A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (8 page)

He remembered the conversation that he had overheard between Lady Margaret and William Lyndhurst-Flint. Had this been Lady Margaret’s plan—to seduce him and then denounce him before everyone? If so, she had taken a grave gamble and one that had failed to pay off. Peter rubbed one hand across his brow. He had the disquieting feeling that Lady Margaret Burnside had not finished with him yet.

His gaze fell on his portmanteaux. The bags did not look to be in quite the same position as when he was last in the room. A chill tiptoed down his spine. Suddenly urgent, he crossed the room and dragged the cases out of their corner, reaching inside the smaller one for the pocket book that held the special licence. He took it out and flicked it open.

It was empty.

It was not difficult to achieve an interview with Lady Margaret Burnside the following morning. Indeed, Peter suspected that she was waiting for him to approach her. It had taken a great deal of self-control not to go after her the previous night and demand that she return his property. But that would have been playing into her hands and he was determined not to give her any advantages.

That morning the house party guests were to go riding on the Downs and take a light picnic luncheon to eat at an ancient historical site called Cuthbert’s Castle. Peter was first down into the hall after breakfast, and, though
Lady Margaret was not one of the riding party, she was waiting for him.

It was not private, but he took his chance. ‘Good morning, madam.’

Lady Margaret gave him a melting smile. ‘Good morning, my lord. But perhaps you do not find it a very pleasant morning? You look as though you did not sleep well. Perhaps there are matters on your mind?’

Peter looked at her. This morning she looked like the cat with the cream. ‘I am certainly concerned that an item in my possession appears to have gone missing last night,’ he said grimly. ‘I wondered whether you had any idea of its whereabouts, madam?’

Lady Margaret cast her eyes down with false modesty. ‘Indeed, I have no notion to what you refer, Lord Quinlan. How should I?’

Her deliberate evasions infuriated Peter. ‘I fear that I do not believe you, madam. I think you know precisely to what I refer. I believe you found it last night when—’

‘When I was in your bedchamber?’ Lady Margaret finished sweetly. ‘Let us not speak of that in public, my lord. I am happy to reassure you that you have nothing to fear from me. I shall be discreet! I have no desire to upset your marriage plans.’

Some element of triumph in her face or voice caused the hairs to stand up on the back of Peter’s neck. He spun around. Cassie was standing on the bottom stair. Her eyes were wide in an ashen face. It was horribly clear that she had overheard Lady Margaret’s last words. Peter’s heart gave a lurch. He cursed himself for the lack of patience that had given Lady Margaret this opportunity.

He started forward. ‘Cassie…’

Lady Margaret gave Peter a knowing smile and drifted away. The rest of the party were clattering down the staircase, chatting loudly.

‘Cassie…’ Peter said again, reaching out to her desperately. Her face was blank with shock. It was as though she did not even see him. All her hopes and fears were there for him to see in that instant, and he knew Lady Margaret had shattered them all with her deliberate spite.

The others milled around them. There was no opportunity to talk or get Cassie on her own. Peter felt desperation rise in him. Lyndhurst started to engage him in conversation and he responded automatically, watching Cassie all the while. The horses had already been brought to the door. Sarah Mardon swept Cassie down the steps with her and out into the courtyard. As though to make matters worse, William Lyndhurst-Flint fell in beside Peter and tried him sorely with his light attempts at man-to-man conversation. Peter could see Cassie riding up ahead, her back very firmly turned to him.

He finally caught up with her when they reached the racecourse on the top of the Downs and dismounted to consider the view. Peter spared the rolling scenery a half-second glance, then caught Cassie’s arm and drew her into the shelter of the rubbing house.

‘I must speak with you,’ he said.

Cassie was still pale, but at least she was seeing him now. His heart lifted a little with hope that she might at least listen to him.

‘Not here,’ she said, her mouth setting obstinately.

‘Yes, here,’ Peter said. He was as tense as a coiled spring. ‘I am not prepared to wait for some convenient moment.’ He could feel the stiffness in her. Her body was poised for flight. He held her tightly.

‘It is true that Lady Margaret came to my chamber last night,’ he said rapidly, knowing that nothing but the absolute truth would do now. He felt shock rip through Cassie like a flood tide; felt her tremble. So she had not quite believed it of him until now. It seemed cold comfort when she would think that he had just confirmed her worst fears.

‘I see,’ she said dully.

‘I doubt that you do,’ Peter said. ‘I sent her away. Nothing happened between us. I swear it.’

Cassie’s eyes were smoky with doubt. ‘I see,’ she said again.

‘It is you that I want—’ Peter started to say, then stopped as he saw the cynicism in her eyes.

‘Of course,’ she said.

He shook her slightly. ‘No! Not for the money. Damn it, Cassie, I would marry you without a penny! I love you! I just do not know how to prove it to you—’

There was the crunch of gravel underfoot and William Lyndhurst-Flint came around the side of the building. Never had a man been more unwelcome.

‘Sorry to interrupt, old chap,’ Lyndhurst-Flint said with patent insincerity, ‘but there is a storm blowing up. We thought it better to return to the house and arrange some alternative entertainment for today. Didn’t want you to get left behind, you know.’

Cassie freed herself from Peter’s grasp. She gave him a long, thoughtful look. ‘We may talk later, Lord Quinlan.’

‘Hope there’s nothing wrong, old fellow,’ Lyndhurst-Flint said, smirking slightly as he watched Cassie walk away. ‘Terrible shame for you if it were all to go awry—’

Peter gave him such a hard stare that he stopped abruptly.

‘Your commiserations are received in the same spirit that they were given,’ he snapped, and followed Cassie back to where the horses were tethered.

By the time that they were halfway back to the house, the thunderstorm was rolling across the hills at their back. The wind was rising and the first fat drops of rain were starting to fall from the edge of the cloud. Cassie urged her horse to a reckless speed as it plunged down the combe. She wanted to outrace her demons.

Had Peter been telling her the truth? She wanted to believe him, but her wretched money kept getting in the way. She had known him for so short a time and had taken such a great step in deciding to trust herself to him. Now her steps were faltering.

She thought of Lady Margaret, elegant, polished, and not so much older than Peter himself. Cassie had always felt that her chaperon effortlessly achieved all the town bronze that she so significantly lacked. And Peter was used to a more sophisticated society, one in which no doubt there was nothing odd in courting an heiress and bedding a mistress at the same time. Cassie knew that it went on. Just because Peter could set her feelings alight with the slightest touch, she was not naamp2;¨ve enough to think that she was the only one.

She smothered a tiny sob. For a little while she had allowed herself to think that Peter’s interest was focused solely on her. She had believed that he loved her. She wrinkled her brow as she wondered why it had always felt such a struggle to gain affection. First she had had to compete with her mother’s illness to gain attention, then with all of her cousins’ other interests, then with
Lady Margaret’s elegance and always, always with her own huge pile of money.

Cassie squared her shoulders. As Eliza had pointed out a little while ago, no good came from feeling sorry for oneself. There were plenty of people who would be glad to suffer the kind of misery that her wealth brought her. Cassie smiled slightly, feeling a little better. The rest of the party were mere specks on the hill behind her. She had outrun them all. She had had some time alone to think and plan. So she would talk to Peter Quinlan and judge for herself whether he was telling the truth. Then she would make her decision. It was all very ordered and decisive. Cassie felt pleased with herself that for once she was approaching matters in entirely the right way. No losing her head and compromising herself, no marching impulsively into a gentleman’s bedchamber. A measured, sensible discussion was all that was required.

T
he rest of the group caught up with Cassie as she was dismounting on the gravel of the courtyard. It was raining in earnest now and there was no time for chat as they handed the horses over to the grooms and hurried inside.

The house was dark and quiet. Ufton, the butler, was crossing the hall from the library and looked slightly taken aback to see them returned so soon.

‘We will take a light luncheon in the dining room in half an hour, if you please, Ufton,’ Sarah said. ‘It was too inclement for our picnic, I fear. We shall have to go out another day.’

Cassie put a hand out and touched Peter’s arm. It was now—before her nerve deserted her—or never.

‘I need to speak with you,’ she whispered, and saw the flash of relief that crossed his face at her words. He looked tired and strained and her heart twisted with emotion. She gestured across the hall. ‘In the library. Please.’

The rest of the party was milling around. Anthony made some mention of a game of billiards. Sarah started towards the staircase to change her clothes before luncheon. Cassie and Peter set off towards the library.

And then there was one of those strange moments that happen even in the most ordered of households when everything appeared to stop.

One of the younger housemaids was coming down the main staircase, carrying her cleaning brushes and firebox. She looked nervous upon seeing the family, but rather than scuttle towards the backstairs, as Cassie expected her to do, she hesitated, clearly anxious. There was a long silence when everyone seemed to stand waiting and Ufton glared at the girl, evidently shocked and angry that a maid had dared to use the main stairs and had not effaced herself against the wall when her betters had returned.

‘What are you doing here, girl?’ he snapped. ‘Get down the backstairs! At once!’

To Cassie’s shock, the maid dropped the brushes, put her hands up to her red cheeks and started to wail. ‘I can’t, Mr Ufton! I can’t! They’re occupied!’

The butler strode forward and shook her impatiently by the arm. ‘Explain yourself! What are you talking about, child?’

The housemaid had started to cry. ‘I can’t take the backstairs, sir. They’re already in use. I saw the two of them together earlier and no ways am I going down there! Don’t make me!’ She broke off in a welter of tears.

Ufton looked almost apoplectic as the household discipline fell apart around him—and all in front of his employer. He gave the maid a hard stare that promised retribution, and marched towards the backstairs, throwing the door open so that it bounced on its hinges. The crash reverberated through the house and brought some of the other servants out into the hall to see what was going on.

‘Mr Ufton’s on the warpath again,’ Cassie heard one of the footmen whisper gleefully.

There was a scuffle, a feminine squeak, and then Ufton gave an exclamation of wrath and dragged a figure out through the doorway by the scruff of its neck. Cassie heard William give an exclamation.

‘Grant!’ William’s face stiffened as he saw his valet in Ufton’s iron grip. ‘What in God’s name were you doing down there?’

One of the footmen stifled a guffaw. Cecil Grant smoothed back his hair and ostentatiously adjusted his breeches. There was a very self-satisfied smirk on his face. In that moment it was clear to everyone exactly what he had been doing on the backstairs.

The maid was snivelling and Sarah Mardon had put a comforting arm about her. ‘That Mr Grant is a devil with the servants—’ the maid gulped ‘—but since he took up with her ladyship he’s been even worse! Like a ravening dog, he is.’

Anthony Lyndhurst put his cousin to one side and strode forward. His voice cracked like a whip. ‘Kindly explain yourself, Grant.’

Cecil Grant remained insolently silent. From the staircase below came another feminine shriek and voices upraised in a sudden babble of sound.

‘I do believe,’ Anthony said grimly, ‘that your latest paramour has been caught fair and square down in the kitchens, Grant. I can scarce believe such profligate behaviour with the female servants.
Disgraceful
—’

He broke off abruptly as Timms and Eliza appeared through the door, dragging between them the dishevelled figure of Lady Margaret Burnside. Her hair was falling down, her skirts were crumpled and, most shockingly of all, her bodice was askew and unbuttoned.

‘Mr Grant’s paramour, Major,’ Timms said expressionlessly. ‘Found
in flagrante
, so to speak.’

Everyone looked at Lady Margaret, who was trying vainly to force her ample bosom back into her bodice.

‘Lady Margaret!’
Sarah Mardon said in horrified tones.

‘I cannot believe it!’ Cassie said, shocked to the core. She stared in fascinated disbelief at the once-immaculate figure of her chaperon.

‘Trollop!’ Eliza had been waiting a long time to have her opinion of Lady Margaret confirmed. ‘Hugging and kissing on the backstairs like a common strumpet! Carrying on for days, they have been, but too clever to be caught out ’til now.’

Cassie looked from Lady Margaret to Cecil Grant. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘It was Grant I saw you with in the gardens two nights ago, Lady Margaret, not—’ She glanced up at Peter and fell silent abruptly.

Anthony’s face was like thunder. He turned on the pair. ‘You are both dismissed. You will leave this house
at once
.’

William Lyndhurst-Flint started to protest. ‘Dash it all, old fellow, what am I supposed to do without a valet?’

‘You may use Timms’s services if the matter concerns you so much,’ Anthony snapped.

William reddened as he glanced at Timms’s impassive face. ‘No, no—there’s no need for that. One of the footmen will do.’

Anthony made a brusque gesture. ‘Whatever you wish, just not
now
, William!’

His cousin fell silent, biting his lip.

Lady Margaret was smoothing the disordered skirts of her gown. She looked angry and disdainful. There was
a slash of colour high on her cheekbones and her lips were a line of compressed fury as she confronted Anthony. ‘You dare to dismiss me like a servant, Major Lyndhurst? I am the Lady Margaret Burnside!’

‘You may be the Queen Dowager for all I care, madam,’ Anthony said, furiously. ‘You will not behave thus in my house!’

Lady Margaret’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze swept around the group, travelling from face to face. Cassie’s gaze followed. Sarah was looking horrified, with the sobbing maid wilting against her; John Mardon had an expression of absolute distaste on his face as he regarded the chaperon; William was failing to meet her eyes. Cassie took Peter’s hand in hers and gripped it hard.

‘Very well,’ Lady Margaret said slowly. She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and extracted a crumpled piece of paper, brandishing it in one shaking hand. She turned to Cassie and there was a bright, malicious gleam in her eyes that made Cassie recoil.

‘Since I am to be dismissed, it seems that I may do you one favour before I go, Cassandra.’ She flashed Peter a look. ‘You foolish chit, you have been finely taken in. Lord Quinlan needs to rush you to the altar before the bank forecloses and the family is ruined! He planned it all from the beginning. See…’ She held the piece of paper under Cassie’s nose.

There was a shocked, deadly silence. Cassie snatched the special licence from Lady Margaret’s hand and read it quickly. Her chaperon had been correct; it gave permission for the marriage of Peter Alexander James Quinlan to Miss Cassandra Eleanory Ward and it was dated the week before Peter had come to Lyndhurst Chase. There was no denying it: he had brought the special licence with him. He had been determined to force
the marriage through. For all his fine words, it appeared that he had never intended to give her a choice.

She tried to keep her face blank, but she could feel her expression disintegrating slowly. The special licence wilted in her hand. She thought of the night before and the sweetness of Peter’s kisses in the moonlight. With all her heart she wanted to believe him sincere, but she had known him so short a time to trust him so absolutely, and she could not bear to have this happen here, now, with all these people watching her.

‘I am sorry that your cousin is nothing but a silly little girl,’ Lady Margaret was saying stridently to Anthony. ‘She is heedless and ungovernable. I suppose it is only to be expected with a mother who cared for nothing but her own ailments and a fortune that came from trade originally and no doubt brought with it some of the other qualities of the ill bred.’

Cassie made a small choking sound. She saw Anthony draw breath to intervene, but he never got the chance to open his mouth, for Peter was before him.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, ‘but I believe such remarks on breeding and behaviour fall ill from your lips, madam.’

Cassie gasped. ‘I—’ she began, but Peter put her gently to one side. There was a look in his eyes that stole her breath with its protectiveness and its fury.

‘Just this once,’ he said, ‘I want to speak for you. I promise I will never do it again.’ He moved until he was standing directly between Cassie and Lady Margaret.

‘Pretending that she is such a lady,’ Lady Margaret was continuing furiously. ‘Why, the Ward family is insignificant and nothing distinguishes her but that ridiculous fortune!’

‘Miss Ward is your superior in every way, madam,’
Peter said cuttingly, ‘and I think that you are well aware of that fact. It takes more than a title and a pretence of morality to make a lady. Lest you forget, we have all seen your behaviour this morning.’

The hall was so quiet that a pin could have been heard to drop as Peter continued in the same measured tones, ‘Miss Ward has the goodness and generosity of spirit that you so singularly lack, madam. If ever she has behaved in a manner that you have considered unruly, I suspect it is from sheer frustration at the strictures placed on her.’ He widened his gaze to include the rest of the family, who were standing dumbstruck now. His gaze seemed to linger on William Lyndhurst-Flint, who withered a little beneath its coldness.

‘I appreciate that most of you care deeply for Cassie and have always acted in what you have regarded to be in her best interests,’ Peter said. ‘I beg you now to allow her to choose her own future. She has the strength of character to make the right decisions, if you will only permit her the opportunity to do so. Do not force on her a chaperon whom she dislikes. Do not make her marry if she has no wish to do so. If she wants to wait until she is mistress of her own fortune, then please…’ he paused and looked around at them ‘…permit her to make that choice. And as for you, Lady Margaret…’ he paused ‘…I think it best that you go now.’

Unbelievably there was a smattering of ragged applause from the group of servants gathered by the backstairs door. It died swiftly as Anthony’s head snapped around to look at them.

Cassie blinked, as though she had stepped into a bright light. Something shifted in her mind then, in the dark corners where all her fears and frustrations had been penned in: the neglected child of the invalid mother, the
little girl who wanted to be loved but had secretly considered herself a burden to her relatives, the ungovernable débutante who had done outrageous things for attention and the woman who had only ever been courted for her money…She looked at Peter and saw him neither as a man seeking her fortune nor as a means of escape from a circumscribed existence. He was the man who would stand up for her and speak for her against the whole world because he cared for her alone. The enormity of it all overwhelmed her and there were prickly tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat that prevented her from speaking, but through the tears she looked at Peter and felt her love for him burst free.

Lady Margaret was leaving. Angry, vitriolic to the last, she was edging away from the group and running the gauntlet of the assembled servants.

Peter’s face was tense and hard. He looked at Cassie and then shook his head slightly as though there was nothing more that he could say. He went across to Anthony Lyndhurst and held out his hand.

‘I beg your pardon, Lyndhurst,’ he said. ‘I know that I have offended your hospitality. I think it would be better were I to leave.’

And he turned on his heel, brushed past the rest of the group without a word and set off up the stairs.

Everyone looked at Cassie. There was a short silence, and then Anthony, smiling slightly, said, ‘What would you like to do, Cassie?’

And Cassie gathered her skirts up in one hand and ran up the staircase after Peter without another word.

She found him in his dressing room, throwing various items randomly into his portmanteaux. She closed the door behind her and stood leaning against it. When he
saw her he straightened up and looked at her. There was a hard expression in his eyes.

‘I think that you had better leave me to complete my packing,’ he said.

Cassie took a deep breath. Her heart was hammering hard and she felt almost light-headed with apprehension, but she was not going to give ground now. She took out the special licence. ‘I want to talk to you,’ she said.

She saw his face fall at the sight of the incriminating piece of paper, but he said nothing.

‘It is true, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘You did bring this marriage licence with you with the intention of sweeping me off my feet.’

‘It is true.’ Peter threw a pair of shoes in the rough direction of the bag. ‘That was my intention.’

‘And when we met at the inn,’ Cassie pursued. ‘You said that you had not planned what happened, but was that a lie?’

‘There was never any lie nor any pretence,’ Peter said. ‘I was bewitched by you, Cassie. I fell in love with you and not your money. The only thing I could not do was prove it to you.’

Cassie’s heart leaped at his words, but she kept her tone steady. ‘And now?’

‘Now I am leaving.’

Cassie came a little closer. ‘You will have to find another heiress to court.’

Peter’s smile was tired. There were lines on his face that she wanted to reach up and smooth away. She kept quite still. If she touched him she would be lost and never finish what she wanted to say.