‘By the way, my love, I should take Lord Quinlan and be thankful if I were you. A young lady in your position cannot afford to be too particular and you will get no better offer.’ Her gaze fell on the blue striped gown that Eliza was stoically folding to replace in the wardrobe. ‘Sweetly pretty, my love, and very youthful. Just right for you.’
There was a painful silence after she had left the room.
‘Betrothal,’ Cassie said furiously. ‘How dare they! They take a great deal for granted!’
‘Spiteful old harpy,’ Eliza said, shutting the blue gown away in the cupboard and shooting the closed panels of the bedroom door a malevolent look. ‘Always stirring up trouble, she is! No better than Haymarket ware neither.’
‘You go too far, Eliza,’ Cassie said hastily.
‘Some of us,’ Eliza said with an ominous sniff, ‘see things that others do not.’
Cassie sighed sharply. For all that she disliked her chaperon, she had never seen any evidence of the alleged impropriety that Eliza alluded to. It seemed most unlikely, given her cousins’ concern for her reputation, that they would appoint a scandalous chaperon. Eliza’s suspicions must surely be baseless.
‘Mr Timms and I,’ Eliza said, with finality, ‘think that madam is no better than she ought to be.’
Cassie sighed again.
‘No doubt that was what you and Timms were discussing the other day on the stairs,’ she said. ‘I saw you looking very cosy together.’
To Cassie’s surprise her normally forthright maid looked almost coy. She closed her lips tightly and a slight flush came into her cheeks.
‘Mr Timms and I were discussing the merits of Holland starch, Miss Cassandra. I’ll have you know that we have been acquainted for many years and nothing more than a few kind words have ever passed between us.’
Cassie could tell that Eliza was ruffled. She jumped from the bed and gave her an impulsive hug. ‘I am sorry, Eliza. I meant no harm. It is merely that I had observed that you value Mr Timms’s good opinion.’
Eliza’s stiff figure softened and she half-smiled. ‘I know you did not mean anything by it, my pet.’ She sighed. ‘Mr Timms and I…well…Sometimes I wish…’
‘Yes?’ Cassie prompted.
‘I wish we had had our own chance of happiness,’ Eliza said, in a rush. Cassie noticed that her hands were busy folding and refolding a petticoat with little jerky gestures. ‘We have known each other nigh on twenty years, but being in different households with our own responsibilities…Well, it was not to be. And now I think it is too late. No point in talking about it. There it is.’
‘Oh, Eliza!’ Cassie’s brow puckered. She felt a pang of acute sympathy for the maid’s plight. She had had no notion that Eliza’s feelings ran so deep and could tell that the brisk tone she had adopted hid much more painful emotions.
‘Now…’ The maid turned her face away, clearly not wishing to pursue the subject any further. She pushed Cassie gently towards the armada chest, where she had laid out a walking dress in cherry pink.
‘I thought the pink today, to match your pretty face.’ She held Cassie at arm’s length for a moment and smiled. ‘You’re as bonny as a May morning, so don’t let that sour old puss tell you otherwise. She’s only jealous.’
‘Eliza—’
‘And,’ the maid continued inexorably, ‘don’t believe a word she says about your Viscount neither. It’s you he’s come to wed, Miss Cassie, not some old trollop!’
Cassie sat down heavily on the chest, almost squashing the gown, which Eliza whisked out from under her.
‘If he had indeed come to woo me, then that would be a different matter, Eliza, but in truth it is my money he wishes to wed.’ She sighed. ‘Show me a gentleman who does not! Even Great-aunt Harriet once said that it was indecent for a young girl to have so much money as I.’
Eliza put her hands on her sturdy hips and viewed Cassie shrewdly. ‘You are an heiress and you are never going to be able to get past that, my pet, until you can see a man for what he is and judge whether he cares for you alone. Yon Viscount seems a likely fellow to me. I would give him a chance.’
Cassie looked up. ‘It seems Anthony has already given him his chance by consenting to a betrothal! Of all the mob-handed, arrogant, masculine things to do.’
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself, do,’ Eliza said sharply. She gave Cassie a little push. ‘And go and put your clothes on. Don’t expect me to wait on you!’
Cassie slid off the chest and obediently reached for her underclothes. ‘I am minded to wait until I am five and twenty and may have control of my own fortune,’ she said, her voice muffled as she pulled her petticoats over her head. ‘John and Anthony cannot make me marry even if I have ruined my reputation. Why should I care? They can all go hang.’
Eliza snorted. ‘There are some as are cut out to be wizened old maids, Miss Cassie, and others like you are not. Besides, you don’t want to be stuck with that Lady Margaret for another four years. You’d run mad.’ She held out the pink gown for Cassie to put on. ‘Don’t you want a home and family of your own?’
Cassie put her hands up to her cheeks suddenly. ‘I don’t know, Eliza. What I do know is that I grow tired of everyone telling me what to do. Live here, marry there…’ She let her hands fall. ‘No one asks me what I want, so…’ Cassie said with determination, ‘I shall simply have to show them. I will show Anthony and John and Viscount Quinlan—’ she invested the name with dislike ‘—that they do not take my consent for granted!’
‘Then the good lord help them!’ Eliza said devoutly. ‘You will be careful, though, won’t you, Miss Cassie? Think matters through sensibly now…’
‘Of course,’ Cassie said, her eyes bright. ‘You know that I always do.’
Peter had been lingering at the breakfast table far longer than was his usual wont. He would have preferred to be taking a ride about the estate than sitting indoors on so glorious a morning, but he was determined to wait until Cassie had put in an appearance. He wanted to speak with her. He was surprised to find that he felt a little nervous.
He was not certain that the adorable Miss Cassie Ward would accept his proposal of marriage. He had never put his fate to the touch before and he was discovering that it mattered to him a great deal that she should agree to be his bride. A night’s lack of sleep had not caused him to have second thoughts about the marriage. On the contrary, he was anxious to secure Miss Ward as his wife. However, he did want the chance to court her properly. He did not wish her to be forced into a betrothal as a result of their encounter at the inn. He wanted her to want him.
The beds at Lyndhurst Chase were supremely comfortable, but Peter had tossed and turned, alternately pricked by conscience and tormented by erotic images of the delectable Miss Ward. Never before had he been struck down by so powerful and instant an attraction. He was not entirely sure what had happened to him. All he knew was that he wanted Cassie Ward herself far more than he wanted her fortune, and if this was his final come-uppance as a rake and a fortune hunter, then he would embrace his fate with gratitude.
Conversation around the table had languished a little while ago. In the absence of a hostess at Lyndhurst Chase, Sarah, Countess of Mardon, was at the head of the table and was conversing in low tones with her husband, the Earl, who sat on her right. At the other end of the table, with the ancient setter dozing contentedly at his feet, Anthony Lyndhurst appeared engrossed in the Morning Post and every so often exchanged a few words with his Cousin William beside him. Lyndhurst-Flint in turn was chatting desultorily with Lady Margaret Burnside. Peter had known William Lyndhurst-Flint vaguely at Eton, although Lyndhurst-Flint had been a few years older. He had never liked him. Lyndhurst-Flint had had a reputation as a bully who forced younger boys to lick his boots and used the Eton Wall Game as an excuse to beat up the smaller pupils.
It was an oddly restricted group for a house party and Peter thought it bore out the rumour he had heard that, along with finding Cassandra a husband
, Anthony Lyndhurst was taking the opportunity to appoint his heir. The field was small and it seemed to Peter that William Lyndhurst-Flint must be in with a good chance. However, perhaps the man was not certain of inheriting and that was why he persisted in pushing his suit with Cassie.
The door opened and Cassie came in, pausing on the threshold, her hand on the doorknob. Peter’s heart contracted. She looked outwardly collected and calm, but there was a flicker of apprehension in her eyes.
There was a little ripple around the breakfast table. Peter saw Lady Margaret watching Cassie with a bright, speculative look. She exchanged a glance with William Lyndhurst-Flint and made absolutely no effort to ease her charge’s situation. In that moment Peter saw exactly how Cassie stood with the rest of the family; Mardon and Lyndhurst’s brotherly indulgence, Lyndhurst-Flint’s speculative amusement, Lady Margaret’s malice…Peter started to feel angry.
‘Cassie!’ Sarah Mardon said, smiling sweetly. ‘Come and join me down here. We can talk about our plans for the picnic.’ She patted the seat beside her.
William Lyndhurst-Flint got to his feet with studied charm. ‘Surely you should sit here, little cousin, beside your betrothed.’ He shot Peter a look. ‘I beg your pardon, the engagement is not yet formal, is it?’
Peter saw Cassie blush at the reminder, though whether with temper or embarrassment he was not sure. His anger hardened as he saw the way the other man was so casually trying to queer his pitch. He put his napkin down and stood up. He was taller than Lyndhurst-Flint and for a moment Lyndhurst-Flint looked intimidated.
‘Allow me, Miss Ward,’ Peter said with immaculate courtesy. He held the chair beside the Countess for Cassie and she slid into it with a slight, unreadable look at him over her shoulder.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ was all that she said.
Once again, conversation languished around the table. Lady Margaret was twitting the Countess over the curious behaviour of her personal maid.
‘I found that odd creature Dent polishing my doorknob this morning! Strange behaviour for an upper servant!’
The atmosphere in the breakfast room felt odd and tense with no one quite at ease. Peter watched Cassie as she sipped a cup of chocolate and ate a piece of toast. This morning her glorious copper brown hair had been subdued into a neat braid and no curls allowed to escape. She was dressed in a gown of pink that became her very well. Peter, an observant man, saw Lady Margaret flick the gown a comprehensive look and her mouth thin with displeasure. He hid a smile. Evidently the chaperon disliked competition from her charge.
Anthony Lyndhurst put down his paper and rose to his feet.
‘I thought to show you about the estate and the stud farm this morning, Quinlan, if you would care for a ride,’ he said. ‘The ladies are planning a picnic luncheon by the lake with boating afterwards, but we have time for a ride out before we join them. I would like to show you my horses. I imagine you are a connoisseur of bloodlines.’
Peter opened his mouth to accept the invitation, but was forestalled. Cassie Ward had also risen to her feet and was facing him, her determined little chin set firm, her golden brown eyes sparking.
‘I must plead a prior claim on my betrothed, Anthony,’ she said, stressing the word. There was a thread of steel in her voice. ‘Surely you are not to whisk him away when we are barely acquainted?’ She turned to Peter. ‘Lord Quinlan, I would like to speak to you in the library. Now, if you please.’
‘Lord Quinlan,’ Cassie said, with arctic chill, once the door was closed behind the two of them, ‘allow me to clarify a couple of matters. We are not compromised, we are not betrothed and we are certainly not getting married.’
Peter looked at her. Her eyes were flashing with indignation, but she was standing very stiff and tense. Her voluptuous, vulnerable mouth was quivering, betraying her feelings. Peter felt a stab of compassion for her. She was very young and inexperienced to be plunged into such a situation.
He wanted to talk to her, but the library was not the place. It felt oppressive and enclosed. He could not reach her here, where duty and convention would squash her spontaneous spirit. She would dismiss him and he would never get a chance to convince her that he wanted her more for herself than for all the fortune in the world.
‘Well?’ Cassie demanded, fizzing with indignation, clearly unable to wait any longer for a response. ‘Are you not going to say anything?’
‘Yes,’ Peter said. ‘Will you come riding with me?’
Cassie looked startled and—he would have sworn—tempted. Then she put her hands on her hips and faced him squarely.
‘What has that to do with the price of fish? Did you not understand me, my lord? I would prefer not to go anywhere with you. I would prefer that you leave Lyndhurst Chase directly. Now. At once! Is that clear?’
Peter could not repress a smile. ‘As crystal, Miss Ward. Indeed it would be difficult to misunderstand you.’
Cassie looked aggravated. ‘Then why are you still here?’
‘Because I would like to speak with you and I find this room unsuited to my purpose,’ Peter said. ‘Hence I wondered whether you would like to come riding with me. It is a very beautiful day and I feel that our acquaintance would prosper out of doors.’ He strode over to the window, then turned back to look at her. He noted that Cassie could not help one quick, betraying glance outside, as though the beautiful morning beckoned to her too.
‘The climate is not the point at issue here, my lord,’ she said.
Peter smiled. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Ward. What is the point?’
‘The point,’ Cassie said, her chin tilting dangerously, an angry sparkle in her eyes, ‘is that you deliberately set out to compromise me yesterday, Lord Quinlan.’
Peter had been expecting this. He suspected that Cassie had come to breakfast with her feelings already ruffled by someone—her chaperon, perhaps—who had intentionally set out to paint him as a ruthless seducer. He remembered that Cassie had told him the previous day that Lady Margaret supported William Lyndhurst-Flint’s suit. And then there had been Lyndhurst-Flint’s calculatedly provocative comment at breakfast. Both of them would take any opportunity they could to ruin his chances, and they had already started.
‘It is rather unfair to accuse me of setting out to compromise you,’ he said mildly.
‘Is it?’ Cassie’s gaze narrowed. ‘I thought it was quite plain. I told you that I had two hundred thousand pounds and from that moment you determined to seduce me.’
Peter drove his hands into his jacket pockets. ‘Now that is definitely unfair.’
Cassie looked nonplussed. ‘Indeed? Do you deny it, then?’
‘Of course,’ Peter said. ‘I wanted to seduce you long before you told me about the money. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you up the tree with that ridiculous banner.’ He took a step closer to her. It brought them a mere two feet apart. He could see the puzzlement and the reluctant curiosity in her eyes. ‘You are utterly seducible, Miss Ward,’ he finished gently.
Cassie glared. ‘And you are outrageous, Lord Quinlan!’
‘I am sorry if I offend you,’ Peter said. ‘I promised yesterday always to tell you the truth and I have been scrupulously careful to do so.’
Cassie drew a deep breath. ‘There are times—surely there are times!—when it is better to prevaricate, or at the very least moderate your opinions!’
Peter laughed. ‘It surprises me to hear you say so, Miss Ward. I would have thought that you of all people are always transparently honest.’
‘I am! I did not expect you to be, however.’ Cassie was looking at him, frowning, as though she was not quite sure what to make of him. ‘Upon my word, Lord Quinlan!’ she burst out. ‘I do not know whether you are the most skilled trickster that I have ever met or…’ She paused.
‘Or someone who wishes to forget all about the damnable money and simply take you to bed?’ Peter suggested.
‘Lord Quinlan!’ Cassie sounded as appalled as an octogenarian dowa
ger.
Peter saw the shock in her face and underneath it, intriguingly, the faintest hint of fascination as she considered his statement. He traced her thought processes with interest. She was remembering the way that reckless desire had ambushed them at the inn; she was thinking of the persuasive seduction of their kisses, she was wanting much, much more…
Then the colour rushed into her face as she realised just how inappropriate her thoughts were. She turned away abruptly. Peter could tell that she was completely flustered that the interview had not gone the way she had planned, but that she did not wish to give him the advantage of knowing it. He went across to her and put a hand on her arm.
‘Miss Ward.’
There was a flare of nervousness in Cassie’s eyes as though she almost expected him to make good his shocking declaration and sweep her up the wide oak stair to bed there and then.
‘My lord?’ She moistened her lips.
Peter took her hand in his. ‘All I ask is that you give me a chance to court you,’ he said. ‘You knew that I was a fortune hunter. I made no secret of it. You can trust me to be honest with you.’
Cassie’s head was bent. The sun shone through the dusty windows and picked out the strands of copper and gold in the richness of her hair. Peter ached to touch it. She looked up at him suddenly and his senses leapt. Her fingers trembled slightly within his grasp and he tightened his hold.
‘Tell me the truth, then,’ she said urgently. ‘What happened yesterday in the inn…Did you plan that, my lord?’
Peter winced. He was pinned in the honesty of her gaze. There was something about such vulnerable candour that stripped away any pretence. He had never met anyone like Miss Cassandra Ward and her very openness brought out all his protective instincts. He wanted to shield her from all the disillusion and disappointment that life could bring on one who had no defences. He wanted to guard her against all comers. A marriage of convenience was not good enough for her. No fortune hunter on earth could be worthy of her. Devil take it, he wanted to save her from himself.
A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season Page 5