by Candace Camp
Joanna obviously realized, too, that her moment was slipping away, for she turned her face up piteously to Sir Philip, saying, “Please, Philip, could you carry me to the carriage? I do not think that I can walk so far, and I must go back. I can stay here no longer.”
He did not look overly eager, but there was little he could say. Kneeling beside her, he lifted her up into his arms again and started toward the carriage. Joanna once again leaned against his shoulder trustingly, and her arms curled around his neck.
Cassandra watched them go. It had, she thought, been a thoroughly miserable day. Now it would be capped off by being squeezed into the carriage with Joanna, soaking wet.
She trailed along with the others toward the carriage. She arrived just as Philip was finishing tucking Joanna’s blanket around her to ward off all possible chills. Suddenly an imp seized her, and she turned toward Miss Yorke.
“Oh, dear! Miss Yorke, now there are too many for the carriage, I’m afraid.”
“Oh. You’re right.” The other woman looked disappointed, but said only, “I shall ride in the wagon.”
“Nonsense!” Cassandra protested. “My cousin’s horse is now without a rider. Why don’t you ride Joanna’s horse instead of going in the carriage?”
Cassandra was doubly rewarded by the way Miss Yorke’s face lit up, as well as by Joanna’s scowl. She knew that Joanna selfishly would not like any woman riding with Sir Philip, even the quiet and retiring Miss Yorke.
“I doubt that I am a good enough rider for it….” She began to demure reluctantly.
“Don’t worry about that,” Cassandra assured her breezily. “Joanna only rides very gentle horses. Besides, you will have Sir Philip with you in case you need help.”
“But I haven’t my riding habit.”
“Your skirts are amply full. I’m sure no one here will mind.”
“That would be lovely—if you are sure it would be all right…?” Miss Yorke turned toward her employer.
Sir Philip smiled at her. “Of course it would. Miss Verrere has thought of the perfect solution, as always. Come, Miss Yorke, ride with me.”
The woman went off happily with Sir Philip, and Cassandra climbed into the carriage beside her cousin. Joanna scowled at her blackly.
“Now, isn’t that nice for Miss Yorke?” Violet said happily. “She deserves a treat.”
“Yes,” Cassandra agreed pleasantly and smiled at her cousin. “Everything worked out perfectly, didn’t it?”
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, as Cassandra was leaving the breakfast table, Philip asked her curtly if she wished to work in the library again. She replied as briefly, and they walked down to the library and started to work. Later the twins offered to help, as did Georgette and Olivia, and for a while the library was enlivened by their young voices. However, the work was far too dull for them to last long at it, and when Philip and Cassandra came back that afternoon after their meal, the youngsters decided that they would rather go for a ride. Philip and Cassandra reverted to silence, working in stiff courtesy at opposite ends of the room.
Cassandra was dismayed at how long it was taking to search the library. She had not counted on its being such a massive room. It was slower going, too, than she had realized, twisting and turning to read the titles and having to pull out books and look through them when she wasn’t sure what sort of book it was. As the day passed, she found two books that seemed to be real possibilities. One was written by a man whose last name was Queen, and the other was a biography of Mary, Queen of Scots. Each time her heart leaped within her chest, but after going through them page by page, she found no evidence of a map. Philip, too, discovered a few books that might be the one they wanted, but all of them turned out to be disappointments, as well.
It could take days, even weeks, Cassandra realized before they found the correct book—and every minute that she spent with Philip was painful. She thought with longing of the days when they had talked together easily, when they had laughed…when he had looked at her in a way that made her insides melt. Now they said almost nothing, and there was no laughter. When Philip looked at her, it was with a carefully cool, blank face.
That evening Cassandra excused herself from supper and ate instead with the younger set in the nursery. She did not think she could stand to sit through another evening of watching Joanna throw herself at Philip.
She went to her room soon after they finished, not feeling up to the rousing game of charades the children were planning, but not wanting to spoil their fun with her gloom. She was wandering aimlessly around her bedroom, trying to find something to occupy the rest of her evening, when there was a tap on her door.
“Come in.” Cassandra turned and was surprised to see Philip’s mother open the door and walk in. “Lady Neville!”
She glanced a little curiously at the cloth that Lady Neville carried draped over one arm, but Violet made no mention of it. “Hello, dear. I wanted to make sure you were feeling all right, since you didn’t come down to supper.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I didn’t explain it well in my note. It wasn’t that I was ill, I just…felt I ought to eat with my brothers and sister. It is what they’re used to at home, you see, and I…”
“No need to explain,” Violet assured her airily. “I understand. That wasn’t the only reason I came. May I lay this down on your bed?”
“Yes, of course.”
Lady Neville put the cloth down on the bed and unfolded it. Cassandra could see now that it was a dress. Made of the palest lavender silk, it was a simple but lovely gown sewn in the latest style with the newer, narrow skirts drawn back over an underskirt of the same shade of satin. The bodice had a low, rounded neckline, with a soft cowl draping, and short, puffed sleeves.
“What a beautiful dress!” Cassandra exclaimed softly.
“Do you like it? I’m so glad.” Violet smiled at her. “You see, I ordered it a few weeks ago, and it just arrived today. I found when I tried it on that, well, it simply did not look the same on me as it had in the drawing. Of course, it is far too old for Georgette, but I thought perhaps you might be able to wear it.”
“Me?” Cassandra looked at her, startled.
“Why, yes. We are much the same height, you know, and while you are slenderer than I, that is one of the problems with it. It is too tight, I’m afraid to say. I must have gained some weight recently.”
“Well, I…” Cassandra looked back at the dress. It was so pretty that her fingers itched to pick it up and try it on, but she felt vaguely that it would be wrong of her to take it. “Surely you don’t want to just give it away.”
“What else can I do? I shan’t wear it, I know. Lady Neville would say something, I’m sure, and I would regret it.”
“But there must be something else you could do with it, someone else you could give it to….”
“Who? You were the only one I could think of. Of course, if you don’t like it, I will understand. I would never—”
“No! It isn’t that! I love it. It’s just—“ She couldn’t quite explain her dread of wearing someone else’s clothes; it was too much like accepting charity for her to feel comfortable. But of course Lady Neville could not understand that feeling; she was too wealthy and had always lived so.
“Why don’t you just try it on and see if it fits?” Violet suggested.
“All right.” Cassandra could not resist. With Lady Neville acting as her lady’s maid, she took off the dress she was wearing and slipped into the one Lady Neville had brought.
Even before Violet had finished buttoning up the tiny pearl buttons in back, Cassandra was in love with the gown. It fit her as if it had been made for her, and the lavender was a perfect complement to her coloring. It was exactly the sort of dress she had been longing for yesterday. She thought of wearing it to supper to
morrow night and wondered if Philip’s face would change when he saw her in it.
“It’s beautiful on you!” Lady Neville exclaimed. “My dear, you simply have to wear this dress. It looks far better on you than it ever would on me. Please, tell me you’ll take it.”
“All right.” Cassandra smiled at her reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the front of her skirt. Whatever her feelings about accepting charity, she knew that she could not bear to give up this dress. “Thank you, Lady Neville.”
“It’s a pleasure, my dear,” Violet replied, beaming.
The next morning, when Cassandra went down to eat, Philip was no longer at the breakfast table, so after eating, she went to the library to see if he was already at work. He was there, but seated in one of the chairs, reading a newspaper. He stood up when she entered and took a step forward, then stopped and gave her a polite nod.
“Good morning, Miss Verrere.”
“Sir Philip.”
“I noticed you were not at supper last night. I hope you were not feeling ill.”
“No. I ate with the children. I have been neglecting them of late.”
“I see.” They stood for another awkward moment, then he turned toward the circular staircase. “Well…shall we get to work?”
They climbed the staircase and went to their usual places. Cassandra began to work her way through another shelf. She had never guessed that looking for treasure could be so boring. After a few minutes she began to get a vague, uneasy feeling, the sort of twitching between her shoulder blades that she got when someone was watching her. She turned quickly. Philip was indeed looking at her.
“Yes?” she asked, raising her brows in cool inquiry.
He started to say something, stopped, then closed the book in his hands with a snap and shoved it back into place. “Damn it! This is enough!”
He turned and clattered down the stairs. He went to the bell pull on the wall and yanked it. When a footman appeared moments later at the door, he said something to him in quiet tones, then closed the door and returned to the loft. Cassandra watched the whole performance in silent mystification. He strode across the loft to her and seized her wrist.
“Come,” he said peremptorily. “I think it’s about time you saw something.”
“Saw what?” Her flesh tingled where his hand curved around her wrist, and his nearness made her tremble inside. She told herself she was an idiot. There was no reason to feel like swooning just because an attractive man was standing only inches away from her. But she could not shut off her heightened senses, could not keep from being inordinately aware of his size and strength, of his familiar, masculine smell. She swallowed, trying to pull together some semblance of self-assurance.
He did not reply, merely pulled her toward the staircase. She went with him, unable to stop herself. She would have liked to think that it was only because his greater strength compelled her, but she knew that she went willingly. She could not bring herself to break away from his touch.
Philip led her down the stairs and out of the library to a side door. “What are you doing?” Cassandra asked. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” He headed toward the stables. “We are going to pay a call this morning.”
“A call?” Cassandra was even more puzzled. “Whatever are you talking about? We have work to do.”
“And I cannot do it. Not until we have settled this.”
Cassandra’s stomach coiled uneasily. “Settled what?”
He shot her a brief, irritated glance. “Must you ask so many questions?”
“Hardly a strange thing to do when you refuse to tell me why you dragged me out of the library or where we are going, or, indeed, anything.”
One of the grooms was leading a horse and light trap out of the stable yard, and Philip handed her up into it, then climbed in and took the reins. They started off at a brisk pace. Cassandra grabbed the seat to keep from sliding into Philip as they turned smartly out of the yard.
“I haven’t even a hat and gloves!” she protested. “I cannot call on anyone like this. Why, my dress isn’t fit to go calling in.”
“Don’t worry. They are very informal there. No one will care.”
“I will.” Cassandra grimaced in exasperation. “If that isn’t like a man. You say no one will care, but everyone will think I am utterly without manners.”
“Not where we are going. If they do, you have my permission to tell one and all that I abducted you and would not allow you to wear either hat or gloves.”
Cassandra smiled reluctantly. “I shall.”
She could get nothing else out of him, and it was too pleasant to be out driving with him through the sparkling summer day for her to brood about it. Even with the current stiffness between them, Cassandra could not help but enjoy being beside Philip—the warmth and strength of his body only inches from her on the seat, the sun lighting the planes and angles of his face and turning his brown eyes the color of whiskey. She wished it didn’t feel so good to look at him. It simply made it hurt all the more to think of his turning his looks and charm on all those other girls, those unfortunate mothers of his children.
The trip was short, as he had promised. Before long they were turning into a driveway leading up to a warm redbrick house. A stand of silver beeches shaded it on one side, and as they drove up, a group of boys came tearing around the corner in hot pursuit of another boy. All of them skidded to a halt at the sight of Cassandra and Philip. They waved enthusiastically, jumping up and down.
Cassandra’s stomach began to churn. “Where are we? Is this Silverwood?”
“Yes.” He pulled back on the reins, stopping the horse, and looked down at her. “Will it taint you to visit them?”
Cassandra’s cheeks flushed with anger. For an answer, she whipped around and climbed out of the trap without waiting for his assistance.
“Philip! Philip!” cried the smallest of the boys, running around the vehicle and throwing himself against Philip’s leg as soon as he stepped out. He wrapped his arms tightly around Philip’s legs, and Philip had to unwind him, chuckling.
“Harry…Harry. You will topple me over.”
The other four boys had come to a halt and were gazing at Cassandra with interest. One of the boys, she saw, had a withered arm. Another’s face was marred by a large reddish stain over one cheek. The oldest one, though not large, looked to be about fifteen or sixteen, the others ranged in age down to the smallest one who had wrapped himself around Philip. Sixteen, Cassandra thought, astonished. Philip had obviously started when he was young. She did not think that he could be more than thirty-four now.
Philip came around the end of the trap, leading his small admirer by the hand. “Good morning, boys.”
“Good morning, Sir Philip.” They came eagerly forward, though with less exuberance than Harry.
“I want you to meet someone.” He introduced the young men to Cassandra, and they answered politely, bowing.
They moved inside, the boys following them, and just as they stepped into the entryway, Sarah Yorke swept out of a room down the hall and advanced toward them, patting nervously at her hair and smoothing down her skirts.
“Sir Philip! What a pleasant surprise. And Miss Verrere.”
“Miss Yorke.”
“I thought I would bring Miss Verrere to see your excellent work, Sarah.”
“I am sorry if we are intruding,” Cassandra added hastily.
“Heavens, no, Sir Philip is always welcome here. This is, after all, his home.”
“Why don’t you show Miss Verrere around, Sarah? Explain everything to her. I apparently promised the boys last time that I would play cricket with them next time I came.
“Of course.” Miss Yorke smiled shyly at him. “Please, go on. They will love it, I am sure.”
She
ushered Cassandra into the first room, where three boys of varying ages were working at their books. Two of them jumped to their feet politely when she came in. The third stayed in his chair; Cassandra saw that his legs were both missing from the middle of the thighs down.
“We are working on math in this room,” Sarah explained. “Boys, Sir Philip is here and is getting up a game of cricket. You may go if you like.”
Two of them pelted out. Only the crippled boy remained.
“Wouldn’t you like to go outside to watch, Dennis?” Miss Yorke asked.
“Why?” he retorted sullenly. Miss Yorke patted him on the shoulders. “Well, you may continue with your studies then, or do something else if you prefer, since the other boys are off now.”
She led Cassandra down the hall, saying in a low voice once they were out of earshot, “Dennis is still a very angry young boy. Understandable, of course. His legs were run over by a milk wagon. He fell from it trying to cadge a ride.” She shook her head and smiled. “But he will get better. They always do after they have been here awhile. He will realize how much good life he has left ahead of him.”
They entered another room, this one floored in stone, where three children were up to their elbows in clay, laughing and squealing while they formed images under the watchful eye of a strong-armed woman. It was clear that two of them were blind. The third made strange guttural noises. Miss Yorke explained that he had been deaf from birth.
Cassandra had a sinking sensation in her stomach. How could so many of Philip’s illegitimate children have physical problems? Blind, deaf, crippled, branded with a lurid birthmark…and she had not even seen them all yet.
Miss Yorke was going on about the belief that she and Sir Philip shared of how much children could learn and grow with artistic expression, such as modeling in clay and drawing or music. “We make sure that all of the arts, even dance, are included in our curriculum. It is amazing what can be accomplished if one gives children the chance. Thank God that Sir Philip was willing to give these children a chance.”