Elizabeth Mansfield (25 page)

With his mouth twisted into a sneer, he pushed back his chair and rose.
A week, indeed
, he said to himself in revulsion. Was this the creature he thought he might care for more than Elinor? What a fool he was! She wouldn’t come back in a week, or even a month. Not as long as she enjoyed queening it in town!
I’ll lay odds she postpones her return indefinitely
, he told himself. But aloud he only said, “Suit yourself, Cassie. It makes no difference to me.” And, cold as ice, he strode across the room and out the door.

Chapter Thirty-One

Cassie was utterly confused. As she sat over her embroidery frame in her lonely sitting room, she found herself dripping silent tears on the stitches. What had gone wrong? she asked herself miserably. She’d hoped to make her husband happy by her subterfuge, but if the letters had been, as she’d hoped, a balm to his wounded soul, she saw no sign of it. The two of them were barely speaking. Yet her portmanteau and two bandboxes stood packed and ready in the Great Hall for removal the next morning to the carriage that was to take her to London. Robert had instructed Loesby to arrange for the coachman to be at the door at seven. She was leaving. And without him.

Cassie had no real wish to go, for the terrible coldness that had sprung up between them pained her more than anything else that had happened to her. She had no understanding of the cause, but she feared that her absence would only make matters worse. But her dishonest forgery scheme, now launched, had to be continued. She saw no way around it. And to continue it, she had to go to London to see Eunice.

She wiped her eyes, wondering if Robert would join her for tea this last day before she went away. Taking tea with her was an observance he’d been avoiding for the past few days, but perhaps today he would take the trouble to join her. It would be an act of kindness that would ease her mind a little. When, just at teatime, a knock sounded at the sitting room door, her heart leaped up to her throat. But it was only Dickle. “A message from London, my lady,” he said. “The messenger said that no answer was required.”

“A message for his lordship?” Cassie inquired in surprise. “How strange! His mother forwarded some letters only two days ago.”

“It’s addressed to
you
, my lady,” Dickle said in a tone that was unmistakably disapproving. “Marked ‘Private and Personal’ in large letters, as you can see.”

“Private and personal?” Cassie snatched the missive from him and waved him out. The pompous fellow evidently assumed that any letter marked ‘private and personal’ must contain a wicked message. Did the idiotic fellow think she was carrying on some sort of indiscretion? Cassie herself, however, while amused at her butler, was almost as uneasy about the contents as he was. In fact, her hands were shaking. She’d never received a letter marked “private and personal” in all her life.

It was from Eunice.
“Dearest Cassie
,” Eunice had written in a hurried scrawl, “
I hope you are reading this in Complete Privacy. And I think, when you have Finished, you should Burn this in the Fire. I’ve taken the Risk of writing because something has Occurred that you should know. E.L. is back in London! I’m sure you can Guess whom I mean. She is Betrothed to her Italian Conte, and I hear she has been Parading him about Town as Proudly as a Peacock. She has not yet Called on me, undoubtedly in Embarrassment over Robbie, but I expect I shall have to Face her soon. I intend to tell her that Robbie is Divinely Happy and in transports over his Wonderful Wife. What Worries me about this matter is, as you’ve probably guessed, the Danger to You. If Robbie doesn’t hear about her before June, he’s Bound to learn Everything then, of course, because you will Both be coming to Town for my Wedding! She will Have to be Invited, worse Luck, and then, in addition to Learning about her Betrothal, he might
discover that She never wrote the Letters! The Fat will be in the Fire then! I only pray that Robbie may not Murder you! How you are to get yourself out of this Fix I have no Idea, but You, my Love, are Endlessly Resourceful, and I am certain you will think of Something. In the meantime, you may rest assured I am Praying for a Happy Outcome. I Remain Your Loving and Terror-stricken Eunice
.”

By the time she’d finished reading, Cassie was deathly pale. She sat where she was, utterly immobilized. Eunice might believe that she was “Endlessly Resourceful,” but she couldn’t even think of where or how to begin to extricate herself from this nightmare. Of course, the first thing she had to do was to burn Eunice’s letter, but the day was very warm and no fires had been lit in any of the rooms. With trembling knees, she marched herself down to the kitchen and, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of the astounded kitchen staff, lifted one of the stovelids and dropped the letter in. She waited until she was sure it was burned to a cinder and then marched out again with her head high. The staff might think she’d lost her mind, but if there was one thing in the world she did
not
have to worry about, it was the opinion of the kitchen staff.

Dinner that night was another silent meal. Cassie did not know how to tell her husband that she was not going to London after all. It was, on the face of it, a simple enough thing to do, but the prospect embarrassed her, especially because he’d seemed almost eager to see her go. He’d even encouraged her to stay until June! And, worse, she’d been so insistent about wanting to go! What would he make of her sudden change of heart? What excuse could she give? She was not up to telling him the truth just yet, but she could not countenance another lie. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to give no excuse at all.

She tried ten times to tell Robert that she’d changed her mind, and ten times her courage failed her. It was only when the meal was almost over that she managed it, and even then it was because Robert brought the subject up. “If I miss you in the morning, Cassie,” he said in a tone of stiff politeness, “I hope you have a pleasant journey and an enjoyable stay in town.”

“I’m not going,” she blurted out.

“What did you say?” Robert asked in disbelief.

“I said I’m not going.”

“You can’t be serious!” He peered at her through the candlelight. “The plans have all been made!”

“I know,” she said nervously, getting up and edging toward the door, “but p-plans can b-be unmade. I’m not going.”

“But,
why
?” he demanded, pushing his chair back as if to rise.

His movement made her jump. “I changed my m-mind, that’s all. I j-just changed my mind.” And with that she fled from the room.

Feeling quite like a criminal, she scurried upstairs to her bedroom and shut the door. For the next hour she paced about the room, for she knew her troubles were not over. Not nearly. Elinor was back in London with a new betrothed, and Robert was bound to find out. And he was bound to find out, too, that Elinor had not written the last three letters. Cassie knew that she would have to confess to Robert what she’d done. But the admission would involve informing him about Elinor, and she didn’t see how she could do that without causing him pain. Furthermore, he would be furious with her for playing so dastardly a trick on him, and she couldn’t even guess what terrible form that fury would take. Even Eunice said he might murder her! She remembered, when she’d invaded his privacy and read Elinor’s letters, she’d imagined herself as Bluebeard’s wife—one of the six who’d been hacked to death for invading the forbidden room. When she’d first thought of the Bluebeard legend, the prospect of murder had been a sort of joke. It did not seem so funny now. She had done worse than invade a forbidden room! If her Robert became Bluebeard and dismembered her poor body, she’d deserve it!

Her wild thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Cassie, open the door,” Robert ordered.
“I have to talk to you.”

“I’m already abed,” she lied, jumping into it and pulling the covers over her to make it true.

“Dash it, Cassie, one would think I intended to
beat
you! I just want to know why you’re not going to London.”

“I’ve already told you,” she insisted, not moving from the bed. “I changed my mind. It’s a woman’s privilege, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course. I have no objection to your staying home,” he said reasonably. “I only want to know
why
.”

“I’m tired,” she said. “Can’t we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Oh, very well,” came his voice, thick with disgust. “But I must say, Cassie, that your behavior this evening has been very, very peculiar. Well, if you’re sure you won’t say any more, I’ll bid you good night.”

“Good night, Robert,” she answered in relief.

Once he’d gone, she got up and undressed, but as she crawled back into bed she knew she would not sleep. How could she, knowing that the very next day she would have to tell Robert everything? There was no way out.

Of course, she could postpone it, she supposed. He was unlikely to learn about Elinor before June. Perhaps her best course of action would be to ignore everything and let him discover the truth for himself at the wedding. She shut her eyes and tried to imagine how his discovery might take place. Robert, at the wedding, would come upon Elinor at the buffet table. “Elinor!” he’d gasp. “You are as lovely as ever.”

“
Dear
Robert,” she’d smile, blushing prettily, “you mustn’t say such things to me. Haven’t you heard that I’m betrothed?”

“Betrothed?” He would undoubtedly turn white. “You
can’t
be betrothed!”

“But, my dear, I am! Since last March, when I was in Italy. There is my betrothed, over there near the window. The Italian, with the
mustachios
.”

“Since
March
?” Robert would gape at her in confusion. “How can that be? You wrote me in
April
that you still loved me! You said you wanted to paint my name across the sky!”

“I?” She would laugh a trilling laugh. “I would never have written anything so silly. In fact, I haven’t written to you at all since … oh, since February.”

Robert would stare at his beloved, wide-eyed with horror. “But who,” he would wonder aloud, “would have played so dastardly a trick on me?” His eyes would suddenly narrow in comprehension. “
Cassie
!” he would exclaim, tight-lipped with fury. “Who else would be capable of such revolting underhandedness?”

And then, eyes blazing, he would confront her in front of all the wedding guests. A sword would flash in the air. There would be screams and confusion. Cassie would have to fall to her knees. “Robert, spare me!” she would beseech. “I didn’t think !”

But the sword would whizz swiftly through the air and down! The sounds of women shrieking and men shouting would drown out Cassie’s last scream …

She sat up in bed with a start. Had she screamed aloud? She really had to get hold of herself. These imaginings were becoming too lurid for words.

She slid back onto her pillows and pulled the bedclothes up to her neck. She had to try to get some sleep, for tomorrow would be a difficult day. Since her imagined scene had made it clear that she could not subject her husband to such a humiliating scene at his sister’s wedding, she would have to tell him everything herself. Tomorrow would have to be the day.

She shuddered and burrowed deeper into her pillows.
Yes
, she thought as sleep slowly overtook her,
tomorrow will be my punishment
.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Whenever Loesby suspected that Lord Kittridge and his lady had had a quarrel, he expressed his disapproval by clucking his tongue, shaking his head and behaving as if his lordship had affronted him personally. “I s’pose, m’ lord, ye’ll be wantin’ yer boots removed?” he asked icily after Kittridge had stormed into his bedroom following the exchange with his wife in the corridor.

“Since I’d rather not go to bed wearing them,” Kittridge retorted, sitting on his bed and extending a foot, “yes, I’d like them removed, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Much ye’d care if I
did
mind,” Loesby muttered, dragging off a boot. “Some people don’t seem to care about
anyone’s
feelin’s these days.”

Kittridge glared at him. “You were eavesdropping again, I take it?”

Loesby pulled off the other boot. “Didn’t ’ave to. Everyone fer miles about could ’ear ye. An’ ’ow a man wot calls ’isself a gen’leman cin tell ’is lady that she’s actin’
peculiar
is beyond me!”

Kittridge pulled off his coat and threw it at his valet. “Mind your own business for a change, will you, Loesby? You don’t know anything about the matter.”

“I know enough. She decided not t’ take off fer town. Wut’s so damn peculiar about that? If I wuz a lady, an’ me better ’alf wouldn’t go along wi’ me, I wouldn’t go neither.”

Kittridge paused in the act of unbuttoning his shirt and stared at the fellow speculatively. “Do you think
that’s
her reason? That I wasn’t going along with her?”

Loesby shrugged. “Wut else?”

“There are any number of other possibilities. But I don’t intend to stand here and argue the matter with you. You always defend her, anyway, no matter what I have to say. So you can just take yourself off, you bobbing-block. I’ve seen enough of you for one day.”

“Don’t ye want ’elp wi’ yer breeches?”

“I can undress myself, thank you. Good night!”

But after the valet departed, Kittridge didn’t bother to finish undressing. He threw himself upon his bed in his stockinged feet, still wearing his half-unbuttoned shirt and his breeches, and, with his hands tucked under his head, stared up at the ceiling. He had to think. This undeclared war with Cassie was getting on his nerves. Every time he believed he was beginning to understand her, something would occur to overset him. He’d believed, at first, that she was a conniving parvenu. Then, after the early months here at Highlands, he’d begun to believe she was sincere in her expressed desire to live a modest country life. She seemed to take to it so well. He’d even begun to think of her as rather a jewel—a “wonder” as Loesby liked to call her. But the other day, her request to run off to town, just when the work on the estate was getting into full swing, returned him to his original suspicions. Then this evening, as if on purpose to upset him again, she boldly announced that she didn’t want to go to London after all. What on earth was he expected to make of
that
?