In the Garden of Seduction (23 page)

Again a protracted silence filled the room,
and again Cassandra waited apprehensively.

“You are headstrong as was your father,” he
said at last.

Cassandra sensed her victory, and she sighed
inwardly, relieved. Why did she feel guilty then as if she had done
an awful thing?

“Did you try to manage my father?” The
question was not an idle one. She really needed to know.

“I tried to direct Trevor as any good father
would.” His words were bitter. “My son was obstinate and immature,
and he fought me at every turn. His marriage to your mother
happened because he was rebelling against my authority. I wanted
him to marry a more fitting young lady. Months after his marriage
he died, proving me right.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t pushed so hard things
would have been different.” Cassandra hoped he understood what that
statement meant—his interference had not worked with her father,
and it would not work with her.

He ignored her last comment. “If you miss
James enough to cause this scene, then I suppose I should take your
request seriously. But do not assume I have relented. I will expect
you back in a few weeks, and we will once again take up the issue
of your marriage to Roger.”

Cassandra ran from behind the
pianoforte
and threw her arms around her grandfather’s neck.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “You will not regret your
kindness.”

He stood rigid but gradually relaxed,
returning her embrace with obvious self-consciousness. “There,
there, no need to be maudlin,” he said as he awkwardly patted her
shoulder. “You will come back.”

“Naturally.” She could be generous now that
he had relented. “I’m lonely for my father. He’s not a writer and I
worry about him. I have received one letter for every six or seven
I’ve sent, and he always seems sad when he does write. I’m all he’s
had since my mother died.”

He stepped away from her. “When would you
like to depart?”

“Three days?”

“All right,” he agreed, although she could
still hear the reluctance in his voice. “We’ll make the necessary
preparations.”

Cassandra almost skipped from the room. How
much nicer that they had come to an understanding rather than
having a messy disagreement. She hadn’t wanted to defy him. That
made things more difficult. This way Grandfather and she could part
friends, and for some reason that pleased her.

She would face the prospect of returning
here at a later date. Perhaps by then the earl would stop pestering
her about Roger. Her cousins would be here alone without
Cassandra’s complicating influence. That should give them time to
establish their relationship. If Roger had any backbone at all he
would stand up to the earl and admit he loved Penelope.

For everyone’s sake.

*****

“Timothy, how do you like fishing?”

The boy sagged under the weight of the fish
he carried on a string with his good arm. “Fine, but I’d rather go
huntin’ like the gents I seen. You know, with a real gun.”

Simon smiled. “I suppose guns are exciting
if you’ve never used one, but I think we’ve had a pleasant day,
nonetheless.”

He felt relaxed, mellow, as he walked home
with his young charge. Four hours of uninterrupted angling in the
tranquil setting of Harry’s private fishing stream had been a
calming experience.

Frankly, he needed the rest.

He had not seen Cassandra James for several
days, and he was feeling uneasy. Something bothered him, something
he couldn’t explain.

“We got company, milord” Timothy said.

“Those two. What are they doing way over
here?”

Miss Ingram and Mr. Morley were on horseback
several hundred yards across a field from Simon and Timothy. Where
is Miss James? Simon wondered.

Evidently, Penelope caught sight of the
marquess and his companion before Roger did, because she kicked her
horse, directing the animal in their direction. Roger remained
where he was for a moment before galloping after her. His
frustration was clear even across the distance.

“Lord Sutherfield, how wonderful to see you
and your tiny waif.” Penelope smiled at Timothy as she drew abreast
of the pair. Her expression was insulting in its condescension.
“Have we been fishing?”

Simon put his hand on Timothy’s shoulder
because he felt the boy bristle beside him. He realized he would
need to have a talk with lad about appropriate conduct when dealing
with his betters. However, for today at least, he empathized with
the boy’s response completely. He forced a smile.

“Yes, we’ve been fishing, Miss Ingram.” He
addressed Roger as the man rode in behind Penelope. “How are you,
Morley?”

“Adequate,” Roger said, attitude frosty.

“Glad to hear it. I suppose we’ll be on our
way. Nice to see you both.” The marquess turned away, fully aware
he had surprised the riders with his brusque departure. Without
Cassandra’s presence it was hardly worth his time to be civil to
her unpleasant relatives.

“Have you heard, my lord?” A note of spite
crept into Penelope’s voice as she spoke to Simon’s back.

Simon glanced around at her, brows raised in
question.

“It’s Cassandra, of course,” she said,
looking smug.

He hoped his expression did not give away
his instant dread. It took some effort, but he kept his emotions
under wrap, watching the young lady coolly.

“What about Miss James?”

“She’s gone.”

Simon swallowed. “Gone?”

“This very afternoon—to London. We’ll miss
her, naturally.” That statement exposed her as a liar. “She wanted
to see her father.”

“I see.” He paused briefly. “I would like to
have said goodbye to her.”

He turned away from the couple again,
Timothy on his heels, and this time he did not look back.

*****

Simon left Timothy in the stable with a
groom. His respiration labored, he trotted toward the house.

“Harry!” he bellowed as he entered the front
door. Silence greeted him. “Damnation! man, where are you?”

Harry appeared at the top of the staircase.
“Simon, is there a problem?”

“I’m on my way, Harry.” The marquess dashed
up the stairs, meeting his friend on the landing.

“On your way? Where?”

“I’m returning to London. I’ll be gone by
morning.”

“I don’t understand. The last I knew you’d
gone fishing. What happened?”

“Timothy and I ran across Miss Ingram and
Morley on our way home. They told me Cassandra James left for
London this afternoon. I’m going to follow her.”

Harry stared at the marquess. “What does
Miss James leaving have to do with you?”

Simon grinned. “Did I forget to mention it?
I’ve decided to marry the lady.”

*****

“Lord Whittingham will be with you shortly,
my lord,” the butler stated as he ushered the marquess into the
library. “May I offer you some refreshment while you wait?” After
being refused, the servant made a dignified exit, closing the door
behind him.

Simon walked into the middle of the library
too nervous to sit. He did not know Lord Whittingham well, but
believed the coming interview would be awkward. The few times Simon
had met the earl, he sensed the man’s animosity.

He wanted to pace but restrained himself.
Showing his agitation would put him at a disadvantage when it came
time to negotiate with his host.

The marquess allowed his gaze to wander
around the room, although he registered little of interest until he
spied the painting above the fireplace. The canvas depicted a
life-size portrait of Cassandra. He stared at the picture,
mesmerized.

“Magnificent woman, wasn’t she?”

Simon turned quickly to the man who had
silently entered the room. “Was?”

Lord Whittingham’s lips eased slightly in
what might have been a smile. “That is my wife Elizabeth. She’s
deceased now. You thought she was Cassandra, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but that explains my confusion.”

“Oh?”

“The portrait is beautifully done, and the
likeness is remarkable. But it did not seem to be Miss James behind
those eyes. The woman in the painting is much too serene to be your
granddaughter.”

The earl did smile then. “You are correct.
Cassandra is a fiery young lady. She’s much like my son, I’m
afraid. But it’s her resemblance to her grandmother that convinced
us of her heritage.”

“Indeed.”

“Naturally, we couldn’t go on appearance
alone. That evidence by itself would have been coincidental. Other
proof did surface to substantiate our claim.”

“I have the impression Miss James is not
pleased with this turn of events.”

Lord Whittingham studied him through a cool,
probing gaze so light his eyes looked like chips of ice.

The marquess held his ground, staring back
impassively, but inwardly he flinched.

“Let us be comfortable, shall we,
Sutherfield?” the earl said, indicating a chair. He moved behind
his desk and once seated, continued. “I know you have not come to
exchange pleasantries with an old man, therefore, I’ll be blunt.
Cassandra is not here. She left for London yesterday.”

“I’m aware of that. My visit is for
you.”

“I see,” the earl said in a bland voice.
“How can I be of service?”

“I’m returning to the city myself.” Simon
hesitated, unsure of how to begin. No better way than just to say
it, he reasoned hopefully. “Sir, I would like your permission to
pay my addresses to your granddaughter.”

An infuriated glower replaced the neutral
expression on Lord Whittingham’s face. “I forbid it,” he snapped,
sitting forward in his chair.

“I don’t understand. A marriage between
Cassandra and me would be highly suitable. I have rank and a
considerable fortune.”

“You are a rogue, sir. I want more for
Cassandra than that.”

The marquess flushed, now also angry. “Those
are strong words. Do you have proof to support your
allegation?”

“Your reputation precedes you.”

The contempt in the earl’s attitude
humiliated Simon, but there was more at stake here than his pride.
With great effort he restrained his temper.

“I love Cassandra and I believe she cares
for me.”

“How long do you expect that to last? A man
who has the habit of flitting among women soon tires of a wife. And
if my granddaughter truly cares for you, I will have spared her
that crushing blow. I have her life planned and I’ll fight if you
interfere.”

“A marriage to Morley? You’re using
protection of her feelings as a justification for furthering your
ambitions. Even I know she can hardly stand the man.”

“This is not for you to decide,
Sutherfield.”

“You are using her like a brood mare. What
difference does it make if your great-grandson inherits the earldom
or not? Regardless, Morley’s branch of the family succeeds to the
title. All you’ve done is hand Cassandra over to them. There is a
chance she will not have a son. What then?”

Lord Whittingham’s eyes sparked furiously,
his complexion growing mottled. “You dare challenge my
judgment?”

“No, sir, I do not. I simply don’t
understand your obsession. My title came to a recent ancestor of
mine much the way your title will go to Roger. There is a sadness
when that happens, naturally, but one must go on.”

“Youth.” The single word exposed the earl’s
disdain. “You have no understanding of constancy, what it means to
observe life in a continuous line with no break, each generation
knowing what to expect. Like all young people you live for the
moment. Can’t you see this is more important than individual
aspirations?”

The earl did understand. He had grown to
adulthood with the same values, the same goals. Perhaps his
distress over Cassandra seemed more important to him because it was
so personally his own problem.

Simon came to his feet.

“Whittingham, I thank you for seeing me,” he
said, tilting his head at his host. “I must tell you as one
gentleman to another, I’m not going to end it here. No doubt my
motives seem selfish to you, and I do appreciate your position. I
don’t come by my decision lightly. However, after I reach London, I
will approach Quintin James when I feel the time is right.”

The earl stood also but did not offer his
hand. “You do this over my opposition, Sutherfield,” he said in a
grim voice. “I am not without influence, and so I’ve told
Cassandra.”

What did that mean? Had Lord Whittingham
threatened his granddaughter? The marquess chose not to address the
issue, instead tossing in a challenge of his own.

“I am not without influence, either, sir—nor
am I afraid to use it.”

Let the old man chew on that for a
while.

It’s a stalemate, Simon thought dully.

They exchanged a tense stare, an unspoken
moment with neither gentleman willing to back away from his
position. There was little hope the earl would alter an attitude
fostered from birth.

Simon bowed. He respected Whittingham
despite the differences he had with him. Because there was nothing
left to say, the marquess departed. He still had a long ride ahead
of him.

*****

“Papa! Oh, Papa…” Cassandra cried, her voice
breaking as she flung her arms around her father’s neck. “I’ve
missed you!”

“There, there, child, I’ve missed you,
also.” Quintin James put his daughter from him, his eyes
suspiciously red. “When I received your letter last week I thought
I must be dreaming.”

“I can’t believe I’m here.” She twirled on
her toes where she stood in the entry, her gaze taking in every
detail of her beloved home. “There’s much to be said for
appreciating what one has. What a pity I had to go away to
understand that.” She linked arms with him and drew him into the
parlor.