Bride of the Solway

by Joanna Maitland

  'You are still close friends?'

  'Yes, sir. Very close. Even though my friend is now much risen in the world. He served with me as plain Captain Rosevale, but now he is the Earl of Penrose.' Ross felt he was starting to regain his composure. It was easier to talk about Max. And the touch of Cassie's hand on his was healing, still. She was an amazing woman, too.

  'Indeed? I have heard of that affair. It was the talk of London a few months ago. Probably still is.' Sir Angus sipped his brandy appreciatively. 'Am I right in thinking that the new Earl of Penrose has snared the fam­ily wealth as well? The rumours of that have reached us even here.'

  'The earldom is not well endowed. That is true, sir. But the earl is not marrying his cousin for her money, I can assure you of that. Theirs is a love match.' He glanced quickly at Cassie. He could not help it.

  Sir Angus grunted. 'New-fangled notions. Don't hold with 'em, m'self. In my day, we married where we were bid.'

  That was too much for Cassie's self-control, it seemed. 'Godfather,' she burst out, 'I did not tell you earlier, but James's latest idea is to marry me to Colonel Anstruther, who must be old enough to be my grandfa­ther. You wouldn't approve of that, would you?'

  'Anstruther? But, surely he already has a—' Sir Angus cleared his throat loudly. 'Are you sure, Cassie? Colonel Anstruther is no tradesman. No. Most definitely a gentleman, not at all the kind of man to stoop to James's notion of a bride-price. Still.. .it would be a good match for you, no doubt of that. Anstruther is extremely wealthy. And he has no children of his own. So—' He coloured a little. 'But it is not to be thought of. Not now. Wicked—and ill bred—to suggest such a thing. Once the colonel becomes a widower, perhaps. And once there has been a decent interval of mourning.'

  Ross cursed silently. Sir Angus was no longer reacting as Cassie had hoped. It was her own fault, of course, for mentioning the colonel at all. She should have allowed Sir Angus to continue to believe that James was about to sell her to a shopkeeper.

  Ross leaned forward, pressing his warmth against Cassie as he did so, trying to provide reassurance. She had played her part so convincingly. Until now. Ross swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on Cassie. He would have to distract Sir Angus. Somehow. But how? It was not an easy thing to divert an old man from the prospect of a match as rich as Croesus for his goddaughter. Especially when the alternative had just been shown to have a very unsavoury history.

  Ross's gut churned again at the thought of what he had just learned. A traitor's son. And he had dared to aspire to Cassie's hand? Yet what else could he do? He had taken her honour. He had to restore it...by giving her the protection of his name. Graham. That was his name. And he would keep it so. it was an honourable name, belonging to an officer and a gentleman. A name with no taint.

  'Sir,' he began quietly, 'what you have told me about my family puts most of my questions to rest. It is truly a sad history—what a grasping family they must be—but, at least, I now know who I am and where I came from. Thanks to you, I have learned that I have no expectations beyond what I had when I came to Scotland. And that I am the son of a sometime tradesman, who was a traitor, to boot.' He placed his glass on the mahogany side table with great deliberation. Then, rising to his feet, he said proudly, 'Nevertheless, I am not without friends, or influence. I am a gentleman; I hold the king's commission.'

  Sir Angus looked a little puzzled at his guest's behaviour, but he nodded his agreement. To a man of his upbringing, an officer was most certainly a gentleman, whatever his family history.

  Ross cleared his throat, not daring to look at Cassie. 'I can assure you, sir, that I am comfortable enough to support a wife. With your permis­sion, I should like to pay my addresses to your goddaughter.'

  Cassie gasped.

  Sir Angus ignored her. He rose to his feet, glass in hand. 'Captain Graham, this is most irregular. One does not make such a request when the lady herself is present. And you should address yourself to James Elliott, not to me. Since Cassie's father is dead, James stands in his place.'

  'I could not make such a request to a man who tried to have me hanged.' 'What?'

  Ross quickly explained that he had rescued Miss Elliott when her horse had bolted in a thunderstorm. For his pains, he had been accused of abduction and thrown into gaol.

  'But that is even more outrageous!' cried Sir Angus. The brandy was shaking in his glass. 'James Elliott is certainly not everything a gentle­man should be, but to do such a thing to an officer...! I cannot believe it.'

  'It is true, Godfather.' Cassie spoke quietly, stepping forward to put a hand on the old man's arm.

  He looked down at her for a long moment. Then he frowned in puz­zlement. 'But if the captain... What were you doing, Cassie, riding alone in a thunderstorm?'

  'I... Godfather, I was coming to you. I had no choice. James was threatening to send me to the Bedlam. That very day.'

  'What? No, no, that makes no sense at all. If he thought he could cover his debts by marrying you off, he would never have thought of such a thing. No one—not even the basest shopman—would marry a woman out of the Bedlam. James must have been in his cups when he made such a threat. Or driven to it by anger. Which was it, Cassie?'

  The blood drained from Cassie's face. 'He was furious with me,' she whispered, staring at the floor. 'He said I was unchaste.'

  Ross's sharp intake of breath was very loud in the sudden silence. It hissed between his teeth, for his jaws were clamped tightly together. There was no other sound for a long time.

  'And was he right?' Sir Angus asked. His voice was quiet but very firm.

  The blood rushed back to Cassie's face till her cheeks were flaming. Ross held his breath, waiting.

  'Look at me, Cassie,'Sir Angus said.

  She raised her eyes to his. 'Sir, he accused me falsely. He found me with a love poem, sent by a boy of fifteen.' 'Who was he?'

  Cassie shook her head. 'I cannot tell you his name, Godfather. He is only a child, after all, and does not deserve the punishment that James intended for him.'

  'You would defend him?'

  'I refused to give James his name. He will not be thrashed by my doing.'

  By Jove, what a woman she was! His woman! With difficulty, Ross forced himself to stand motionless, and mute. He wanted to cheer, to kiss her until she was mindless, to— But now was not the time.

  'Ah.' Sir Angus stroked his chin. 'Yes, I see. He is a gentleman's son?'

  'Yes.'

  'And for this, James Elliott would confine you to the Bedlam?'

  'He said he would. He said he would marry me to a tinker, if he could find one rich enough. He said that if my injured reputation got about, he would confine me for the rest of my life. As my mother was.' Cassie felt she was choking as she spoke those last few words.

  Sir Angus reached out a hand and patted her shoulder. She felt herself relaxing a little. She had succeeded in arousing his sympathy again, at last. It was only a pity that she had had to embroider the truth in order to convince him.

  Sir Angus looked past Cassie to Ross, who was still standing mo­tionless, his jaw set grimly, as he seemed to have done throughout Cassie's recital. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. 'And you, sir, wish to pay your addresses to my goddaughter, even having heard all this? Even having learned, at first hand, what a flighty, head­strong child she is?'

  Ross did not hesitate. 'I do, sir.'

  'Even knowing about her mother?'

  Cassie held her breath. Sir Angus was going to tell Ross the awful truth. Would he reject her once he knew?

  'Sir Angus, I know only what is common knowledge and what was said here, just now—that Mrs Elliott was taken to the lunatic asylum and died there.'

  'You are determined to marry Cassie and you do not know?'

  Ross straightened his shoulders. 'I am determined to marry Cassie, sir. For better, for worse.'

  Sir Angus almost recoiled from the force of Ross's words. 'Of course, of course,' he blustered. 'In any cas
e, there is nothing to fear. Cassie's mother was no lunatic'

  'Then, why—?'

  'She... Forgive me, my dear, if this gives you pain, but the captain has the right to know. Cassie's mother, sir, was cruelly used by her husband. To spare Cassie's feelings, I will say no more than that. Eventually, she attempted to escape from her husband, in company with another man.'

  'Oh, no!' Cassie gasped. She had never believed it, and yet it must be so. Her godfather would not lie about such a thing.

  Sir Angus threw her a compassionate glance before continuing. 'Cassie's father caught her and had her taken to the asylum for a wanton. No one could do anything to save her. In the end, she died there.'

  'I see,' Ross muttered, stony-faced.

  'As to your desire to offer for Cassie,' Sir Angus continued, obviously more at ease now the distasteful history had been related, 'I fancy, from what she has said, that you are not the husband that James Elliott would have sought for her.'

  'No, sir, I am not. I am neither wealthy enough nor weak enough to suit Elliott's purposes. If he looks to touch me for money, he will be sadly disappointed.'

  'Hmm.' Sir Angus looked troubled. He sat down once more and began to swirl the brandy in his glass, staring thoughtfully down at it. Ross and Cassie resumed their places on the sofa, both staring straight ahead. Si­lence reigned for what seemed a very long time. At last, Sir Angus raised his head. 'Remind me, Cassie. How old are you?'

  'I shall be twenty-three next birthday, Godfather.'

  'Yes. I thought it was so. You must forgive an old man's poor memory. But, if you are of full age, your brother has no rights over you. I do not understand how he intended to compel you.'

  Cassie heard herself laugh. It was a harsh, mirthless sound. 'Easily, Godfather. He kept me a prisoner. He allowed me no access to money. He ensured I had no chance to make friends who might support my inter­ests. And he would have been happy to start rumours about my chastity, if it had served his purpose. He made it perfectly clear that, if I resisted his marriage plans for me, I should be committed to the Bedlam as a wan­ton. I believed him. That was why I was coming across the Solway to you. I could think of no one else who would take my part. You will not send me back to him, will you, Godfather?' She could not conceal the note of pleading in her voice. Or was it fear?

  'You shall certainly remain with me for the present, my dear. Your brother cannot take you from here by force. I dare say he would not try. He must know by now that you are no longer in Scotland. And he has precious few to do his bidding on this side of the Solway.'

  'Thank you, Godfather,' Cassie breathed, feeling the tension draining out of her body at last. 'Thank you.'

  The old man smiled. 'And since you are of full age, I think it best if you decide for yourself how to respond to Captain Graham's addresses. Let me say only this: you do not have to marry Captain Graham—or any­one else—in order to secure your safety. I will be happy to give you a home with me. And to provide for you after my death, too. You do not need to return to Langrigg. Ever.'

  'Oh, Godfather!' Cassie threw her arms round the old man's neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek. 'Thank you, sir. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!'

  Sir Angus unwound her arms and put her from him. He was blushing a little. 'No need for thanks, my dear. No need at all,' he said gruffly. 'An old bachelor like me enjoys having a young thing about the place. You will make me feel alive again. And where else would I leave my money?'

  Cassie could not find words to thank him properly. She felt as if the thunder clouds had lifted and both body and soul were being warmed by the brightness of the sun.

  Behind her, Ross cleared his throat. He looked very stern. 'Your offer is most generous, sir. But might not James Elliott continue with his charges of impropriety, if Miss Elliott remains here unchaperoned? Might he blacken her name just for revenge? Between us, we will have removed his last hope of paying off his debts.'

  'I am an old man, sir,' Sir Angus said stiffly. 'And I am Miss Elliott's godfather, besides. There is no impropriety in her remaining here.'

  Ross was silent. The point had been made, and the risk was clear to them all, in spite of Sir Angus's hasty denials. Cassie could not remain in any man's house unchaperoned. She must not accept his offer. She must not!

  The silence continued, awkwardly. Ross saw that Cassie's heightened colour persisted. Was she thinking about the possible hurt to her reputa­tion if she stayed with Sir Angus? He doubted it. It was not her way. If she was considering Sir Angus's offer, it would be as a way of escaping her brother, of being free. Did she want to be free of Ross, too? Of the traitor's son? He must find a moment to be alone with her—and soon—to find out the truth of that. He had to know. For his part, he would assure her that his intentions were unchanged, that he wanted, above all things, to make her his wife. He could only pray that she loved him enough—still—to accept him. She could never be safe with Sir Angus. Marriage—marriage to Ross—was her only sure refuge.

  The door opened to admit Sir Angus's butler. He seemed flustered. Looking around at the assembled company, he said, 'Excuse me, Sir Angus. Would it be possible for me to have a private word with you? Some urgent news has just arrived. I think you should hear it as soon as may be.' The man was almost hopping from foot to foot in his impatience.

  'Private business...?' Sir Angus's tone, at first unconvinced, soon changed, probably as a result of the very serious look on the manservant's face. Ah, yes, I see. My dear, would you...?'

  'Perhaps Captain Graham and I should take a turn in the garden, Godfather?' Cassie said, rather too brightly.

  Ross breathed a sigh of relief. He needed a chance to be alone with Cassie, and now it was being offered to him on a plate.

  Sir Angus nodded. 'Yes, do. You can go out through the French win­dows there. But make sure you take a shawl, Cassie. The wind is quite sharp today. I'm sure this business—whatever it is—will not take long. And then we may sit down to dinner together.'

  Cassie dropped him a tiny curtsy. Then, retrieving her shawl from the back of the sofa, she took Ross's proffered arm and allowed him to lead her through the window and down the steps into the knot gar­den beyond.

  She smiled impishly up at Ross as they walked down the gravel path. His heart turned over. If she planned to spurn him, she could not smile at him like that, could she?

  I fear I suffer from insatiable curiosity. It is a sin, is it not? Yet I cannot help wondering what is so urgent—and so serious—that my godfather must send us out of the room.'

  Cassie was trying to hide her nervousness behind a bright facade. To be honest, she was afraid to be alone with Ross just at present. As long as they were with Sir Angus, she could tell herself that Ross did care for her, that every look and word was an expression of that feeling, rather than a sign of doubt or—worse—distaste for the daughter of a wanton.

  Oh, God in heaven, he knew now! Surely he would spurn her? What man in his senses would marry a penniless girl whose mother had per­ished in an asylum? What man would want his children tainted by such a mother?

  'Cassie?'

  She jumped. His voice sounded odd. Strained. She started away from him, but he would not let her go. With his free hand, he covered hers, where it was trying to pull away from his arm. His touch was gentle, and warm, but Cassie's skin prickled under the firm contact.

  'Cassie, my dear, what is it? Tell me what is wrong. Please.'

  She said nothing. She could not bring herself to look up at him.

  'Do you not trust me any longer, Cassie?' His voice was suddenly very low, almost inaudible. As if he had barely the strength to make his words heard.

  That crack in his voice almost broke her heart. She looked up into his eyes. 'Of course, I trust you, Ross. How could it be otherwise?'

  'I thought you might have changed your mind, now that Sir Angus will make you his heir. Have you? Is that it?'

  'No! How could you think such a thing?'

  'I.. .I...
' He smiled. It was an enigmatic smile. What was he thinking? 'I felt sure that, when you discovered that you had allowed the son of a traitor to make love to you, you would—'

  Cassie felt herself reddening all over again as he spoke. She stopped him with an impatient gesture. 'I regret nothing that we have done to­gether, Ross. Nothing. But I—' Gently, but firmly, she detached her hand from his arm and took two steps away. Turning back, and seeing the sudden anguish in his face, she said quickly, 'You are not the son of a traitor. All that is long forgot. In Scotland, no one asks about such things. They have been buried deep for decades, and we all know better than to rake them up. They mean nothing now. Besides, you are Captain Ross Graham, an officer and a gentleman. You could pay your addresses to anyone. Anyone!'

  For almost a minute he stood staring at her, his jaw working. Then, 'Is that truly what you believe, Cassie? Truly?'

  'Yes, of course it is,' she said a little crossly. Why was he so deter­mined to focus on ancient history? Why would he not tell her the truth about what really mattered?

  When he still said nothing, she burst out, 'Oh, ask anyone if you do not believe me. Ask my godfather. Ask Colonel Anstruther. They will all tell you the same. No one cares any more.' A huge surge of emotion threatened to overwhelm her. She turned away, battling against her tears. She must return to the house, before she broke down completely. She started away from him.

  'Cassie. Cassie, wait.'

  His hand was on her shoulder. It was gentle and warm, not control­ling. She could shrug him off with barely a shiver.

  'Cassie, forgive me.' Behind her, his voice was low. She fancied it was shaking, just a fraction. 'Forgive me, I have been so swept up in my own concerns, my own disgust at what I have learned, that I have not given you a chance to tell me what is wrong. You have told me what it is not. So now, will you tell me what it is that is troubling you? Please?'

  He let his hand slide slowly, caressingly, down her arm until he reached her fingers. Then he took her hand in his and held it. She wel­comed his touch, her heart swelling at this evidence of his kindness, his regard... But still she could not turn to look into his face.