And hope and wish and pray that Harry would come to her.
Chapter 13
Cassandra was in the midst of untying her bonnet ribbons when her mother burst into the drawing room. "Did Psyche return with you?" Lady Hathaway asked.
"Why, no, Mama. I invited her to come with me to the draper's, but she refused."
Her mother's face creased in a worried frown. "She is not in this house."
A chill went through Cassandra's heart, but she made herself think sensibly. "Perhaps . . . perhaps she decided otherwise, and decided to follow me out?"
"But surely she would have told someone?" her mother replied. "I thought to have her do some mending, for she is very good with fine work, but she is not in her room! I knew you were going on your errands, and so assumed she was with you." She wrung her hands and paced the room. "Oh, heavens! Your father would be away now, and I shall scold Kenneth when next I see him for making it necessary for your father to go to Cambridge."
"Did she leave a note, or. . . or perhaps one of the servants knows?" Cassandra asked.
Lady Hathaway shook her head. "No, I found no note. The servants do not know, either, although I suppose I could ask—"
A knock on the door took her attention, and when the door opened, Thrimble and a maid entered.
"Begging your pardon, my lady, miss, but Gwennie has just returned and has some knowledge of Miss Psyche's whereabouts," the butler said and pushed the maid forward. The girl glanced at them nervously and held out a bonnet to Lady Hathaway.
"It's Miss Psyche's bonnet, my lady. We was goin' to Lord Blytheland's 'ouse, and her bonnet flew off acos o' the wind. She asked me to fetch it for 'er, but when I came back, she was gone." The maid hung her head and began to cry. "I looked all over for 'er, I did! But she warn't anywhere! And she wot was so kind when me brother 'ad the flux! I'm afeared somethin' turrible 'as got 'er, my lady. I ran fast as I could, so as you'd know."
"Lord Blytheland!" Lady Hathaway exclaimed. Cassandra glanced at her mother and found her staring in astonishment at her.
"Mama, I have no idea why she would—" A mix of dread and embarrassment crept into her. "She said she thought . . . oh, heavens!" She turned to her mother. "She said she could help—she must have gone to his house to speak to him."
Lady Hathaway groaned. "It only needed this! And of course your father would be gone now when we need him! What could the girl have been thinking of?" The maid wailed louder, and Lady Hathaway waved an irritated hand at her. "Oh, for goodness sakes, do go away! And you, too, Thrimble."
"Perhaps we should go to Lord Blytheland's house," Cassandra said tentatively after the maid and butler left. "It is not as if we would enter it, after all, and it is an emergency."
Lady Hathaway shook her head. "I suppose so . . . but your father is supposed to return today. I do not know when. One of us must stay, but it is very awkward, whichever one goes—oh, what is it now?" she said when the butler returned.
Thrimble cleared his throat "'Tis Lord Blytheland, my lady."
"Thank goodness!" Lady Hathaway exclaimed. "Perhaps he has brought her home."
But Psyche was not with the marquess when he entered the drawing room. Lady Hathaway sank into a chair and groaned again.
Lord Blytheland strode to her side. "Ma'am, you are not well—is there something I can do to help you?"
"My lord, have you seen Psyche?" Cassandra asked. He turned to look at her, and she felt a blush rising, but gazed at him steadily. He wore a greatcoat of many capes, dressed for travel.
"No, I have not," he replied. "I came to make a last call upon you—I am leaving London."
"Leaving?" The ache that sat so heavily in Cassandra's heart of late turned to pain.
"I thought it best." Blytheland gave her a slight smile. "Country air does clear people's minds, I have heard. But come, what is this about Miss Psyche?"
"She has disappeared," Cassandra said, and wrung her hands. "The maid who accompanied her said she went to your house, and then she was lost disappeared—I do not know! We thought perhaps you came to bring her back, but you say you never saw her. And my father is not home—he has gone to Cambridge to see to my brother's matters."
"Then you—one of you—must come with me, and we will search for her. I have my carriage outside, but I am afraid it cannot hold more than three." He looked at Cassandra for a long moment, then transferred his gaze to Lady Hathaway.
"Go, Cassandra," her mother said. "Someone must be here to inform your father should he come home early, and what if my poor child should return by herself, to find me gone?"
"I would be here, Mama, for either of them."
Lady Hathaway's lips trembled, and she put a shaking hand to her mouth. "It is not the same as having her mother—what if she should be injured? No, no, you go, Cassandra, I will stay here."
Cassandra gazed at Lord Blytheland and thought she saw hope in his eyes. She swallowed and lifted her chin. I cannot think of myself at this time, she thought. I must think of Psyche, and she must be found. She nodded. "Very well," she said. Quickly, she pulled on the pelisse she had just taken off and hurried to the door.
When they stepped out of the house, Lord Blytheland took her hand and helped her up into the carriage. There was, indeed, not much room in it. If she pushed herself to the far edge of it, she could manage not to have her leg press against his, but to do so would have been awkward. She made herself relax and think of where Psyche might be.
"Shall we start at your house, my lord, since that was where she was seen last?" she asked as calmly as she could.
He glanced at her and nodded. "That was my thought also. She might well have gone inside upon finding I was not there. That must be what happened, and we shall have your sister returned home in no time at all."
"No doubt." It was a comforting thought. She should have thought of this very sensible answer to Psyche's disappearance herself, for the maid had not mentioned asking at Lord Blytheland's house to see if Psyche had slipped inside in an attempt to see him. Cassandra sighed. But then, she hadn't been thinking very clearly lately, had she?
They rode on in silence. Cassandra clasped her hands tightly in her lap, searching the crowded London streets in front of them and feeling thankful Psyche possessed a remarkable amount of bright red hair. She would be easily seen in this crowd. But though her eyes caught every spot of red possible, none of it signaled Psyche's presence. Perhaps she was, indeed, safely in Lord Blytheland's house.
At last the marquess reined in his horses and leapt down, looping the reins upon the iron railing in front of his house. "Wait here—I shall look inside and bring her out again." Cassandra nodded.
A minute passed, then another. It could not take that long to find Psyche, could it? Cassandra bit her lower lip and stared at her hands on her lap, impatiently creasing and uncreasing a fold in her dress. She could not go in, of course, but the waiting was becoming intolerable.
"Cassandra."
She looked up, expecting the marquess, and froze. There, in front of her, delicately perched on the buckboard of Lord Blytheland's carriage, was a boy. She swallowed and felt a little dizzy. "Who . . . who are you?"
The golden-haired boy gazed at her solemnly. "I'm Harry, Psyche's friend." His wings fluttered in an impatient manner. "She needs help, quickly. My arrows are not made for what needs to be done, so you must come, and Lord Blytheland, too."
Cassandra closed her eyes, then opened them. "I must be imagining this."
"No, you are not." He reached over and gave her a hard pinch. "There, you see?"
She rubbed her arm—there was, indeed, a red welt on it now, and the crescent marks of two fingernails. "So you do exist," she said wonderingly. She gingerly reached out to touch his knee and felt cloth and warm skin. He allowed it, much like a disdainful cat allowing itself to be patted, tolerant only. She stared at his wings and the quiver of arrows on his back. "And not 'Harry'—Eros, I suppose?" she asked.
He grinned suddenly, a mi
schievous expression lighting his blue eyes, and she could not help being charmed by it. "Yes. But Harry will do." He glanced impatiently at Blytheland's house. "I wish he would hurry. When he comes, tell him to go to Green Park—they are going in that direction. It's a yellow carriage, and the crest is blue with black swords crossing over a white tower."
"Perhaps you should tell—"
"No. I dislike being seen. You are her sister, and she is in trouble, so I have made an exception in your case."
"Well, I do not see how you can say that! Anyone may see you now."
He grinned, and it was more mischievous than ever. "Only you can see me at this moment. Everyone who has seen you speak to me has been thinking how odd it is that such a lovely young lady is talking to nothing at all."
If this was what Psyche's friend usually was like, it was just as well she did not see or hear him, Cassandra thought, irritated. Harry glanced at the house again and made an impatient sound.
"Tell him where to go. I am going back to Psyche and see what I can do." And with a flick of his wings, his shape shimmered and he disappeared.
Cassandra could almost convince herself she had imagined it all, but her arm still hurt where Harry had pinched her. And what if it were true, and she failed to act upon it, and Psyche was hurt? She could not take the chance. She glanced at the door of the marquess's house and bit her lip. There was no time to think of proprieties now, not when her sister was in trouble. Hastily, she descended from the carriage and knocked on the door. A footman answered.
"I am Miss Cassandra Hathaway. Tell Lord Blytheland to come—I know where my sister is, and he need not search his house if that is what he is doing," she said. "Go, quickly, tell him!" The footman nodded and left.
Only a minute passed before Lord Blytheland ran out of the house, looking distracted. "Where?" he said tersely as he gathered up the reins.
"Green Park. A . . . boy saw her climb into a yellow coach and it was going in that direction."
Blytheland groaned as he shook the reins. "There must be dozens of yellow coaches going toward Green Park."
"It has a crest—blue, with two swords and a tower."
"Devil take it." Blytheland's face hardened, then he glanced at Cassandra.
'Tell me!"
"Lord Crawforth. He has . . . fast horses."
His jaw was tight and he would not look at her but stared steadily in front of him, concentrating upon his horses. There was something about Lord Crawforth he did not want to tell her, and she was sure he would not tell her no matter how she pressed him. Please let Psyche be safe, Cassandra prayed, and closed her eyes tightly. She felt a hand close over hers, and she opened her eyes to find Lord Blytheland looking at her with such warmth and kindness that she had to look away, lest the tears she felt rising inside her spill over.
"We will find her, I promise you," he said.
It was only a promise, and he had given her promises before that she did not believe. But she believed him in this now, and felt comforted.
* * * *
"Psyche."
It was a whisper, and Psyche almost thought she had imagined it, obscured as it was amongst the rumble of coach wheels. But she opened her eyes and there he was, staring at her solemnly. She almost burst into tears of relief, but bit her lip hard to prevent it.
"Harry!" she exclaimed at last.
Lord Crawforth turned from his perusal out the window and stared at her. "How you do persist. Stupid girl. Have I not told you your Harry cannot hear you? If you do not stop, I shall be forced to tie up your mouth as well."
Psyche shrank into her comer of the coach and Lord Crawforth smiled pleasantly. She glanced at Harry and was glad she was not Lord Crawforth. Harry's face was stormy, and his presence seemed, oddly, too large for the coach, though he had not changed in any other way. If she had thought Harry might be dangerous when he was irritated, she had been quite right. His normal glow was pale and translucent, but now he seemed to radiate a hot, almost venomous light when he looked at Lord Crawforth. Psyche shivered. As bad as Lord Crawforth was, she was certain what punishment Harry planned for him would be worse.
But then Harry looked at Psyche, and his expression and his light softened and he smiled encouragingly at her. "Psyche, I want you to be ill."
She raised her brows in question, not daring to speak. "Pretend you are about to be sick in the coach. Make loud retching noises."
She looked at him, wondering what he was planning, but nodded. "Oh, dear," she said, and covered her mouth with her hand.
Lord Crawforth gave her a sharp look. "What is it now?"
Psyche closed her eyes briefly, and hoped she looked pale. "I . . . oh, no! I am afraid I feel very—" She pressed her hands against her mouth and coughed. "Ack! Urp!"
Lord Crawforth looked uneasy and moved away from her. "If you are trying some trick—"
She looked at him, making tears form in her eyes—an easy thing to do, for she had been so terribly afraid. "I—I feel ill, my lord, I truly do—Riding in coaches always— Urp!" She lurched forward, as if she were about to give up her luncheon on the coach floor. Lord Crawforth pushed himself into the side of the carriage even more, a look of disgust on his face.
"Tell him you want some milk because it always makes you feel better," Harry whispered.
"Milk? Oh, milk!" Psyche exclaimed, and leaned back in her seat, putting the back of her hand over her forehead. "Please, just a little milk, and I shall feel better."
"Milk? Where the devil would I get milk?" Lord Crawforth said. "I would think water would be better."
"No! Milk, please. Water makes me feel worse." She widened her eyes and pressed her hands to her mouth again. "Urp!" she said, this time with more emphasis than she had before.
"Cretin," Harry muttered, looking at Lord Crawforth. "Tell him there are cows and milkmaids in Green Park, though by the gods he should know it, having passed the place every day of his worm-ridden life." Psyche almost giggled, but turned it into another convulsive lurch and another loud "urp."
"Oh, dear!" she said and heaved a deep, shuddering sigh. "If only we were at Green Park!" She pressed her hand to her mouth and shuddered again. "My mother bought some milk for me there when I felt ill, and I felt better immediately." She gazed at Lord Crawforth as mournfully as possible. "But I cannot hope for that, so I fear I shall be quite—Oh! Urp!"
"Stop!" Lord Crawforth shouted out the coach window to his groom. He gazed angrily at Psyche. "We are at Green Park now. I shall get you your damned milk, but if I find you are tricking me, it shall go very badly for you indeed." He opened the coach door, then turned back to Psyche. "You shall stay here. My groom will be watching to see if you try to escape."
As soon as Lord Crawforth left, Harry untied the ribbon from around Psyche's wrists. "What an idiot," Harry said. "He could have had the groom fetch the milk for him."
"I suspect he wished to get away, in case I should have vomited on him. And I pretended very well, didn't I?" Psyche said proudly.
"Yes. I was hoping you would." Harry grinned, then sobered. "Now, wait here. He needs to be punished."
Psyche gazed at him warily. "What are you going to do?"
The dangerous glow flickered around him again, and he stared at Lord Crawforth's retreating form. "He is a beast, and deserves only the company of beasts," Harry said grimly.
"Oh, dear." Psyche watched as her friend flew toward Lord Crawforth and draw an arrow from his quiver. He fitted the arrow to his bow, and pulled it back. She could not help herself: she covered her eyes and hoped the punishment would not be too terrible.
A plucking, a singing through the air, and then a gasp from Lord Crawforth.
"I say!" Psyche heard him exclaim. "That's a remarkably fine cow you have there." She peeked from behind her fingers.
Lord Crawforth was peering through a quizzing glass at a brown cow.
"Weeell, I daresay Bessie's a good 'un," the cowman replied proudly. "She dropped twins two year ago, and both o
f 'em sturdy fellows."
"Fertile, eh?" Lord Crawforth said, putting out a tentative hand and patting Bessie on the neck.
"Every year," replied the cowman. "And she never drops 'em bad, neither."
"How much?" Lord Crawforth asked, now petting the cow with more confidence.
"That'll be thrippence, sir," a milkmaid chimed in, and presented a cup of milk.
"No, no!" Lord Crawforth waved the milk aside. "I meant how much for the cow."
"The cow?" The cowman gazed, stupefied, at Lord Crawforth, and then exchanged a long look with the milkmaid, who shrugged.
"Yes, the cow," Lord Crawforth replied impatiently. "For how much will you sell it—her—to me? Fifty guineas? Sixty?"
"Er, well, I dunno," the cowman said, scratching his head, but the milkmaid poked him with her elbow.
"I think four hundred guineas would be a good price," the milkmaid said. "Prime bit o' blood and bone, is Bessie."
"Four hundred!" exclaimed Lord Crawforth. "She is a fine animal, I can see, but perhaps one hundred—"
"Three hundred," the cowman interjected hastily.
They continued haggling over the cow, as Psyche watched, wide-eyed. She turned to Harry, who had returned to the coach. "Oh heavens! You have made Lord Crawforth fall in love with a cow!"
Harry grinned and twirled an arrow between his fingers. "He deserved it. At least he will not"—he gazed at Psyche and closed his mouth suddenly, then continued—"frighten girls anymore." He opened the carriage door and took Psyche's hand. "You can come out now. The groom is now madly in love with the milkmaid, and I think she will make him a good wife."
Psyche stepped down from the coach and walked away from it, and still held Harry's hand. She smiled up at him. "Thank you for coming to my rescue, Harry. I am so sorry I told you I didn't want to see you, because it wasn't true at all! I felt awful afterwards, and missed you terribly. It is a lonely thing to be in London without a true friend."
Harry looked at her and cleared his throat. She was right. However ancient one was, it was a lonely thing to be without a friend. There was nothing wrong with having a friend or two while continuing his search.
Cupid's Mistake (Cupid Regency Romance) Page 20