Lord Sutherfield’s laughter filled the air. “Miss Willis, you are a delight. I’m glad Miss James has an ally in you.”
“She is my very best friend,” Sophy said. “Aren’t you Cassandra?”
“Yes, dear,” the best friend murmured mournfully. In a few short moments the marquess had bewitched Sophy, and inexplicably Cassandra felt betrayed. She turned a bemused look on the footman who approached at that moment. “What is it, Farley?”
“The carriage has arrived, miss.”
“Thank you.” Then to Simon, “We shall be taking our leave of you, my lord. It has been nice to see you again.” She held out her hand to him in what she hoped was an impersonal gesture.
“It has.” He gave her a knowing grin as his large fist closed around her small one. “And Cassandra,” the marquess said as he winked at her, “I look forward to our next meeting. Miss Willis, it has been a pleasure.” He mounted his horse and rode from the park.
“Didn’t you say you weren’t interested in oglers?” Sophy burst forth moments later as they settled into the carriage.
“I’m not,” Cassandra answered cautiously.
“That’s the man from Mrs. Witherspoon’s party last spring, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“And he certainly ogled you that evening. I remember clearly.”
“You have a convenient memory, Sophy,” she muttered.
“Unfair of you, Cassandra, and you know it. He is very handsome and hard to forget. He gives me shivers—nice shivers, I might add.”
“That’s his calling card. Women toss themselves at him, and he’s developed quite an ego because of it.”
“Is that why you were cool to him?”
Cassandra moved irritably on the seat. “He’s too forward and I don’t think I should encourage him.”
That was a disingenuous statement for certain, as she had allowed that same forward gentleman to kiss her only moments past. And she had kissed him back.
After a short silence, Sophy ventured, “It seems strange that he would be friendly after all these weeks. He was very familiar just now. I don’t understand because you said you hardly spoke to him at Mrs. Witherspoon’s party.”
“He wasn’t that familiar, was he?”
“He used your given name.”
“Sophy,” Cassandra said in sudden exasperation, “when did you become so observant? All right, I admit it. Lord Sutherfield and I became acquainted while I stayed with my grandfather. The marquess was visiting in the neighborhood, and he and I attended some of the same functions.”
“You didn’t want to tell me?” Sophy sounded hurt.
“You know it’s not that,” she said soothingly. “We engaged in a light flirtation, that’s all, but it’s over.”
“I don’t think Lord Sutherfield considers it over.”
“Simon is a flirt. Wooing ladies is a sport to him. I’m no more special than any other female.”
“So he’s Simon, is he?”
Cassandra’s patience snapped. “Lord Sutherfield is a part of my past I choose to forget. I would appreciate it if you would allow the subject to drop.”
They completed the ride to the Willis residence without speaking.
Sophy descended from the carriage, turning around to her companion. “You’re angry with me.”
Cassandra shook her head. “I’m angry with myself. I’ve been very unpleasant company today. Please forgive me,” she said, reaching out the door of the vehicle and taking her friend’s hand.
Sophy’s face relaxed into a relieved smile. “There’s nothing to forgive. If I had a Lord Sutherfield complicating my life I’d be confused, also. I do think you ought to consider why his admiration upsets you, though.”
Oh blast! Cassandra thought as the carriage pulled away from the curb. Why had her friend chosen that moment to be shrewd? In her own way Sophy had said the very thing the marquess had said. If she didn’t care then it wouldn’t matter.
But she did care and it did matter.
*****
“Cassandra, love, beautiful as always. Anyone who thinks that color rose does not wear well on a redhead has not seen you in that dress.”
“Thank you, Papa. I’m rather pleased with it myself,” she said, entering the drawing room.
Cassandra was gratified by her father’s response because the dressmaker had been less than enthusiastic with the selection.
“It brings out the bloom in your cheeks,” Quintin continued. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, it’s been so long since I attended the opera. I’m looking forward to it.”
Moments later they climbed into their carriage. As Cassandra settled her skirts, her father coughed nervously, an apprehensive sound that immediately caught her attention.
“There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you, my dear.” He cleared his throat.
“Yes, Papa?”
“We are to have a companion this evening.”
“That’s nice. Who is it?”
“We’re on our way there now. I believe you will like her.”
Her? Cassandra’s stomach dropped like a lead ball. “Do I know this person?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. I’ve known her for years through my business. Her husband Sir Alfred Camden and I had dealings from time to time. My relationship with Lady Camden was strictly superficial until recently.”
She had to force her next question. “What is it now?”
“Our relationship? Still in the early stages but I have hopes.”
“And Sir Alfred?”
Her father turned in her direction, and she could see his eyes shining in the darkness.
“It’s a long story, Cassie. Sir Alfred killed himself last year over a financial reversal. He left Moretta a widow in straitened circumstances. I befriended her at first.” He hesitated briefly then finished, “Lately, things have become more serious.”
“I see.” It was an inadequate response but all she could manage.
“Have I upset you, dear?”
“You have the right to a life, Papa. I’m more surprised than upset.”
It was the thing to say even if she did not feel that way. Cassandra had been aware of a change in her father since her arrival a week before and had been waiting for a disclosure of some kind. No amount of preparation could have readied her for this, however. She’d come home to reclaim her father, and he had slipped through her grasp while she was gone. This was the final indignity.
His voice interrupted her thoughts.
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Cassie. I’ll not deny I’ve been a little unsure of how to approach you on the matter. I know you will like Moretta.”
Approaching the door to Camden House several minutes later, she decided to hate Sir Alfred’s widow. Not a rational decision but wounded emotions left her feeling no need to be rational. Therefore, her meeting with Moretta Camden was a complete disappointment.
“Quintin, she is even more lovely than you told me,” Lady Camden stated, greeting her guests. “Come in, Cassandra. I’m glad to meet you. Your father speaks of you so often I feel I already know you.”
Moretta Camden was tall and elegant with an aristocratic bearing. Though not beautiful, she exhibited a pleasant exterior with sable brown hair free of gray and sultry green eyes. Moretta smiled affectionately at Quintin.
Yes, Cassandra was disappointed. She had hoped Lady Camden was a shrew who wanted to plunder her father’s bank account. After all, why would a female who came from the upper class be interested in Quintin James, a cit, unless it was for financial gain? Yet, Cassandra didn’t sense duplicity in her.
Definitely disappointed, she thought.
“I’ve good news,” Moretta continued. “My sister Amanda and her husband Lord Inglebert are still in the country. Amanda said I could use her box at the opera. Won’t that be fun?”
“You’re on display from there, Moretta. Are you certain you wish to ‘announce’ our friendship in
that way?” Quintin asked gently.
Lady Camden turned an exasperated look on his daughter. “I’ve told your father repeatedly that I have no tolerance for anything so trivial, but he insists on worrying. I married a man who had position and wealth, and see where I am today? I’ve passed the half-century mark and I have little of life left to me. Let the gossipers beware, for I intend to enjoy every bit of the time remaining.” She sent her fond gaze to Cassandra’s father. “I hope, Quintin James, that time includes you.”
Disappointed.
Cassandra hid her bruised feelings beneath a layer of false merriment, joining in the festive occasion as though her heart were in it. It was not. Ninety minutes after learning of Lady Camden’s existence, she found herself seated in a comfortable chair in Lord Inglebert’s luxurious box at the Royal Italian Opera House.
The view from there opened up an entirely different perspective on the theater from the one she had always had from the pit. The boxes lining the upper portion of the opera house were like small stages, each displaying its own drama. Spyglasses were trained on other boxes rather than the performance, and she began to understand her father’s fear that he would be publicizing his budding romance by sitting there.
To her credit Lady Camden seemed perfectly at ease, not at all self-conscious. She laughed merrily, touching Quintin’s arm, whispering in his ear. If she was worried what people might think, she hid it admirably.
Cassandra felt a lonely figure—in attendance but not included. She was glad when the lights were lowered so she could relax the stiff, insincere smile on her face. Under ordinary circumstances this evening would have been exciting, but a heavy depression blunted her pleasure. She retreated into the darkness, wishing she could disappear altogether.
Intermission brought up the lights again, and Cassandra sent her listless gaze roaming to the boxes on the opposite side of the theater. She had the uncanny feeling that someone was watching her, had been watching her for some time. Her regard shifted uneasily then stopped abruptly, eyes focusing.
Simon!
The marquess lounged casually in his seat, right elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his hand. He was indeed staring at her and, even across the distance, Cassandra spied the slow smile that lit his features when it became clear that she recognized him.
Lord Sutherfield’s presence was an exciting revelation, but immediately her enthusiasm was dashed when she realized that he was not attending the opera alone. A female, beautiful with very black hair, sat next to him, languidly fanning herself. The marquess leaned over and spoke to his companion, and the woman stared directly at the occupants of the Inglebert box.
Cassandra looked away from the disturbing scene, desperate to bring chaotic emotions under control. She didn’t care—she absolutely refused to care, she told herself. It was enough that she must deal with the sadness caused by her father’s defection. She had no intention of allowing Simon to affect her as well.
Yes, that was what she told herself.
*****
CHAPTER 12
“Lydia, I think I’ll take a walk and stretch my legs.”
“This walk wouldn’t have anything to do with that lovely redhead across the way you’ve been eating with your eyes, would it, Simon?”
“Dear sister, you are too clever for your own good.”
“I should have known it would be a redhead.” She gave him a penetrating look. “Is it serious?”
The marquess smiled ruefully. “I’m hopeful. I’ve a bit of wooing to do if I am to pull it off, so wish me luck.”
Lydia nodded her head, dislodging a glossy black curl. “Mother will be thrilled,” she said, smoothing her hair with a delicate hand. “That is, of course, if the young lady is an eligible match.”
Simon ignored this last as he stepped through the draperies and into the passage. His eagerness over the last hour went beyond his enjoyment of seeing Cassandra. The man with her must be her father Quintin James. This was the perfect opportunity to meet him. Simon didn’t know the third individual in the James’ party, but the woman seemed vaguely familiar.
The marquess greeted the occasional acquaintance as he wended his way to the other side of the hall, but he did not stop to chat. He surprised himself with his single-mindedness, for normally he embraced life a day at a time. Since his decision to marry Cassandra, however, he had taken on a more disciplined approach to living.
On reflection maybe the change was not all that sudden. He’d not been himself for a while now, thus the time was probably ripe for a new chapter in his life. Instead of the usual depression these weighty thoughts brought him, Simon was filled with a fevered anticipation.
The marquess stopped outside a box and peeked through the draperies, making certain he had found the right one. He saw Cassandra but she was alone. He slipped into the small compartment.
“Miss James, it’s a pleasure to see you this evening.”
She shifted around in her seat to stare at him, though she did not seem surprised by his presence. The sparks that lit her eyes was militant.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“I wanted to pay my respects. If I’m not mistaken you are attending tonight’s performance with your father. I thought it would be a suitable time for me to meet him.”
“That’s not a good idea,” she said.
“Come, Cassandra, you know it’s part of the process.”
“What is part of the process?” She came to her feet, sending him a shriveling look.
He could not help himself—he grinned broadly. “I have to meet your father if I’m to pay you my addresses.”
“Do you think me a fool?”
The words were spoken harshly, and Simon was taken aback.
“No, but right now I’m thinking you’re ungracious.” Her rejection had an unexpected sting.
“I’m not obligated to accept your advances, my lord.”
Why was she angry? He could have sworn she was of a different mind when he kissed her in the park several days ago. Had something happened between then and now to upset her? He opened his mouth to ask her, when the drapes moved behind him and two people entered the box.
“Cassandra, my dear, whom have we here?” Quintin James asked.
Simon waited for the introductions to be made, though he was bothered by Cassandra’s hesitation. She stumbled through the obligatory words, giving the impression of one who is uncomfortable. Therefore, the marquess expected the look of consternation that glided over her father’s features. He was unprepared for the critical inspection that followed.
Simon could never remember anyone without rank openly observing him with such cool deliberation. He felt his temper flare in response to Mr. James’ bold appraisal. Unfair, he reminded himself. This was Cassandra’s father. He would be cautious with any man who showed an interest in his daughter, regardless of his position in society.
“How do you know Cassandra?” Mr. James questioned, shaking Simon’s hand.
“We met while she stayed in the country with Lord Whittingham.”
“I see. Have you met Lady Camden?” Mr. James’ voice, though still not warm, at least was cordial. He turned to his companion.
The lady stepped forward and took his hand, and all at once Simon remembered where he knew her from.
An ironic smile touched the woman’s lips. “Yes, that Lady Camden.”
The marquess did not bother to feign ignorance, for that would only complicate an already uncomfortable situation.
“My condolences, madam,” he offered.
“Thank you, Lord Sutherfield. You are most kind. I’m happy to make your acquaintance. You are probably unaware, but your mother and I have known each other for years.” Lady Camden paused then, eyeing him shrewdly. “Are you and Miss James good friends?”
Friends? That hardly described their relationship. Simon could not stop the sudden memory of a moonlit rose garden and the beautiful woman he had held in his arms. He felt Cassandra stiffene
d beside him, as if she too were remembering.
“Yes, friends,” he said simply.
“Then I have a favor to ask,” Lady Camden continued. “Quintin and I have a problem, and perhaps you can help us solve it.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Mr. James put his hand on Lady Camden’s arm, “Moretta, maybe we should…”
“Now, Quintin, doesn’t hurt to ask.” She turned her attention back to Simon. “Miss James needs a sponsor. She is quality and she should know her peers. Her father agrees.”
“And I agree,” the marquess said quickly, ignoring Cassandra’s appalled expression. “Though I don’t think it is quite proper for me to—”
“Of course not, dear boy,” she interrupted. “Actually, I wanted to do it myself, however, I’m not good ton with my husband having exited society in such a disgraceful manner. Then there is my relationship with Mr. James—well, you understand. My old friends are not exactly knocking down my door. I’m afraid my sponsorship would do more harm than good.”
Simon ventured a glance at Cassandra whose face had gone as white as wax. He wanted to comfort her, but he was of the opinion whatever Lady Camden hoped to arrange might be for the best.
“I see. How can I be of service, ma’am?” the marquess asked, still uncertain where the conversation was leading.
Lady Camden smiled brightly. “You are here with Lady Eastwick this evening?”
“As you see.” Simon indicated the box across the way with a tilt of his head.
“Do you think your sister might be willing to do the honors?”
“Your sister!” Cassandra squeaked, her hand flying to her mouth. She stared at the marquess through wide eyes.
Now he understood. Simon could hardly control the desire to howl with delight. His Cassandra was jealous. How marvelous!
“I think Lydia would be pleased,” he said aloud, hiding his glee. “She loves to entertain.”
“Wait a minute—this is going too fast,” Cassandra said in a flustered voice. “My grandfather will help—”
In the Garden of Seduction Page 19