Cassie grinned at him. "Oh, so you have heard about that scheme, have you?"
He grinned back. "My mother said something to me about it. She also said I could come along, if I like."
"Of course you can come along. They are your tunnels, after all. But no cynical comments, if you please."
"The spirits won't appear if there is an unfriendly presence, eh?"
"Something of the sort."
"Then I promise, no comments of any sort. You read my book; the least I can do is be polite at your—ceremony."
"I learned a great deal from your book, Lord Royce," Cassie said. "Perhaps you can learn something from me."
He looked at her steadily, his eyes serious. "I am sure I can, Miss Richards."
Cassie returned his regard for a long, still moment. The room around them seemed to disappear. Books, ghosts, castles, Jamaica—nothing else existed in the world for that one instant. Nothing but him and herself, held together in a strange accord.
It should have been an uncomfortable moment, a nervous thing. Yet it was not. It just felt—right. Completely right, to be here with this man, in this moment, alone in the quiet of the night.
Then he looked away, and the odd enchantment was broken. Cassie, too, glanced away, afraid she might be overcome with this strange emotion, these vague yearnings, and start to cry.
"Why must we go specifically to the tunnels on Friday?" he asked in a strained voice. Then he leaned back casually in his chair, his arms crossed, and Cassie thought she must have imagined that hoarse tone, that moment of intimacy. "Why not the drawing room or the breakfast room?"
He could not be feeling the same way she was. He was logical and rational; she was prone to flights of romance and fancy.
She tried to focus her mind on his question. "Antoinette says that the phase of the moon will be just right on Friday, and somehow her fainting episode told her that the tunnels are the right place. I fear I have not studied these things as she has, so I could not tell you why that is. You will just have to come and see for yourself."
"Oh, I shall. I am quite looking forward to it." The old tone of doubt was back in his voice, in his expression.
Cassie could feel them falling back into what was already a familiar pattern, and she was grateful for it. She would need time alone, time when she was not so confused, to examine these strange new feelings. "And so am I, Lord Royce. Very much."
"You know, 'Lord Royce' sounds terribly formal, considering our circumstances. Perhaps you could call me Phillip? Just when we are alone?" He sounded quite endearingly shy and hesitant as he asked this, not at all like his usual self.
Cassie's eyes widened in surprise at this informality. "Call you—Phillip?"
"Well, you do not have to, of course. It just sounds ridiculous for you to be calling me Lord Royce all the time."
"I should like to call you Phillip. When we are—informal like this. Perhaps you could also call me Cassandra."
He smiled at her. "Very well, then, it is a bargain—Cassandra."
She smiled, too. Her name on his lips sounded different than when anyone else had ever said it. It sounded exotic and elegant, and very sweet.
"Would you care to go riding with me tomorrow, Cassandra?" he continued. "Mother has assigned me to deliver some invitations to the masked ball to her friends in the village. You could meet some of them."
"I would like that very much, Phillip. Thank you." Then the little clock on the fireplace mantel struck two. Cassie looked at it in surprise. "Is it so late already? I should retire."
"Yes," he answered. "So should I."
Cassie stood up, still holding the book in her hands. "Would you mind if I borrowed this? I would like to finish reading it."
"Not at all. Keep it as long as you like."
"Well, then. Good night." Then she hurried off to her own chamber, the book clutched very tightly against her.
* * *
Phillip watched Cassie leave, then sat down in her vacated chair behind the desk.
The faint scent of her perfume still clung to the air. Phillip shook his head to try to clear it of the enchantment of that fragrance.
What a very odd night it had been. He had been unable to sleep, unable even to stay still in his bed. Something in his mind had kept urging him to get up, to go to the library. He had thought it was just an urge to work, something that came on him rather often late at night.
Then he walked into the library and saw Miss Richards—Cassandra—sitting there. Her black hair fell loose from where she had tied it back carelessly with a ribbon, and the candlelight gave it the sheen of the ocean at night. Her eyes were wide and dark and startled as she looked up at him.
Phillip usually disliked it when people came into the library, a place he regarded as his own sanctuary. But it seemed strangely right to see her there.
It seemed right to see her anywhere in his home. In the short time she had been there, the place had become a brighter and more cheerful place. A place full of interest and variety. He found himself looking forward to going to the tunnels on Friday night, and even to his mother's silly masked ball.
And he did not look forward to the day Cassandra would leave Royce Castle, and his old routine of staying in the library almost all day would return.
"You will just have to find a way to keep her here!" a voice echoed in his head. A voice that sounded oddly—feminine.
Was he hearing things now? First he was feeling sentimental about Cassandra Richards, and now this. He was losing his mind. That was all there was to it.
He rubbed his hands over his face wearily. "I am just tired," he muttered. "This is all just a strange dream."
He blew out the candles and went up to bed, determined to call on the physician if these strange feelings did not go away in the next few days.
Louisa, perched atop the rolling ladder, shook her head in exasperation. "Men!" she sighed. "Thick as a plank, every single one of them."
Chapter 13
For once, Cassie was warm in chilly old England as she galloped along a narrow pathway next to Lord Royce.
No, she reminded herself. Not Lord Royce. Phillip.
She laughed aloud as her horse charged ahead, its hooves churning at the soft ground. They jumped over a fallen log, and she ducked under a tree limb that arched overhead.
The limb missed her head, but snatched her hat away. The hat pins pulled through her hair, disarranging the knot, and Cassie reined her horse in.
"Oh, dear me!" she cried, still gasping with laughter. "I am quite sure I would have won the race, if this silly tree had not gotten in my way." She reached up and tried to smooth her hair back into place.
Phillip rose up in his stirrups to snatch the hat off the limb. "It is easy for you to say that now, but I very nearly overtook you. I am sure I would have won."
"Ha! You were miles back." Cassie took the hat from his gloved hand. The jaunty little veil was pulled askew, but otherwise it looked in fair shape. "But we shall call it a draw."
"Done. A draw it is. But I thought you said you had not ridden for a long while?"
"I haven't," Cassie answered, placing the hat back on her head and trying to adjust it back to its former rakish angle. "Not since I came to England."
"Then you are a fine horsewoman indeed. I would hate to see you when you are in practice."
"Why, thank you, Lord R—Phillip! What a nice compliment. Your mother would be very proud to see you doing the pretty."
Phillip laughed ruefully. "I would not say it if I did not mean it! I fear I am not very good at 'doing the pretty,' as you call it." He pointed ahead on the path with his riding crop. "The village is just right over that hill."
"Then I am glad our race came to an end," said Cassie. "I would not want people to think I am some hoyden who gallops carelessly along."
"Oh, no, never that." Phillip drew his horse back onto the path at a sedate walk, and Cassie fell in beside him. "There may not be anyone about who could have seen you co
me galloping in, anyway. The village is rather small, just the church and a few shops, and some of Mother's friends who live at the far end of the road."
"It sounds lovely," said Cassie. "Bath is so very crowded all of the time. It's always exciting, but sometimes..." She paused, not sure of the exact word she was looking for.
"Overwhelming?" Phillip suggested.
"Yes, exactly."
"I often feel the same way in cities. Perhaps that is why I usually stay at the castle, though I know Mother would prefer more society."
"She is so looking forward to this masked ball!"
"Indeed she is. And that reminds me of my other errand. I am to take you to the dressmaker so you can order your costume. I think Mother and your aunt have already ordered theirs."
"How grand!" Cassie said with a smile. She already had about fifty ideas for costumes.
They paused at the crest of the hill and looked down at the village. It seemed like a little fairy-tale hamlet from this distance, neat rows of half-timbered buildings and thatched-roofed cottages. Blue-gray smoke curled out of several chimneys, and, despite what Phillip had said, there were people about. They strolled along the narrow walkways, and went in and out of shop doors. She could see the square stone tower of the church, and what looked like an inn, and maybe a tea shop.
"It is larger than I expected," she said, smoothing the high collar of her dark green riding habit.
"It has everything we need," Phillip answered.
"Including a bookshop?"
"Especially a bookshop! And, as you can tell, it is not very far from the castle."
Cassie looked back over the way they had come. She could see the castle rising up in the distance, over fields and trees. It seemed a vast expanse of green and gray ground. "Who does all that land belong to?" she asked.
"To me, of course," Phillip answered. "Or rather, to my family."
"Such a lot. My father would have been so envious," she said thoughtfully.
"Did your father not have land in Jamaica?"
"Oh, yes. A great deal, of which I have kept a small parcel, just in case. But he only went out to the West Indies because he was a younger son and had no land here."
"I sometimes wish I had an older brother," Phillip said, guiding his horse down the hill.
Cassie followed him. "Do you? Why?"
"Perhaps then I would not have to spend any time with bailiffs and secretaries and lawyers. That would have been my older brother's responsibility."
"And you could spend every bit of your time on writing?"
Phillip smiled at her. "Oh, I don't think I would spend every bit of my time writing. Not anymore."
Cassie laughed and had just opened her mouth to answer him, when a voice called, "Lord Royce! What a pleasure to see you in the village on such a fine day."
Cassie turned her head to see a tall, reed-thin man in a neat black coat hurrying toward them.
"Good morning, Mr. Lewisham," Phillip replied, pulling his horse to a halt. He dismounted and reached up to assist Cassie. "Miss Richards, this is our good vicar, Mr. Lewisham, who shepherds the flock at St. Anne's Church most admirably. Mr. Lewisham, this is one of our guests at the castle, Miss Cassandra Richards."
"How do you do, Mr. Lewisham," Cassie said politely.
"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Richards!" Mr. Lewisham replied with a wide smile. "You are the one from Jamaica, are you not?"
"I—well, yes, I am," Cassie said, rather nonplused. She had never seen this man in her life; how did he know where she was from?
Mr. Lewisham laughed. "I did not mean to surprise you, Miss Richards! News travels fast in such a small, isolated place. We have heard all about you and your very unusual companion. And my wife and I have been reading about the West Indies. It is a dream of ours to do missionary work there. You must come and have tea with us, if you have the time before returning to the castle."
"Thank you, Mr. Lewisham," Cassie said. "I should be honored."
"We are to have luncheon with Lady Paige," added Phillip. "But we would be happy to call on Mrs. Lewisham this afternoon."
Mr. Lewisham rubbed his thin hands together in delight. "Excellent! Well, I must be hurrying on now, but I look forward to seeing you later, Lord Royce, Miss Richards." Then he bowed and continued on down the pathway to the road.
"What a nice man," Cassie commented as Phillip led her off toward the livery stable where they could leave their horses. Several other people bowed and smiled as they passed by.
"People in Cornwall have the reputation for being wary of strangers," Phillip answered. "But here you can see that is scarcely the case. I am sure you will be very warmly welcomed everywhere. Or at least almost anywhere."
* * *
And so she was. Cassie went to visit Mrs. Brown, the dressmaker, while Phillip waited for her at the bookshop. There, in Mrs. Brown's cozy front room, she met four other young ladies. They became so caught up in poring over fashion plates and examining fabrics that she quite lost track of time. Until the bells at the church tolled the hour and she remembered that they were to have luncheon with Lady Royce's friend Lady Paige.
She hastily decided on a blue-and-yellow fabric for her shepherdess's costume, gathered up her other purchases, and hurried out of the shop.
Lord Royce was pacing about on the walkway, a square, book-shaped parcel tucked under his arm.
"Why did you not come inside to fetch me?" Cassie asked, falling into step beside him as they set off down the street. "I met some other ladies, and we started talking, and, well, we rather lost track of time."
Phillip looked back at the pleasant little shop, a look almost of horror on his handsome face. "Me? Go into a—a lady's dressmaker shop?"
Cassie laughed. "Oh, Lord Royce! It is hardly the portal of doom. It is really quite a nice place. I found these delightful blue ribbons..."
"Please, my dear Miss Richards," he said in a pained voice. "No talk of ribbons. I beg you."
Cassie laughed again, and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm as they strolled along, meeting other people and glancing into shop windows.
She thought it felt rather odd, as if they were some old married couple.
* * *
"My dear Lord Royce! How kind of you to come see me. It has been much too long since I've seen you." Lady Paige, a round little matron in elegant gray silk and a lace cap, went up on tiptoe to peck a kiss on Phillip's cheek.
Phillip bent down, accepting the salute with good grace, and Cassie discerned a hint of a blush on his cheeks. She almost laughed as she hung back in the doorway of Lady Paige's drawing room, waiting to be introduced.
"Far too long, Lady Paige," he answered.
"Pish! You used to call me Aunt Lydia. Now, who is this lovely young lady? The houseguest your mother has told me so much about?" Lady Paige turned her curious gaze onto Cassie.
"Yes, indeed. This is Miss Richards. Miss Richards, may I present my mother's dear friend, Lady Paige?"
"How do you do?" Cassie said politely.
"Oh, Miss Richards, what a delight to meet you! You are every bit as pretty as Melinda said. You have both chosen a perfect day to come for luncheon, as well."
"Have we, La—Aunt Lydia?" Phillip inquired. "How so?"
"Because my nephew, Mr. Neville Vickery, is here from Town!" Lady Paige clapped her hands together. "He so seldom visits his poor auntie, you know, and he has such vastly amusing stories to tell." She leaned toward Cassie and whispered confidingly, "He is quite the beau, you know. The joy of every young lady's eye! I am sure you will like him, Miss Richards."
Phillip gave her an alarmed look, and Cassie again had the urge to laugh. "I am sure I shall, Lady Paige," she said.
Then they went into Lady Paige's drawing room, a small space crowded with figurines, paintings, and embroidered cushions—and one extraordinary "tulip of fashion."
Cassie giggled behind her hand to think that the young man standing by the window could be the joy of any young lady's
eye. He was tall, true, and had pleasing, regular features. But his golden hair was pomaded to such a high gloss that it glowed, his cravat was so elaborately tied that it resembled nothing so much as a wedding cake, and his yellow coat was nearly blinding.
Cassie could not help but glance at Phillip, and compare his plain, serviceable garments and carelessly long hair to the yellow coat and embroidered orange waistcoat It was all too obvious which man came out with the advantage.
But Lady Paige beamed at her nephew as if he were a veritable Apollo come to earth. "Lord Royce, Miss Richards, may I present my nephew, Mr. Vickery?"
Mr. Vickery moved across the crowded room with a stylish languor, and took Cassie's hand in his. As he raised it to his lips, his many rings cut into Cassie's skin.
"Charmed, I'm sure," he said in a low, drawling voice. "Aunt Lydia, you never told me that there were hidden charms in this pokey old village. I would have come to visit an age ago."
Lady Paige tittered as if he had uttered a great witticism. "Oh, Neville! How you do tease."
Mr. Vickery gave Cassie what he obviously considered a soulful, Byronic look. "I am completely serious. You never said an angel resided in this remote corner."
Laughter threatened to bubble up to Cassie's lips again, and she feared that if she let even another giggle escape she would not be able to stop. Did ladies in London really enjoy this sort of ridiculous flattery?
It was amusing, to be sure, but she found that she much preferred Phillip's sensible conversation.
"How very kind you are, Mr. Vickery," she said, carefully extracting her hand from his grasp.
"It is not kindness at all, Miss Richards—merely the truth. Please, let me escort you into the dining room. I am so eager to hear what you think of this bleak corner of the world." Without even waiting for her leave, he took her arm and tugged her out of the room, brushing past Lord Royce and his aunt. "I do hope your cook has not burned the soup today, Aunt Lydia," was his only careless comment to her, tossed back over his shoulder.
A Loving Spirit Page 7