As Cassandra drove away, she knew how glad she was that she would never again have to enter that horrible vulgar flat.
She wondered how she had ever allowed herself to rent such a place, but at the time she had not understood as much about the theatrical world as she did now.
As the train carried her home to Yorkshire, it was a satisfaction in itself to know that she was going back to security, to her parents who loved her and had protected her, and cosseted her from the crude realities of the world outside her home.
She had never dreamt that there would be women who suffered as Nancy Wood had or women who could flout the conventions like Lady McDonald and in a different manner, Mrs. Langtry.
‘I have learnt a lot,’ Cassandra told herself,
But she knew that her father would not consider it particularly desirable knowledge.
She was well aware that there was every likelihood of his being extremely angry at her behaviour.
But what was more important at this moment was what the Duke would say when she told him the truth.
‘I will make him understand – he must understand!’ Cassandra told herself.
She was conscious all the same of a little quiver of fear and a number of questions in her mind that would not be silenced.
Now that she knew him, she was well aware that he would dislike being beholden to his wife as much as he had resented being beholden to his father and Lord Carwen.
He was a strong character and to a man who was as masculine as he was, it would be humiliating to know that his wife held the purse-strings.
Then Cassandra told herself that it was only a question of time. The Duke had said that eventually he would be rich in his own right and she was sure that he would be.
She had never yet heard him exaggerate or boast about anything and he had been absolutely certain in his own mind that in perhaps only a few years the investments he had made in Australia and South Africa would bring him the fortune he so ardently desired.
Yet at the moment the house had to go and that he should be willing to sell Alchester Park with the whole history of his family behind it because he loved her was to Cassandra so perfect, so utterly marvellous that she could only pray that she herself would be worthy of such a love.
She loved him so overwhelmingly that she thought now that, if he had been in love with anyone else, she would not have wished to go on living.
She loved everything about him – not only his outstanding good looks but also his air of authority, his charm, his pride and his sense of humour.
Because she was jealous, she could not help saying to him,
“You must have – spent a lot of – money on the pretty – ladies from The Gaiety?”
“Are you suspecting diamonds?” the Duke had asked.
His eyes twinkled.
“Dare I be conceited enough to tell you that I did not have to give anything more expensive than a few flowers for any favours I received?”
He had kissed her and added,
“That at least is one economy I can make in the future!”
Cassandra had sent a telegram first thing in the morning to The Towers to say that she and Hannah were arriving at York at two o’clock.
It was nearly an hour’s drive to her home and she knew that, even travelling by the faster train, it would be impossible for the Duke to arrive until after five-thirty.
That would give her time to prepare her father for the shock of what he had some to say.
But in her own mind Cassandra was not decided as to how she would let him learn the truth.
She somehow felt desperately shy at the thought of just letting him walk in and find her there.
The carriage was waiting at York Station and all the way to The Towers Cassandra was very quiet.
She was thinking apprehensively of what lay ahead and, although Hannah tried to talk, she only answered in monosyllables.
The butler was at the door to greet her.
“Welcome home, Miss Cassandra.”
“Is Sir James in?” Cassandra asked as she walked into the hall.
“No, miss, Sir James and her Ladyship had left before your telegram arrived.”
“Then my father did not know I was coming back?”
“No, miss. Sir James and her Ladyship were having luncheon with Lord Harrogate and going on afterwards to a reception given by the Archbishop of York.”
“Of course!” Cassandra exclaimed. “I remember that engagement.”
She also had been invited.
“Sir James has ordered dinner a little later than usual,” the butler went on, “but he and her Ladyship should be back before seven o’clock.
“Is there another telegram?” Cassandra asked.
“Yes, miss. It also arrived after Sir James had left, so I opened it, as he has always instructed me to do.”
“What did it say?”
“It’s from the Duke of Alchester, Miss Cassandra, to say that he is arriving by the train that reaches York at three twenty-five. I have arranged for a carriage to meet him.”
Cassandra considered a moment.
“Now listen, Hudson,” she said. “When His Grace arrives, I want you to inform him that Sir James is unfortunately not here to greet him and that, as I have a bad cold, I will receive him in my sitting room. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Miss Cassandra.”
“Just show him into the room and do not interrupt us until I ring.”
“Very good, miss.”
The butler looked slightly surprised at the instructions, but Cassandra knew that he was too well-trained not to carry them out.
She then ran up the stairs to her own room.
She had a lot of preparations to make.
*
The train must have been late because, although Cassandra was ready and waiting by half past four, it was after five o’clock when she heard footsteps coming along the corridor towards her sitting room.
Although it was not yet dark outside, she had drawn the curtains and there was a fire in the grate, the flames flickering over wood logs.
She had put a screen around an armchair that had its back to the windows as if to furnish protection against draughts, and she had extinguished all the lights in the room with the exception of one cut-glass oil lamp.
It stood on the circular table in the centre of the room and on the table Cassandra had laid the two albums she had treasured for so many years.
Because she was determined to keep her secret a surprise until the last possible moment, she wore a pair of dark glasses and held a fan in one hand as if to protect her face from the heat of the flames.
She knew it would be difficult for the Duke, coming from the light in the rest of the house into the dimness of the room, to recognise her at first sight.
She also had the feeling that because he would be embarrassed at what he had to say, he would not look at her very closely.
‘It will be a surprise – a wonderful surprise for him when he knows who I am!’ she told herself.
But her words sounded more convincing than the feeling they evoked within her. She was still afraid he would be angry!
It seemed to her while she waited that every moment was a century of time.
The clock ticking softly on the mantelpiece seemed to pause between every second.
Her heart was beating feverishly in her breast and she kept moistening her lips because they were dry.
‘Why should I be afraid?’ she asked herself and yet she knew that she was.
Cassandra began to fear that something had gone wrong and that the Duke had missed the train.
Perhaps, she thought, he was trying to get in touch with her in London.
Then at last she heard the door open.
“His Grace, the Duke of Alchester,” Hudson announced.
Cassandra felt herself tremble as the Duke walked across the room towards her.
He put something down on the table by the lamp and then he came nearer to the fire.
/>
“I hear you have a cold,” he said courteously. “I am sorry if you stayed up to receive me when you should have been in bed.”
“It’s – not too – bad,” Cassandra managed to say.
She had intended to sound hoarse, but there was really little need to disguise her voice because she was so nervous it sounded strange even to herself.
The Duke did not look at her.
He stood for a moment holding out his hands to the flames.
Then he said in what seemed to Cassandra a hard voice,
“I intended to speak to your father, but, as he is not here, perhaps we can speak frankly with each other?”
It was a question.
Cassandra managed to murmur,
“Y-yes.”
“Then I think you know why I am here,” the Duke said, “and what was arranged between your father and mine before he died? Their plan was that we should be married.”
He paused, Cassandra said nothing and after a moment he went on,
“So, Miss Sherburn, let me put it very simply. I shall be deeply honoured if you will consent to be my wife!”
Cassandra was frozen into immobility.
She could not believe that what she had heard was not a product of her imagination.
He could not have said it!
He could not!
Then through her dark glasses she looked at his profile clear in the light of the fire and saw the square determined set of his chin and the hard line of his mouth.
He meant it! He had said it and he meant it!
He had changed his mind after she had left him yesterday and decided that love was not worth the sacrifice of his heritage and of the house that had meant so much in the history of his family.
It was impossible for her to speak or to move.
She could only stare at the Duke as the tears began to run from her eyes down her cheeks and her hand, which still held the fan to shadow her face, trembled.
She felt as if the whole ceiling had crashed onto her head and that everything she had ever believed in had fallen in pieces around her.
And now the numbness of her body was replaced with an agony that was like a thousand knives being driven into her heart.
The Duke turned towards her.
“Come,” he said. “I have something to show you.”
He put out his hand as he spoke and taking hers he drew her unresisting from the chair where she had been sitting across the room towards the table.
She went with him because he compelled her and because she was quite incapable of speech.
They reached the table and Cassandra saw that there was now a magazine lying beside the two albums.
“I want you to look at this,” the Duke said. “Perhaps you would be able to see more clearly without those glasses.”
He took them off as he spoke and now, with her heart palpitating, Cassandra tried to understand what was happening and tried to look at what lay on the table in front of her.
It was a copy of The Sporting and Dramatic and on the open page there was a portrait sketch of herself!
Although it had been copied from the photograph that had been taken by the photographer in York, which her father had disliked, it was quite unmistakeable.
Underneath it was written,
“A NOTABLE LADY RIDER TO HOUNDS AND BELLE OF THE YORKSHIRE BALLS – MISS CASSANDRA SHERBURN.”
She stood looking at it and the Duke said,
“I could hardly fail to recognise you, could I?”
His voice was harsh and now Cassandra managed to say through dry lips,
“I – could not – tell you – yesterday – ”
“Why not?” the Duke asked in an uncompromising tone, “or need I ask such a foolish question? You wished to extort from me the last vestige of humiliation and to force me down on my knees in front of you.”
“No – No!” Cassandra whispered. “It was not – like – that.”
“Of course it was,” the Duke retorted. “Don’t deceive me any further. Not content with my title – you wanted my heart as well. It was very clever!”
“No! No!” Cassandra cried again. “I – ”
“You were determined to manipulate me,” he interrupted, “as I have been manipulated all my life. First by my father, then by Carwen and now by you. Well, you have been most successful and I can only congratulate you on being an even better actress than you pretended to be!”
His voice cut like a whip and Cassandra cried frantically,
“You must listen to me – you must! It was – nothing like that – look, I have – these to show you.”
She threw open the albums as she spoke.
The Duke looked down at the newspaper cuttings stuck neatly in the pages, but the expression on his face did not change.
“There is – something – else,” Cassandra said. She ran across the room to her writing desk.
With hands that trembled so much that she could hardly control them, she found the key of the secret drawer, opened it and drew out her diary.
Then she went back to the Duke.
He had not moved from the table. He still stood there with the two open albums and her picture in front of him.
There was nothing in the diary after the last entry written on March 29th, which she had made before she left for London.
She held it out to the Duke.
“Read this – read – it,” she begged.
The Duke did not look at her and she thought for one moment he would refuse to take the diary from her.
Then he took the little book and held it towards the light, so that he could see better.
In Cassandra’s neat and elegant handwriting he saw written,
“Papa has just told me that after all this time he has received a letter from the Duke of Alchester.
I had been certain, since his father’s death, that the young Duke had changed his mind about the arrangements that were made so long ago for our marriage. Now because I understand he is desperately hard-up, he is prepared to go through with it.
But I know that this is something I cannot and will not do! It has been Papa’s dream that I should marry the son of his old friend and that also I should be a Duchess.
If we had become engaged two years ago when I was only seventeen and a half, I should have accepted Papa’s judgment in this as I have done in so many other things.
But now I am older and I know that it would be a travesty of everything I believe in and which I hold sacred for me to marry a man I love but who, I am convinced loves someone else.
I had also thought because I have loved him so deeply ever since I was twelve years old and saw him at the Eton and Harrow cricket match that he would come to love me and that we could find happiness together.
But I know now that was merely a child’s dream.
My love for him has prevented me from marrying anyone else or caring for any of the men who have proposed to me.
But I would rather be an old maid and remain unmarried for the whole of my life than suffer the humiliation and degradation of being married to the Duke who wants only my money.
I am certain that it would be easier to marry, if I must, someone for whom I have no affection, rather than to know that Varro kissed me and touched me because it was his duty. That I could not face.
In fact I would rather die than be tortured by my longing for something very different.
I wanted to tell Papa this, but then I thought he would merely brush my arguments aside unless I can prove irrefutably that the Duke is in love with someone else.
I am sure he is and that she is an actress from the Gaiety Theatre. But, because he would not be likely to admit it to Papa, I have to find out the truth for myself.
I have therefore decided that I shall go to London and try to meet the Duke through Mrs. Langtry. I shall pretend to be a part of the world that he enjoys and that obviously means so much to him.
People have always said I look theatrical. If I can act the p
art of an actress sufficiently well to convince him, I can I feel sure find out the truth.
There are other heiresses in the world who would be only too willing to give him their money in exchange for his coronet, but all these years it has not mattered to me whether he was a Duke or a pauper.
I have loved him because the first time I saw him I lost my heart!
It sounds so stupid put down on paper, but that is what happened.
Now I must find out the truth and I will then tell Papa that I cannot marry the Duke. He will not force me in those circumstances.
But I know that however long I live, even if I never see him again, I shall never love anyone as I love Varro.”
The Duke reached the bottom of the page.
Then, as he stared at what he had read with an almost incredulous look in his eyes, a very low broken voice said behind him,
“You are – not on your – knees, Varro – I am! Please – please – will you – marry me? I love you so – desperately.”
The Duke turned round slowly.
Cassandra was kneeling on the floor behind him.
Her hands were clasped together, she had thrown back her head to look up at him and the tears were streaming down her cheeks.
She looked into his eyes and, seeing no softening in the hardness of his expression, she gave a pitiful little sob as she whispered,
“If you – will not marry – me will you – make – me your – mistress?”
For a moment the Duke was still.
Then he bent down and, putting his arms around Cassandra, pulled her roughly against him.
“How dare you say such a thing?” he asked and his voice was still angry.
But, as if he could not help himself, his mouth sought hers.
For a moment his lips were hard and rough.
Then, as he felt her body soft and yielding against his and as he knew that a flame had been ignited in them both, his kiss became more tender and at the same time more demanding.
It seemed to Cassandra that the room whirled around her and she was dizzy with the wonder of it.
Then the Duke was kissing the tears from her cheeks, her wet eyes and again her mouth with a passion that made her quiver and tremble.
Yet her whole being responded to the fire that consumed him.
104. the Glittering Lights Page 19