Snowbound With The Baronet (14 page)

Her head snapped up. She shot him a defiant glare. “I was trying to protect you! I did not want my father to bleed you dry the way he did my mother and my stepmothers.”

“What made you so certain he would have?” Part of Brandon understood that she had acted out of concern for him. But his pride bristled at the thought that he might need to be protected. “A woman would be vulnerable to such exploitation once she married a man who had designs on her fortune. It would come under his control from the moment they wed. I would not have been bound that way, especially if you warned me what your father meant to do.”

Cassandra’s glare collapsed into a dazed stare, as if she had been clouted on the head, not quite hard enough to knock her out. “But... but... you do not know what he was like. Father could be very charming and persuasive when he wanted something. He would not have hesitated to play upon your feelings for me, and mine for my sisters. You would have grown to hate me for bringing all our troubles into your life. I could not bear to let that happen.”

Brandon shook his head. He sensed Cassandra believed what she was telling him. But he suspected there might have been more to it than she realized. Sometimes the worst deception was the kind people practiced upon themselves. “Yet you were willing to risk my hatred by rejecting my proposal out of the blue.”

Cassandra winced. “I’d hoped it would not come to that. Once I knew what Father had planned, I meant to discourage you gradually, perhaps pick a quarrel so you would turn your attention to someone else. When you surprised me with your proposal, I could not think what else to do. I did not suppose you would take my rejection so hard. I was trying to spare you from ruin!”

“Were you?” The loss of the family he’d imagined for them still pained Brandon to a ridiculous degree. “Or were you trying to protect yourself from having to air your family’s dirty linen? Were you afraid that if I learned the truth, I might spurn you? That would never do for the proud Miss Whitney, would it?”

Cassandra sprang from her chair. Her slender hands balled into tight fists. Much as Brandon wanted to nurse his righteous indignation toward her as a shield for his heart, he could not deny she looked magnificent. She inhaled a sharp breath and opened her mouth to roundly denounce him.

But before she could produce a single word, Brandon raised a forefinger to his lips and nodded toward the passageway, down which he heard footsteps approaching.

As Mr. and Mrs. Martin entered the kitchen, Cassandra turned her attention to the kettle, which was steaming away vigorously.

“Did I not tell you, Tobias?” Mrs. Martin gestured toward Brandon and Cassandra. “Such a pair of early birds I never did see.”

“Not a bad way to be either.” Mr. Martin hooked his thumbs through his braces. “As that American saying goes—early to bed and early to rise...”

Brandon forced a dry chuckle. “I am in good health and I have a comfortable fortune though it is inherited for the most part. The best I can say is that I have not frittered it all away.”

“That leaves only wisdom, Sir Brandon.” The sound of Cassandra’s voice startled him though it should not have. “Surely you must admit to that.”

Was she mocking him, after the things she had just confessed? Brandon pictured himself like Mrs. Martin’s kettle, with his insides all hot and agitated as a scalding head of steam gathered. “I do not presume to praise my own understanding.”

“Perhaps not,” she replied as she filled the teapot, “But you have such decided opinions about how other people should behave. Why would you wish to dictate their actions, unless you believe that your way is always wiser and better?”

Her insincere smile reminded him of his mother’s when the family was out in public—pretending maternal concern when she could scarcely bring herself to look at him in the privacy of their home.

“I must disagree.” Brandon strove to keep his tone cool and light when the emotions brewing within him were quite the opposite. “I do not make any claim to wisdom. I have done a number of very foolish things in my life.”

Tobias Martin clapped him on the back. “You did foolish things when you were young, Sir Brandon? I scarcely know a soul who hasn’t. Human nature, that is. As long as you recognize your folly and learned your lesson, I reckon that’s how you grow wise over the years.”

The farmer’s views were sound, charitable and thoroughly honest, just like his character.

“You are correct, sir,” Brandon answered Mr. Martin but his words were aimed at Lady Cassandra Whitney. “I committed a number of very foolish errors in my youth, but at least I learned my lesson from them.”

F
INALLY
! A
FTER FOUR
years she had her answer at last.

As Cassandra bustled around the kitchen, helping Mrs. Martin prepare breakfast, she exerted herself to look and sound cheerful. Not for a moment would she give Sir Brandon Calvert the satisfaction of guessing how downcast her spirits truly were.

His seemingly off-hand comment to Mr. Martin, about having made youthful mistakes and learned his lesson, ran through her thoughts over and over. Each time it struck her heart a blow.

Hardly a day had passed since she’d watched him stalk away, humiliated by her rejection, that she had not wondered how he might have reacted if he’d known the truth. Often her imagination had taunted her with rose-colored fancies of what Brandon might do if he learned that she had sacrificed her happiness to protect him from ruin.

When this terrible storm had thrown them together so unexpectedly, her curiosity about what might have been intensified into an insatiable need to know. It had goaded her into casting aside her pride to reveal the shameful truth about her family. Looking back, Cassandra wondered if she had been laying a foundation to help him understand why she’d been forced to refuse him.

At first it seemed to succeed. When Brandon had shared his family secrets, she’d felt a deeper connection between them than ever. She wondered if they had somehow sensed that common bond from the very beginning of their acquaintance. Brandon’s assurance that he did not hate her had given her further hope.

Hope for what? Cassandra sliced a loaf of bread with fierce vigor, relieved to have some vent for the tumultuous emotions swirling and churning inside her. Had she been daft enough to think Brandon would sweep her into his arms and confess that he had never stopped loving her? Did she imagine he would recognize the harm she had tried to spare him and cherish the sacrifice she’d made on his behalf?

Instead, when she’d confessed her most painful secret at last, Brandon had crushed her ridiculous hopes. He’d ignored everything but the fact that she had not been entirely truthful with him. Did he not realize how impossible that had been for her?

For an instant, Cassandra permitted her mask of cheerful industry to slip long enough to aim a baleful glare at the back of Brandon’s head. Did he have so high an opinion of his own strength of will that he believed he could withstand her father’s machinations to safeguard his fortune and their marriage? Cassandra knew better.

Such thoughts stoked her indignation the way she might have added fuel to Mrs. Martin’s kitchen fire, making it burn fiercer and hotter. It protected her against the cold desolation of her quenched hopes and the icy sting of knowing Brandon considered their relationship a youthful folly, which he repented.

He claimed to have learned his lesson from that mistake. But what was that lesson? Never to trust a woman again? Never to give his heart? Vexed as Cassandra was with him, those possibilities still grieved her.

Gradually the smells of food drew the rest of the party to the kitchen.

When Mrs. Davis appeared, she immediately approached Cassandra. “Miss Calvert would like you to help her get dressed. I offered my services but she has her heart set on you.”

No doubt so she could boast to her fellow guests at Everleigh of having had a duke’s daughter act as her lady’s maid. Cassandra was tempted to say Miss Calvert could dress herself or stay in her nightgown. But tending to Brandon’s cousin would give her a legitimate excuse to leave the kitchen, where she would have no choice but to see and hear him.

“Take all the time you need, my dear.” Mrs. Martin waved her off. “I can manage here.”

Only when she headed out of the kitchen did Cassandra realize Sir Brandon was standing near the passageway to the parlor. She would have to brush past him in order to leave the room. Refusing to be intimidated, she marched toward him with her spine stiff and her head high. As she approached, he started to move out of her way but Cassandra stepped toward him, as he had toward her the night before. Let him see how well
he
liked being ambushed!

“Perhaps I wasn’t anxious to air my family’s dirty linen,” she muttered quietly enough for his ears alone. “But neither were you, as I recall.”

With an intrepid toss of her head, she swept past him, desperate to get away before he could reply.

She was halfway to the parlor when she heard him call after her in a quiet but insistent voice, “Cassandra.”

Her emotions were too stormy just then to risk arguing with him. If she tried, Cassandra feared she might give way to a foolish burst of tears. Not for anything would she let him see her weep again, now that she knew what he thought of her,

Instead she whirled around and robbed his accusations of their power by making them hers. “Perhaps I
should
have told you about my father. Perhaps I should have been entirely truthful about everything. But all I could think of was protecting you and that was the only way I could be certain. I made a mistake, but like you I have learned from it. In future, I will not do anything so foolish again.”

She should have taken grim satisfaction in the look that gripped his features in response to her outburst. But she could not. It reminded her far too much of the heartbreaking mixture of shook, bewilderment and anguish she’d glimpsed on his face when she refused his proposal of marriage.

As she turned and rushed away, Cassandra feared Brandon might come after her and continue to rake up their troubled past. But by the time she reached the stairs, it was clear he had no intention of following her after all. The relief she expected to feel was accompanied by a contrary pang of disappointment.

She marched up the stairs to the little room she shared with the other ladies. Its space was further cramped by the presence of their luggage, which had been wrestled up the stairs the previous evening. Despite her protest that she would rather wear the same dress for a month than send the men out in the storm, Cassandra decided she would change into clean clothes once she had dressed and groomed Miss Calvert. For however long she was forced to remain in Sir Brandon’s company, pride demanded that she make her best possible appearance.

“Is everything alright?” Imogene Calvert asked when Cassandra entered. “You look vexed. Are you sorry you offered to assist me? You must think I am a dreadful goose not to be able to dress myself.”

A polite denial rose to Cassandra’s lips, but she could imagine what Sir Brandon would say about that. The fact that she was displeased with the baronet did not make him wrong. The world might well be a better place, if people made an effort to speak and act more truthfully.

“I am not angry with you. But for your own wellbeing, it might be helpful for you to cultivate more independence. One cannot always be certain of having servants on hand.” She congratulated herself on being perfectly truthful without insulting or distressing Sir Brandon’s cousin.

Imogene Calvert seemed deaf to the important message Cassandra was trying to convey. She wrapped a blanket around her like a shawl and crawled out of bed. When her feet came in contact with the cold floor, she let out a pitiful squeal.

“If you aren’t vexed with me” she persisted, “then whom? Brandon?”

That was a far more difficult question to answer truthfully, for Cassandra feared it would provoke a flood of others. “We... er... we did have a difference of opinion but I would prefer not to discuss it. Now which dress do you wish to wear today? I would suggest one with long sleeves as it is quite cool.”

Miss Calvert peered into the case, but once again she seemed to have heard only part of what Cassandra had said. “A difference of opinion? Are you referring to your debate last night? I’ve never seen Brandon so deeply engrossed in a conversation. Most of the time he only seems to half-listen to what other people say.”

It must be a family trait, Cassandra concluded.

“You and my cousin seem to have a much closer acquaintance than I realized.” Miss Calvert mused. Then she gave a violent start. “Oh my!”

“What is the matter?” Cassandra seized the young lady’s hand, fearing she might be about to swoon. “Perhaps you should sit down on the bed for a moment.”

“I am perfectly well, thank you.” Imogene Calvert pushed Cassandra’s hand away. “I only just realized who you must be.”

“I beg your pardon?” What was the silly creature talking about? “You have known who I am ever since we met in the stagecoach.”

Was that only two days ago? So much had happened since then, it seemed much longer.

“That is not what I mean!” Imogene Calvert snapped, as if she suspected Cassandra of being deliberately thickheaded. “Are you the woman who broke my cousin’s heart?”

Cassandra wished she could deny the accusation, just as she had denied the truth to herself since the day she’d refused Brandon’s proposal. It had been hard enough to live with herself when she thought she’d only injured his
pride
with her rejection.

“I... I did not mean to.” How humiliating it was to be an object of disdain from a person for whom she had so little respect. “I did not believe he cared about me enough that my refusal would hurt him so much.”

Miss Calvert’s lip curled. She moved away from Cassandra as if she feared being contaminated. “He cared enough to make you an offer of marriage. I suppose you thought a baronet was not good enough for the daughter of a duke.”

“Quite the contrary.” It felt strange to be chastised by someone younger than her. Yet Cassandra was hard-pressed to defend herself from charges she feared she deserved. “My father had not inherited his title then.”