’s, by staying in her rooms. She had Tessa tell Lady Duncan and her host she had contracted a sore throat, blithely ignoring the fact she’d bragged to Ravenswold that she was never ill.

  By hiding she also thrust a stick in the spokes of her aunt’s freewheeling matchmaking tactics and avoided the arriving guests. It didn’t bother her that she missed the excursions to local sights, picnics and musical evenings. She soothed her wounded pride by rationalizing that she would cause Ravenswold no embarrassment over her shabby apparel. She spent her time writing letters and growing untenably bored.

  She learned from Tessa that her isolation scheme angered and irritated Rave to the extent of actually snapping at his servants. Such alien and wholly unexpected behavior from their placid employer confused and worried the staff.

  “Miss Cassy, you’d better watch your step. Rumors are flying below stairs. No one’s missed the marked attention his lordship’s been paying to you. They’re in turns insulted and boggled that you won’t return his interest.”

  “And that should make me feel obliged to chase after him?”

  “It’s humiliating! So I have to lie and tell’em my mistress is truly ill.” She snatched up a shift and thrust it into a drawer without folding it.

  “I can hear you whispering swear words, Tessa. Wonder what the staff would say if they heard you now.”

  “And here you sit, refusing to show your face, like you’re locked up in some bleeding tower, missing out on the chance of a lifetime, too blockheaded to see the sense of Lady Duncan’s careful planning. His lordship won’t stand for insult when there’s plenty other fruit on the tree, and that’s my last word.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Tessa squinted and smiled, then showed her spite by behaving in the most cloying and obnoxiously sweet manner—a game she knew would grate on Cassandra’s limited patience.

  Cassandra knew exactly what was afoot and held her frustration in check. For the time being. She saved it up for the perfect occasion.

  Alas, her aunt wasn’t in a position where she needed to speculate in fear of a future loss of employment nor was reticence a word commonly used in her vocabulary or within the sphere of her understanding. She barged her way into Cassandra’s rooms and demanded an explanation.

  Lady Duncan looked ready to deflect any excuse Cassandra was about to give and proved it by saying, “I stand before you scandalized by this flimsy ploy of an illness.”

  Cassandra pressed her lips together in silence. Lady Duncan used the opportunity to continue. “Shame on you, insolent child. I warn you, gel, if this conduct does not cease, I shall likely fall into a decline from mortification.”

  This was a threat so implausible that Cassandra might have enjoyed a hearty laugh, had she not been feeling guilt over her behavior. She doubted her aunt even knew the definition of mortification but did suspect that Lady Duncan felt thwarted and frustrated by her inability to bring her plans to completion.

  In the end, after days of nagging and vitriolic comments, Cassandra decided that she had won the first round. She’d made her position clear and wouldn’t be forced or inveigled into a betrothal. She told her aunt as much, expecting more caustic reprimands, but Lady Duncan only smiled, as if placating a naughty child with a sweet.

  The immediate rise of the hairs on the back of Cassandra’s neck warned her that something nasty was afoot. She became even more suspicious when Lady Duncan said she forgave her niece completely and had a present for her.

  Wary, Cassandra eyed her aunt. “A present?”

  “I anticipated that Ravenswold would arrange a ball for us and ordered a few things in London before we left. They arrived yesterday. Tessart, why do you stand there? Run along and fetch the boxes! And you will accept this, Cassandra. No, do not start with your refusals. I won’t listen. You will wear this, for you have little else. I cannot tell you the misery I suffer with the clothes you wear in the name of pride. Sheer perversity! There will be no talk of refusing this time. I vow, I can scarcely hold up my head. You dress worse than a slattern.”

  “Oh, aunt, not quite. Possibly a governess. The material is good, even if sadly worn and last year’s fashion.”

  Lady Duncan preserved an icy front. “You will wear what I have bought for you with good grace, thanking me prior to luncheon, where you will make an appearance. At that time, I will make it known that I’ve located the trunk we had thought left behind in London. Everyone will believe you were shy due to a lack of proper clothes. They shall therefore think nothing of your absence except profound sympathy for your ordeal.”

  With that last word, she sailed out of the room, nearly bowling over Tessa, who came through with her arms full of parcels. Two footmen waited outside with the larger packages and bandboxes.

  After the footmen had gone, Tessa ripped open the boxes, casting aside ribbons, tissue and lids and squealing over each new discovery.

  Cassandra sank down on the side of the bed amid the growing welter of stockings, linens, gowns and gloves. She dismally watched her maid cooing over an indecently sheer nightgown with pink silk embroidery and a matching robe that would provide as much coverage as a goose feather in a firestorm. Tessa lovingly caressed each item, wriggling with excitement. Unable to bear such glee, Cassandra looked away.

  Her suite reeked, smothered with the scents of the flowers Ravenswold sent to her daily. On the bedside was a narrow box from him, delivered yesterday with a card, which she hadn’t bothered to read, even though she suffered constant temptation to do so. She knew by the box’s shape that it contained a fan.

  “So,” Cassandra forlornly told herself, “I’m to be rigged out once again and put up for auction.”

  Tessa raced to answer the light tap on the sitting room door. Footmen brought in more boxes of shoes, outerwear and another token of her host’s attention, a large bowl of succession house fruits. Sighing, Cassandra reached for a peach.

  Cassandra didn’t thank her aunt before or after luncheon, nor at dinner, where she regretted she’d come out of hiding. She discovered that Lord Asterly had come up from London and arrived in time to join the meal—another problem to deal with on top of everything else.

  Cassandra sat through each course, politely answering all queries directed at her from the houseguests. Her replies to Ravenswold were especially brief. He appeared not to care, but the glint behind his lowered gaze confirmed his growing annoyance. The slight narrowing of his eyes as th
e meal progressed and a telling stiffness in the set of his shoulders should have been enough warning, but she couldn’t stop herself. After an almost curt response to one of his questions, she saw him slowly lower his hands to his lap where she feared they were being fisted under the tablecloth.

  Cassandra began to wonder at her own courage, or foolishness, over her treatment of so powerful a man, but she wouldn’t be forced. She’d learned that lesson well with Arthur Fallone. The earl wanted her just as much, but unlike Arthur, he wasn’t controllable. Ravenswold would rule, and she would have to submit. She’d had enough of that.

  She justified her behavior by telling herself that by making him not want to marry her she would solve the sticky problem of having to tell him everything.

  Chapter 18

  Cassandra went for a ride the following morning, tacking up Rufus herself long before the stable staff stirred. She dearly missed her daily exercise but couldn’t have gone for a ride while pretending to be ill.

  The previous evening, she overheard that Ravenswold would be busy with his secretary in the morning and then seeing to the comforts of his guests. She felt sure that she could steal the most of the day for a long and leisurely ride.

  She spent all morning and early afternoon exploring the district, squandering the day to enjoy the warm weather and explore the countryside, until she noticed it would be late afternoon before she got back.

  Farnsby would worry about her absence and that of the sorrel. She didn’t like the idea of forcing the groom to neglect his work to go looking for her and started back at a swift gallop across country to save time.

  Due to haste, Rufus knocked down a loose fence pole in the process of a sloppy vault, his takeoff hampered by boggy turf. A herd of lazy, cud-chewing milk cows rested on the other side of the enclosure. The cows lurched up from the ground and lumbered away, loudly bawling, their unmilked bags swaying.

  Cassandra dismounted, and knowing the temperamental nature of dairy cattle, hoped she hadn’t overly frightened the herd. She noted the direction the cows had taken and did her best to right the fallen pole, but it was too heavy for one person. Rufus had sustained no lasting injury, having only skinned his knees, so she reluctantly followed the cows to the farmer’s cottage, walking the horse behind her.