Spirited Brides

by Amanda McCabe

  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 Thirteen

  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 come 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 lad
ies. 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.

  “Oh, yes! I mean, no,” Lady Paige cried, obviously distressed. “I am sure she has not, after your unhappiness with the fish yesterday, Neville.”

  “Quite,” Mr. Vickery said curtly. He leaned closer to Cassie and murmured, “It is so very difficult here to maintain proper standards, Miss Richards. Not at all like my house in London. You must allow me to tell you all about it . . .”

  Cassie only listened with half an ear as Mr. Vickery, the joy of every young lady’s eye, went on about his house in London and all his highborn friends. She watched as Lord Royce seated the slighted Lady Paige in her chair at the head of the table and conversed with her about various village doings. Slowly, the hurt look in her eyes over her nephew’s carelessness faded, and a new sparkle took its place. Lord Royce nodded understandingly at her words and smiled.

  All traces of the impatient, unsocial scholar vanished. He was all patience and kindness—just as he always was with his mother and Aunt Chat and even Antoinette, who most people treated as a mere curiosity.

  As hard as he tried to hide it, Lord Royce was a very kind and thoughtful man. Not even his shabby coats could hide that, just as Mr. Vickery’s yellow satin could not hide his shallowness.

  Cassie smiled at the revelation, but unfortunately that small lifting of her lips encouraged Mr. Vickery to even greater heights of bragging about his barouche.

  Phillip half listened to Lady Paige as he watched Mr. Vickery charming Miss Richards.

  A sour, unaccustomed pang ached somewhere in his stomach as he looked at the fashionable man leaning close to her, speaking into her ear. She gave a small, almost intimate smile at whatever it was he was saying.

  Mr. Vickery must be a riveting conversationalist, Phillip thought, as well as a sparkling dresser. His yellow coat, though a bilious color, was perfectly cut, his linen impeccably free of ink stains. No doubt he could converse on many subjects other than the ancient Greeks. How could a lady help but be impressed with him?

  Phillip ruefully inspected the frayed cuff of his coat. Perhaps, just perhaps, he should visit the tailor and have some new ones made up. Not in yellow, to be sure, but maybe a sensible blue or brown. What would Miss Richards think of him then?

  Phillip brusquely dismissed that thought just as it flitted through his mind. He did not have time for such frivolities! His coats had been good enough for months.

  But still, a small voice whispered at the back of his mind, if a new coat could make her smile at him as she was smiling now, it could be worth it.

  It could be worth it, indeed.

  “How did you find my old friend Lady Paige and her nephew?” Lady Royce asked over supper that night at Royce Castle. “Is she enjoying living in the village? Did she accept the invitation to the masked ball?”

&
nbsp; “She was very well, Mother, and of course she accepted the invitation,” answered Phillip. “Everyone we invited accepted, did they not, Miss Richards?”

  “Oh, yes,” Cassie said, happy for the excuse to abandon her fillet of sole. The fish was excellent, but after an unusually large luncheon at Lady Paige’s house, and tea and cakes with the Lewishams, she was quite stuffed. “All the people we met were so very kind! I had a wonderful day.” And she had. Even Mr. Vickery, in his own way, had been very amusing. Cassie laughed, recalling his attempts at flirtation over luncheon.

  Lady Royce beamed. “Yes, it is a very nice neighborhood. We should have everyone to the castle more often, should we not, Phillip?”

  He looked at his mother suspiciously, as if he thought she might be up to something. “Of course, Mother.”

  Lady Royce nodded. “And did you get to go to Mrs. Brown’s shop, my dear Miss Richards? She does such lovely work. I really think she could go to London.”

  “She did have some very pretty samples,” Cassie agreed. “I ordered a couple of gowns as well as my costume.”

  “Did you decide on something, then, Cassie?” Antoinette asked.

  “I am going to be a shepherdess,” Cassie answered. “Have you decided on something?”

  Antoinette shook her head. “I told you. It is a surprise.”

  “I am going to be Queen Elizabeth,” Lady Royce offered. “And Chat will be Eleanor of Aquitaine. But Phillip still will not tell me what his costume is to be.”

  Phillip smiled. “That is because I do not know yet. I would rather not wear a costume at all.”

  “Of course you must wear a costume! That is the fun of it.” Lady Royce sighed happily. “Oh, I am looking forward to this so very much!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Tell me, Louisa, why do you want to find Lady Lettice so much? I mean, why her in particular?” Cassie asked. They were walking along the shore toward the tunnels, on their way to Antoinette’s ceremony. Antoinette, Chat, and Lady Royce hurried ahead, carrying Antoinette’s books, herbs, and candles, while Lord Royce trailed far behind.