The Unofficial Suitor Read online

  “I have heard that Lady Cassie’s brother is determined upon snaring a rich peer for her.”

  Lady Cassie? For a moment Oliver’s mind went blank. Then he realized to his vast relief that his sister had misconstrued the entire situation. She thought he was haunting Lord Blackstone’s residence because he was interested in Lady Cassie. Cecily did not even suspect that he had given his heart to Lady Blackstone the first time she had smiled up at him.

  Ignoring his sister’s continued chattering, he allowed his mind to drift backward. With feelings of joy that he would be seeing her again, mixed with despair that he would never win her hand for himself, one by one he pulled out all his most treasured memories—each word dear Ellen had said to him, each smile she had bestowed so casually on him, every touch of her hand on his sleeve ...

  * * * *

  Tonight she would be attending the opera with her dearly beloved Arthur for the first time in fifteen years. Ellen felt bubbles of excitement racing through her veins. Her late husband had never wished to attend any musical event, nor indeed any form of entertainment that did not involve eating massive amounts of food and imbibing great quantities of wine.

  Arthur, however, was cut from altogether different cloth. Why, the last time he had escorted her, when she was but a young girl of seventeen, he had not even spared a glance for the opera dancers showing off their charms on the stage. And the next day he had told her that when she spoke, her voice was more musical than anything written by some Italian composer.

  But the day after that, her father had informed her that Lord Blackstone had offered for her hand.

  With a sigh for those few magical days so long gone, Ellen rapped on her step-daughter’s door. When there was no answer, she opened the door and peered inside. Her mood of mellow reminiscence vanished in an instant.

  Instead of being occupied with putting the finishing touches on her toilette for the evening, Cassie was lying flat on her back in bed, a folded cloth over her eyes.

  Well! If her step-daughter thought she was going to indulge in another fit of the megrims, she was sadly mistaken.

  Marching resolutely into the room, Ellen snatched away the damp cloth. She was so upset that she did not trouble to keep her voice well modulated, but snapped out, “What on earth are you about? Arthur will be here any minute, and you are still in your shift!”

  “I am not feeling up to attending the opera tonight,” Cassie replied in her mulish tone of voice that always made Ellen want to shake her. “Lord Fauxbridge has already given me a headache, and since you were so helpful as to inform him where we would be this evening, he has announced that he will be sure to seek me out during the intermission. He did not, of course, stop to discover if I wished to set eyes on him twice in one day. If he had, I would have told him point-blank that one hour in his company is more than adequate for a single day—indeed, for an entire week!”

  “He actually said he would visit you during the intermission?” When Cassie scowled petulantly and nodded her head, Ellen clapped her hands in delight. “How marvelous! At the rate matters are progressing, I should not be surprised if he soon takes you to meet his mother. What a feather in your cap that will be!”

  Cassie sat up in bed and glared at her. “How can you possibly say it is marvelous? The man is a pompous, ponderous, posturing popinjay. I would not wish to meet his mother if she were the Queen of England.”

  Ellen again felt the palm of her hand itch with the urge to slap her step-daughter. How could the chit be so unreasonable? So impossibly stubborn? It was all Geoffrey’s fault, of course, for leaving them to rot in Cornwall. Isolated from society for so many years, Cassie just could not be brought to understand which things were important and which were not.

  But physical violence had never been the way to win Cassie’s cooperation, and cooperate she must, because it was not every day that one received an invitation to watch the opera from Lady Letitia’s box.

  Smiling instead of slapping, Ellen grasped her stepdaughter’s hands and pulled her from the bed. “Of course he is a pompous, posturing, and ... what else did you call him?”

  “Ponderous,” Cassie muttered, but at least she appeared to have accepted the idea that she must attend the opera, headache or no.

  Feeling quite relieved that the crisis was over, Ellen laughed. “Ponderous—yes, that is exactly the word for Lord Fauxbridge.” She pulled a new white dress embroidered with clusters of red rosebuds over Cassie’s head and quickly fastened it up. Picking up a hairbrush, she began vigorously dragging it through her step-daughter’s black tresses.

  “But what you must remember, my dear, is that he is a marquess, and not only a marquess, but a very rich marquess. Think of how wonderful it will be when you can command an army of servants, when every modiste in town is competing to win your patronage, when you can wear the Fauxbridge jewels, which rival the Crown jewels, or so I have been told.”

  Cassie muttered something about not caring about such things, and for a moment Ellen wondered if her stepdaughter’s mind was deranged. But time was of the essence, so she could not afford another quarrel. Without giving the recalcitrant chit an opportunity to voice further objections, Ellen continued in a bright, cheerful voice that was deliberately designed to bring Cassie into the proper mood.

  “Why, every young lady in London for the Season will be positively green with envy if Fauxbridge does seek you out during the intermission. The gossips report that dozens of ambitious mothers have made a push to capture him, but he has never before shown such a marked partiality for any eligible maiden, although he has been known to pursue the more racy widows.”

  Ellen abruptly became aware that her wayward tongue had gotten her into deep water. Such scandalous on-dits were not at all suitable for the tender ears of an unmarried maiden like her step-daughter. And more important, knowing about such liaisons, which were, after all, quite normal among gentlemen, was only likely to make Cassie even more reluctant to accept Fauxbridge’s suit if he did come up to scratch, which Ellen had every reason to expect he would.

  Tossing down the brush, she hurried to the door, where she paused only long enough to utter a feeble explanation for her hasty retreat. “I find I must, after all, summon Annie to finish your hair. It is not responding to my efforts in the slightest.”

  So, thought Cassie, watching her red-faced step-mother flee the room, My Lord Fauxbridge is not only ponderous, it appears he is also a womanizer.

  What a bargain she would be getting. No, she corrected herself, the gains would all be on Geoffrey’s side. Once she was safely wedded to Lord Fauxbridge, her brother could raid the marquess’s purse with impunity since Fauxbridge was too stiff-rumped to allow the slightest hint of scandal to besmirch his family name. Never would he allow a brother-in-law to be cast into debtor’s prison.

  Cassie blinked back tears at the thought and wished that she could bestow her unsuitable suitor on one of the multitude of young girls supposedly pining after him. Although when she thought about it, the image of Fauxbridge surrounded by a sea of adoring females was completely ludicrous. More than likely it was only the matchmaking mamas who considered him an eligible parti.

  The door to her room opened again, but this time Cassie was relieved to see it was Annie, the only member of the household Cassie considered a friend.

  “What did you say to Lady Blackstone to put her in such a taking?” Annie asked, coming over to where Cassie sat and picking up the discarded brush.

  “All I did was tell her my honest opinion of the ponderous Lord Fauxbridge,” Cassie replied vehemently. “I wish certain people would understand that I would truly rather starve in the gutter than marry such a—such a jackass as Lord Fauxbridge!”

  Twisting Cassie’s hair up on top of her head and pinning it securely in place, Annie said quite prosaically, “I have tried starving in the gutter. If I were you, I would sooner accept an honorable proposal, because in the gutter all you will be getting are dishonorable propositions.”r />
  “That does not matter. I shall simply tell them all no also.”

  “A fine plan indeed. But unfortunately men do not willingly accept a refusal from a defenseless woman in the gutter. They would consider you fair game—a tasty morsel to be gobbled up without a second thought.”

  “How can you talk that way?” Cassie protested. But even as she said the words, her eyes met Annie’s steady gaze in the mirror, and Cassie had to admit the justice of the Scottish girl’s statement, unpalatable as the truth might be. Cassie had only to remember several unfortunate women she had known in Cornwall to accept that a female was powerless to protect herself when a man decided to use his superior physical strength against her.

  Cassie’s heart went out to the Scottish girl, who must have suffered terribly after her husband died. “Were you ...” Cassie did not know how to phrase the question in such a way that it would not cause offense—or additional pain.

  Instead of being embarrassed, however, Annie smiled broadly. “You needn’t worry about me. My husband taught me to defend myself. Used properly, a small dagger can compensate for a large difference in size.”

  Eagerly, Cassie jumped to her feet. “But that is the answer! Do you not see, Annie? If you teach me to use a knife, then I can also defend myself—then I will not need a husband.”

  “No,” Annie said flatly, “that is not what you need to learn.”

  Feeling betrayed by her one and only friend, Cassie balled her hands into fists and glared up at Annie. “Why does everyone assume that I am totally incompetent and incapable merely because I am smaller than the average woman? You just told me yourself that a knife is a great equalizer, so why will you not teach me to use one? Do you think I am incapable of learning anything?”

  “Oh, no, I think you are quite capable. You can undoubtedly learn how to conceal a knife about your person, and I can teach you the proper way to hold it. And it is not difficult to learn where to slice a man if you wish to maim him permanently, or where to slip in the blade if you wish to kill him instantly.”

  Cassie felt herself growing faint at the images that Annie’s words conjured up, but she did her best to hide her weakness from the other girl. “So, what is the p-problem then?”

  “The problem is,” the Scottish girl continued relentlessly, “that I cannot teach you or show you or give you the resolution necessary to actually use those skills against another human being.”

  “Oh, Annie,” Cassie said, swaying on her feet.

  A moment later Annie was hugging her. Cassie fought against the tears that were forming in her eyes. “You are right. I could never bring myself to hurt anyone. But there must be some way out—some other alternative to marrying Lord Fauxbridge—because it is all I can do to avoid shuddering when he even touches my hand.”

  “I cannot believe your brother would—”

  “My brother? Geoffrey has told me he will sell Seffie to a white slaver if I do not comply with his wishes.”

  For a moment Annie’s hand, which had been patting Cassie’s back, was still. “I was referring to your other brother, Digory Rendel.”

  Immediately, Cassie felt better—strong enough even to move out of the comforting circle of the other girl’s arms. “Of course! How could I have forgotten? Digory himself said that he came to London specifically to make sure that Geoffrey did not force me to marry the wrong man. And despite his title and his wealth, no one but a featherhead like Ellen—or a greedy, grasping, selfish pig like Geoffrey—could think that Lord Fauxbridge would make any woman a good husband.

  “Oh, Annie, please help me. Find Digory and explain what has happened. Ask him to meet me in the kitchen garden after we get back from the opera.”

  * * * *

  The opera was like a symbol, showing him how far he had come, Richard thought. Many times as a skinny, always very hungry young boy, he had stood hidden in the shadows of Covent Gardens, watching the elegantly clad gentlemen escorting beautifully gowned ladies into the theater. And now tonight, for the first time, he would be entering those majestic portals—entering the world of beauty and fantasy that lay behind the stone walls and heavy wooden doors.

  He had, of course, already seen numerous other theatrical productions in America, even operas. But somehow the Covent Garden Theater was different—more special—because he still saw it through the eyes of the child he had been.

  Would it live up to his expectations? Would it still seem a magical place, or would the layers of skepticism and cynicism that had grown around his heart prevent him from enjoying the pageantry and glamour? Would he see that the gold was merely gilt? That the velvets and satins worn by the actors were undoubtedly stained by sweat and make-up? That the houses and trees on the stage were merely painted canvas?

  More important, would he see that the ladies and gentlemen in the audience, who all those years before had seemed godlike, were mere mortals? That like people everywhere, some of them were admirable and some were not. Some of the “ladies” had the souls of courtesans, and some of the “gentlemen” were as uncivilized in their habits as any longshoreman.

  Adjusting the folds of his cravat, Richard surveyed himself in the looking glass. One thing he did not doubt—this time, instead of wearing dirty rags, he would be as elegantly dressed as anyone there, and his clothes could hide his true nature as well as anyone else’s. No one would suspect that he was not a gentleman—that he had not been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a family standing stalwart behind him.

  Staring at the mirror, he observed the connecting door behind him open, and Tuke entered, a glass of brandy in his hand. Although John had reluctantly paid a call on Lady Letitia, he had resisted all of her and Richard’s entreaties to attend the opera.

  “I wish you would change your mind and come with us,” Richard said. “There will be room for you.”

  “It is not a matter of overcrowding the box,” John replied mockingly. “But if I came, I would be odd man out, and the numbers would be thrown off. Only consider, as it now stands, you will be escorting Lady Letitia, Perry is matched up with his cousin Cecily, Dillingham is paired with Lady Blackstone, which leaves young Ingleby to do the honors with Lady Cassiopeia.”

  Knowing from years of experience just how stubborn his companion could be, Richard did not point out the obvious, namely that Lady Letitia could quite easily have found a female partner for John, also. Instead, Richard changed the subject.

  “Have you succeeded in learning anything about Fauxbridge?”

  “Everything and nothing,” John replied. “Everything about his family, his estate, his habits, his horses, his women. But nothing that will be of the slightest use for our purpose. As boring a bag-of-wind as he is, I have not yet been able to find a weakness we can exploit.”

  Richard uttered a colorful oath.

  “Do not despair so easily,” John chastised him gently. “As they say, Rome was not built in a day, and even God required six days to create the universe. I have been investigating the man for less than twenty-four hours. Only give me a little more time, and I will find the key to ending his courtship of Lady Cassiopeia.”

  “I am sorry to be so lacking in patience, but I cannot help feeling the need to proceed with great dispatch.” Picking up his top hat and cane, Richard did not give John a chance to question the reason for his anxiety, which would have been hard to explain, consisting as it did merely of feelings, rather than logical thoughts. “Is Perry ready for the opera, or has he again slipped away to see a man about a horse?”

  “I have seen to it that he is wearing proper evening attire, but from the glint of mischief in his eyes, I would say he has already prepared a last-minute excuse.”

  Turning away from the mirror, Richard looked John straight in the eye. “As much as I am opposed to coercion, tonight I think we must see to it that Perry does not disoblige Lady Letitia.”

  “Of course. ‘Twould be the height of incivility if he put a four-legged filly before his own grandmother.”
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  “Or even more appalling to contemplate, if he is allowed to slip away, the numbers would be thrown off, and you would doubtless be required to attend the opera in his stead.”

  John grinned. “In that case, I am sure I can persuade the reluctant viscount to do his filial duty, even if I have to carry him bodily to his grandmother’s side.”

  * * * *

  Never, since the day she had first left Cornwall, had Cassie wished so desperately to be back home. She might have actually enjoyed the singing and the fancy costumes if anyone else in the theater had been paying attention to what was transpiring on the stage. Unfortunately, all the eyes in the theater were trained on her, or at least so it seemed.

  The evening at the opera had not started out poorly, to be sure. But gradually everyone had become aware that Lord Fauxbridge, whose box was almost directly opposite Lady Letitia’s, was doing nothing but ogle her through his opera glasses. As a result, one after another of the occupants of the other boxes—followed in due course by the young bucks in the pit—had also begun craning their necks to see what the attraction was.

  Or rather, who the attraction was. At first Cassie had felt herself blushing at being the center of attention, but she had assumed—wrongly—that when the performance began, everyone’s eyes would be on the dancers and singers. Now she was beyond blushing. Staring fixedly at the stage, she tried to avoid looking at the other boxes. Actually, all she really wanted to do was find a small, dark place to hide. It was unfortunate that no one had ever built a priest’s hole in an opera box.

  Just the thought of such a thing made Cassie smile, and as soon as she did, a ripple of sound and movement swept through the crowd. Risking a glance around the theater, she saw to her added dismay that now people were not only still looking at her, but also talking about her—the “ladies” whispering behind their fans, the “gentlemen” talking about her openly, smirking with their friends, even pointing at her.

  “Do you realize, my child, how much money most of the ladies here tonight would pay to be in your shoes?” Lady Letitia’s voice was a quiet murmur in her ear. “To be the center of attention at the opera is every woman’s dream. To that end, Lady Ermyntrude has festooned herself with every jewel and bauble she owns, the Mulrooney sisters have nearly bankrupted their brother to pay for their outfits, and Mrs. Hennings, among others, has come this evening in the sheerest of muslin gowns, dampened to reveal every one of her overabundant charms. Yet all their stratagems have failed, because it is you who has captured the fancy of the crowd.”