Corrected by the Colonel (2 page)

         
Glancing down at the variety of foods on her plate, Cassandra felt a stab of guilt. No doubt her sisters and father were not eating nearly so well. The dining table contained enough food to sustain her family for several days and still enough for a hearty stew.

         
She doubted if her dinner companions had ever known real hunger or wondered whether there would be enough food to feed the family. Had Lady Tyndall ever gone without a meal so her children would not feel the gnawing ache of deprivation?

         
Cassandra nearly snorted with derision at the idea.

         
Of course the Tyndall family of Hadley Hall had never done without.

         
Once she became one of them, neither would she. And neither would her sisters and, dare she hope, neither would her father.

         
Relief and anxiety warred within her. Relief at the prospect that she would soon be betrothed to Lord Tyndall and all her money worries, and those of her sisters, would be forgotten. Anxiety at whether or not she could accomplish the feat.

         
Lady Tyndall, like a well-bred gentlewoman ought, kept the conversation flowing at the dinner table. “My dear,” she said, leaning toward her son, “I understand you were shooting this afternoon. I trust it went well.” She smiled at her first born as though the sun shone out his ears and the stars gathered in his backside.

         
Lord Tyndall, the man in whose company Cassandra wished to pass her remaining years, dabbed at a bit of gravy dribbled on his shirt, and so focused on the task at hand, he did not hear his mother’s address.

         
After an awkward pause during which the three women at the table watched him create a large gravy smear on his white shirt, his mother finally yanked the napkin from his hand and when he looked up at her in surprise she said, “I am sure the laundry maid will be able to get that stain out. It is not necessary for you to attempt such tasks. Remember, you are Lord Tyndall.”

        
Owen, Lord Tyndall, glanced down at the brown spot on his shirt and back up at his mother. “I am sorry, Mother,” he said, his eyes suddenly cast downward.

         
Lady Tyndall gave her son an indulgent smile and pursued another conversational course. “Miss Sheridan, I do not believe I know much about your family. In fact, I cannot recall ever meeting any Sheridans before.”

         
Cassandra took her time chewing and swallowing the food in her mouth. Not only did it show good manners, but it gave her an opportunity to formulate a response.

         
“Perhaps you might know some members of my mother’s family. She was Miss Sarah Bennington before she married my father.” Cassandra held her head high and met Lady Tyndall’s gaze. Her statement was completely true.

         
Lady Tyndall perked up at the name. “Why yes, I do know several members of that family and I believe I might have met your mother long ago at a house party in Derbyshire.”

         
Cassandra cursed herself for her hypocrisy.  Cassandra's mother had been abandoned by her family when she married Cassandra’s father and it galled Cassandra to use their name or pretend an acquaintance with complete strangers. However, given that they never provided a bit of comfort or support for her mother, Cassandra believed the least the Bennington family could do was to afford Cassandra a bit of social cachet when needed. If she was going to ensnare Owen Tyndall, she would need all the help she could get, honest or slightly dishonest.

         
Cassandra smiled at Lady Tyndall and said, “My mother’s family is from Derbyshire, so it is likely you met her.”

         
“Yes,” Lady Tyndall said,pleased with herself, “I do remember now. In fact, as I recall, there was some scandal in that family years ago.”

         
Cassandra did her best to keep her face composed. “Does not every family have its share of scandals if one looks closely enough?”

         
Lady Tyndall gasped and pressed her hand over her heart. “Heavens! The Tyndall family has never had a scandal associated with its name and I pray it never does.” Lady Tyndall took a hearty gulp of wine and continued to espouse her thoughts. “As I recall, the Bennington family scandal involved a daughter marrying a man who was well-beneath her. Marrying below oneself is always a bad idea. It brings shame to a family.”

         
Cassandra, not wishing Lady Tyndall to opine any further lest she stumble closer to the truth, struggled for a response.

         
“But what of love?” Lady Jane ventured in a soft voice.

         
Cassandra had been so focused on diverting Lady Tyndall’s attention she forgot about the presence of others at the dinner table. Cassandra was grateful, and surprised, when Lady Jane entered the conversation.

         
However, based on Lady Tyndall’s response, she suspected Lady Jane wished she had kept quiet. “Love? What pish-posh! Have you been reading novels again? I told you what I think of such drivel.” Lady Tyndall wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood up, signaling the end of the meal.

         
Lady Tyndall's thoughts on love continued as they moved to the drawing room for coffee. “It is every person’s obligation to make a good marriage for the sake of their family and their future children. Love, or more likely infatuation, only clouds the judgment. It is precisely the sort of muddled thinking that causes people to run off and marry the wrong type of person simply because they are guided by their emotions. And then what happens? They find that love, or what they call love, is not enough to keep food on the table and they come crawling back to their families bringing with them their shame and poor relations.”

         
Cassandra clamped her upper lip between her teeth to keep from contradicting Lady Tyndall. Breathing deeply, she took some small comfort in thinking about the fine lady’s response when she learned her son had married a girl whose parents had done exactly that, though they never demeaned themselves by going back to her mother’s family in search of support.

         
If they had, Cassandra might not have found herself clutching at the possibility—no certainty—of marrying Lord Owen Tyndall, who sat across from her in the drawing room with a large gravy stain over the expanse of his belly.

Chapter Two

          Although the after dinner entertainment did not afford Cassandra the opportunity to spend much time conversing alone with Owen, she did go to bed optimistic because they had made plans to go for a ride before breakfast.

         
Propriety dictated Owen and Cassandra not go off into the woods on horseback alone, so Lady Jane volunteered to chaperone, though what the timid girl would do if Cassandra and Owen misbehaved was hard to imagine.

         
The next morning Cassandra awoke with renewed confidence. She would be with Owen far from his mother's prying eyes. Although she had bypassed Lady Tyndall’s inquiries the night before, Cassandra feared her formidable hostess would not be put off for long.

         
Owen had apparently inherited his father’s wits and not his mother’s. He had spent the balance of the evening playing cards with the three ladies, but Cassandra noticed he did not make a play without glancing at his mother for approval before he laid down his card.

         
However, once she became Lady Tyndall, the current holder of that title could be sent off to live in the dowager’s cottage at the edge of the property, so it was simply a matter of patience.

         
Regardless of her ulterior motives, Cassandra longed to go for a ride. She had spent too many hours cooped up inside stitching and making polite conversation. She needed fresh air and activity.

         
The three riders met up at the stable and were mounted and on their way soon thereafter. The sun shone brightly across the meadow and Cassandra breathed deeply of the fresh air.

         
Lord Tyndall followed suit and inhaled a large gust of air into his lungs. Apparently he also swallowed a bug, because the coughing fit that followed nearly threw him from his horse.

         
Eventually, red faced and gasping, Lord Tyndall managed to continue. He led the way with Cassandra and Lady Jane right behind.

         
“You ride well, Lord Tyndall.” Cassandra pulled her horse up next to his and attempted conversation.

         
“Thank you,” he said, “I find if I get a good grasp on the horse’s mane, I have a better chance of staying on.”

         
“Very wise.” Cassandra watched him wrap his stubby fingers around a clump of the horse’s hair.

         
She had an odd visual image of those same stubby fingers touching her and a tiny bit of bile rose up in her throat. She quickly vanquished the thought and the unpleasant taste. Lord Owen Tyndall represented the answer to all her family’s problems and if she had to endure intimacy with him to get it, then so be it.

         
As his mother said, love was over-rated.

         
After thirty minutes of deafening silence only pierced by the mumblings of Lord Tyndall as he attempted to stay astride his aged mount, Cassandra doubted the wisdom of this activity. In addition to her inability to engage Lord Tyndall in any sort of conversation, personal or otherwise, their sluggish pace frustrated her. She glanced over her shoulder and they were still within sight of the stable.

         
She looked again. It couldn’t be. How on earth could the same insolent footman be at the stable this morning? Did he never stay at his post?

         
Even from a distance, Cassandra would swear she saw him smirk at her. Well, she would show him. She feigned a fright to her horse then took off across the field.

         
The wind and sun on her face felt glorious. For the first time in weeks her cares melted away. She considered riding and riding until Hadley Hall, the Tyndalls and all her problems were far behind.

         
She heard Owen and Lady Jane call out in concern, though neither attempted to catch up to her.

         
Her hat came unpinned and flew off. She cared not. At that moment, she only focused on the thunder of the horse’s hooves, the thudding of her own heart, and the freedom to go wherever she wished.

         
If only she could keep riding and never look back. Never have to think about her family and their predicament. Never have to worry about her sisters who would soon be not only motherless, but fatherless too. And homeless.

          
But, she could not put her family out of her thoughts, so she turned her mount and galloped back to where Lord Tyndall and his sister waited for her.

          
“I did not know you were such a talented rider,” Lady Jane gushed. “I have always wished to ride like that,” she said then glanced at her brother before continuing, “but, mother says it is unladylike.”

         
Cassandra studied the girl whom she had considered meek and mild and wondered if she might be a different person were it not for her mother’s constant surveillance. "Thank you, Lady Jane," she said.

         
Perhaps once they were sisters Cassandra would have an opportunity to get to know Lady Jane better, though her first priority was two sisters back at home.

         
Exhilarated by fresh air and sunshine, Cassandra approached the stable feeling more like herself than she had in days.

         
Until she saw him. The loathsome, nameless footman. He stood indolently in the doorway of the stable, leaning against the door frame. Did the man ever work?

         
Cassandra flushed when she felt his eyes travel the length of her body from her disheveled hair, over her flushed face, down to her breasts which heaved from exertion, and on to the tips of her riding boots.

         
Undaunted, she tossed the reins to him without speaking. He steadied her horse and then, unbidden, reached up and lifted her easily from the saddle.

         
His hands spanned her waist and sent a jolt of fire through her body. Although she was unused to such assistance, she could not help but think he deliberately took his time and slid her body down the length of his before finally setting her feet on solid ground. At least it should have been solid ground; her knees trembled and her breath halted in her throat.

         
His fingers lingered above her hips and his dark eyes appraised her again from head to toe. “That was quite a ride you took, Miss Sheridan.”