by C. N. Bird
“Lady Cassandra...”
“Please, just call me Cassy. No one else can hear.”
He nodded. “Cassy, as you know, I join His Majesty’s navy next week. My father bought me a very good commission and we set sail for Portugal in a fortnight. I will, of course, write to my parents and brother, and one or two of the chaps from school, but I would consider it a great honour if you would allow me to correspond with you also through letters. Over the past week you have become a very dear friend to me and I should very much like to hear your news and stories while I am serving His Majesty. Would you allow me to write to you?”
Cassandra felt her breath catch. The Earl of Sefdom wanted to write to her. How delightful. Wait until her friend Suzanne heard about this. She would be green with envy. Of course, Suzanne would not believe just how handsome Ben was. She would assume him ugly and pock-marked with a large hooked nose, or some other unfortunate feature. But she would have his letters and Suzanne would see how intelligent and sweet he was.
“Yes. I will allow you to send letters. I believe Papa could have no objection. He has a lot of respect for men who join the navy or the army.”
“In that case, yours will be the first letter I send when I arrive in Portugal.”
“I look forward to it.” Her voice sounded breathy and high-pitched. Could a sixteen year old lady really be in love with the twenty year old son of a duke? Of course she could. She was sure of it.
Chapter One
Five Years Later
Cassandra pulled the stack of letters out of the drawer and checked they were still undamaged. She had no idea why she had brought them to London. Ben had been dead for eighteen months at least. He had not been at her come-out ball and she had never had the chance to dance with him. It seemed silly to feel something for him when they had last met nearly five years before. She was one and twenty now and she really should be looking in earnest for a husband.
She undid the bow of the ribbon that held the letters together and read the first.
My dearest Cassy,
I hope you do not mind me calling you ‘dearest.’ Calling you Lady Cassandra seems rather formal for friends and we are friends, are we not? We arrived at Portugal yesterday, just as I was gaining my sea legs.
Cassandra stopped reading. She could not see the words and she would not allow his first letter to be ruined with her tears as his last one had. Besides, her mother would be waiting. They were going to Lady Bovington-Smythe’s at home. Apparently the woman’s younger son had been interviewed by the Bow Street Runners and everyone was agog to hear the latest gossip. She caught up the ribbons of her bonnet and hurried from the room.
***
Cassy handed her pelisse and parasol to the butler while her mother waited. Lady Bovington-Smythe had a huge entrance hall in her mansion on Grosvenor Square. The expansive black and white tiled floor led to a wide sweeping staircase taking them up to the first floor and the doors to the drawing room. A footman stood either side, ready to introduce and show them inside.
“Lady Craigbeck and Lady Cassandra Strong,” said her mother to the young man guarding the door to the drawing room. He nodded politely. As he turned, a chill shuddered down Cassy’s spine.
He looked… but it could not possibly be. She scowled at the handsome footman, taking in his dark eyes and strong cheekbones. However, he was the spitting image of the Earl of Sefdom—Ben. As he introduced them she looked him up and down. He seemed to be a little broader in the shoulders and his dark curly hair appeared longer. Though it was hard to tell under his footman’s wig.
But surely he could not be Ben, could he? He had been lost at sea, presumed drowned. She shook her head. It was a fanciful notion, likely brought on by having found his letters in her drawer earlier.
The footman turned and she took a longer look. The likeness was incredible.
Her mother’s gaze rested on him longer than would normally be appropriate for a servant, then she shook her head. Her mother had seen it too. The footman frowned slightly, as if trying to place her. Cassy mumbled a thank you, which was not something one normally did with footmen announcing one at an at home.
“He looks like The Earl of Sefdom, does he not?” whispered Cassy to her mother. Lady Craigbeck silenced her with one look and approached Lady Bovington-Smythe.
“My dear Lady Bovington-Smythe, how are you? Beautiful weather for the time of year,” her mother said.
Cassy could not stop herself from looking back at the now closed door. How could a man look so much like someone else? It was rather disconcerting to say the least. Cassy took her turn of greeting the hostess before walking over to a chaise near the window where Agnes, Lady Bovington-Smyth’s daughter, sat.
“Good afternoon, Agnes. The weather is beautiful for the time of year, is it not?”
Agnes agreed wholeheartedly then launched into a monologue about the ball she had attended the previous evening. The pretty dresses, the handsome gentlemen, who had danced with whom and even a long description of the chocolate éclairs which had been served.
Cassy played with a pearl sewn into the bodice of her dress while she waited as patiently as she was able until Agnes stopped to draw breath before asking about the footman.
“Do you know anything about the footman who was at the drawing room door when I entered?”
“The footman? My dear Cassy, I take nothing to do with hiring of the servants. That is Mama’s job, though she really only hires the senior staff. McGovern, our Butler hires the scullery maids and footmen.”
“I appreciate that. But I noticed that he looks like someone I knew in the past. I had wondered if you had recognised him.”
“I most definitely have not noticed the similarity between a footman and any gentleman whom you would have had cause to meet, Cassy. And if I were you, I would not admit to knowing such a person either. You cannot afford to be mentioned in the same breath as a mere footman. Your reputation would be ruined. You are already one and twenty. You cannot afford a scandal.”
“He was the son of a duke, Agnes, and died in the navy,” Cassy persisted, unperturbed by her friend’s dire warnings. “We wrote letters for three and a half years until he was lost at sea. His ship sank, but his body was never recovered. And your footman looks very much like Lord Sefdom.”
“Lord Sefdom, heir to the Dukedom of Apringdon?”
“Yes, the very man. And your footman looks exactly like him.”
“But, Cassy, you have not seen him in years. Even in the time you wrote to him, he would have changed. He was but a boy when he joined the Navy, but now he would be a man, had he lived.”
“I know that, but I took that into consideration,” Cassy replied petulantly. “I must rephrase. Your footman looks like an older version of Lord Sefdom.”
“I would caution you against looking further into the matter. People may question whether you should be in Bedlam, especially since it is known that you used to write letters to him. They may think you have not allowed yourself to move on.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“Mayhap, but the Ton tend not to distinguish between ridiculous gossip and real gossip.”
“But he could be the earl and we should do something about it. There are all manner of things at stake. The title for instance. The Duke of Aprigdon has no other son because the new Earl of Sefdom, Benedict’s brother, died of a fever last year. I believe the dukedom may revert to the crown when the current duke dies. I heard my father talking about it when Ben was first feared dead. That has an impact on the family, the tenants of the land, the people who live in the area.”
“Yes it would be something if our footman did turn out to be an earl,” mused Agnes. “I could write about him in my new novel.”
Cassy rolled her eyes. Agnes fancied herself as a writer, much to the chagrin of her mother. She had a penchant for reading dreadful gothic romance novels and regularly talked of incorporating the latest gossip into her own stories.
“I believe
you should talk to your mama and see if she can discover whether the footman is indeed the Earl of Sefdom. I will leave it in your care for now. But you must be quick.
Agnes nodded her head in acquiescence as Cassy looked up to see her mother. It was only a slight gesture of her chin but she knew Lady Craigbeck was ready to leave.
“I must take my leave but I wondered if you would like to go to the library tomorrow afternoon and mayhap we could go to Gunther’s for an ice.”
“What a splendid idea,” enthused Agnes. And so it was set. They would meet tomorrow and with luck, Agnes would have found out more about the footman.
She was somewhat disappointed to note that it was a different footman who opened the drawing room door to allow her to leave a few moments later.
***
“Apparently your own mama had asked about the earl and the footman. My mama was terribly vexed by the whole thing. She had to retire to her room.”
“But is it he?” Cassy asked.
“I do not know. I was not allowed to speak with him and Mama was unwell.”
“You were not allowed to speak with him?”
“Well no. One does not converse with servants. One merely gives them orders.”
“But he may not be a servant. He may be an earl.”
“If he is still alive,” interjected Agnes. Cassy waved her friend’s comment away with a flick of her gloved hand. Clearly she was going to get nowhere waiting on Lady Bovington-Smythe and her daughter to find the truth. She would have to do it herself. But how? She took a deep breath and walked on as a plan began to form in her head.
Chapter Two
“I am not sure this is a wise thing to do, Lady Cassy.”
Cassy turned around, looked at her maid, Jane, and scowled. If the truth be told, she was not sure she was doing the right thing. Her mother had suggested leaving it to Lady Bovington-Smythe to sort out—which would be all very well had the aforementioned countess not taken to her bed. She shook her head impatiently.
“Something has to be done.”
“But a duke, my lady?”
“A duke is just a person, Jane. He is no better than… oh you know what I mean. He is…but he is not” She shook her head again. Her thoughts were getting all jumbled.
I cannot wait until I gaze into your eyes and declare my love for you…” The words seemed to churn in her mind. That had been his last letter but one. She could almost hear his voice. Almost, but not quite.
She bit her lip and patted the back of her dark brown hair below her bonnet as she climbed the steps of Apringdon House on Grosvenor Square. The building was huge for a town house. How she had longed, in her first season, for Ben to come home and for his parents to host a ball in his honour. To walk up the carpeted stairs and into the ballroom. To dance with her amour.
Taking a deep breath, Cassy lifted the heavy brass knocker and allowed it to fall against the metal plate. The austere black paint of the door seemed to close around her. But when she heard footsteps behind the door, she smoothed her light green pelisse and straightened her straw bonnet. Had Jane not been stood one step behind her, she would have fled in that moment.
A haughty looking butler answered the door.
“Yeees,” he drawled.
“I am Lady Cassandra Strong and I wish to speak with His Grace.” She was surprised how strong and confident she sounded, considering her legs seemed to have turned to water.
“Do you have a card?”
“I am afraid I do not but it is a matter of great importance.” The butler looked dubious but dutifully stepped aside to let the young lady and her maid enter the hallway.
“This way, please.” He led them up the stairs to a large drawing room, decorated in colours and patterns which made Cassy think of pictures she had seen of the Far East. She sat on a chaise and awaited the return of the butler or the entrance of his grace. Jane stood dutifully behind the chaise, almost blending into the scenery.
Hearing footsteps outside the door, she stood.
“Should have been at my club by now.” The mutter preceded the portly gentleman in a navy blue coat, light blue waistcoat, buff breeches and riding boots. His hair was thinner and greyer than Cassy remembered and there was a gaunt look about him.
She bowed low, before looking up into eyes that could have been Ben’s. It had never occurred to her just how much he had looked like his father when they had met that summer.
“Lady Cassandra! You are Craigbeck’s daughter are you not?”
“Yes, my lord. I am.”
“What the devil are you doing here—without a chaperone?”
“I have my maid,” she said quickly, nodding in the direction of Jane. The maid dutifully made a low bow.
“Hmph! Well what do you want?” He gestured for her to resume her seat and once she did, he sat in a large leather armchair near the fireplace.
“I… well…” She had no idea how to tell him his son may be still alive. “I wanted to talk about the late Earl of Sefdom.”
“The Earl of Sefdom?” The man looked confused.
“Your son. Your elder son—Ben.”
The duke just scowled.
“The thing is, I visited Lady Bovington-Smythe a few days ago and she has this footman who looked remarkably like Ben. I know they never found his body and I wondered if it was possible that he… that he…” She waved her hand in desperation as she searched for words.
The duke’s scowl deepened and he stood up to stand at the fireplace. Cassy did not believe she could go on since now, when speaking the words aloud, the idea really did seem preposterous.
“You think that my son may be alive and working as a footman at Lady Bovington –Smythe’s. Tell me, Lady Cassandra, were you not the young lady with whom my son corresponded throughout his time in the navy?”
“I was, Your Grace.”
“And were you in love with him?”
“I am uncertain. We had not seen each other since I was but a young lady of sixteen, two years before my come out. I believed that we had a very strong bond and perhaps…” Her voice trailed off. It had always been a fanciful notion. Had Ben survived he could have had his pick of young ladies in the Ton.
“I suspect this is nothing more than a young lady’s fanciful imaginings, you know. However, I will look into the matter. I would ask you not to mention this to anyone. I would hate to raise the hopes of my duchess. She has found it very difficult since Ben was reported missing. And considering my younger son has since passed away, well, I am sure you can imagine...”
Cassy nodded. “I will not say anything. Though my mother, Lady Agnes Bovington-Smythe and Lady Bovinton-Smythe all know about my suspicions.”
“No matter. My wife is in the country. She will probably not hear much gossip. I just prefer to minimise the risk of her hearing. I will bid you good day now.”
That was her cue to leave. She stood quickly before bowing low. “I do hope I have not raised your hopes, Your Grace, and if I am wrong, I apologise from the bottom of my heart.”
He waved his hand dismissively and smiled kindly at her. “It is a nice feeling to have some hope, even if that hope is but a tiny sliver.”
“I do hope it is him, for Her Grace’s sake as much as anyone else’s.”
“I do too. Now if you let me get on, I can find out if this young man really is my son.”
“Of course, Your Grace, and my apologies for intruding.”
“Not at all. I do hope you will come to see Ben, if it is him, once he is settled back home.”
“I will. I promise.”
***
Three days later, Cassy was still waiting for a missive from His Grace, but none had arrived. It seemed that she had been wrong about the footman. She and her maid, Jane were strolling through Hyde Park, a couple of hours too early for the fashionable hour, when they heard a bit of a rumpus.
Both women looked around anxiously until Cassy gasped as her gaze alighted on a man—naked from the waist up and punching
another man in a similar state of undress. The difference was that the first man was obviously a gentleman. That much was obvious from the cut of his breeches and his shiny new top boots. She should walk on and pretend they had seen nothing but as her gaze raked up the gentleman’s body and to his face she recognised him. Ben—or maybe just the footman.
The second man lay on the grass now, blood oozing from his nose, a number of bruises already beginning to form on his face and torso. He held onto his stomach and rolled around on the ground.
“Next time a maid tells you no, make sure you understand that she means for you to keep your hands to yourself.”
“Aye, guv’nor,” growled the man. A young girl in a maid’s dress came rushing forward holding out a shirt, waistcoat and coat and the gentleman thanked her before pulling the shirt over his head.
“Thank you, my lord,” gushed the girl. “I thought I was done for.”
“He will not bother you again. Of that I am positive.”
“I do appreciate a gentleman such as yourself standing up for a mere maid, Lord…” The unasked question hung in the air and for a moment the gentleman looked unsure. Then he dipped his head slightly.
“The Earl of Sefdom, at your service.”
“Oh my, an earl. Thank you ever so much, my lord.”
“It is no bother. Now I imagine you have duties to which you must attend. I would not like to be responsible for you being late.” He took his coat from her and shrugged it on. Cassy’s vision seemed to have blurred and a spike of pain pierced through her head. Ben was alive. She did not think. Propriety had no place in her life at that moment. She just had to ascertain if it really was him. Besides, they had been introduced years ago.
“Lord Sefdom,” she cried as she hurried over. He lifted his head and looked at her. She dropped her skirts and continued at a more genteel pace now she knew he would not stride away immediately. But still she was out of breath when she arrived in front of him.