Chapter Fifteen

When she got home to the manor, Cassandra felt in a much better mood than before. Her self-confidence had been boosted by her encounter with her new friends. Now, she had an appointment to look forward to, somewhere to be tomorrow. She was expected by fine company. It felt good, like a small victory.

Importantly, on the ride home, she had resolved to go to church the next Sunday morning at St. Gile's and make a point of introducing herself to the Reverend and Mrs. Clarke. They promised to be a pleasant route by which she might become a part of the community she was now a part of. She hoped they would help her become familiar enough to the locals not to be subjected to the goggling stares she had endured in the village on her recent trip to the post office whenever she went out.

She spent a few luxurious hours in the library with her favourite books, after checking the Beast was not there first, of course. Far from being disconcerted by the apt nickname, as she had been before meeting the children, she now smiled each time she thought of it. Such was their youthful power to neutralize the ogre in their midst. However, she still had to rebuild her courage to approach Malcom about the music room.

After that, she took tea and a light, late lunch on the terrace, admiring the garden as she did so. She was musing over her book when a maid appeared and handed her two thick letters. She knew instantly who they were from. The slightly thinner one was from home, and the nice, thick one was from Diana. Saving the best till last, she slit open the one from her family with a clean butter knife.

Within a few minutes, she had to dab tears from her eyes with her handkerchief. Each member of the family had penned their own little essay, first asking after her health and that of the Duke, then giving her all their news from their own points of view.

Mama vented her annoyance at the lack of good serving staff available for hire and bemoaned the destruction of her prized flowering plants by rabbits. She then went on to describe several social events they had attended as a family and gave her usual ruthless assessment of the various successes and failures of their hosts .

She also wrote in detail about Maggie's rapturous receptions on playing at several recitals and musical evenings in Town. Her little sister was making a big impact in all the right places it appeared. No surprise there. Through her tears, Cassandra was able to laugh at herself for the familiar twinge of envy she felt at hearing of Maggie's successes. She did not wish to be Maggie, but she certainly wished she could have been there with them all to see her sister shine.

Papa also wrote a little about Maggie's successful Season, but he seemed more interested in complaining that he had mislaid his reading spectacles and was having dreadful trouble without them. Did she have any idea where they might be hiding? She laughed between her tears at his endearing grumbles.

He also wrote that he had ordered a new book to be sent to her, a newly published travelogue with illustrations, the diary of a gentleman planter's wife who had gone to live with her husband in India. Cassandra was touched he should think of it, for in the past, he had not shown any particular approval for her passion for reading such books. She was excited to receive it.

Maggie's news came in a sealed envelope, signalling intrigue. Cassandra knew that the only reason for her prim and proper sister to communicate in private like that was that she had something to say which she did not want their parents to read. What could it be?

Cassandra opened the letter carefully and began to read the neat, looping handwriting. After opening with a polite yet cursory enquiry after Cassandra's health and that of the Duke, it soon became clear why Maggie was writing under separate cover.

. . . his name is Lord Euan McMuir, and, as you might guess from his name, he is from Scotland. He is twenty-two, and he is the earl of some place I cannot pronounce, but it is far away and sounds awfully nice, with mountains and lochs and everything. Cassie, he lives in an actual castle! Is it not romantic?

At any rate, he is terribly handsome, tall, strong, with lovely, curly auburn hair and bright grey eyes that shine like sixpences. I think I would miss your silly jokes more, Sister, if I did not have Euan to make me laugh. He is a wonderful dancer too. I am starting to see why you did not like all the rules of the Ton , Cassie. At parties, I confess, I really only wish to dance with him all the time, but Mama insists I can only dance with him twice. How silly! At least Mama and Papa approve of him, for he is very rich and nice. If we get married, we shall dance together all day long!

He adores music, and he is very good at playing too. He can play lots of instruments, so, if I marry him, we shall be quite the orchestra. When he visits, which is often, he always wants to sing when I play. He is a lovely baritone. Is it normal for one to have shivers go up one's spine when someone sings? It is very mysterious, but it is the same feeling I get when I play Bach. And, Cassie, sometimes, he gives me such dreamy looks when I play for him, I think I shall quite swoon away and make a fool of myself by falling off the stool . . .

The letter went on at length in the same vein, ending with a plea to keep all this secret from Mama and Papa for the time being, for Maggie was certain Euan would propose to her any day. Cassandra had to smile as she dried her sentimental tears. It was clear that Maggie was already half in love with Lord Euan McMuir. And it was quite understandable, for the young man sounded dazzling.

She folded the letter away and put it aside, unable to help wondering where her Lord Euan could be, her musical paragon. But if he had ever existed, he was too late to save her now.

Dinner with Malcom that evening was exceedingly strange. Firstly, when she entered the dining room and greeted him with her usual curtsey, Cassandra noticed he smiled at her. It was a lovely smile, showing his white, even teeth and animating his handsome face. But since he had only ever smiled at her when his cousin had been present, obviously for appearance's sake, she dismissed the fluttering she felt in her chest.

Secondly, he said, "You look very nice this evening . . . Cassandra."

She was so surprised, it was all she could do to keep her composure.

"Thank you . . . Malcom," she replied, suspecting some sort of game was afoot. Was he planning to make a fool of her somehow? She sat down, allowing him to push in her chair. As usual, he sat at right angles to her, at the head of the table.

But what he did next was not usual at all. "May I pour you some wine?" he asked, maintaining his smile, actually meeting her eyes. She could not help staring at him, though she managed to keep her face composed. He really was annoyingly handsome. However, she knew his good looks were a mere fa?ade that hid a cold interior, and she resolved not to be taken in by whatever it was he was trying to do.

"Yes, please," she replied without warmth, breaking their gaze. He filled her glass, then his own. "Thank you," she said, wondering what was coming next.

"I think we have roast lamb today," he observed, lifting the lid from the platter the footman had delivered to his right hand. The sizzling meat sent tantalizing aromas wafting to Cassandra's nostrils, and she realized she was hungry.

As if reading her mind, Malcom said, "I hope you are hungry. I know I am," and proceeded to take up the carving irons and deftly carve the small joint. He laid several slices on her plate before doing the same to his own and leaving the carving irons aside.

"Potatoes?" he asked, giving her an inquiring look, his hand on the serving spoon.

"Yes, please. Not too many," she replied as he dished up far too much mashed potato than she knew she could manage.

"Say when," he invited, removing some.

"That is enough, thank you."

Not to be outdone, she quickly pounced on the vegetables, a mixture of summer greens and carrots.

"Broccoli? Cabbage? Carrots?" she asked, seizing the dish and spoon. She made sure to return his smile but added an edge of sarcasm to it, to show him she was not to be trifled with. To her satisfaction, he appeared a little taken aback.

"A little of everything, please," he replied, a small frown line appearing between his dark brows, his smile narrowing slightly. But by the time she had finished dishing up, he was ready with the gravy boat. He held it poised above her plate.

"Gravy?"

"A little, thank you."

Relieved the rigmarole was over, they finally began to eat. Cassandra could not help noticing the curious expressions on some of the servants' faces. Two footmen exchanged glances as she watched, making it obvious that they too were wondering why their master was behaving so out of character.

"How was your ride today? I noticed you went out a little later than usual," Malcom said.

Cassandra, more suspicious than ever now, took the time to finish chewing her mouthful of food before replying tersely, "It rained."

"Yes, I saw while I was out, but it cleared up quite quickly, did it not? I hope you did not get wet."

"I did not. Thank you for your concern."

"Where did you go?"

"Out."

"I mean, where did you ride? Anywhere of note?"

"I have no idea since I am unacquainted with any places of note. I do not know my way around. I simply ride where the paths take me."

That shut him up for a few moments. Cassandra hoped he was thinking about how he should have showed her around the estate.

He said, "There is a lake."

"I have not seen it."

"If you take the bridle path through the woods to the west as you leave the stables and keep riding down the avenue, you will come to it."

"I will keep that in mind."

"But you are enjoying the countryside?"

"It is very pretty."

"I am glad you find it so. I much prefer the country to London."

"Indeed."

"Did I not hear you saying to Terrence the other evening that you are missing London? Do you object strongly to living in the country?"

She finished her food and put her silverware neatly to one side of her plate. A footman hurried to remove it. Cassandra drank some of her wine.

Then she said, "I like both, but my family are in London at present."

"And you miss them." It was statement, not a question. He finished his dinner too, and his plate was quickly taken.

"You are very intuitive," she said, accompanying her remark with a look that she hoped made it clear she meant the opposite. It seemed to work, for pudding signalled a return to the old silence. Against her better judgement, Cassandra wondered if she was being too hard on him. He was clearly making an effort. She realized it must be hard for him, having someone about the place when he had kept to himself for so long. It was obvious he did not cope well with others. In another time and place, if he would let her in just an inch, she might have been more understanding.

As she was thinking about this, it suddenly occurred to her that his change in demeanour might have something to do with his cousin. Was it possible that Terrence, who was clearly familiar with Malcom's anti-social ways, had taken his cousin to task about his treatment of her? It was a startling idea, yet it would explain the strange looks she had seen the pair exchanging. She was suddenly so sure it was the case, her residual anger towards Terrence melted away.

Unfortunately, the theory also logically pointed to Malcom having fought against his cousin's arguments, not wanting to keep company with her. That would explain his long silences, the tension in his features, his apparent inability to so much as smile. She hardened her heart against him once more.

When dinner was over, before they left the table, he suddenly said, "I meant to tell you to help yourself to any of the books in the library. There is quite a good selection. I believe you mentioned to Terrence that you enjoy reading books about history and travel. You will find many interesting volumes there, I am sure. And there are some beautifully illustrated books on art of all kinds too."

She did not wait for him to pull out her chair but did it herself. He looked satisfyingly startled when she stood up and smoothed her skirts, fixing her eyes upon him.

"I am afraid I found my way to the library shortly after arriving here," she said evenly. "I have extensively browsed every section. You will understand that I wished for something to pass the time and did not want to bother you with my requests, for you are always so very busy with your work. Do excuse me. I shall retire now. Good night."

With that, she lifted her chin and glided as stately as the duchess she was out of the room.

She went to her chambers, where to her consternation, she promptly burst into tears. Throwing herself on the bed and sobbing into the pillow, she wondered how on earth she was going to spend the rest of her life with the beastly Beast of Lindenhall!

***

For the second time in three days, Malcom was completely knocked off kilter. After Cassandra had left, clearly in high dudgeon, he dismissed the servants from the dining hall and refilled his wine glass. He sat with his head in his hands, going over the conversation with his wife.

Once again, it seemed he had inadvertently managed to alienate her despite his best efforts to do as Terrence commanded and win her over. But as he went over the conversation, if it could be called that, he realized that his efforts had been misplaced and downright foolish.

She was not an idiot. She must have caught on to what he was trying to do from the moment she entered the room. After hardly speaking to her for a month, there he was, suddenly asking her where she had been and pretending concern for her welfare.

No wonder she was so cold. She was merely giving me a taste of my own medicine. I have actively tried to oppress her. But she has too much spirit to be oppressed, and I admire her for it. Terrence is right again, blast him: she deserves so much more than I have given her, and if I do not do something fast, I will lose her forever.

He suddenly found that was something he fervently did not want to happen, and an idea began to form in his mind about how he might prevent it.