Almost Perfect (22 page)

Charles, who had been the least of Cassie’s suitors at the time, had related the story to her with no little triumph. It was a small cruelty, but one she’d later forgiven him. Charles had been desperately in love with her and thrilled at the opportunity to dispense with a serious rival for his beloved’s affection.

“Think about it, Philana. If Lord Graceton turned his back on me because he didn’t care to deal with my father six years ago, how much less willing must he be to deal with Papa now? Just before you arrived I was telling Lord Graceton about Eliza and Lord Bucksden.”

The pain of losing Lucien a second time again sliced through Cassie. “You saw him, Philana. Did the man who met you on the landing look at all pleased about being trapped into marriage by your ploy?”

The furrow in Philana’s brow grew deeper. There was nothing left of her confidence or her triumph. “Could I really be so wrong?” she murmured then horror flashed in her eyes. “Oh Lord, what have I done to you?”

Her aunt’s reaction only brought the reality of Cassie’s complete ruination home to her, and how she’d brought it all onto herself. “Nothing, Philana,” she gasped, “you did nothing. If there’s blame for anything that’s happened it lies solely at my own feet. Nor should you worry over me. I won’t be here long enough to suffer for what I’ve done. If Eliza hasn’t already sent you a message from Edinburgh, she will be soon. She was to inform me of sailing dates for my trip to America.”

“Oh,” Philana said, the tiny word fraught with consternation.

Terror for her sister shot through Cassie. “Philana, what is it? Has something happened to Eliza?”

Philana waved away Cassie’s panic. “Nothing at all. She’s safe, just not in Edinburgh.”

“Not in Edinburgh? Then where?” Cassie demanded, forgetting everything else in her worry over her sister.

Philana fiddled with her gloves, resettling them onto her hands. “At home.”

“She’s what!” Cassie cried. “Is she mad? She cannot be there. Lord Bucksden must have learned by now that we were visiting you.”

The tears Cassie had refused to shed on Lucien’s behalf now filled her eyes. This couldn’t be happening, not to her and not to Eliza. How could her sister have squandered what little edge time and misinformation had given them over the earl? God help them both, but they were once again within Lord Bucksden’s reach.

Philana put a soothing hand on Cassie’s arm. “Cassie, darling, don’t fret. She’s safe, surrounded by my entire household. The earl is an awful, immoral man, but he’s hardly likely to burn down my house to reach her. Nor should you be upset with Eliza. It was love for you that brought her back to me. She told me yesterday that she and your father continued on until her conscience could bear it no longer, then returned for you only to find nothing left of you but your hair pins. They didn’t know that it was Lord Graceton who’d taken you, so they rushed to Ettrick House, pleading that we search the neighborhood for you.

“That’s when Rob, here,” she pointed to one of the footman riding behind her, “returned from his visit to Mrs. Laidlaw, Lord Graceton’s housekeeper. That’s how I knew where you were and that you were safe with Lord Graceton.”

Cassie buried her face in her hands. Only she hadn’t been safe with Lucien.

“Oh, Philana,” she cried. “If only I’d killed the earl and stayed in London to face justice. A public trial and death by hanging would have been so much easier to endure.”

With the crunch of gravel Philana’s carriage came to a halt before the sweeping steps that led to her home’s front door. Maggie’s nephew hopped down from his perch to aid them. As Cassie exited the carriage her hair slid from the confinement in her bonnet, again spilling around her. She tore off her useless hat, lifted her skirts and started up the steps, battling her need to scold Eliza for returning and wracking her brain for a new way to make her sister safe.

The front door opened before she reached it. Philana’s butler, Robson, small, balding and dressed in black, stepped out onto the porch. Nervous furrows lined his naked brow. He offered Cassie a little bow. They knew each other well enough from Cassie’s visits over the years.

Behind Robson were two burly men. They stopped just in front of the doorway, inadvertently blocking Cassie’s access to the house. One was a footman, wearing his glossy satin attire and powdered wig. The other looked to be a man better acquainted with the out-of-doors, a gardener or a parker. His shirt was undyed linen, his brown jacket was patched, his knee breeches, made of leather while his boots were meant for tromping through mud. An untidy nest of hair escaped his well-worn hat.

Robson nervously clasped his hands before him. “Lady Forster, it happened just as you said it might,” he called down to Philana as she mounted the stairs behind Cassie. “He came shortly after you departed as if he’d been waiting for you to leave.”

That froze Cassie’s feet to the porch floor. She knew without doubt who he was. Lord Bucksden had found them.

Robson’s expression was one of guarded worry. “I did as you instructed my lady, informing him that I believed you’d gone to Ryecroft Castle to participate in the house party and didn’t expect you until this evening. He was none too pleased to hear that and even less pleased when I refused to let him wait for your return. Alex, here,” the lift of Robson hand indicating the roughhewn outdoors man, “says that he’s retreated for the moment to the inn in the village,” he said, meaning the tiny community of Ettrick that lay on the river’s edge. “The earl and the two ruffians who ride with him are presently taking a meal there. My lady, he may well have set a lad or someone to watching the track. That means he’ll soon know that you are returned.”

Robson paused, shaking his head in concern. “You’ve misjudged him, my lady. He won’t be put off by any means. I think it will take force to prevent him from entering when he returns. That worries me, my lady. How can we hold off an earl?” His voice cracked with the question.

The thought of having to physically battle Bucksden in order to save Eliza sent panic shooting through Cassie. She forgot about scolding. What she needed was to hold her sister in her arms.

Her heart pounding, Cassie pushed past the men, thrusting into Ettrick House’s entry hall. A long and narrow chamber, occupying the middle third of the square house’s length, its white marble floor tiles were inset with tiny black squares. Fluted half columns lined its walls, giving the impression of an ancient temple.

“Eliza?” she cried as the others followed her inside the house.

“Cassie!” her sister called back and thrust her head out of the doorway to Philana’s drawing room at the right end of the entryway.

Eliza’s face was blotchy and her eyes reddened. Affection tugged at Cassie’s heart. Eliza wore her blue sprigged dress, the garment surprisingly unwrinkled considering how Eliza had stuffed it into her satchel. Despite the tribulations in Eliza’s life at the moment she was still girl enough not to neglect a single item of her attire. She’d even taken the time to tie a wide blue ribbon around her head to hold back her hair.

Roland leaned out behind his daughter. He looked wretched, the skin on his face sallow and sagging. Deep, dark circles marked his blue eyes. His hair looked uncombed and he wore no coat over his maroon waistcoat and shirt. The only coat he’d taken with him from the coach was the jacket of his driving attire. That wasn’t an appropriate garment for a gentleman to wear in Philana’s house.

When Eliza saw Cassie she forgot decorum and raced into the entry hall. Cassie dropped her bonnet and held out her arms. Eliza embraced her, half laughing, half sobbing.

“God be praised,” she breathed into Cassie’s shoulder. “You’re safe. I’ve been dying by increments, imagining you friendless and injured, or worse.”

“We’ll want tea and sherry in the drawing room, Robson,” Philana requested. “Alex, go to the storeroom over the stable. I believe that’s where we stored Squire Forster's hunting weapons after his passing.”

“No,” Cassie whispered in horror, clasping Eliza even closer to her.

Where a moment ago Robson had worried over hurting an earl he now grinned. “You heard her, Alex,” he said, herding both men with him in the direction of the service chambers. “We’re to arm ourselves.”

Cassie caught Philana by the arm. “You cannot shoot at Lord Bucksden. Dear God, but what if he’s killed? Your servants will hang for it.”

Philana snorted. “You speak as if any of those old weapons will fire. Even if they could they’re useless without gunpowder and shot, and we keep none of that in this house, although I dare say I could put my hands on some if I were to ask any of my tenants.” She paused as if considering, then shook her head. “No, we don’t need it, not if my only purpose is to give Lord Bucksden pause. This is my house. If I refuse to admit him then he will not come in.”

Eliza straightened in Cassie’s embrace, her arm tightening around her sister. “I hope you don’t depend on any pretense of manners to stop Lord Bucksden,” she said, her voice quavering.

Philana blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“What Eliza means is that you cannot depend on Lord Bucksden to act like a gentleman,” Cassie replied, her voice sounding thready to her own ears. “When we didn’t answer the door in London he opened it himself and walked in as if it was his residence, not ours.”

Philana whirled, strode to her door and shot the bolt. Iron rang against iron as the bar hit the plate. “Go,” she commanded both Cassie and Eliza, “into the drawing room with both of you. I’ll see that the rest of the doors are bolted.”

Cassie and Eliza made their way to the drawing room, Eliza clinging to her older sister like a limpet. Roland backed out of the doorway as they entered, taking stance next to one of the small, inlaid chests. Cassie breathed in the warmth and security that had always permeated Philana’s private space, loving the cozy chamber, having spent many a happy hour in its embrace.

Nothing had changed in here for all the years Cassie had known Philana, except for the increasing number of Philana’s mementos--seashells, the odd dried nosegay, bits of ancient statuary and glass collected from her trips to Italy--that lined the tops of the door and window frames. The wall covering was still creamy linen printed with a faint red design. The same portraits and miniatures, Philana’s many august ancestors and some of Squire Forster’s not-so-renowned progenitors, decorated the walls and sat upon the chests. Mrs. C, Philana’s cat, sat on the cushioned bay window seat. She meowed in recognition, calling to Cassie as she always did when Cassie was in residence.

With her arm still around Eliza, Cassie started for the window and the cat. Her sister gave a quiet gasp and pulled free of Cassie’s arm. “Not there,” she whispered, sounding frantic.

“Eliza, you cannot truly be afraid of being seen, not from here,” Cassie protested. “First of all, Lord Bucksden already knows you’re in the house. Why else would he demand entry while Philana was gone, except to separate you from your protector? Secondly, we’re a storey above the ground. We’ll see him long before he sees us.”

As far as Cassie was concerned it was far better to know when Lord Bucksden arrived than to sit in nervous ignorance, awaiting a tap on the door. The color and life drained from Eliza’s face. She backed away from Cassie, wringing her hands.

“I don’t want to see him. Cassie, you didn’t hear him. When Robson refused to let him wait he cursed and threatened Philana’s destruction and poor Robson’s life.” Tears began to again trail down Eliza’s cheeks. “What am I to do, Cassie? Tell me what’s right.”

Horror ate up all the pleasure Cassie had taken in returning to this chamber. Eliza wanted permission to give herself to Bucksden! Fear for her sister drove the chastising words Cassie had forestalled from her mouth.

“Why didn’t you continue on to Edinburgh? If you had, you wouldn’t be here contemplating how best to answer that question.”

“I had to come back. I couldn’t bear to go on without you,” Eliza protested, then swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Excuse me. I need a fresh handkerchief,” she whispered, and hurried from the room.

Cassie wanted to kick herself. As if Eliza didn’t have enough worries at the moment, here she was making it worse.

“For shame, Cassie,” Roland chided, his voice stern as he stepped out of his quiet corner to confront his eldest daughter.

Anger tore through Cassie. “How dare you speak so to me,” she said, letting her outrage act as a barrier to fear. “You abdicated any right to act as my father the moment you joined Lord Bucksden at that gaming table.”

“I dare because Eliza doesn’t deserve your harshness,” he replied, sounding nothing at all like the Roland Cassie had known all her life. “If you must blame someone for what happens here today, blame me. I brought Eliza back here. She was so distraught at the thought of you alone and unprotected on the road that I feared she’d fall ill from worry.”

“Are you mad?” Cassie cried. “Far better that Eliza ailed in some distant and protected inn than to have you return here into Bucksden’s very arms.”

The little color remaining in her father’s face disappeared. He looked ancient, but not frail. He didn’t cringe. Nor did he fidget, not with his waistcoat buttons, not with his watch chain, not even tapping his foot.

“I’ve already accepted your disgust as my due, but save your tirade for another day,” Roland retorted. “Our only concern can be your safety, and Eliza’s.

Cassie chaffed at being in the unusual position of enduring her father’s rightful scorn. “Until this morning the safest place for Eliza was on a ship bound for America. Why did you give way to her? Eliza’s still a child. You are her father. You should have taken her to Edinburgh.”

“You’re so certain of that?” It wasn’t a question as much as another chide. Roland shook his head. “If you are, then it’s proof that you haven’t been thinking clearly of late. I saw the reality of it once Eliza and I were alone on the track. What would have happened to us if we’d come upon Lord Bucksden?”

“But he didn’t know where we were yesterday,” Cassie cried.

Roland crossed the room to catch his eldest daughter by the arms. “You’re still not thinking, Cassie. Listen. Not even if we go all the way to America will fleeing Lord Bucksden resolve the wrong I’ve done. We must confront him. We must find a way to end this with you safe from Lord Bucksden’s ire and Eliza free of his claim.”

Glaring at him, Cassie wrenched free of her father’s grasp. She wasn’t certain she liked this new Roland. What right did he have to tell her what to do? Guiding their family had been her job these last two years since her mother’s death.

“Only a few days ago you were begging me to concoct any sort of scheme to save us. Now here you are complaining about the one I created.” That she’d paid for the scheme with her pride made it doubly hard to consider that she might have been wrong to propose it. “If you don’t like my ideas, come up with one of your own,” she continued, only to be disgusted at herself. She sounded peevish and that was beneath her, even in their present situation.

Shaking his head, Roland stepped back from her, his arms crossed. His expression hardened with new determination. “I do have some ideas, but nothing I’m ready to share with you. Now, tell me what happened after we parted. Lady Forster said Lord Graceton was the man following us and that footman of hers said you were with him as of yesterday afternoon. Where were you and did Lord Graceton do you any wrong?”

His question drove the breath from Cassie, half because she hadn’t expected her father to care what had become of her and half because his question brought back all the pain of Lucien’s second abandonment. “I spent the night at Lord Graceton’s fishing lodge. By morning I again had movement in my knee.” She framed her reply to sound as if she’d spent the night doing nothing more than recuperating.

“Did he do you any wrong?” Roland insisted, sounding very much like a concerned father when until today he’d been anything but that.

Cassie opened her mouth to lie to him only to discover that she couldn’t. She wanted to cherish what little joy she’d taken in that interlude. Even to speak obliquely about the events was to tarnish them, making them tawdry. Nor did she want to share any of what happened with her sire, now that there were two Rolands to distrust. The first Roland, the father she’d known for all her life, might well use the knowledge of Lucien’s supposed misbehavior to extort money from a new, rich source. Meanwhile, the Roland her father was presently portraying might well add his voice to Philana’s in demanding marriage.

She shook her head. “Now is no time for that, Papa. Our efforts are better spent devising a new way to escape Lord Bucksden.”

“Or, a way to deter him until we can remove you and Eliza from harm’s way,” Philana added, sweeping into the room. She removed her bonnet, setting it on the chest by the door then unbuttoned her gray pelisse. “Do you know anything about guns, Sir Roland?”

Roland nodded. “I do.”

“Good. Can you assist my servants? They presently assemble Squire Forster’s weapons in the kitchen. While I’m certain Alex is more than competent I’d like to know that the result won’t win Lord Bucksden’s laughter rather than his trepidation.” Philana’s tone was that of a woman discussing the condition of her garden rather than the defense of her embattled house guests.

“But of course,” Roland said.

He turned a final narrow eyed look on Cassie, his expression saying that her answer hadn’t distracted him then he left the drawing room. Cassie waited until he’d closed the door before she gave way to her panic. She threw herself into her aunt’s arms.