by Emma V Leech
Nic grunted and stared down at the glass of champagne in his hand in disgust. “It’s too damn ’ot in here, and I need a proper drink.”
“Hot, Nic. Do not drop your ‘h’s. We must speak English properly,” Louis said with a mocking tone.
His brother glared at him and Cassius grinned.
“Come down to the summerhouse,” he suggested. “I’ve got a bottle of cognac stashed there I think might meet with your approval.”
It was obvious Nic was in an uncertain mood this evening and, in Cassius’s experience of the man, that invariably led to trouble. In the circumstances, it was best to take Nic as far away from the guests as he could get.
Cassius filled his glass again. No doubt he would regret this in the morning, and he had no doubt whatsoever he would receive the devil of a dressing down from his mama for having disappeared so early in the evening. Yet it was good to be with his friends again. It reminded him of many nights in France with the brothers, drinking too much and talking nonsense half the time, arguing fiercely about art and books, and life in general. It usually ended with him talking about home as the longing for it rose in proportion to how drunk he was. He would wax lyrical about Holbrook, about his life there and his family, and most often about Eliza and Lottie and how he missed them both. How strange, then, to be back here at last, with his friends, and still missing Eliza and Lottie so badly his chest hurt. He must go back to the house soon though, for he had promised Lottie a dance. Though it was a dangerous thing to do, he would not miss it, not for the world.
“This is dreadful,” Nic said, looking down at the still life he’d managed the other day in disgust.
Cassius flushed. Nic had a good eye for art and knew what he was talking about. His opinion mattered to Cassius and the comment stung, for he knew it was true.
“Yes, it is. I know,” he said, frowning into his glass. “Can’t seem to settle to anything.”
“Guilty conscience?”
Cassius looked at Nic in surprise, a little unsettled by the fellow’s tone, he sounded angry. He glanced then at Louis César, who cleared his throat.
“I told him about Eliza.”
“Are you out of your damned mind? Fils a Putain!” Nic snapped, with such fury Cassius could only stare at him. “And why the devil did you never tell us you were engaged to her?”
“Because I wasn’t!” Cassius retorted. “It was just a foolish arrangement we made as children, and lucky for you, for Louis César seems to have stepped into the breach fast enough.”
He knew at once it was the wrong thing to stay as Nic stiffened, but before things could go badly wrong, Louis César intervened as he usually did when Nic was about to erupt.
“Cassius, I think we should get some air. We shall leave Nic to enjoy criticising your work in peace. Thinking up some cutting remarks will make him feel better. When we return, he can tell you how awful it is, and you can tell him he’s an idiot, and all will be well, yes?”
Not waiting for an answer, Louis took Cassius by the arm and towed him forcibly outside. He did not stop until they stood beside the lake, staring out over the glinting black water.
“What the bloody hell is wrong with him?” Cassius demanded.
“I’m damned if I know,” Louis said. “He won’t tell me. You know him well enough now to understand Nic has a dark spirit. His is not a quiet soul. He is not by nature easy-going, and his temper is uneven at best, but… but this I am not certain I understand. Unless….”
Louis César shook his head in frustration and stared at the lake, deep in thought.
They stood in silence for a long while.
“Do you mean to marry Eliza?”
He felt Louis César turn to look at him.
“If she will have me,” he said quietly. There was a soft huff of laughter. “Which, I am chagrined to discover, is by no means certain. I do not think your Eliza is terribly impressed by my charm. It is a dreadful blow to my ego, I assure you.”
“She is not my Eliza,” Cassius said.
“No. Much to my relief. I should not have wished to have you as an opponent for her affections.”
“Will you make her a good husband?” Cassius turned to look his friend in the eyes. He’d never seen eyes of quite such intense blue as Louis César’s and had painted the comte more than once, trying to capture the mercurial spirit he saw there.
“I do not know,” Louis replied with his usual candour. “I can only promise you that I will try.”
“I hope you will try very hard, Louis,” Cassius said, knowing Louis heard the threat behind his words. “She is my friend, and I won’t see her hurt or embarrassed.”
Louis quirked one eyebrow and Cassius felt sick.
“You do not need to tell me I’ve done just that. I’ve made a confounded mess of everything. Believe me, I know I’m an utter bastard. I hate myself.”
Louis shrugged. “You cannot help it if you do not love her, or… is there more to it than that? Another woman perhaps?”
It wasn’t the first time Cassius had cause to curse Louis’s perceptiveness. He could only hope he hadn’t guessed who the woman was. Hoping to turn his attention to other matters, he gestured back to the summerhouse. “We’d best go back. He’s seen everything I did in France and there’s not much else. If we don’t hurry, he’ll decide it’s all worthless and set fire to the lot.”
Whether Louis was truly diverted from the subject he did not know, but he went with Cassius back to the summerhouse. As they approached, Cassius saw Nic in the open doorway, candlelight at his back, and a leather portfolio open in his hands.
Chapter 15
My dear Kitty,
I shall miss you at this year’s ball. Do you remember that summer here at Holbrook years back, when we dressed Jasper’s stuffed bear in evening clothes? My word, what a long time ago that seems, and yet it’s like yesterday too. The summer always seems to have an element of romance, of the air being full of possibilities, as if it only needs a spark to ignite it. Goodness, listen to me writing of romance! Jasper is rubbing off on me after all these years. Still, I cannot help but wonder what excitement this year’s ball will bring us. There is certainly something in the air.
―Excerpt of a letter from Harriet Cadogan, Countess St Clair (mother of Cassius) to her old friend and Peculiar Lady, Kitty Baxter, Countess of Trevick.
14th July 1838, Holbrook House, Sussex.
Lottie glanced up at her father. It had become dreadfully stuffy inside and he had brought her and Eliza out for a walk in the garden to get some air. Cassius’s father, the earl, had come too, and both men were deep in conversation.
Lottie and Eliza trailed behind them, relishing the cooler air. Lottie had danced all evening, doing her best to appear as she usually did, as though she was having fun, but her heart was with Cassius. She could not keep her thoughts from him, try as she might. Oh, but he’d looked splendid this evening. The stark black-and-white evening wear suited his golden beauty and had been perfectly tailored to his impressive physique. She allowed her mind to drift back to the day she’d caught him skinny dipping in the lake and remembered his broad shoulders, those powerful arms and muscular chest, and the way the water had slid down his body, trailing towards….
“There’s a light on in the summerhouse,” Eliza said, amusement in her tone. “Cassius has escaped.”
Lottie felt heat crawl up her neck as Eliza spoke of Cassius just as she’d been thinking of him naked and wet and splendid and… oh, Lord. Something low in her belly contracted with longing as she thought of the summerhouse, of his gaze upon her, hot and liquid with desire as he sketched her, sprawled against the silks and velvets of the daybed.
“Are you friends again?” Lottie asked, making a valiant effort to keep her thoughts from straying to such wicked subjects and failing miserably. All she could see was Cassius, all she wanted was to feel his skin upon hers, the weight of his body pressing her down. Oh, heavens she would combust if this kept up.
&nbs
p; “Not quite,” Eliza said with a sigh. “But we shall be. I’m just…. Oh, Lottie, I just wish he’d been honest with me. I realise he was right, we were not in love, not in that way and he was right to say so, only now I wonder about so many things. How could I have been so blind to the truth, and as I was, how well I really know myself. All the things I had relied upon are gone and I’m… I’m adrift.”
“Eliza,” Lottie said, her heart beating very fast. She knew Cass had wanted them to tell Eliza together, but she could not bear it a moment longer. “Eliza can I tell you something, please?”
“Of course,” Eliza said, concern in her gaze, and there was the sister Lottie knew and loved, the one who would do anything for those she cared about. “You know you can trust me, Lottie. So, please, will you tell me why you’ve been so out of spirits these past days? I hope you’ve not been fretting on my account?”
“In part,” Lottie admitted, gathering her courage. They were drawing close to the summerhouse and she could see two figures walking up from the lake. “But let’s not discuss it here. Can we go back inside? Come to my room and—”
She broke off as there was a bellow of fury. The sound was raw and primitive and they both looked to the summerhouse to see….
Good heavens, was… was that Mr Demarteau and….
Lottie watched in horror as Demarteau flew at Cassius and punched him in the gut. Cassius doubled over, staggering back, and then straightened and threw himself at Mr Demarteau.
Eliza screamed and ran forward, but their father and the earl were faster, wading in and pulling the two men apart with difficulty as they thrashed and struggled, and Louis César got between them to help.
Lottie ran to Cassius, whose lip was bleeding. He was breathing very hard, his colour high. Somewhat to her astonishment, she saw Eliza run towards Mr Demarteau and then stop dead some distance from him.
“What were you thinking?” she demanded of him.
Demarteau said nothing, his gaze fixed on Cassius.
“What in the name of God is going on here?” their father demanded, and Lottie shivered.
Most of the time this fierce man was simply Papa, whom they adored. He was loving and indulgent and dreadfully overprotective, but now and then they were reminded of exactly who and what he was.
Neither man spoke, only glared resentfully at each other.
“Well?” their father bellowed. “Answer me, damn you!”
As they remained stubbornly silent, he turned his attention to Louis César.
“I have no idea,” the comte said, looking as stunned as everyone else.
“Cassius,” the earl said. “What is this about?”
Lottie saw his jaw tighten, but he said nothing, so the earl turned to Mr Demarteau.
“I think you should leave.”
“No,” Cassius said, breaking his silence. “No. It… It was not his fault.”
“Not his fault?” their father retorted. “We saw him storm out of the summerhouse and attack you!”
Cassius gritted his teeth but spoke again. “He was provoked.”
The duke waved this away. “Nonetheless, we cannot have such behaviour. A gentleman does not go about knocking seven bells out of his host at a ball. You could at least wait for the proper time and place, and go about it like gentlemen.”
“Pistols at dawn,” Demarteau sneered, not helping himself a great deal.
“Ta guele!” Louis César muttered under his breath, glaring at his brother.
Demarteau clamped his mouth shut, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
“Will someone explain what is going on!”
Everyone stared at Eliza in surprise, astonished by her outburst.
“Well, something is,” she said, throwing up her hands. “We all know it, we just don’t know what it is.”
“There is nothing going on,” Mr Demarteau said, though he seemed to vibrate with the effort of speaking and not lunging at Cassius again. “It is only that I am not a gentleman, as you see, and I have the oddest notions about honourable behaviour. My apologies once again, my lady. I shall leave you to your entertainments.”
He gave her a stiff bow and stalked away. Louis César hurried after him and Eliza watched them go for a long moment. Then she turned back to Cassius.
“You’re all mad!” she exclaimed in fury and ran off with a frantic rustle of skirts.
By the time Lottie had seen Eliza to her room and allowed her to vent her feelings about idiotic men and their ridiculous, barbaric behaviour, it was late. Most of those guests who had come by carriage had made their goodbyes, and those staying had drifted up to their rooms. Thankfully, only her father and the earl had witnessed the scene between Demarteau and Cassius, and so no one was any the wiser. It appeared Mr Demarteau had left at once, returning to London, she imagined, or wherever he’d been all this time. For the life of her, Lottie could not understand why he had attacked Cassius. They were friends. It made no sense.
Though she was tired, Lottie did not wish to go to bed. She wished the ball was not yet over, for she had missed her dance with Cassius as his father had towed him off to his study. She had no doubt the earl would want a full and frank explanation of what had gone on, and could only pity Cassius having to endure it. With a sigh of frustration, she wandered the vast house until she arrived at the schoolroom. It was empty now, the children having gone to bed ages ago, but it was full of memories. This was the backdrop to many of her childhood reminiscences, when the weather was too bad to play outside, or if Lottie could not persuade Eliza into whatever mischief she’d suggested.
There was a battered old sofa in the corner, with a table on either side of it. The table was stacked with books, just as it had always been. They had snuggled up together here to listen to Eliza read to them, as she was the best at it. She would act the parts, changing her voice to suit the characters and having them in whoops sometimes at the comical way she said things. Eliza might not have much of an imagination, but she was a keen observer of people and their mannerisms. Lottie plopped down on the sofa with a flurry of skirts and petticoats and sighed, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
“Funny, I knew I’d find you here.”
“Cassius!” she exclaimed, wide-eyed. “What on earth happened?”
He shook his head and came to sit down beside her. “I’ll tell you in a moment. Just… give me five minutes. My head is still ringing after my father’s little talk.”
“Was he terribly angry?”
“Not terribly. I don’t think father gets terribly angry—well unless someone upsets Mother. No, he was just frustrated because I refused to tell him what it was about.”
Lottie desperately wanted to ask the same thing but he’d said he needed a moment, so she held her tongue. She stared at him, at the moonlight as it caught the strong lines of his profile, the long straight nose and the hard line of his jaw, those sculpted lips that were so very soft and….
“Damnation, Lottie, don’t look at me like that. We’re in enough trouble,” he said ruefully.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about you, about the other night.”
“Me either.”
He reached out and threaded their fingers together.
“Tell me something amusing,” he said with a sigh, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. Lottie did the same but turned her head to watch him.
“I was just remembering this room and being here as children. Do you remember Eliza reading to us and making all the voices?”
Cassius chuckled. “I do. How funny she was. Does she still do it?”
“Not often,” Lottie admitted. “Though she will for the little ones if no one else is around to listen. She’s too afraid of making a fool of herself.”
He turned his head to meet her gaze and, though the room was dim, she did not need light to remember the exact shade of his eyes, that distinct turquoise that made her think of hot, sunny places and exotic seas.
&nbs
p; “You’ve never cared about that, have you?”
Lottie shook her head. “I don’t think about it. I just react, which is not always a good thing. I’m too impulsive.”
“Like taking off your clothes in a summerhouse in front of some wicked fellow.”
“In front of the man I love,” she amended, and she heard his breath catch.
“Do you, Lottie?”
She nodded, emotion tugging at the words. “I always have, and it’s been so dreadful, Cass, pretending that I didn’t mind it was Eliza you wanted. I w-was so horribly jealous, and I felt so wretched for being such a hateful creature, to envy my own… my own s-sister.”
Her voice grew thick and trembled, and Cassius slid his arm about her and pulled her close.
“You could never be hateful. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s all my fault for being such an imbecile and not seeing what was right in front of me.”
Lottie shook her head, unable to agree with that. “Oh, no. I never faulted you. Of course you wanted Eliza. She’s so much nicer than me. She’s kind and patient and never loses her temper, and she’s… s-so bloody perfect it makes my teeth hurt!”
Cassius laughed and Lottie made a sound of exasperation.
“You see? I told you I’m not nice.”
“I think you’re nice,” he said softly. “And I think you’re perfect too, just a different kind of perfect.”
“Yes, the imperfect kind,” she retorted with a little sniff.
“Perfect for me.” He reached out and traced the shape of her lips with a fingertip. “When I was away, I had the most marvellous time. For the first six months I was immersed in my work and in everything I was discovering. I made new friends and travelled, saw the most beautiful scenery, but little by little I noticed this longing for… for something. I thought I was just homesick at first, for my family and friends, then I decided it was you and Eliza, and it was. Only… It was you Lottie, and it wasn’t until you burst onto the terrace that day that I realised it.”
Lottie felt her face heat.
“I meant to be well-behaved and act like a lady. I did, truly. Only I had bottled up my feelings for so long and when I saw you it… it all sort of exploded out of me.” She shook her head. “Papa says I’m about as subtle as a brick, and he’s right, you know.”