by Emma V Leech
“Of course not. It’s just tittle-tattle.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I would fight a duel for him. He’s dreadfully handsome. Mind you, his brother looks dreadfully wicked too, so either would do,” Torie said with a dreamy smile.
“Victoria!”
This time both Eliza and Lottie exclaimed, discomforted to hear their thirteen-year-old sister speak so. Like Lottie, Torie had something of a wild streak and needed little encouragement for mischief.
“Well, they would,” Torie said sulkily, turning her attention back to the draughts board.
A soft knock on the door had Eliza jumping up to answer it.
“I found this pretty creature,” said a lilting voice from the corridor. “Is it yours?”
Lottie heard her sister laugh.
“I suppose it must be. Do come in.”
She turned to see Ashton’s twin, Vivien, come in with Cat, who was holding a large hat box.
“Whatever have you got there, Cat?” Ozzie demanded.
“Oh, but you know Vivien, she was with us at dinner,” Cat said with a saucy grin.
Vivien laughed and clipped her around the ear. “Horrid girl. We want to know what is in the box.”
“A surprise,” Cat said, looking utterly gleeful. “But you must all sit down in a circle and then I shall reveal it.”
Not wanting to spoil the girl’s fun, and far too intrigued to quibble, they did as they were asked. Cat got Torie to push the draughts board over to one side and solemnly placed the hat box down as though it contained something precious and fragile.
“Well….” Cat said, pausing for dramatic effect. Honestly, the girl was so theatrical she ought to be on the stage. “We all know the story of the Peculiar Ladies, don’t we?”
Everyone rolled their eyes.
The story of the Peculiar Ladies was legend among their families. A group of mismatched women, the shy, the unmarriageable, and the odd girls who found themselves among the wallflowers at every ball, season after season. They had come together to join a book club of sorts, though they never seemed to spend a great deal of time discussing books. To seal their friendships they had all gone through a rite of passage, to take a dare from a hat, hoping in some small way to take control of their own lives. Those dares had brought love and adventure, not to mention a fair bit of scandal, and had cemented friendships that had endured through thick and thin.
They all stared at Cat as she grinned at them, and then took the lid off the box with a flourish.
“Ta-da!”
“Oh!” Eliza exclaimed, getting to her feet. “Is… Is that…?”
“Yes!” Cat was jumping up and down now. “It’s the hat. The exact same hat, and you’ll never guess what!”
“What?” Lottie asked with a peculiar sensation stirring in her belly.
“It’s still full of dares!”
Everyone stared at each other, wide-eyed.
“Well?” Cat demanded. “What are you waiting for?”
“I’ll take one!” Torie said, scrambling to her feet.
“No, you will not!” Lottie and Eliza said in unison and then burst out laughing.
“You can’t take a dare before you’ve come out, silly,” Cat said, though there was sympathy in her eyes.
Lottie didn’t doubt Cat was itching to take one herself.
Eliza was staring at the hat with concern, as if it contained something that might bite.
“Do you think we ought?” she said doubtfully.
“Whyever not?” Lottie demanded. “Goodness! Mama did it. We’d not be here if she hadn’t.”
Eliza chewed at her lip, clearly unconvinced.
Lottie sighed and turned to Vivien. “You’ll do it, won’t you?”
A slow smile curved over the young woman’s mouth and Lottie felt her breath catch. Good heavens, but she was lovely.
“I believe I will.”
Cat gave a little yip of excitement and hurried forward.
“Oh, no. Me first!” Lottie said, waving her hand in the air. If anyone needed this, she did.
Anything to distract herself from the wretched situation in which she had found herself. Perhaps, if she took a dare, she would find someone else to fall in love with, or get herself tied up in such a scandal she’d not have time to pine over Cassius. Anything was preferable to pining, surely?
“Oh, Lottie, really?” Eliza said.
“Yes. Really.”
Cat held the hat out in front of her and Lottie took a breath before plunging her hand in. The little bits of paper were yellowed with age and the hat smelled musty, but Lottie’s heart was beating hard and fast as the contents rustled around her fingers. With closed eyes, she snatched at a slip of paper and pulled it free.
“What does it say?” Cat squealed with excitement as everyone else echoed the sentiment.
Lottie swallowed hard and carefully opened the paper, which seemed at risk of disintegrating at any moment. She squinted at the writing, brown and blurred with age. It was almost illegible, faded, and rubbed away in the places the paper had been folded.
“I… I can’t quite make it out. It says ‘dare…’ What does that word say, Vivien?”
Vivien took the paper from her and stared at it, holding it this way and that. “Wicket, witches… wicked! Dare to be wicked.”
“Oh, no,” Eliza said in horror. “It can’t say that. Give it here.”
She peered at the writing, her frown deepening. “Well, it does look like that but… but it can’t be. The dares were all specific things to do. Dance in a garden at midnight, say something outrageous to a handsome man….”
“Bet something you don’t wish to lose,” Vivien said with a grin.
They all giggled, having heard one of the most scandalous of the stories and still finding it hard to believe that Cassius’s mama, Harriet—of all people—had been caught with the Earl of St Clair in the summerhouse. They had been forced to marry, not that either of them had wanted to do anything else. The Earl of St Clair was still a magnificent looking man, and his son had certainly inherited his good looks. Lottie couldn’t blame Harriet in the least. Indeed, she could only envy her good fortune.
“Perhaps we ought to write new ones?” Eliza mused.
Lottie gave a snort. “If we do, you’re not having a go. You’ve not got a daring bone in your body.”
“Yes, I do!” Eliza retorted. “I do!”
Lottie snatched up the hat and held it out to her sister. “Go on then, prove it.”
Eliza hesitated. “There’s no point, they’re illegible.”
“It’s clear enough. My dare is to be wicked,” Lottie said, something wicked indeed stirring to life inside her and making her reckless.
“Oh, no, Lottie, you can’t. What does that even mean?”
Eliza pinched her mouth closed at whatever she saw in Lottie’s eyes and huffed.
“Very well then,” she said, putting her chin up.
Lottie grinned and thrust the hat towards her again.
With a nervous intake of breath, Eliza dipped a trembling hand into the paper slips.
“Oh, dear,” she said, and pulled out a dare.
Cassius leaned against the window of the summerhouse, staring out at the darkness beyond. A thin sickle moon cut the sky, like a tear in black velvet, the dark water of lake glinting here and there beneath. His insides were in a knot, probably not helped in the least by the bottle of cognac he’d snuck out of the house and was currently keeping company with.
Blasted Ashton had flirted shamelessly all evening. Not just with Lottie, to be fair; Eliza got her fair share of attention too. In fact, Ash and Louis César had been vying for the title of ‘most charming’ all blasted evening, damn their eyes. The only person who’d looked more revolted than he had was Louis’s brother. Nic had excused himself as early as he could without looking abominably rude, and Cassius had seen him sneaking out in the direction of the pub. He could hardly blame the man.
Cassius had assumed t
he duke would put his foot down and tell them not to make such cakes of themselves over his daughters. He hadn’t. Instead he’d looked on in with an amused glint in his eyes and didn’t appear to have the least notion of murdering anyone. It was a terrible disappointment.
He sighed and stared up at the sliver of moon. There was no escaping the truth. He loved Eliza, but as a friend, not as he would hope to feel for a wife. He could not marry her. The world was calling to him, begging him to come and discover it. He’d seen such a tiny corner and he was already restless, desperate for more. Yet that kind of nomadic life would make Eliza miserable, just as spending the rest of his days in England would make him. It would be as unfair to her as it was to him. She was a beautiful, wonderful woman who deserved no less than adoration from her husband, and he could not give her that. He lifted the bottle of cognac to his lips and took another swig. The sooner he told her so, the better. It wasn’t as if she would be angry with him. No, Eliza would be kind and understanding, and ensure he felt no anxiety for having let her down… which was far, far worse than her being angry with him.
Bloody hell.
Chapter 7
Louis César,
I received your letter at last. It took some time to reach me as I was in the South of France when you departed, and missed all the excitement. I admit I was surprised by your flight from Paris. I assume there is a woman involved in there somewhere, and the tale delicate enough that you would not give any details to your old friend in writing. Not another jealous lady threatening to shoot your lover, or you, I hope? Was it you at the heart of it this time, or shall Nic take the blame?
A little bird tells me you have been made welcome by the Earl of St Clair, and that you have your sights on marrying a duke’s daughter. I commend you on your choices. Bedwin would be a powerful ally and silence the wagging tongues that persist in turning over the details of your past. I wonder if he would recognise me after all these years. Perhaps I should quit Paris too, and consider showing my face to polite society again? I am bored enough to consider it might be entertaining. Now that would give them something to talk about.
―Excerpt of letter to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen, signed… Wolf.
1st July 1838, The Summerhouse, Holbrook, Sussex.
Cassius groaned and clutched at his head.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, blinking against the dazzling light pouring through the studio windows. He squinted as the door open and did his best to focus on the blurry figure that had stepped inside.
“I thought as much,” his father said.
“Oh, please, Pa, don’t scold, I promise you I’m being punished enough.”
“As if I would?” his sire retorted, holding a basket aloft. “I bring coffee.”
“Thank God. You are the very best of fathers, sir,” Cassius murmured, collapsing back into the chair and rubbing his temples.
The earl nodded and began unpacking the basket. “This is true, so I shan’t bother to pretend modesty.”
“Did Mother send you?”
“No need. I observed last night how utterly blue devilled you were, not to mention the fact that you clearly wanted to poke Ashton’s pretty eyes out with a sharp stick.”
“Damnation. Was it that obvious?”
His father glanced back with a wry smile and Cassius groaned and closed his eyes.
“Have you spoken to Eliza yet?”
Cassius peeled his eyes open again to see his father holding out a mug of coffee for him. He took it, curling his hands about the mug and taking a tentative sip. It was hot and strong and heavily dosed with sugar.
“No.”
His father said nothing for a moment, returning to pour out his own mug of coffee before picking up a chair and moving it closer. He sat down and sipped his drink, regarding his son with a benign expression that was nonetheless capable of making Cassius feel like a rat.
“I’m going to,” Cassius said, his stomach twisting itself back into a Gordian knot. “I swear I will, only… only she’ll be so kind and understanding and honestly I’d far rather she shouted at me and told me I was a heartless brute. I’m sure I deserve it.”
The earl smiled, such sympathy in his eyes Cassius felt worse than ever. “No, you don’t. You both had a lovely vision of what the future could be, but you were children, and the idea did not grow with you. You made each other no promises, and your heart cannot be manipulated into loving someone you feel you ought to love. It is not your fault you’ve fallen in love with her sister, either, though I admit that is dashed awkward, and does rather complicate matters.”
Cassius gaped at him.
“Oh, come on. It was obvious. What other reason could you have for wanting to murder one of your closest friends? I admit Ashton’s waistcoat was somewhat challenging, but I don’t believe it was outrageous enough to provoke such violent emotion as I saw in your eyes at dinner.”
“Did anyone else notice?” he demanded, feeling wretched now.
His father shrugged. “I’ve no idea, but I did, and others will, and eventually Eliza will figure it out. Though I have a suspicion she might not be as heartbroken as you suspect.”
Cassius sat up straighter. “Why do you say that?”
“Haven’t you seen the way she watches your friend, Mr Demarteau? She seems rather fascinated, though I’m not honestly certain if she is interested or merely horrified by how rude he is to her.”
“Nic?” Cassius said in horror. “Oh, good God, no. He’s… he’s… and Eliza is—”
“Good heavens, you’ve gone as white as a sheet, Cass. I admit he’s a surly fellow, but I quite like him, and I assumed he was someone you trusted. Tell me, you’d not have brought him here if he was beyond the pale?”
Cassius shook his head, uncertain of what to say. “Nic is a decent fellow underneath the glowering exterior, honourable in his own way and a good friend, but… but the life he’s lead in Paris, Father. He’s not the kind of fellow Eliza would wish to marry. He’s hardly good ton. Not that I care, but Eliza….”
His father shrugged and got to his feet. He smiled down at Cassius and rested his hand on his shoulder for a moment. “Women surprise you, Cass, and perhaps you don’t know Eliza as well as you think you do. Either way, that is her affair, not yours. Speak to her, though, and do it soon. Perhaps she will be as relieved as you.”
Cassius nodded.
“I will,” he promised. “You’ve my word on it.”
Once he’d drunk his coffee, Cassius considered going back to the house to clean up, but everyone would be at breakfast and he wasn’t ready to see anyone just yet. Instead he took himself off for a swim in the lake, hoping that a bracing dip in cold water would clear his head and make him better able to face Eliza.
He swam for a good half hour, feeling calmer with every minute that passed. By the time he got out, he was feeling rather less as if he was going to climb the steps to Tyburn and more as though he needed to have a serious discussion with a dear friend. He’d do it this afternoon, he decided. Perhaps he could invite Eliza to go for a walk with him, and—
“Cassius?”
Cassius jolted at the sound of the feminine voice, suddenly very aware of the fact that he’d been swimming in only his small clothes, which became all but transparent once wet.
“Christ, Lottie!” he exclaimed, covering his dignity as best he could with his hands and searching wildly about for his clothes.
“Goodness, Cassius, you have… filled out.”
Lottie was staring at him in rapt fascination, her cheeks a little pink, but her eyes upon him, frank and full of admiration.
Despite feeling utterly ridiculous, Cassius discovered he was shallow enough to experience a rush of pride at her words, more so at the look in her eyes as her gaze travelled down his chest to his belly, and then lower before moving back up again. The slow, scrolling inspection of his person made heat erupt beneath his skin and desire surge in his blood. Hell and damnation, this situation would get aw
kward indeed if he didn’t nip it in the bud at once.
“Where the devil are my clothes?” he muttered, scowling at the ground. He knew he’d left them here somewhere.
“Oh, you mean these?” Lottie stepped daintily to one side to reveal a neat pile of his belongings, which her voluminous skirts had hidden.
“You little devil, you did that on purpose. I never folded them.”
She shrugged, unrepentant. “Well, you’d scattered them hither and yon, anything could have happened to them. Why, someone might even have stolen them.”
Lottie gave him a wide-eyed glance and pretended to gasp in shock at the idea.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned her.
They stared at each other for a long moment and then Cassius lunged. Lottie squealed and snatched up his clothes, running away from him. She crowed with laughter as he raced after her, through the trees, back towards the summerhouse. Thank God they were out of sight of the house from here. Suddenly Cassius was transported back in time, to memories of chasing Lottie about the grounds after she’d purposely said or done something outrageous to provoke him.
“Ask me nicely and maybe I’ll give them back,” she shouted, dancing out of his reach.
“Give them back or you’ll regret it, you little minx,” Cassius warned her, trying to grab at the trouser leg dangling from the pile in her arms but she dodged out of reach.
“But why would I do that?” she asked, as her heated expression roved over him like a caress. “It’s such a pretty view.”
Cassius felt his breath catch and he ground to a halt. His chest was heaving, but he suspected it was less from the effort of chasing her and more because she’d outright admitted she wanted to look at him, that she liked looking at him… that she desired him.
“Do you like what you see, Lottie?” he asked, aware of the change in his voice.
She stilled, standing in the dappled light beneath the branches of an oak tree. The pink that had flushed her cheeks deepened, and she drew in a sharp breath. There was a pause that felt significant, during which Cassius was aware of the blood rushing in his veins, the thud of his heart in his ears.