Authors: Mary Balogh
“He got bit something fierce, my lord,” she said. “In his arms and legs and on the side of his face. He took to his bed for a whole week before he could get up and go about his business. Lord Paget, I mean. When he went rushing to her rescue, that was. I don’t know what happened to the strange man. He must of escaped.”
Stephen wondered if she would think back and wince at the gaping holes in her story.
“The head groom wanted to put Roger down,” Mary said. “He said it was the kindest thing to do. But Lady Paget had the crushed part of his leg took off and then carried him to her own room, and she kept him there until he was better, though none of us but her thought it would happen. Lord Paget never said he was to be put down though we was all expecting it. Roger must not of recognized him when he came to the rescue and attacked him too.”
Stephen set a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
“It is all right, Mary,” he said. “I know. Lady Paget told me herself. Not about Roger, but about the rest of it. She did
not
tell me about Lord Paget’s death, but I will not try to squeeze that story out of you.”
Yet it was what he had come inside to ask, he realized.
“I am sorry if I have caused you distress,” he added.
“She didn’t do it,” she whispered, her eyes like saucers again, her cheeks suddenly pale.
He squeezed a little harder before releasing her.
“I know,” he said.
“I worship her,” she said stoutly. “Did I do wrong coming here with her? I cook and clean for her and do everything I can, but did I bring shame on her by coming? And did I add a burden on her because she has to feed me and Belinda? I know she feels obliged to pay me. I know she don’t have no money—or didn’t until—” She stopped abruptly and bit her lip.
“You did right, Mary,” he said. “Lady Paget needs someone to look after her, and it appears to me as if you do that very well indeed. And she needs friends. She needs love.”
“
I
love her,” she said. “But I am the one who caused her all the trouble in the end. It was all my fault.”
She threw her apron over her face, and Belinda stopped rocking her doll and looked up.
“No, this has been my fault,” he said. “I ought not to have come in to pester you with questions. How is Beth today, Belinda? Is she sleeping?”
“She is being naughty,” she said. “She wants to play.”
“Does she?” he said. “Perhaps you ought to play with her for a little while, then, or tell her a story. Stories often put babies to sleep.”
“I’ll tell her one, then,” she said. “I know one. She has just eaten, and if I play with her she may be sick.”
“I can see,” he said, “that you are a very good and wise mother. She is fortunate.”
He turned his attention back to Mary, who was smoothing her apron down over her skirt again.
“I have kept you long enough from your work—or perhaps from
your leisure hour,” he said. “And I am sorry about the questions I asked. I am not usually so inquisitive about other people’s business.”
“Do you care for her?” she asked.
“Yes.” He raised his eyebrows. “I am afraid I do.”
“Then I forgive you,” she said, and blushed hotly. “Will you be offended,” he asked her, “if I leave you money to take Belinda to Gunter’s for an ice when you have free time one afternoon? No child should go through life without that experience. No adult either.”
“I got money,” she said.
“I know.” He smiled. “But it would give me pleasure to treat Belinda—and you.”
“Very well, then,” she said. “Thank you, my lord.”
He took his leave after setting down some coins on the table—just enough for two ices—and hurried from the house. He made his way homeward even though there was still plenty of the afternoon left. He was in no mood for any of his usual pursuits. He did not even consider going to the races after all, though he would not have missed very much.
He tried to think of all the young ladies with whom he usually liked to dance and converse, even flirt in a mild sort of way.
He could scarcely bring one face to mind.
If memory served him correctly, he had not yet reserved even one set with anyone for tomorrow’s ball.
She
had been to blame for what had happened at the end, Mary had just said. For Paget’s death, he had taken her to mean. And she had been quite adamant that Cassandra had not done it.
Immediately after saying so, of course, she had said she worshipped Cassandra. It was easy to lie for a loved one.
The dog had been maimed while taking a whipping intended for his mistress. His leg had been crushed with a shovel—also intended for Cassandra? Would she be dead now instead of her husband if
Roger had not intervened on that occasion? And would the official story have been that she was another victim of a fall from horseback?
He had a headache, Stephen discovered when he arrived home.
He
never
suffered from headaches.
“Go away, Philbin,” he told his man when he found him in his dressing room, putting away some freshly ironed shirts. “I’ll just be barking at you if you open your mouth, and I’ll be damned before I’ll be apologizing to you every second day of my life.”
“The new boots pinching, are they, m’lord?” Philbin asked cheerfully. “I told you when you got them that—”
“Philbin,” Stephen said, grasping his temples with the thumb and middle finger of one hand, “go. Now.”
Philbin went.
Cassandra had looked through the paper Alice had bought a few days ago and had written down the names and addresses of three lawyers she hoped might be able to help her. Alice, when she knew what Cassandra was going to do, advised that she talk with Mr. Golding or even the Earl of Merton. Both would surely know the best lawyers for such a case.
But Cassandra was tired of leaning upon men. They were rarely reliable, and even if that was probably an unfair judgment of Mr. Golding and undoubtedly of Stephen, then she was tired of having no real control over her own life. Less than a week ago she had thought to get that control by acquiring a wealthy protector. Now she was going to do what she ought to have done at the start.
It was not easy, though, as she discovered when she called upon the three lawyers one by one, Alice at her side. Alice had insisted upon accompanying her. Nobody would take a lady seriously, she explained, if she was alone.
Nobody took her seriously anyway.
The first lawyer was not taking new clients, as he was far too busy with the ones he already had—even though he had advertised his services in the paper. The next lawyer was far more blatant about recognizing her name, and sent out the message that he was not a criminal lawyer and would not represent ruthless murderers even if he were.
Alice wanted to go home after that. She was very upset. So was Cassandra, but the effect of the man’s rudeness to her—which, by the way, he had not had the courage to deliver in person—was to make her lift her chin and square her shoulders and march onward with an almost militant stride.
The third lawyer admitted them to his inner sanctum, bowed low to Lady Paget and smiled obsequiously, listened to her story with attention and sympathy, and assured her that she had a perfectly legitimate case and that he would get her money and her jewels and the dower house and town house too in the mere snap of two fingers. He named his fee, which sounded exorbitant to Cassandra, though he claimed that he was giving her a considerably reduced rate on account of the fact that her case would give him no trouble at all and she was a
lady
for whom he felt considerable respect and sympathy. And he would take only half of the fee in advance—not one penny more.
Cassandra offered what she had. If her claim was an easy one and if he could get her money with little delay, then she would be able to pay him in full very soon. But while her money was being withheld from her, she explained, she really had quite limited means.
It seemed that it had not occurred to him that someone with the title
Lady
Paget might also be virtually penniless—despite the story she had told. His manner changed. It became brisk and cold and irritated.
He could not possibly proceed on so small a retainer.
He had a wife and six children …
He regretted having wasted his precious time …
There was, of course, his consultation fee …
And there would be a great deal of work involved in …
Lady Paget could not possibly expect him …
Cassandra did not even listen. She got to her feet and swept from the office and the building, Alice scurrying along behind her.
“Perhaps,” Alice said when they were outside and striding along the pavement, “the Earl of Merton would—”
Cassandra rounded on her, her eyes blazing.
“Just a few days ago,” she said, “the Earl of Merton was the devil incarnate in your eyes because he was paying me a generous salary for the use of my body. And yet now, Alice, you think it perfectly unexceptionable to beg a small fortune from him though he is no longer making use of my body?”
“Oh, shush, Cassie,” Alice said, looking around in an agony of embarrassment.
Fortunately there were not many pedestrians on the street, and none were within earshot.
“I was merely thinking of a
loan
,” Alice said. “If that man is right, you would soon be able to pay it back.”
“I would not pay that man a farthing,” Cassandra said, “if he could get me my money with the crown jewels thrown in
tomorrow
.”
And then her shoulders slumped.
“I am sorry, Allie,” she said. “I had no right to snap at you of all people. But tell me I am right. Tell me all men are rotten to the core.”
“Not
all
men are,” Alice said, tapping her on the arm, and they resumed walking. “But
that
one was rotten right
through
the core. I pity his poor wife and six children. He thought because you are a woman he could make a great deal of money from you. And he could have. You would not have argued with his fee, would you, though it was outrageous. Unfortunately for him, he was too greedy to wait.”
Cassandra sighed deeply. So much for taking charge of her life.
So much for firmness of purpose and planned action. But she would try again. She was not going to give in.
No more today, though. All she wanted to do now was creep home to lick her wounds. As if in sympathy with her mood, heavy clouds had gathered overhead and a wind was beginning to whip up the dust in the gutters. There was a sudden chill in the air.
“It is going to rain,” Alice said, looking up.
They hurried home and arrived just as the first large, round drops were beginning to fall. Cassandra heaved another sigh as the key she had retrieved from under the flowerpot turned in the lock and she and Alice stepped inside. This place was beginning to feel like home. Like sanctuary.
Mary came hurrying from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“There is a gentleman in the sitting room, my lady,” she said.
“Mr. Golding?” Alice said, brightening.
Stephen
? Cassandra did not say it aloud. He had not said anything after the picnic yesterday about seeing her today. It had been a relief—she was seeing too much of him. And yet there had been something dreary about today without him—alarming thought.
She opened the door to the sitting room to find a young man pacing inside.
She turned cold as he stopped to look at her.
“Cassie,” he said. He looked miserable.
“Wesley.” She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Alice had already disappeared.
“Cassie, I—” he began. He stopped, and she heard him swallow. He ran the fingers of one hand through his auburn hair, a gesture that looked very familiar. “I was
going
to say that I did not recognize you the other day but that would be stupid, would it not?”
“Yes,” she agreed, “that would be stupid.”
“I don’t know what to say,” he said.
She had not seen much of him in the last ten years, yet she had always adored him. He was someone of her very own. Foolish her.
“Perhaps you could begin,” she said, “by telling me what happened to the walking tour in the Highlands.”
“Oh,” he said. “A few of the fellows could not—Dash it all, Cassie, there was no such tour.”
She took off her bonnet and set it, with her reticule, on a chair close to the door. She went and sat in her usual place beside the fireplace.
“You must understand,” he said, “that Papa did not leave much money behind—or much of anything at all, in fact. I decided this year that I must look seriously about me for a bride who could bring a decent portion to the marriage. I did not want you to come here and spoil everything for me. Not
this
year.”
Wesley was doing something not very different from what she had done, she thought—he was looking for someone who could provide for his financial needs.
“I suppose,” she said, “having an axe murderer for a sister
does
rather interfere with your matrimonial chances, does it not? I am sorry.”
“Nobody believes that,” he said. “Not the axe part, anyway.”
She smiled, and he resumed his pacing.
“Cassie,” he said, “that time I visited when I was seventeen. Do you remember? You had the yellow remains of a black eye.”
Had she? She could not remember his being there close to the time of any of her beatings.
“I had walked into the door of my bedchamber, had I?” she said. “I seem to recall that happening once.”
“The stable door,” he said. “Cassie, did—Did Paget ever
hit
you?”
“A man has a right to discipline his wife when she is disobedient, Wesley,” she said.
He looked at her, frowning and troubled.
“I wish,” he said, “you would talk in your real voice, Cassie, not in that … sarcastic one.
Did he
?”
She stared at him for a long time.
“He was an infrequent drinker,” she said. “When he
did
drink, he did so for two or three days without stopping. And then he would—turn violent.”