The Unofficial Suitor Read online

  She had no idea what the men might be accustomed to in the way of breakfast, but from the quantities they had consumed the night before, the important thing would seem to be providing an ample amount. First she mixed up a batch of scones, and while they baked, she cooked some rice and made a huge pot of kedgeree, although the thought of such a heavy breakfast turned her stomach. For herself and her companions, she coddled three eggs, buttered some of the scones, and made a pot of hot tea.

  Meeting the man called Hawke on the stairs as she was going up, she was surprised when, without asking, he took the heavy tray she was carrying out of her hands and preceded her back up the stairs. She wracked her brain for something to say to him, but remained tongue-tied when he handed it back to her at the door to her room and thanked her formally for the food she had prepared the night before.

  * * * *

  Emerging with his friends from the taproom after a satisfying breakfast, Perry was treated to the sight of the shy little miss from the day before arguing resolutely with the landlord, who was obviously feeling the effects of the brandy he had consumed the day before. Quite a battle it was, too, with the outcome, at least in Perry’s opinion, a foregone conclusion. It was doubtful if the landlord, even without a splitting headache, would have been a match for the chit, who was in a fiery temper.

  “See here—you have charged us for the use of two rooms and a private parlor. That is outrageous. You are a scoundrel and a cheat, for you do not even have a private parlor in this entire inn, and if you had not been spending the night in a drunken stupor, you would also know that we have occupied only one room. And furthermore, I refuse to pay one penny for a meal I not only had to cook for myself, but which I also cooked for your other guests, and a sorry landlord it is who so shamelessly neglects his guests the way you have done. I’ve a good mind to stay and tell your wife exactly how you behaved behind her back.”

  It was an empty threat, thought Perry with amusement, since the girl called Cassie would by necessity have to leave when the stage did or be stranded in this hedgerow tavern, but apparently the mention of his wife coupled with the hammers that, from the looks of him, were pounding behind the landlord’s eyes was enough to make him give up the struggle. Muttering to himself, the poor man took the amount of money Cassie was willing to pay, though the look he gave her was not such as would cause anyone to think she had made a friend of him.

  “Now there’s a suitable candidate for your wife, Hawke,” murmured Perry, as the chit retired triumphant from the field of battle. “At least you will have to admit, she knows the value of money.”

  “I do believe you are right,” his friend replied, his attention still on the outer door through which she had vanished.

  “Richard, you can’t be serious. I was merely funning. Why, she’s nothing but a servant girl. Haven’t you seen how she waits on the other two, who are obviously of gentle birth?”

  “Yes, I have noticed the way she takes care of them, but I have seen nothing subservient in her manner. And as you have pointed out, a proper appreciation for the value of money was one of my criteria for a wife.”

  “I’ll admit she’s as tasty a morsel as I’ve ever seen, and I could understand any man wanting to mount her, but—”

  There was an abrupt silence as Richard turned to him with such a menacing look that the words he had been about to say died in his throat. Perry had never before felt the impact of Hawke’s anger directed at him, and he realized that his estimation of Hawke’s natural power over other people had been woefully inadequate. He was silenced more effectively with one look than he would have been if another man had grabbed him by the neck with both hands and shaken him into submission.

  “Perhaps I did not make my meaning clear. I intend to marry that young lady in the near future, and I will take it amiss if anyone displays the slightest disrespect toward her or her companions.”

  Perry turned automatically to Tuke, not sure what he was seeking from the other man, whether confirmation that Hawke was serious, or some kind of support in his attempt to make Richard see the light of reason. But he could read nothing more in Tuke’s shuttered gaze than he could in Hawke’s, and any urge he might have felt to dissuade his friend from committing such an act of folly died before it was even born.

  He expected Richard to make a push to attract the attention of the young lady in question. Being well acquainted with the charm his friend could produce when the occasion warranted, Perry had not the slightest doubt that Richard would be successful.

  To his surprise, however, other than insisting that the three of them share one of the seats so that the three ladies could sit together, Perry could discern nothing in Hawke’s demeanor that would indicate to an uninformed observer that he had the slightest interest in any of the three women. By the end of the trip Perry had almost convinced himself that his friend had reconsidered the entire matter and now realized how inappropriate such an unequal match would be.

  It turned out to be wishful thinking on his part, as no sooner had the stage arrived in London than Richard set Tuke to follow the three women, who had waited only as long as it took to collect their baggage before setting out in a hired hack for an unknown destination.

  Perry held his tongue as long as he could while he and Richard made their way to the discreet hotel he had decided to make his headquarters while in London, chosen to forestall any attempt on his grandmother’s part to insist that he live in her town house, which had come to her from her third husband, and which therefore was not part of the entailed estate temporarily belonging to him.

  But once they were in private, Perry could keep silent no longer. No matter what the consequences, he felt an obligation to do everything he could to save his friend from what he was sure would turn out to be a disastrous mistake. “It won’t work, Richard. You must see that the whole idea is preposterous.”

  “You do not think I can convince her to marry me? Do not let these rough clothes fool you. I assure you, I clean up quite nicely, even though I can never aspire to your good looks.”

  “Don’t joke, Richard; this is serious. Of course she will accept if you’re fool enough to offer, but that’s hardly the point. You cannot simply close your eyes to the problems that will be the inevitable outcome of this mad start of yours. You have said you don’t wish to marry a title. Very well, but there is no need to go to this extreme. That young woman, although her speech is not broad and she is comely enough, is just a servant, no matter what you may say to the contrary. It is equally obvious she has no breeding, or she would not have argued with the landlord like a shrew. It’s one thing to know the value of money, but it’s quite another to cause a scene in public the way she did. There is simply no way she could fit into the kind of life you have planned for yourself. All you would be accomplishing would be ruining your own life and hers in the process. She would never be comfortable as the wife of a landed gentleman and would only be made miserable if you attempted to force her into such a position.”

  It would have been easier to argue if Hawke had attempted to refute his statements, but Richard offered nothing at all in defense of his choice, just listened quietly to everything Perry had to say. Perry had exhausted all his arguments and was reduced to frustrated silence by the time John Tuke reappeared with an air of quiet satisfaction and the suspicion of a smile lurking about his eyes.

  “Did you find out her direction?”

  “Did you think I would lose her in London?”

  “And?”

  “And,” the smile that had been hovering now emerged full-blown, “she is the Lady Cassiopeia Anderby, daughter of the fifth Earl of Blackstone and sister of the present earl.”

  Perry was not sure who was more disconcerted by Tuke’s information, himself or his friend Richard Hawke.

  * * * *

  “Cassie, they’ve come, they’ve come!” Seffie erupted into the library like a small whirlwind.

  “Who has come?” Cassie felt her insides tighten at the thought
of meeting strangers.

  “Not who, silly. Two of your new dresses have come and three for Mama. She says it is not too late to pay a few calls, now that you can be made to look presentable. Oh, hurry, do.” Seffie grabbed Cassie’s hand and pulled her to her feet, knocking the book Cassie had been reading off onto the floor. “Oh, is this not exciting? It is your new blue sarsenet and the peach sprigged muslin. Which will you wear? Oh, do wear the peach.” Unable to control her excitement, Seffie danced from the room.

  Cassie could not share her sister’s raptures. After a week’s reprieve, during which they had spent virtually every waking hour ordering clothes and being fitted, the moment she had been dreading was finally at hand. She was about to be thrown onto the market and sold to the highest bidder.

  Retrieving the fallen book, she looked at it with regret. The Castle of Otranto by Walpole was written to terrify its readers, but Cassie would sooner meet a praying skeleton or a bleeding statue than face a roomful of unknown ladies ... and perhaps even some gentlemen would be there to consider her attributes. Consider? No, they would be inspecting her the same way she had been inspecting fabrics and ribbons and bonnets these past few days. After all, they could not be expected to purchase a wife without checking her for defects and shortcomings.

  Reluctantly climbing the stairs to her room, she repeated over and over again like an incantation, “I am the daughter of an earl; I do not need to be afraid. I am the daughter of the Earl of Blackstone; I am the equal of anyone.”

  She was not especially successful in controlling her fears, and so to give herself something else to think about, she made polite conversation with Annie, one of the few servants who had been included with the house her brother had rented for the season.

  “How did you become so proficient at fixing ladies’ hair?”

  “In Spain and Portugal I was able to earn a little extra money by helping some of the officers’ ... wives.”

  The hesitation was slight, and Cassie decided it would be prudent not to call attention to it. But then it struck her that perhaps Annie had been one of them—one of the loose women who could always be found following behind any army. But surely not even her brother would have hired a fallen woman to work as a maid in his own household. Or would he? “You were in Spain?”

  “My husband was a sergeant with Picton’s Highlanders. I followed the drum for three years on the Peninsula.”

  “And your husband ...” Cassie could not think of the proper way to phrase it, but the maid answered the unstated question.

  “He was wounded at the Battle of Waterloo. I nursed him as best I could, but he died four days later.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her eyes met Cassie’s in the mirror, and there was a depth of pain there that Cassie had never encountered before.

  Luckily for her, since she could not think of a thing to say in response, her sister chose that moment to interrupt them. “Do hurry, Annie. Mama is ready for you to fix her hair. Oh, Cassie, you look most elegant. I wish I were old enough to go with you. It is vastly unfair that I must stay at home with nothing to do. You must, you absolutely must remember every detail about what everyone is wearing and what everyone says and tell me all about it when you get home.”

  With no more talk of battle and dying soldiers, Annie finished with Cassie’s hair and left her alone with her thoughts. As a way of taking her mind off her fears, the conversation with the red-haired Scottish girl had worked wonders. How could Cassie be afraid of something as trivial as a few morning calls when Annie had struggled in vain to save the life of her dying husband? A few gossipy women were nothing compared with that.

  But the men she might also meet? The ones in the market for a beautiful, titled wife? Perhaps her unknown husband to be? What would they think when they saw her?

  She looked in the mirror, and her heart sank. Although much more modest than the silvery blue dress belonging to her brother’s mistress, the peach sprigged muslin was indeed vastly becoming. Too becoming, in fact, especially with her hair pulled back in ringlets, leaving her neck exposed.

  “You look quite delectable, my dear.”

  At the sound of a man’s voice from the doorway, Cassie jerked around to see her brother lounging there.

  “I must confess, modesty enhances your type of beauty even more than brazenness. Perhaps I should raise your price to one hundred thousand pounds?”

  * * * *

  All too soon the hired hack pulled to a stop in front of a beautiful town house. Not wishing to reveal her reluctance, Cassie immediately prepared to alight, but her step-mother caught her arm and held her back for a moment.

  “Now you must be on your best behavior today. Promise me that you will remember all the rules I have been teaching you. Lady Letitia is one of the most powerful women in London. If she takes you in dislike—well, I shudder to think what might happen in such a case. We may count ourselves fortunate that my grandmother made her come-out the same year as Lady Letitia, and although they were not bosom bows, still she is inclined to look kindly on me and mine.”

  Already Cassie was feeling a strong antipathy toward the unknown Lady Letitia, but she dutifully enumerated for Ellen a long list of things a young lady being introduced to the ton was not allowed to do.

  Finally satisfied that Cassie would not thoroughly disgrace them, Ellen decided they could not delay any longer, and she led the way up to the imposing front door. Waiting at her step-mother’s side, Cassie prayed that Lady Letitia would not be at home, but moments later the butler was ushering them into the sitting room. “Lady Blackstone and Lady Cassiopeia Anderby.”

  It was not hard for Cassie to determine which of the three ladies already seated in the room was Lady Letitia. In some subtle way she seemed to be the focus of everyone’s attention, although she was not at all the imposing, full-figured battle ax that Cassie had been expecting. Instead, she was of only medium height, quite trim, and despite her white hair and lined face, her back was ramrod-straight.

  “Oh, my dear Lady Letitia,” Ellen gushed, “it is so wonderful to be back in London. Cornwall is so tedious, it is beyond bearing. But now that my daughter is of an age to make her come-out—or I should say, my step-daughter since I am not at all old enough to have a daughter old enough—that is to say, may I present my step-daughter, Lady Cassiopeia?”

  Lady Letitia held out her hand and Cassie obediently took it. Giving her hand a slight squeeze, Lady Letitia said with a kindly smile, “You have the look of your mother, my dear.”

  At her words, Cassie felt something in her heart shift, and she looked in the old lady’s eyes for the first time. What she saw there was not only intelligence but compassion, and somehow Cassie gained the impression that this woman, who was separated from her by a vast gulf of generations, might very well become a good friend.

  Turning to the man standing beside her chair, Lady Letitia continued, “May I present to you my grandson, Edmund Stanier?”

  Despite Ellen’s description of the various types of gentlemen she could expect to meet, Cassie was almost undone by her first sight of a true London dandy. She had thought that the cartoons she had seen in London shop windows were merely caricatures, but it would appear that they were not as wildly exaggerated as she had assumed. Standing before her was quite the silliest looking man she had ever seen.

  Dressed from head to toe in green, he could easily have gone to a costume ball as a stalk of broccoli. Wearing shoes with such high heels that he was in danger of breaking his neck if he stumbled, he was also draped with so many fobs and seals, it was no wonder his back was curled over almost like a question mark.

  “Grandmama,” the fop said in a languid voice, “must I remind you again that I am no longer a plain mister?” Turning his gaze to Cassie, he explained, “My grandmother is getting old, and she continually forgets that I am now Viscount Westhrop. Delighted to meet you, my dear,” he said, holding out his hand to Cassie as if he were royalty instead of only a viscount.

  She was not pa
rticularly impressed by his limp handshake, and she could not help thinking that Lady Letitia must also be disappointed with such a namby-pamby grandson, titled or not.

  Behind them the door opened again, and the butler announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Willard Craigmont.”

  Nudging Cassie in the side, Ellen indicated that they must move on and yield their places to the newcomers. Following her step-mother’s lead, Cassie seated herself on a small ribband-back chair near the window, where she had a good view of the room.

  The two ladies who had arrived earlier were just beginning to take their leave when the door opened a third time. “Viscount Westhrop and Mr. Richard Hawke,” the butler announced, his face carefully deadpan, as if he were unaware of the consternation his words had produced.

  Cassie, who had thought never again to meet the man called Hawke, felt her heart race at the sight of him. One look at that familiar face and she would have run from the room in total panic, except that her brother’s words came back to reassure her: “A mere baronet need not apply.”

  Lacking any title at all, Mr. Hawke was totally ineligible as a suitor for her hand, no matter how elegantly he was now dressed. She need have no fear that she would be forced to marry him. Unfortunately, even though she knew rationally that this man could not possibly affect her life, she could not keep her heart from racing wildly when she observed that he was now staring directly at her.

  His glance was bold, and his eyes held recognition ... and something else that she could not identify from such a distance, something that made her feel as if she were a frightened hare, paralyzed by the intent gaze of a marauding fox, and for a moment the entire room and all its occupants seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them.

  But then Ellen clutched her arm and whispered, “I thought the other man was the viscount! Did he not say he was?” She gaped openly when the first Viscount Westhrop leaped to his feet, his entire body radiating outrage.

  “How dare you! Grandmama, who is this impostor? Owens, throw this man out!”