Chapter Twenty-Three

I n the end Hermes pulled away from the pack, finding his pace, something clicking in his brain about the speed he possessed, a surge of the joy of running, a need to lead the pack, not follow. The outside position had been a lucky draw for him. He was never boxed in, and he pounded down the final stretch, moving easily.

Cassie looked up to find her grandmother beaming down on her as she headed to the winner's enclosure. It was vain to hope that she would see Raven, but she looked anyway. Nowhere in the crowd could she spot him. They owed this moment to him, and she had not thanked him. Jay and Dick led Hermes into the winner's enclosure. Lester Oakley jumped down and did a couple of handsprings before removing Hermes's saddle. Cassie accepted congratulations from the duke who told her he hoped they would see more of Hermes. Hermes himself appeared cool and composed under the attention. He and Dick had a moment of closeness, Dick communicating with the horse by touch, and Hermes nudging the youth.

Once Lester was weighed and the victory confirmed they returned to the stables and everyone fussed over Hermes, washing him down, giving him a nibble of grass, telling him how well he did, until Grandmama called a halt.

"Stop fawning over that horse. He did what he trained to do. I won't have him spoiled."

Dick stubbornly refused to leave the horse, telling Jay with agitated hands that he feared some retribution from Hugh. Jay told him that Hugh was locked up, but Dick remained adamant about not leaving.

Grandmama demanded to be told what was going on. Cassie related the details of the fight not leaving out Raven's role. Grandmama sought out Jennings, questioned him about the likelihood of Hugh's release, and secured his assurance that two stable hands would share a night watch over the horse. She strode off for her carriage. In the carriage, she fumed, her eyes snapping, declaring her intent to write to the authorities, including the duke and the local magistrate, with her expectation that whatever decision was made regarding Hugh's behavior utterly unbefitting either a gentleman or a sporting man, he would be kept away from her granddaughter's horse. And, she told them, she would write to Ramsbury himself about his disgraceful offspring. With a final flourish of energy, she told Cassie to find and thank Sir Adrian.

At the house on St. Martin's Square, Grandmama retired to write her letters, sending Pindock scurrying for pens and paper.

Cassie turned to Honoria in the entry as her aunt untied her bonnet. "Fancy an outing?"

Honoria looked confused. "Now? Aren't you tired?"

"I am, but didn't you have somewhere you wanted to show me? What was it?"

"Oh." Honoria brightened, resettling the bonnet on her head. "Well, if you're not too tired. The house where the poet John Keats wrote The Eve of St. Agnes is hereabouts."

"Excellent. Let's go, shall we? And then I've one more errand for us to do."

At Eastgate Square they stood in the twilight, a little awed at being close to a bit of history. Cassie was content to stand as long as Honoria wanted. Honoria had been dragged from London, plunged in crowds, and rather ignored for two days. The plain brick house, its only ornamentation a pedimented door flanked by two white columns, had none of the poem's medieval atmosphere, but Cassie figured that was a testament to the poet's imagination, and to the strength of his feeling about the woman from whom he had been parted. Honoria recited a passage from the poem and sighed.

"I do think Keats captured the atmosphere of the town," she said. "Thank you for coming with me."

"Glad to. Are you ready for another errand?" Cassie asked.

With one more sigh, Honoria turned away. "Where are we going?"

"To the Anchor."

"What's there?"

"I hope to find Sir Adrian to thank him." She did not know where the Ramsbury party had taken rooms, but she would start with the best-known inn in town.

The Anchor was the newer of a pair of rivals well-established in the town, and crowded in the aftermath of the day's races. It took some time to gain even a minute of the proprietor's attention. Cassie inquired directly after Sir Adrian. The man looked at her suspiciously, and she explained that she was Lady Cassandra Lavenham, and that Sir Adrian was her tenant at Verwood Hall.

The name Verwood seemed to relieve his suspicions, but the proprietor only shook his head. "He's left for London, I believe. Paid handsomely for the nights he won't be staying. Not like the rest of the party."

"The rest of the party?" Cassie asked.

"The Ramsbury party. They made a special request for rooms, and then up and left without paying the full shot."

"The Ramsburys have left?"

"All gone, my lady, and good riddance to 'em."

He was summoned by one of his waiters. "Your pardon, my lady."

"Thank you, you've been most helpful."

Cassie stood in the midst of the noise and confusion with a single thought in mind—how to interpret Raven's abrupt departure in the middle of the race meeting, which still had two days to go.

"So, he's gone," said Honoria. "How strange. And to London, the man said?"

"Yes. I meant to thank him for his aid in dealing with Hugh this afternoon. Without his insisting on Hugh removing his coat, Dick would have been locked up."

They made their way back to St. Martin's Square. Along the way nothing occurred to Cassie to explain Raven's departure for London. She had not thought in time to ask whether the proprietor knew where the Ramsburys themselves had gone. The family would not be happy with Raven, and she wished she knew what that meant for him. Everything he had done at Verwood he had done for Amabel's sake.

At supper, Grandmama read them a note from the duke. Hugh had been released, but had received a summons from the magistrate. A further witness, another of the stable hands, had seen and described the timing and suspicious manner of Hugh's entry into the stall. The duke assured Grandmama that he would personally see that Hugh would no longer be welcome at any respectable turf in England.

"Will Hugh attempt some revenge?" asked Honoria.

Grandmama put aside the duke's letter and gave Honoria a quelling glance. And then she laughed. "Are you still scribbling that rubbishy book about the war? The one I told you stop writing?"

Honoria looked wounded, but she straightened and gave Grandmama a stubborn look. "I am."

"Good. You have my blessing and you may call your villain Horrible Hugh, if you like, and make him as vile as possible. Now there's just a bit more from the duke. He says, I HAVE WRITTEN TO R AMSBURY TO INFORM HIM THAT HIS SON'S NAME NOW HAS SUCH A STINK TO IT THAT HE WOULD DO WELL TO SEND HIS HEIR AbrOAD FOR A TIME. T HE A MERICAS MIGHT SERVE. " Over her letter, Grandmama gave them her most indomitable look.

"I doubt Hugh will attempt revenge, but Verwood will be prepared."

*

Raven reached London by nightfall. He wanted to be in Verwood, but he knew he was not truly free of Amabel. He found his grandfather in his favorite leather armchair, wrapped in a maroon silk banyan, his feet on a Kilim-covered ottoman, brandy at his side, perusing The Times . Grandfather Cole looked up and lowered the paper.

"This is unexpected," he said. "Are you feeling guilty for fawning off those three imps of yours on me?"

Raven had sent his trusty messengers to his grandfather. "Are they much trouble?"

"I'm no nursemaid, boy. They need a woman to look after them," his grandfather grumbled.

Raven heard the affection under the mild complaint. "What have you been doing with them, Grandfather?"

"Teaching them about engines. They ask a plaguey lot of questions." He fell silent, and said nothing for longer than Raven had ever known him to keep silent. He felt the old man's gaze.

At last, his grandfather asked, "Need a drink, do you, lad?"

"I do." Raven poured himself a brandy and took a seat. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and thought about how to begin his tale of what? Lost love, lost hopes, or sheer folly. He didn't know which. Had he ever loved Amabel? There was no good answer to that question. If he had loved her, he had let himself fall out of love, hardly the act of a gentleman. If he had never loved her, if he had pursued her for entry into the bright, glittering world she inhabited, he was still no gentleman.

"You've broken with Lady Amabel?" his grandfather asked.

"She broke with me." Raven stared into the glass. "But—"

"They want a fight, don't they?" The paper slipped from his grandfather's lap as the old man sat up. "We can give them a fight. We can buy and sell them. See if we don't. I will not let that puffed up fellow Ramsbury get the best of us."

Raven looked up at that. It would take time, but he would get untangled from Amabel. Verwood, he hoped, would be waiting when he returned.

"Now tell me everything, lad."

*

When the three ladies of Verwood reached home, it was the week for getting in the grass. Though the summer had been dry, there was always a bit of trepidation in August that rain could spoil the harvest. Verwood hall was closed, its servants scattered, and no messenger boys about. Raven's army of gardeners continued their work, and the stables buzzed with new energy in the wake of Hermes's triumph, while Grandmama's estate manager oversaw the home farm harvest.

The three women in the dower house returned to their separate spheres. Cassie wrote a long letter to cousin Marianne, thanking her for taking them in and apologizing for their abrupt departure. Honoria went to work on her Peninsular War novel, freely making her villain Horrible Hugh, and reading the parts of his comeuppance aloud to Cassie and Grandmama at night. Grandmama, herself, returned to her stables full of plans for training more horses. Jay Kydd had gone to London, but promised to return.

Cassie walked and thought. Something had happened to Raven. If she had understood what passed between them at the ball, he must love her. But there was only silence from wherever he had got to in the world. When she looked at the hall, a rather large reminder of his absence, her heart wavered between two possibilities. He could not be free because how could he be free and not come to her. Or he did not love her at all, and she had again been mistaken as she had been years ago about Torrington.

The first word of him burst on her on a bright Sunday morning when Miss Montford began a conversation outside of St. Andrews under the elms.

"It is quite sad to have the hall shut up, isn't it?" she commented. "You must miss the activity, Lady Cassandra."

"We do. My aunt especially misses our tenant's messenger boys."

Miss Montford stared as if Cassie had not understood her.

Cassie tried to make herself clear. "You have brothers, so you understand how their energy livens a place."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that. I was thinking what a fine ball Sir Adrian gave. Do you know when he will return?"

"I don't," Cassie admitted, very much wishing that she did.

Miss Montford sighed. "Maybe he will never come again now that his engagement to Lady Amabel has ended." She drifted off toward her mother.

Cassie stood rooted to the spot, the same spot outside the church under an old elm where he had told her he would court Amabel. He was free, and he had not come. Around her, neighbors chatted, and their children, released from the good behavior demanded in church, ran about, chasing each other and laughing.

Honoria came to her side. "Are you unwell?" she asked. "Lottie is waiting."

Cassie made herself walk to the carriage, allowed herself to be assisted inside, and faced her relations.

"So you heard," Grandmama said.

Cassie nodded.

"There was an announcement in the papers last Sunday," said Grandmama. "You know the usual thing that Lady Amabel Haydon is no longer betrothed to Sir Adrian Cole."

"You knew?" Cassie asked.

Grandmama looked a little embarrassed, as nearly as it was for her to be so. "I thought he would have come by now."

"You thought Sir Adrian was in love with me?" Cassie asked.

"I have suspected as much since we invited him to tea." Her grandmother spoke with her usual maddening assurance that she was right.

"Tea? We hardly knew him."

Cassie tried to remain calm. He was free. If he loved her, he would come to Verwood, but she distrusted his history. He had been a lost boy. The world had regarded him as beneath its notice, and his proud spirit had rebelled against those who rated him so. He might not trust her love. The next moment another thought occurred. Why should she wait? She could return to London. She could show him how to face the world. She could show him that for her he had risen above them all. She would write another letter to cousin Marianne.

*

Within a week Cassie returned to Brunswick Square. Within two days she left her card with the Duchess of Wenlocke. On the following day, the duchess returned the call.

Marianne was awed almost to silence by the presence of such a person in her small drawing room. She apologized for her tea and cakes and offered them repeatedly. The duchess was dressed with quiet elegance, and wore an unusual fragment of a man's military medal and ribbon pinned to one shoulder. Her grace appeared cool and self-contained, except for smile lines around her blue eyes. Cassie suspected that the duchess was amused. She inquired after Marianne's children and mentioned her own interest in the Foundling Hospital.

When the customary visit came to an end, she asked whether Cassie was willing to take a turn about the square with her. Cassie found a bonnet, and off they went.

"I gather," the duchess said, "that you have something to communicate of a more private nature."

Cassie steadied herself. This was her opportunity. "I want first to ask whether you have seen Raven, or whether you know how he is faring after the breakup of his engagement."

The duchess stopped and turned that warm, sympathetic gaze on Cassie. "Ah," she said. "He is Raven to you, too. I have always thought the name suited him better than Adrian. Adrian sounds a bit like putting on the posh, if one can do such a thing. And our Raven is… cheeky, clever, proud, fearless."

The duchess slipped her arm in Cassie's and gave the arm a little squeeze. "It's an airy park, isn't it?"

Cassie's heart leapt. She might not know how to explain her feelings or what she thought Raven's might be, but her companion understood. The dry summer had dulled the grass, but the plane trees were still green overhead.

"Shall I begin?" the duchess asked.

"Please."

"Very well. Raven has been meeting with my husband regularly since his return to London. He put an announcement in the papers immediately upon his return on the advice of solicitors—his grandfather's and my husband's. Since then, there have been a series of lawyerly exchanges between Ramsbury's solicitors and Raven's."

They reached the far end of the square and turned back. Above them in the hazy distance lay Hampstead.

"If you are wondering, Lady Cassandra, I don't believe Raven feels free yet."

Cassie felt the heaviness lift from her heart. There was a reason he had not come to Verwood. "Do you know what happened? May I ask? Did she end it?"

"Oh, she did!" said the duchess with a laugh. "Dramatically and publicly. She threw his ring at his feet at the races, and it has hindered her cause."

Cassie stopped cold. Instantly the scene was before her, Amabel with her mother and friends in the fashionable enclosure, choosing her moment to inflict the most humiliation on her rejected lover.

"May I tell you a bit of our history?" The duchess gently tugged Cassie back into motion.

"Of course, I must be the most self-absorbed of companions," Cassie replied.

"Not at all. I am glad you have confided in me. My husband spent years in court fighting for his inheritance. He has excellent solicitors as does Raven's grandfather. Both men know how to deal with Ramsbury's legal maneuvers. And you must not fear the Ramsburys too much. The facts of the case will be more damaging to their reputation than to Raven's. Isn't there a saying about being tarred with one's own brush?"

"I'm glad Raven has such friends," Cassie said.

"Raven and the others were my pupils once, which is a story for another day, but what may I do for you? Do you doubt Raven's love?"

Cassie felt her cheeks redden.

"Am I too frank?" the duchess asked. "You did not come to London simply to talk about him."

"No, not at all," Cassie admitted. "What I hope, what I have been thinking, is that there might be a way for me to meet him. I don't know where, a party, a ball, though it is hardly the season, but somewhere where I could show the world my… respect for him."

"I see. I admire your courage. The world has rated him far below his worth, and that has always chafed at him, but you could show him that the world's opinion means nothing next to the good opinion of the woman he loves."

"Can it be done?" Cassie asked.

"Oh yes. I know just the thing. We must make it very public. Are you game?"

Cassie nodded.

"Good. Then Sunday's the day. You and your cousin Mrs. Howarth must put on your finery and prepare to drive with me in the park at the fashionable hour. Maybe a new hat is in order?"

"The park? Will he be there?" Cassie thought it unlikely. The park on a Sunday was Amabel's world.

"Getting Raven there will be my husband's work. Trust me, he is up to it."

They reached the front of Marianne's house, and Cassie was fairly certain that her cousin was peeping out her front window as the duchess bid Cassie farewell and entered her carriage. In any case, Marianne met Cassie as she came in.

"How extraordinary! I suppose she is doing some looking about here in Brunswick Square for one of the duke's charities."

"Not at all, Marianne. She has invited us to go driving in the park with her, and recommends that we treat ourselves to new hats."