In the Garden of Seduction

by Cynthia Wicklund

  How did she address that? Either way would make him feel awful. Truthfully, this trip was more than a sacrifice, but telling him that would not make him feel any better. She settled for answering the question he had asked.

  “You’re not selfish, dear, just a worried father.”

  “I am your father, am I not?”

  “Always and forever,” she said fiercely, gritting her teeth with the intensity of her feelings.

  He laid his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes as though her words had offered him some comfort. “I feel to blame for what has happened. I should have been able to protect you from this. Though I’m at a loss to know what I could have done.”

  Cassandra felt the old familiar catch in her throat. “I don’t blame you, Papa. You’ve been hurt by this just as I have.”

  “I’ve let your mother down.”

  She much suspected that sentiment was at the heart of his pain. “How can that be? I loved her dearly, but she did not leave you with an easy task.”

  “When she gave me the box,” he paused and cleared his throat, “she made me promise to protect you. It was not a difficult promise to make.” His nose had turned a suspicious pink, although she doubted it was from the brandy.

  “Had you heard of Lord Whittingham before that time?” she asked him.

  “No, but when I realized he existed I made a point of finding out as much as I could.” He grinned then. “I may not have the power of an earl, but I do have ways of discovering what I need to know. And I have a great deal more money than he does.” He seemed to take considerable satisfaction from the thought.

  “Were you aware he was searching for me?” That was a tricky question, and she knew it.

  He sobered but did not immediately answer her. “I’ll not lie to you, sweetheart,” he said at last. “I was informed of his search. But what would you have had me do? You were fourteen. Your mother had just died, at least the woman you thought of as your mother. I admit I had everything to lose. But I swear it was you I was protecting.”

  “Oh, Papa, I wasn’t being critical. At any rate, now lawfully I’m an adult. I mean, what can they make me do?”

  He gave her a level stare. “You are leaving in seven days for the Whittingham estate, are you not?”

  Cassandra felt a chill of misgiving. “I’m curious,” she said. “That’s not so hard to understand, is it?” But she avoided looking at him.

  “I know Lord Whittingham has a purpose for you,” he said in a hard voice. “I don’t understand what it is yet but, mark my words, he will try to force you to do his bidding.”

  “How can you be so certain?” She was becoming genuinely alarmed.

  “Cassandra, lass, I’ve had dealings with the aristocracy since I first went into trade. Their whole lives are devoted to the generation to come. Attention to the bloodlines is critical. The earl doesn’t think of you in terms of a lost granddaughter. You are a possession found which belongs to his family. He has aspirations—don’t doubt it.”

  “Then I’ll have to disappoint him because I’m not staying any longer than I have to.”

  “Child, I do not want you to go into this situation blinded by your ignorance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you wondered why he is willing not to pursue charges against me?” When she nodded, he continued. “He knows you love me. It is the one thing he has to keep you in check. He will be ruthless in wielding that power. His lordship does not expect you ever to come back here.”

  She felt a momentary shiver of fear. “Why?”

  “Aside from his sense of what is right?” He shrugged. “He wishes to punish me for having the gall to interfere with the interests of a peer of the realm. He is outraged and no explanation will appease him.”

  “How do you know this, Papa?”

  “Mr. Peters gave me a letter from him. Basically, Lord Whittingham has warned me off.”

  “Has he threatened you?” She gasped the question.

  Her father hesitated for so long she thought he did not intend to answer her. He sighed. “It’s not my intention to send you to your grandfather so hostile that you can’t communicate with him at all. Let us say, he indicated there will be repercussions if I meddle.”

  “If he does anything to hurt you, I swear I will do all I can to thwart him.” Her nostrils flared with indignation.

  “Ah, my darling girl, don’t you see?” He chuckled, clearly delighted by the turn in the conversation. “His power over you has a thorn in it, and don’t think he doesn’t know it. For the very hold he has on you is the same hold you have on him. You do nothing then he does nothing, but it also works the other way around. There’s a perverse form of justice at work here, and I’m damned glad of it.”

  She smiled back at him. “I rather like it, also.”

  He turned serious. “You just stand up for yourself, lass, do you hear? Don’t worry about me. If I didn’t believe you would be the one who would be hurt most, I’d go up against him no matter what the cost. I’m not afraid of him.”

  “Of course, you’re not!”

  That also explained why her father had not rashly jumped into the conflict. She had wondered at his restraint, but if he were worried about the effect on her he would be cautious.

  “You know,” he began slowly, “I realized I would lose you one day. A beautiful young woman, it’s a miracle you are not married already. But I expected you to bring my grandchildren to see me. And if I didn’t hate my son-in-law, I’d have welcomed him as well.”

  “Papa!” she cried on a watery sniff, torn between laughter and a need to weep. “Those things shall happen yet, you’ll see. We must not give up yet.”

  “No, we mustn’t do that,” he said softly.

  But there was no conviction in his words, and Cassandra feared the one thing her father must not give up he had already relinquished.

  He took her hand and squeezed it, closing his eyes as he did. Within moments he slept.

  Cassandra did not leave immediately, needing the comfort of his company, the reassuring knowledge that he loved her. His breathing was deep and regular now, yet she sensed his inner turmoil even in slumber. She leaned over and placed a light kiss on his brow as she rose to her feet.

  At the door Cassandra turned and looked back, seeking out the tortured soul who slept in the chair.

  A messenger had been sent to this house today with the intention of severing a bond, a bond strengthened by more than twenty years of love and devotion. Did Lord Whittingham believe he could wipe away those years and demand her loyalty simply because he said so?

  Cassandra squared her shoulders grimly. That wasn’t going to happen. Not now. Not ever.

  *****

  CHAPTER 3

  “Come, Simon, you’ll enjoy yourself. This is the biggest thing to happen to the countryside in years.”

  “If I had known beforehand, Harry, I could have stayed in London and been bored by parties far more exciting than this one. Country balls are notorious for being dull.” Simon leaned back in his chair and lifted his legs to the ottoman at his feet, ankles crossed.

  “It won’t be as bad as all that. I’m sorry you were found out, but once your visit was discovered Whittingham sent an invitation over immediately. You needn’t feel obliged to attend, though, if it really is something you’d rather not do. I can make your apologies.”

  “I suppose I can muddle through for one evening.” Simon drew in his breath and exhaled heavily as he brought the glass of brandy he nursed to his lips. He took a swig and swallowed.

  A week ago he had accepted an invitation from his good friend Harry Stiles to vacation at Harry’s estate in the country for the month of July. Seemed the thing to do, he’d thought at the time, since most of the ton had abandoned the city during the worst of the summer heat, anyway.

  And Simon was at loose ends. An odd restlessness plagued him lately, and he had felt if he left London maybe he might leave that unpleasant feeling
behind. Another party filled with empty smiles and insincere gestures seemed pointless.

  “I think you might find this ball more interesting than most,” Harry said.

  “How so?” In the interest of friendship, the marquess tried to keep the boredom out of his voice.

  “Seems Lord Whittingham has found a granddaughter who’s been missing for more than twenty-four years. This is to be her introduction to society. Bit long in the tooth for a debutante, but I’ve heard she’s a real beauty.”

  “Where has she been?”

  “Information is as scarce as hairs on a frog. No one knows much, and those who do aren’t saying. Lord Whittingham has outdone himself putting this thing together, though. It’s an event, you mark my words.”

  “He’s hoping to find her a husband, is that it?”

  Harry looked amused. “Not to worry, dear boy, there will be plenty of gentlemen who will be more than pleased to take on the earl’s granddaughter and the dowry that comes with her. But you may change your mind.”

  “What do you mean?” Simon lowered his brows at his host in suspicion.

  “I mean,” Harry said, his attitude turning sly, “she’s a redhead.”

  “Is there no one unaware of my predilections?” Simon asked in disgust.

  Harry’s wide grin transformed his homely features. “We all have them, my friend. Just so happens the guest of honor satisfies one of yours. Now come on, admit it. It does add a little anticipation to the evening, does it not?”

  The marquess could not help himself. A loud guffaw escaped him. “Put that way, Harry, I believe it does.”

  *****

  Cassandra liked parties—well, loved parties would be more accurate. Only exhaustion or illness could keep her from enjoying one of those festive occasions. Therefore, she couldn’t understand her total lack of enthusiasm for the coming evening’s entertainment.

  Grandfather had declared tonight to be her introduction to local society. He had not bothered to ask if she wanted this introduction. Instead, he’d made the arrangements without consulting her, and Cassandra burned with resentment.

  She wasn’t ready for this moment, and she had tried more than once to make him understand. However, it seemed she might as well try to get her point across to the marble statue gracing the entry hall in this lovely old mansion. Cassandra took a turn around her bedchamber then plopped down on a small overstuffed chair by the fireplace, surveying her surroundings.

  She hated it here.

  Not that this place lacked elegance, she thought. Decorated with a sense of excellent taste, her room along with the rest of the house, boasted a well-bred refinement that seemed to be the exclusive territory of old, confident money. Ostentation was not a necessity, but rather something to be avoided. If her grandfather had not been single-mindedly rearranging her entire life, she might have found some pleasure in her visit.

  Her arrival two weeks before had been a horrifying experience. Even now she hated to admit just how intimidated she had felt. Nothing could have prepared her for the scene that greeted her when the carriage she shared with Mr. Peters pulled onto the drive of her grandfather’s imposing country estate.

  All the employees in the house, from the lowest scullery maid to the exalted steward, stood on the driveway, ramrod straight, pressed and groomed, like a regiment of disciplined soldiers. An army of servants, she had thought as she descended the coach. Panicked, she had wanted to lift her skirts, dash across the yard and disappear into the countryside.

  Mr. Peters stayed beside her, and she clung to him, nervous fingers digging into his arm until she had feared hurting him. “Steady now,” he had whispered in her ear. And she was pathetically grateful for his kindness even as she was embarrassed by her show of weakness.

  Her grandfather stood at the front of the line, a striking figure with a shock of white hair and blue eyes so light, they were nearly transparent. He came toward her, the intensity of his stare triumphant.

  “My dear, my dear! How long I have waited.” He spoke in a deep emotional voice as he firmly clasped her hand, his searching gaze never leaving her face.

  Cassandra didn’t doubt the depth of his feelings—feelings she suspected were purely selfish—but she found herself unprepared to deal with them. Until that moment she could almost pretend none of this existed, however, there was no denying this place and there certainly was no denying this man.

  If at that point she had been allowed some privacy to gather her thoughts, to calm down, her first day might have been less nerve-wracking. Unfortunately, Lord Whittingham had planned a “small” dinner party that night to welcome his granddaughter home. Cassandra had found herself thrust into the middle of a daunting scene where she was the main player.

  The next two weeks had been just as difficult. Lord Whittingham was an intractable man. He used no restraint when he implemented his plans, nor did he bother to ask anyone’s opinion. Tonight there would be a ball and that, as they say, was that.

  A knock at the door brought Cassandra back to the present, and she sighed before answering. It must be time. The stiff-backed maid who entered confirmed Cassandra’s assumption.

  “I’m here to help you dress, miss,” the woman intoned, her manner cool and remote. Cassandra wasn’t the only one having a hard time accepting this situation, if the maid’s attitude were any indication.

  “Thank you, Annie,” she responded, refusing to let her irritation show. Inundate them with good will, that was her approach. They would either come around or they would not. For the moment she didn’t much care.

  *****

  The dancing came to a halt, the last notes of the stringed orchestra dying away into the expectant atmosphere of the ballroom. The shuffle of shod feet and the swishing of evening clothes accompanied the inquisitive guests as the company moved en masse toward the entry of the Whittingham ancestral home. A hush fell over the crowd.

  Simon leaned over and spoke to his companion in an undertone, “Excuse me, Harry, but why have we all gathered at the stairs?”

  “I think we’re to be treated to an ‘entrance,’ Simon,” Harry said, and he nodded toward the landing at the top of the curved staircase.

  “The granddaughter?”

  Harry nodded again. “Lord Whittingham always did have a flair for the dramatic.” He opened his mouth as if to continue, but his eyes widened and his words died on a gasp. “As I live and breath,” he managed at last, “it’s an angel!”

  The marquess chuckled as he watched his friend. Harry could always be counted on to overreact, especially when the subject was a comely female.

  That was the last coherent thought Simon had for several long moments as he turned his head and permitted his curious gaze to drift upward.

  *****

  How had her grandfather managed to gather so many people at a country ball? Cassandra stared with misgiving at the sea of faces lifted in her direction, and the anxiety she had tried to keep at bay rolled over her, destroying the defenses she had carefully nurtured all day.

  She knew she must look frightened as she searched for a familiar face in the crowded entry. Cassandra hated giving the impression she was overawed by the noble company waiting to meet her as though she might not be good enough for them. She suspected these people would despise her insecurity. With that in mind, she drew her shoulders back, raised her chin and summoned a fairly credible smile before descending the stairs.

  Grandfather waited at the foot of the staircase. As she reached the last step, he stretched his hand out in welcome. Beaming at her, the earl took her chilly fingers and placed them on his forearm. He turned to the company.

  “This is my granddaughter, Cassandra Lamberton,” he announced, introducing her to the gathering. The pride in his voice was unmistakable. “We are newly met, but I feel as though I have known her all her life. I am sure you will feel the same. Please, make her feel welcome.”

  Cassandra sent an assessing glance to her grandfather because he had spoken with such
feeling. Did he mean what he said? she wondered. She shook her head as if shaking the thought loose. The earl was an actor overplaying to an avid audience. She did not like or trust him. She must never forget that. He insisted on calling her a Lamberton no matter how many times she objected. Cassandra decided she would make it known to anyone who asked that she preferred the surname James.

  She spent the next hour meeting an endless array of people whom she couldn’t remember. The faces had all become a blur. She continued to nod and smile mindlessly.

  Cassandra danced with many of the young gentlemen, all of them eager to capture her attention, though she suspected she was more a curiosity than anything else. They flattered her outrageously, and Cassandra acknowledged that she did look her best in the frothy, high-waisted gown of sea-green silk she wore.

  But she would be foolish indeed to believe the interest these men showed came from more than her grandfather’s title and the size of his bank balance. She had already faced that problem, for she’d had those same doubts as the daughter of Quintin James. It seemed men had this in common regardless of their station in life.

  She greeted the announcement of supper with profound relief, and for a few wonderful moments she found herself alone.

  Unfortunately, the calm did not last.

  “Cassandra, I must say, that particular shade of green looks well on you. If one must be a redhead at least there is that consolation.”

  Oh, no, Penelope—Cassandra could have gone all night without having to speak to her. Grandfather had imported that “treasure” from his deceased wife’s branch of the family—a second cousin’s daughter or some such—because he had the misguided belief that Penelope would be pleasant company for his granddaughter. That certainly had not been the case.

  Cassandra gathered her patience and turned a pleasant expression on her cousin. “And you, Penelope, look especially well tonight also. If green is my color, pink surely is yours.”