In the Garden of Seduction (32 page)

Lydia stood as well. “I think his final
destination is Sutherfield in Suffolk. That’s our ancestral home,
but he has a hunting lodge not far from there. When he is unhappy,
that’s where one can usually find him.”

“If he’s already gone, what am I to do?”

“I’m glad you asked me that,” the countess
said, her manner turning sly. “I haven’t been to Sutherfield in
some time, but I hate to travel alone. I don’t suppose you’d like
to take a small journey to keep me company? I will be ready to
leave by morning.”

Cassandra had to control the urge to jump up
and down while clapping her hands. She settled on throwing her arms
around Lydia’s neck.

“You’re a wonderful person. I hope Simon
appreciates you.”

“I have to be honest with you,” the countess
said, disengaging herself. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t believe
you are perfect for my brother. But don’t celebrate, yet,” she
warned. “You’ve another hurdle to clear.”

“I do?”

“Why, of course, dear. My mother is in the
dower house at Sutherfield and Simon is her favorite child.

*****

“I will not allow you to back away from your
promise,” Lord Whittingham raged, his face mottled with angry red
spots.

“Neither Roger nor I want this marriage,
Grandfather. It is time someone stood up to you and said no.”
Cassandra glanced at the two other occupants in Quintin James’
library, hoping for some support, but Roger was suspiciously
silent, her father merely watchful.

The earl looked at his nephew. “Is this how
you feel, Roger? You’ve never spoken of it to me.”

“Well, sir…I, that is to say…the subject
never came up.” Roger ran his finger in his collar as though it had
suddenly become too tight.

“What subject?” the earl snapped. “This is a
business arrangement. Everyone understands the situation. For the
sake of the future we do what we must. Remember, Roger, without
your cooperation there will be no money.”

“Maybe I can be of some help.” Quintin James
stepped forward and all eyes turned in his direction. When no one
spoke, he continued. “Just seems to me, if the main issue for
Morley is money then I can make it worth his while not to push for
this marriage.”

Roger gasped, “You would do that for
me?”

“Now see here—!” the earl bellowed, but for
the moment everyone ignored him.

“For Cassandra,” Quintin said, his warm gaze
resting on his daughter. “I would do anything to make her happy. I
am convinced that happiness does not lie with Morley.”

“I won’t let you interfere, James,” her
grandfather bit out. “There are sacrifices to be made. Cassandra is
my blood, not yours. What I expect isn’t unreasonable.”

“And what are you going to do, Grandfather?”
Cassandra questioned him rudely. “Everyone else is doing the
sacrificing, not you. You’ve had your life and, if I understand
correctly, you
wanted
to marry my grandmother.”

The earl’s light blue eyes narrowed
ominously. “I’ve spent nearly twenty-five years looking for you,
Cassandra, and you will not disappoint me now.”

“When does the threat end, sir?” she asked
softly.

He paused. “What do you mean?”

“When do you no longer hold my father’s life
over my head? After the wedding? Perhaps you’ll want to wait until
you are certain the marriage has been consummated or, better yet,
when the first boy child is born.” The earl started to interrupt,
but she forged on. “Don’t you see? Some things are out of your
hands. The line died when your son died. All the manipulation in
the world cannot change that fact.”

He looked crushed. Suddenly, her
grandfather’s vigorous frame appeared withered and aged. Reaching
for the arm of a nearby chair he sat down heavily.

Her words had cut deeply, and Cassandra
realized from where his obsession sprang. All these years he had
been denying the truth—the loss of his only son, the loss of a
future he could not reclaim.

She moved across the room, coming to kneel
at his side.

“Grandfather…” When he did not acknowledge
her, she touched his sleeve. “Grandfather, please look at me,” she
implored. “A tragedy happened twenty-five years ago, and it’s not
the fault of anyone in this room. Your son died and his wife made a
decision that has impacted every one of us. But that decision
doesn’t need to destroy us, too. If you continue this way, you and
I will have the same relationship you had with my father, and look
what happened. This is our chance to have a new beginning.”

The earl’s gaze slid to her hand where it
rested on his arm before he lifted his eyes to hers. “Can’t you see
your way to do this for me, Cassandra?”

“You make it very difficult to say no, but I
think you ask too much. And it’s not only my life that will be
ruined if I agree. You feel because Roger benefits from your death
he owes you his future. Penelope loses because she loves Roger and
wants to be with him.”

“I had the distinct impression the comfort
of your cousins was not a priority with you,” Grandfather said in a
dry voice.

Cassandra’s lips twitched. “I admit it, sir.
You’ve found me out.” She was vastly relieved that his spirit
seemed intact. “I love Lord Sutherfield with all my heart. I’ve
come to believe he cares for me as well.”

“Bah,” the old man said, seeming to recover
some of his strength. “Sutherfield has not spent a serious day in
his life. I’d be irresponsible to permit a match with him.”

“The choice is mine to make, Grandfather,”
she said as gently as she could. “I had my doubts at first, but I
think we’ve misjudged Simon. Please, won’t you support me in
this?”

“You are determined?”

“Absolutely,” Cassandra said, for the first
time feeling hopeful.

“Then I won’t stand in your way,” the earl
said at last. He stood and grasped Cassandra’s hand, pulling her to
her feet. “You are right—I do not want to be estranged from you as
I was from your father.”

Cassandra could not speak. She was no less
aware than the earl that a dream had just died. A pall hovered over
the room, and even Roger had the grace not to look elated.

“I leave for Sutherfield with Lady Eastwick
in the morning. Do I have your blessing?” she asked her
grandfather.

“I reserve judgment for a later date, but I
wish you happy,” he allowed. “You tell that young man I’ll be
watching him.”

Though too soon to say they had forged a
bond, it was a beginning, a tentative step that encouraged
optimism. Her grandfather would never be an affectionate man but in
his way she believed he would try.

Cassandra, joined by her father, saw the
earl and Roger to the entry.

“Thank you, cousin,” Roger said, his
expression meaningful before he turned and followed his uncle down
the walk.

Quintin closed the door and addressed his
daughter. “That young man sounded almost humble.”

“Papa, am I doing the right thing?” she
questioned, oddly uncertain now that her way was finally clear.

“Won’t know until you try. Go on, love,
you’ve a journey to prepare for.” He paused and ran his hand over
her soft red curls. “And so you know, Cassandra, you’ve always had
my blessing.”

*****

The coach pulled into the clearing, and
Lydia pointed from the window of the vehicle, indicating the rustic
structure with the low roof nestled in a stand of trees.

“It’s not much to look at, but it’s
comfortable on the inside,” she said.

“This is Simon’s hunting lodge?” Cassandra
asked. “Do you think he’s in residence?” Now that they were here
she was nervous at visiting the marquess unexpectedly.

“Earlier today I had my coachman deliver a
note to Simon telling him I arrived in the neighborhood last
night,” Lydia said. “I mentioned that I might stop in before I
continued on to Sutherfield. The servant returned with a note from
my brother. Simon is not only in residence, he’s wallowing in
self-pity. He wrote back that if I wished to see half a man this
was my opportunity.” She eyed Cassandra. “I did not mention that
you were with me.”

“I’m afraid he won’t be happy to see me. I
had all night on a lumpy straw mattress in that awful inn to think
about it. Perhaps you should wait until I find out if he wants me
to stay. Then at least I have transportation when he makes me
leave.”

“Where is all that confidence you were
exuding when we left London?” the countess chided her. “Of course,
he wants to see you. He’s mad about you, dear.”

“This is a bold move on my part,” Cassandra
said doubtfully.

Lydia touched her companion’s wrist with a
gloved hand. “Yes it is and, frankly, I’m not in the habit of
assisting in secret assignations. But Simon and you need some time
alone to talk.” She shook her head again. “Regrettably, it’s your
move to make. My poor, lost brother believes the game to be
over.”

“I’m so nervous.”

“You’ll do fine. Now,” Lydia said, her
manner turning brisk, “you have until dusk. I will come back at
that time, and then you and I will go on to Sutherfield. If all
goes according to plan Simon will be following wildly on our
heels.”

“What will you do all day?” Cassandra
queried.

“Don’t worry about me. I intend to return to
the inn and work on my correspondence. My friends despair of me I’m
such an inconsistent writer, and I’m badly behind at the moment. I
expect that chore to take most of the afternoon.”

Cassandra opened the door and jumped to the
ground with the aid of the driver. The man climbed back onto the
bench, and she stood in the middle of the small yard and watched
the vehicle roll from the clearing. Dust billowed around the wheels
of the coach, and as the distance increased between Lydia and
herself, so did her uncertainty.

“Miss James, is that you?”

Cassandra whipped around at the sound of the
youthful voice. “Timothy! I wasn’t expecting you. What are you
doing here?”

“I’m with his lordship. I’m taking care of
‘im.” He beamed at her as though caring for his master ranked up
there with most wonderful things. The lad’s beautiful, freckled
face had filled out from good food and he looked much sturdier.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, smiling.
“What have you in your hand?”

“This? It’s a fishin’ pole. The pole I was
using broke, so ‘is lordship sent me to get this one.”

Here’s an opportunity, she thought, her mind
working furiously. “Timothy, what say you give me the pole so I can
surprise Lord Sutherfield? He’s not expecting me and it might be
fun.”

“I dunno, miss.” The boy backed away from
her. “He’s waitin’ for me to return.”

“I know, but it would be the biggest of
favors. You see,” her tone turned confidential, “Lord Sutherfield
and I had a small disagreement and I would like to repair our
friendship.”

“Does that mean you’ll marry him?”

“What?” Did she detect an accusation in his
question?

“Got into the whiskey last night. Said
somethin’ about losing ‘is love, though he didn’t talk so good by
that time. But I knew he meant you.”

Cassandra stared at the child as a warm
feeling settled around her heart. “You’re very loyal to his
lordship, aren’t you?”

Timothy straightened. “I’d die for him,
miss.”

Why did a child’s unswerving love clarify
her own emotions? Simon must be a wonderful man to have earned such
trust. Well, what was good enough for Timothy was good enough for
her.

“I’d die for him, also,” she said, her voice
thickening. “But I can’t tell Lord Sutherfield I wish to marry him
if he and I do not talk. You see that, don’t you? Won’t you remain
here so that I can speak in private with him?”

For several moments the boy studied her.
Finally, he handed the fishing pole to Cassandra.

“Yes, miss. I’ll stay and make some stew.
It’s his lordship’s favorite.” Timothy paused. “You might have a
hard time gettin’ his attention, though.”

“Why?”

“I never knew a bloke what likes to fish the
way he does.”

*****

Simon leaned back on his elbow, stretching
his lean body out on the bank of the stream. Cradling his fishing
pole in the crook of his arm, he steadied it with his other hand.
The day was warm and indolent, and he had to shake his head to keep
awake. Unfortunately, the movement reminded him of the throbbing
pain in his temples which only now was beginning to dissipate.

He knew better than to get drunk.
Overindulgence had never solved a problem for him, and last night’s
drinking binge was no different. Poor Timothy had listened to him
ramble on about his troubles until the wee hours of the morning. He
assumed the lad had helped him to bed because Simon didn’t remember
getting there under his own power. At first light he had stumbled
to the large kitchen where the tiny servant had done his best to
produce a reasonable breakfast.

What, Simon wondered, had he said on the
previous evening in his blackest moments just before the whiskey
overtook him? Foolish things, he felt positive. Consumed with
misery, his obsession mystified him. There were other women in the
world, so why must he set his sights on a fiery redhead who had
slipped from his grasp? Problem was, the thought of marriage to
anyone save Cassandra James held no attraction.

A movement from behind caused him to sit up
straight. “It’s about time, young man,” he said good-naturedly,
turning.

The air stalled in his lungs.

Good God, his wildest imaginings had
conjured her image! From overhead, the sun formed a radiance,
highlighting her glorious hair but disguising her features. Simon
blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, however, she
continued to stand there watching him.