Chapter Seventeen

C assie moved blindly through the rain. Her sole object was to distance herself from Raven. The path ahead became a narrow tunnel of green gloom. Rain shut out the world except for the few feet in front of her. It beat against her with the ceaseless insistence of her angry thoughts. Raven accused her of deceit, but she was the one who had been duped. In their first meeting, his kindness and his willingness to defend Dick Crockett against Hugh had marked Raven as a man of principle. Now, she understood him better. His defense of Dick had been out of character. His value for rank and position drove him.

At last, she saw the glimmer of lights from the dower house kitchen. She cut across the rabbit field, indifferent to the uneven ground, her skirts collecting mud and grass as she moved. Outside the kitchen door, she paused to catch her breath. With luck, Cook would help her shed her wet cloak and bonnet and get up to her room alone. A bath and something warm to drink would prepare her to face Honoria and Grandmama. She must appear as if nothing had happened to overset her. A laugh, a single dry spasm of amusement, burst from her aching throat, to think that an hour earlier she had imagined drinking a cup of happiness.

She opened the door, and met the stare of five pairs of eyes. Grandmama, in one of her deep blue riding habits, sat at the head of the kitchen's scarred old work table. Honoria sat on one side, and the boys on the other, wrapped in blankets and huddled over steaming mugs. Instead of the usual mixing bowls and spoons and sieves and mallets, the table was strewn with a wet array of jackets, toy swords, and one of Honoria's notebooks. A clothesline had been strung between the brick fireplace and the cabinets, hung with three shirts and three pairs of trousers.

"Lady C," cried Joe. "Ye've been in Noah's flood like us!"

Joe received a quelling glance from Grandmama.

Cassie tried for a smile, but was not sure she managed it. She stepped into the kitchen, set her basket down on the slates, and closed the door. The heat of the room hit her and the smell of marmalade on warm bread.

"Did Sir Adrian find you, love?" asked Honoria, twisting the ends of her shawl as always. Cassie recognized the warning in the question.

"He did." Cassie removed her sodden bonnet. Her bad foot suddenly made its complaint known, and she grabbed the tall back of the closest chair for balance. With a little cry, Cook hurried to Cassie's side.

"Get that cloak off and get near the fire, child," Grandmama snapped.

Cassie reached for the strings of her cloak with stiff, cold hands, trying to understand Honoria's warning. It seemed as if the boys' playacting Honoria's story had not only been discovered by Raven, but also by her grandmother. Cook took Cassie by the shoulders and turned her to remove the sopping garment, keeping up a low murmur of concern, handing Hannah, her scullery maid, the dripping cloak. In a minute Cassie sat with her back to the fire and a cup of hot tea before her. She steadied her shaking hands and lifted the cup to her mouth under Grandmama's watchful gaze. The boys kept their heads down. Honoria huddled in her chair. Outside, the rain drummed on the flagstones of the kitchen courtyard. Inside, spits turned and pots boiled. A reckoning was coming, and Cassie would have to face it before she could think about Raven's cruel words.

She looked up and met her grandmother's stern gaze.

"What is this novel-writing nonsense you and Honoria have been carrying on behind my back?"

Cassie winced at the behind my back phrase. It was too close to Raven's accusation that she had deliberately kept the truth about Hugh from him. She pushed the thought away, and looked to Honoria, who cast her a pleading glance. "It's not nonsense, Grandmama. Aunt Honoria is a born storyteller. It is sad that she remains anonymous when she could have recognition in her own right."

"What sort of recognition is it for a lady to be known as a scribbler? And where has her storytelling gotten her? She has seriously offended Sir Adrian if this lot is to be believed." Grandmama's gaze swept the boys. "And to persist and offend Ramsbury and his absurd son is out of the question."

"Is Sir Adrian very angry?" Honoria asked.

"Not with you, Aunt, and besides he will calm down. You must change the name of your villain, of course."

Honoria nodded. "Done. My villain shall be Valmont the Vengeful."

"Stop!" Grandmama thumped the table with her fist. The boys jumped in their seats. "You can't mean to continue this writing business under my roof."

Cassie set down her teacup. However much she might regret her mistaken estimation of Raven, one good thing remained of his being their tenant. Rent. Because he paid rent, Cassie was free to use her own funds however she wished. "Honoria and I can go to London, Grandmama, if she and her writing are no longer welcome at Verwood."

"Insolent girl. You will do no such thing. Do you know that your Mr. Kydd has found a rider for Hermes? You want Hermes to run, do you not?"

Cassie looked from her grandmother to Honoria, a little lost at the turn the conversation had taken. "I do want Hermes to run, but what has that to do with Honoria's writing?"

"You began this horse race scheme, miss, and you will see it through. I expect you to remain at Verwood until Hermes is ready for his first race."

"But that will not be until late July!" Cassie cried. It was intolerable to contemplate lingering at Verwood while Raven prepared for his grand ball. Worse to imagine being there while the people who had mocked her danced, and she hobbled on.

Grandmama was watching, her gaze shrewd and knowing, and Cassie pulled herself together. She must not allow anything of the blow Raven had dealt her to show.

"Yes, July, after Sir Adrian's ball."

Cassie started. She had thought her grandmother too absorbed in her horses to know what Raven planned.

"Of course, I know about his ball, miss, and if you want me to run that horse at Chichester, then you will show your face at that ball."

"You can't mean it, Grandmama. What possible reason could I have for attending a ball?"

"You will go for Verwood. We will all go. Verwood does not bow to Ramsbury Park. Then you can run off to London."

Her grandmother turned to Honoria. "And you, Honoria, will write no more of your drivel about our neighbor. Only a complete ninny offends Ramsbury. I won't lose another acre of this estate to that man, certainly not on account of his despicable son."

Her grandmother stood. The boys popped to their feet. Cook and Hannah stopped their work. Cassie started to push up out of her chair.

"Sit girl," Grandmama ordered. "Have the sense to get warm and dry. I won't have you catching your death now." She turned her glare on Honoria. "You led these three into folly. See that they are fed, and send them back to Sir Adrian when the rain stops."

*

Raven did not know how long he stood in the rain before any thought intruded other than the sting of her indifference. He had mistaken her civility for friendship. Her solicitude for Dick Crockett had wounded his pride, and he had lashed out at her with that cruel phrase. Rain dripped from his chin. His clothes clung to him, and his skin burned with an icy chill. He could not remember being so angry. His claim to be a gentleman was swallowed up in the mortification of behaving in such an ungentlemanly manner. He had seen at once from the boys' playacting how his treatment of Hugh would look to Amabel. He should have gone directly to her. Instead, he had sought out Cassie to quarrel. He turned his face up in the rain.

It made no sense to go to Ramsbury Park now. He would go in the morning. He slogged back to the garden to find the boys. They were not to blame for Honoria's folly or his. When he didn't find them on the bench, he broke the dowager's rule and went to the stable to look for them. They were not there either, and Raven was met by stares that plainly declared he was a bedlamite. He arranged, as calmly as he could, for his carriage to take a message to Ramsbury Park with his apology for being unable to call.

He trudged back to the hall. In the entry, servants met him with a brief flurry of solicitude, scurrying to bring him towels and mop up the floor after him.

Jay appeared from the study. "You look like a drowned rat. What happened?"

"Did the boys come back?" Raven toweled his dripping head.

Jay frowned. "The dowager found them in the garden. She sent a note round. They are drying out in her kitchen. You told them to sit on a bench in the rain?"

"May I dry off before you grill me?"

Jay raised his hands and backed away. Raven trudged up the stairs.

In Raven's dressing room, his man, Hackwood, treated Raven's ruined clothes with calm efficiency, peeling away wet layers of wool and linen and offering towels. Ruined coats were nothing new. Raven had lost more than one coat fighting fires. A bath was prepared for him, and a hot cordial to drink. His first thought on sinking into the tub was to wonder if someone had prepared a bath for Cassie. He gritted his teeth. The idea of Cassie in her bath roused the most ungentlemanly of thoughts.

He tipped his head back against the lip of the tub and closed his eyes against an image of a white arm resting along the rim of a copper bath. Maybe he did not understand women. Since he'd left Cambridge, he had devoted himself to making a success of the glass business and then to the design of new fire engines for his grandfather to build. He had had no thought of a wife. He knew some wives. They were fine women, but he had not imagined wanting one. From time to time at the duke's dinners for their old gang, he saw Wenlocke's duchess, who had been their grinder at Daventry Hall when they were boys, and the wives of Wenlocke's brothers, Sir Xander and Sir William. He supposed they were beautiful women, but around them he had always been perfectly at ease, usually laughing, and neither dazzled nor disturbed.

Only Amabel had dazzled him. She had danced with him in the fashionable world that had largely ignored him before the fire. From the moment the newspaper accounts of the blaze had named him and his Cole engines, West End hostesses had sought him for their gatherings. To dozens of silk-clad young ladies fanning their rosy faces, he had described the flames, the heat, the roar of the fire, the collapsing beams and swirling embers. The others could not compare to Amabel with her golden curls and sparkling eyes. When she took his hand and led him into a waltz, she confirmed what he had believed all along, that he was meant to rise in the world, to break the barrier of rank.

For months he had thought only of Amabel, acted only to win her. He had hired Trimley to find a house near her father's estate to show her that he could offer her the life of a lady of rank. Everything he had done at Verwood had been to make the place worthy of her, as perfect as she, herself, was. Now when he was ready to unveil Verwood to her, he discovered that in a moment of arrogance, he had jeopardized her good opinion. He had believed he understood the little scene in the inn yard, that Hugh was a villain and that Dick Crockett was the injured party. He had rushed in, a mistake as fatal as aiming a fire hose at the flames, not the fuel.

As the bath grew cold, a different truth intruded. He had not thought only of Amabel. He supposed that was the most maddening thing about his situation. He had wanted his renovations to please Cassie. He had needed her approval to abide by the dowager's rules, but he had wanted that approval as well. Not because she was beautiful. Next to Amabel, Cassie's muted appearance was unremarkable. Her intelligent gray eyes, her strong brow, her wide mouth, and dark hair were signs of strength and directness, not soft beauty. But he had believed he could count on her. He thought of her as a sort of friend, someone he could trust. That must explain his anger. He had trusted her, and she had kept the truth from him. She had let him continue in ignorance of Hugh's connection to Amabel, as if his happiness were a matter of no concern to her.

He pushed up out of the tub and toweled off. He would put the ugly scene behind him. He had learned his lesson. Confiding in Cassie had been a blunder. Still, he did not like the ungenerous part he'd played in their argument. Now that his anger had cooled, only the cruel taunt remained. He had wanted to hurt her, and that made no sense. He would apologize as soon as the rain stopped. He would walk over to the dower house and ask for a moment of her time, no more. Even as he imagined knocking on her door, he knew she would not see him.

He reached for the clothes Hackwood had set out for him. He would write her an apology. Writing that apology would be his first task. Once he had apologized, he could put the incident and Cassie behind him. There was nothing else to do. He had lost her good opinion, and deservedly so. From now on he would think only of Amabel. He would ask for Amabel's help with the ball. He would explain his missteps in meeting her brother, and he would let go of his repugnance for Hugh. The man was going to be his brother-in-law.

He tied the sash of a silk banyan around his waist and strode to the desk in his bedroom. A curtain billowed in a gust of wind, and he closed the window behind his desk. He found pen, ink, and paper, and settled down. And immediately encountered a problem. He did not know how to address her. Dear Cassie. He had just learned her name, but he could not use it. He settled for formality— Dear Madam —and began.

He was sanding the page when Jay knocked and entered. "Where did you get to? Not to Ramsbury Park, I take it. Did you think the rain would not fall on Sir Adrian?" Jay strolled in and took his favorite armchair.

Raven put his letter aside and moved to stand by the hearth with his back to the fire. "Do you know Hugh Haydon?"

Jay's lip curled. "Viscount Farnley? He's the sort of fellow one tries to avoid."

"Why?"

Jay ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "He doesn't win well. He never loses well. And he always thinks he's picked a winner. What made you think of him? Has he come back? Has he been snooping around Hermes? He's been known to mess with other people's horses before a race."

An expletive came to Raven's mind. He hadn't been wrong about Hugh. But it didn't matter. For Amabel's sake, Raven was going to accept Hugh. "As far as I know, Hugh is off following the horses."

"Good. Because Hermes will do better for us, if he enters the race as an unknown. He's really coming along, and Bluebell has got Dick Crockett working on making lighter shoes for him."

"Don't call her Bluebell ," Raven snapped. He turned to the fire. He could feel Jay's stare, as he prodded the coals to life.

"Excuse me. If she has no objection to the name, what objection can you have?"

"She's Lady Cassandra to you, I should think." Raven was being peevish, and he knew it. Jay's easy familiarity with Cassie suddenly rankled.

"What's set you off? You're on your high ropes. You have no idea how we get on together in the stables."

"I merely expect you to treat my landlady with respect."

Jay glared at him. " Your landlady, is she? I have a higher regard for her than that. She's not your anything." Jay paused. "You've changed, you know. Not with your grandfather's money, but with this courtship thing."

"You think I shouldn't court a lady of rank? We grew up in a duke's household, didn't we?" Raven watched the coals begin to glow.

"So we know better than to be drawn in by a title. What's a title next to… the real man or woman?"

"I am not courting Lady Amabel for her title."

Jay snorted. "You're trying to rival Wenlocke is what you're doing. This grand house, that woman. It's not enough for you to find your doting grandfather and have him be rich as ten aldermen, you have to be better than the rest of us. Remember who we were before Wenlocke found us. We were boys no one wanted, only good enough to be sent up chimneys or down into cesspools or to scramble under the looms for lint until our fingers got caught in the machines."

"London was wrong to rate us as nothing."

"If you say so, but"—Jay pushed up out of the chair—"you're so sure you're right about everything. What if you're wrong about this?" Jay waved a hand in a great circle at the room. "All those West End ladies flocked to you and flattered you because you put out that blaze, but what do they know or care about you? Your head is swollen as big as one of Green's balloons, and I've had enough of your toplofty hospitality."

"You're free to lodge elsewhere."

"Fine, I will." Jay strode for the door. "The Crocketts will be glad to have me."

The door slammed.

Raven turned back to his letter. He was not toplofty. He had not sought Amabel for her rank. He loved her. He would just take his apology to the dower house.

*

Alone in her room after a bath, Cassie sat at her dressing table and tried to face, as squarely as she could, her decision to conceal from Raven the fact that Hugh was Amabel's brother. In that moment, she supposed, her vanity had been wounded by his evident admiration for another woman. Not that she had expected him to show an interest in her, but that he so evidently saw her as out of the running as Jay Kydd would say. Maybe the flattery of Jay Kydd's attentions had turned her head, made her think she could still catch a gentleman's eye, and Raven had dashed those hopes.

Honoria's soft knock sounded on her door as Cassie dried her hair.

"Come in," Cassie called, straightening, composing herself to face Honoria's concern.

Honoria came forward into the light, and her gaze met Cassie's. "Oh love, you look done in. Sir A must have been very angry."

"He was." Cassie lowered her brush to her lap, suddenly without energy.

Honoria took the brush from Cassie's limp hand, and Cassie submitted to the familiar ritual of her girlhood, as Honoria began to run the brush through Cassie's hair.

"I am so sorry. I never meant… I never thought… I cannot see why he should be angry with you. You don't write drivel or put people you know into books. He should be angry with me, not you."

"No, Aunt, he did have reason to be angry with me. You see, he told me that he wanted to marry Amabel Haydon." Cassie met her aunt's gaze in the mirror above her dressing table.

Honoria stopped moving the brush. "Does he love her? How very odd!"

"Nothing is less odd. Amabel is lovely, and she comes from a family of—"

Honoria began to brush again. "—rank. Does Sir A wish to rise in the world by marrying? I had thought him more sensible than that, more conscious of his own value. Those Ramsburys may have all the position in the world, but they are hardly noted for setting the Thames on fire."

"We only know Hugh's faults, Aunt," Cassie said gently. "And Hugh is the real cause of Sir A's anger with me. I did not tell him that Hugh was Amabel's brother. So, when he learned of the connection from you and the boys, he was quite… distressed."

"Is that what it is then?" Honoria put aside the brush and twisted Cassie's hair into a knot at her nape. "I saw him just now, and the man looked chastened or no, maybe the right word is bereft , he looks absolutely bereft ."

To be so bereft, he must love Amabel, Cassie thought. "He came here?"

"Yes. I answered the door. I confess I was hiding from Lottie. I tried to stand up to her, really, I did, but she makes me feel so small, so useless. What have I ever brought to Verwood? I depend entirely on her good will. And now I have nothing to offer." Honoria sank onto the bench at the foot of Cassie's bed.

Cassie twisted to look at her. "Aunt, you have a great deal to offer, but Sir A came here?"

"He brought you a letter." Honoria reached into her pocket and withdrew a folded sheet, closed with a waxed seal. Cassie could not imagine what more there could be to say between them.

Cassie took the letter. Just holding it brought back the pain. She had not thought it possible for the old taunt to hurt her again, but coming from Raven, the words had a special sting. She had no doubt where he had heard the phrase. They had traded places. She had turned away from the fashionable world, while he had entered it.

She looked up to find Honoria watching her. "I thought…" she began. "Shall I leave you with your letter?" Honoria stood and pulled her shawl close about her.

"Yes, I think that's best. But, Aunt, Grandmama will not remain angry long, and you and I will find a way to get to London and to keep you writing." Cassie offered her aunt a smile.

Honoria nodded and turned to the door. There she stopped and looked back over her shoulder at the letter in Cassie's lap. "You know, dear, I think writing has unsettled my brain. I thought Sir A was in love with you."

Cassie shook her head. The door closed. She held the letter in her lap as the last light of the day faded. Then she broke the seal.

Dear Madam,

I write to apologize for my appalling behavior in speaking to you as I did this afternoon. To do so was unforgivable. You may wonder how I came to behave in such an ungentlemanly manner, and we must inevitably disagree on what, in the moment, I considered sufficient provocation for such anger.

Whether I am able to realize my hopes of an attachment to Lady Amabel Haydon, I have been glad of my time at Verwood. I thank you for your generous help in the work of restoring the hall. Now that the work is complete, there is little occasion for our paths to cross. It is my hope that the pain my offense has caused will lessen when I am not immediately before you. Only excepting the Verwood ball in July, at which politeness dictates that you make an appearance.

With every wish for your happiness and for the future success of Hermes, which Jay Kydd tells me is likely, I remain,

Raven

It was a letter that agitated more than it soothed. She was grateful for his acknowledgment of the wrong he had done. She could not agree more heartily that their paths need not cross. But she did not understand why he had signed the letter as he had.

She had no intention of appearing at his ball. From now on she would haunt the stables. By Grandmama's rules, Raven was not permitted there. She had only to figure out a way around Grandmama's decision that Cassie attend the ball. Then she and Honoria could escape to London.