In the Garden of Seduction (11 page)

“A picnic, silly. Regina Barkley and I were
discussing it just the other day. There is nothing as fun as an
outdoor luncheon, don’t you think so, Roger?”

Roger turned on Penelope a half-witted grin.
“I think it’s a grand idea. What say, gentlemen, how about a
picnic?”

With everyone’s agreement, Penelope began to
jump up and down and clap her hands. “Wonderful! I’m sorry you’ll
miss the entertainment, Cassandra. But with your foot…” She
shrugged her shoulders.

The uproar that followed was gratifying.

“I think we should wait until Miss James has
sufficiently recovered so that she might also partake of the fun,”
said Mr. Stiles, whose voice was finally heard above the
others.

Cassandra decided she liked Harry Stiles.
She sent the homely gentleman a dazzling smile. “Please don’t worry
about me,” she said. “I would hate to ruin everyone’s fun.”

“See? She doesn’t mind,” Penelope piped
in.

“I see no reason why the picnic should not
go on as planned and with Miss James in attendance. An outing and
fresh air are just what the doctor ordered,” stated Lord
Sutherfield.

“But what of her foot?” Penelope
countered.

“Miss James can be carried to and from the
carriage.” The marquess’ gaze slid to Cassandra’s face, and he gave
her a wink.

Cassandra was discomfited, but before she
had a chance to respond, Roger spoke. It apparently had just
occurred to him that the marquess posed a threat.

“A capital idea. I shall carry my cousin.”
He looked at Lord Sutherfield suspiciously. “After all, she and I
are almost…well, anyway,” he sputtered, “I shall carry her.”

Where before the noise had been deafening,
an awkward hush now descended. Every eye in the parlor turned to
Lord Sutherfield, waiting for him to respond.

“Then, I think we are agreed,” the marquess
said. His expression was bland, but his gaze never left Cassandra’s
face. “We will have a picnic and Miss James will attend.”

Again an uncomfortable silence ensued.

Mr. Stiles mercifully spoke up. “Perhaps on
that note we should take our leave.” Clearly nervous, he ran his
index finger inside his collar.

Cassandra could hardly blame him. The
situation felt uncomfortable to her as well. Why had Roger chosen
this inappropriate moment to announce his intentions? Good thing
she was injured, she thought, or she would leap off the sofa and
choke him senseless.

Mr. Stiles and Lord Sutherfield made good
their escape at that point, and Cassandra sent a troubled look
across the room at their retreating backs. She sensed the marquess’
displeasure, but really, none of this was her fault.

And dinner a few hours later was almost as
unpleasant. Special arrangements had been made to accommodate
Cassandra’s injury so she would be able to dine with the family.
Though she had now decided that her desire to leave her room was
definitely misguided.

Her grandfather had not been home when the
visitors had called, but he arrived shortly before the evening
meal. While he was still enjoying his nightly sherry, Penelope
regaled him with the afternoon’s events. He listened silently,
although clearly he was annoyed. He swallowed the remainder of his
drink in one impatient gulp and then stalked into dinner.

“Never did like picnics,” he grumbled at one
point. “Frittering the day away, consuming dainty finger foods and
making inconsequential chatter.”

They ate their meal in near silence after
that. Even Penelope seemed to understand that something was wrong.
Her few attempts at conversation fell flat and she too grew silent.
Dessert was a delectable cheese custard pie, and the diners stared
at it without enthusiasm.

Lord Whittingham placed his fork on the
table and sat back in his chair. “Whose idea was it to have this
picnic, anyway?” It sounded like an accusation.

Cassandra’s gaze flew to Penelope’s face,
but the poor girl looked so frightened, she took pity on her and
intervened.

“It was somewhat a collective idea,
Grandfather. It just evolved. You know how that can happen,” she
finished lamely.

“Tell me, Uncle,” Roger ventured in a
cautious voice, “do you object to a picnic?”

The old man’s attention shifted between his
three dinner partners, before it finally settled on his nephew.
“It’s not the picnic that concerns me. What I mind is the inclusion
of Lord Sutherfield.”

“Why do you object to Lord Sutherfield’s
presence?” Cassandra spoke before she could stop herself.

The old man looked at her. “His interest in
you is too pronounced.”

Cassandra felt a blush warm her face.
“That’s absurd.”

“Come now, my dear, the man is interested in
you—I can see it. And that places me in a very difficult position.
He is Sutherfield’s heir. Offending him is something I would rather
not have happen. It would be best if you discouraged him,
Cassandra.”

“Are you suggesting I have been encouraging
him?” She was suddenly very angry. “And what’s wrong with him,
anyway? He’s a marquess and very wealthy.”

“Here now,” Roger blurted. “I thought—”

Lord Whittingham held his hand up for
silence and then turned to Cassandra. “I’ve made a decision not to
press you about the future for the time being, but I would be
remiss if I didn’t warn you about the unscrupulous gentlemen who
will cross your path. I should also tell you, with your new status
and wealth the fortune hunters will soon be gathering.”

“With my old status and wealth fortune
hunters pursued me,” she said in a cold voice. “I do not believe
Lord Sutherfield is a fortune hunter.”

“No, and I agree with you. His interest is
much more straightforward. But he will trifle with your affections
if you are not careful. He has a reputation for doing just
that.”

“You know this?” She was sorry she asked the
question, for all at once she dreaded the answer.

“I’ve done some investigating,” he
admitted.

Cassandra felt deflated. She looked around
the table at the people who claimed to be her family. Her
grandfather watched her sternly, and Roger wore a sullen expression
that did nothing to endear him to her. But Penelope, who had been
amazingly quiet, stared wide-eyed at Cassandra with something akin
to respect.

“I didn’t know Lord Sutherfield was
interested in you,” she said at last. There was a hint of pique in
her voice.

“He enjoys a flirtation. There’s nothing
more to it than that,” Cassandra said dully.

“I want you to assure me that you will be
careful,” the earl insisted.

“Yes, yes, of course.” More than anything at
the moment, Cassandra wanted to escape to her room and away from
this unpleasant conversation. She did not know these people, not
really, and she was not comforted by their presence.

As she sat there feeling lonely, Cassandra
realized this was not the first time she had found herself missing
Quintin James, but it was by far the worst. It’s a good thing I’m
not prone to tears, she thought, for now would be an appropriate
time to shed a few.

*****

Roger carried Cassandra to the landaulet
and, with some effort, placed her on the seat. He straightened,
smiling sheepishly at her, and she noticed his face was covered
with perspiration. It had been a struggle as he lurched uncertainly
down the staircase and through the front door.

That shaky trip was nothing like the one she
had taken in Lord Sutherfield’s arms when he had carried her up the
stairs in Mr. Morley’s home. In the marquess’ embrace she had felt
secure. Roger, on the other hand, had made her feel as if she were
in imminent danger of being dropped, causing another injury.

Roger insisted on placing a rug on her lap
even though the day was warm.
I knew it,
she thought
miserably a few moments later as her limbs grew damp beneath her
skirts. Penelope climbed in beside her, Roger followed and the trio
set off at a spanking clip.

If they had placed an order, they could not
have had a more perfect day to enjoy a picnic. Pleasantly sunny,
great puffy clouds dotted the blue sky like mounds of clotted
cream. The hint of a breeze kept the air fresh, and Cassandra
breathed deeply, enjoying her first excursion into the outside
world in more than a
sennight.

It took only a few minutes to arrive at
their destination. The picnic was held on her grandfather’s
property in a grove of willows, an entrancing place lush with
greenery sporting a small stream. It had, everyone agreed, the
perfect picnic ambiance.

A large tent had already been erected, and
tables were being filled with platter after platter of the finger
foods the earl had claimed he despised. However, a servant carved a
great joint of roast beef, so it seemed those individuals with a
heartier appetite would not be disappointed. Tantalizing smells
drifted toward them as they drew up in the landaulet, and
Cassandra’s stomach mewled hungrily.

“Stay here,” Roger demanded, as he climbed
down from his seat. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Now where could she go with her injured
foot? She watched in envy as Penelope scrambled out of the
carriage, having spotted Regina Barkley. Regina and Penelope had
become fast friends these last weeks, and Cassandra felt a moment’s
sadness, not because she wanted a closer relationship with her
cousin but because all at once she found herself missing Sophy.

“How are you today, Miss James?”

That ended her reverie. Cassandra glanced
over her shoulder and into the warm regard of the Marquess of
Sutherfield. Her pulse quickened.

“Lord Sutherfield, have I detected a pattern
here?”

“Excuse me?” He gave her a crooked grin.

“It seems you always appear before I even
know you are near. How refreshing it would be to catch sight of you
before you catch sight of me.”

He nodded. “I would like that,” he said in a
solemn voice.

“Oh?”

“That would mean you are looking for me just
as I look for you.”

Cassandra blinked. Her mouth dropped open
but not a word came to her in response. She narrowed her eyes at
him.

“You are a rogue, my lord.”

Lord Sutherfield’s brows snapped together.
“Excuse me?”

“Pretty words come easily to you, don’t
they?”

“Are you questioning my motives?”

“And if I am?”

“Please forgive me if I have offended you,
Miss James. That was not my intention.” Bowing stiffly, he turned
and walked away.

“Cassandra, can’t I leave you alone for a
moment?” Roger had arrived at her elbow, wearing a look of
disapproval. “You promised Uncle you would not encourage Lord
Sutherfield.”

“Roger,” she said through gritted teeth, “I
was not encouraging Lord Sutherfield. I don’t know if you’ve
noticed, but my foot is interfering with my ability to chase
gentlemen this week. Please, how long am I going to have to sit
here?”

“No need to be snide, my dear. I know your
foot must be paining you. Come, our blanket is ready.”

She allowed herself to be pulled out of the
carriage and into her cousin’s arms, though not without a great
deal of resentment. She had been looking forward to this day, yet
between Roger and the marquess it was nearly ruined.

They stumbled toward their picnic sight and
he plunked Cassandra on the ground, grunting as he did so. He
straightened and smiled in relief, gratified, she imagined, that he
had managed with such a load.

“I’ll get you a plate,” he offered. “What
would you like? There seems to be a little of everything.”

“You choose.” She waved him away.

“Right.” He started to leave then turned
back to her. “It’s just you and I,” he said. “Penelope is eating
with Regina.”

And with that what appetite she still
possessed disappeared.

Staring moodily across the grove, Cassandra
caught sight of Lord Sutherfield sharing a plate of food with one
Miss Cordelia Henry, clearly enjoying himself. And Miss Henry was
certainly enjoying his company as well. She felt the sting of
jealousy and was angry with herself. I should be pleased that he’s
turned that charm on someone else, she thought.

Roger returned shortly with enough food for
ten people, and Cassandra set about finding her hunger. Oddly, once
she began to eat her appetite returned. She also found it
unnecessary to talk with her cousin if her mouth was full.

Apparently, Roger did not mind talking while
he ate. “You know, Cassandra, I don’t wish to badger you, but you
should avoid Lord Sutherfield.”

“I told you, Roger, he approached me.”

“Yes, I believe you,” he said, his tone
pompous, “but you and I will be engaged soon, and I don’t want
there to be any ugly rumors attached to my future wife.”

Cassandra listened to this speech, her ire
increasing with each word he uttered. “I have not said I will marry
you, Roger.”

“I know Uncle has agreed not to discuss our
future for the moment, but we must marry. It is what your
grandfather wishes.”

He continued to eat, unperturbed.

“Don’t you mind that your life is being
decided for you without your permission?”

He paused. “I intend to cooperate—that’s
permission isn’t it? It’s my duty.”

“I don’t see it as my duty. I see a selfish
old man who will use whatever means are necessary, including using
people he’s supposed to care about. If I’m to participate, don’t
you think I should feel as strongly as he does about all this?”

“Cassandra, please be reasonable.” Again he
was patronizing her. “Your upbringing makes it difficult for you to
understand. Let me guide you in this.”

“But we are completely incompatible,” she
said, with growing frustration. “You can’t want to marry someone
who does not care for you.”

“I’d like to think I would make a decent
husband.”