Snowbound With The Baronet (13 page)

“Why what?” Imogene Calvert woke from her convenient doze, perhaps not even aware that she’d nodded off. “I vow, you two are quite as bad as the others, talking on and on about subjects of no interest to me.”

Under other circumstances, Cassandra might have been annoyed that Brandon’s cousin had interrupted their private conversation. At the moment, however, she was overcome with relief. She was under no illusion that Brandon would let the matter drop with his curiosity unsatisfied. At least this interruption would give her a chance to regain her composure before they spoke about the subject again.

“Lord and Lady Norrington are well-known for their hospitality,” Miss Calvert informed Cassandra, not for the first time. “Have you ever been a guest at Everleigh?”

“I have not had that pleasure.” She tried to concentrate all her attention on Brandon’s cousin, to avoid his penetrating gaze. “Since our father’s death, my sisters and I have lived rather quietly in the country with our stepmother.”

“You mustn’t rusticate forever,” Miss Calvert warned her. “You could still find a perfectly tolerable husband, provided you are not too particular. But if you delay much longer your prospects will not improve.”

“Imogene!” her cousin thundered. “Have you no manners at all? You should apologize to Lady Cassandra at once.”

Some of the others glanced toward the window seat when Brandon raised his voice. They quickly looked away again and raised the volume of their conversations.

“You are a fine one to talk about manners,” Miss Calvert huffed. “I thought you only cared about everyone telling the truth. That is what you were lecturing poor Lady Cassandra about. Did I say a single word that was untrue?”

“Perhaps... not strictly,” he muttered, clearly agitated. “But there is a time to exercise discretion.”

Cassandra could not help but be amused to watch the baronet scramble to defend a position he had so recently attacked. “Do not fret, Sir Brandon. I am not offended. What your cousin says
is
true. At my age, I am unlikely to find a husband unless I make a good deal more effort.”

She did not mention having had other opportunities to wed, if she’d been so inclined. But after rejecting the one man she truly wanted for a husband, how could she accept anyone else?

Having twitted her cousin about being inconsistent in his views, Imogene Calvert soon returned to her favorite topic. “Lord Norrington’s ward, Miss Willis will be there, of course. That is how I came to be invited. We have been friends since we were little girls. She is hoping to get
better acquainted
with Mr. Reynolds, whose sister—”

Brandon interrupted his cousin in a sharp tone. “You complain of everyone else discussing subjects that do not interest you. Yet you do not consider whether Lady Cassandra wishes to hear every detail about a group of people she does not know or care about.”

It was not like him to be quite so peremptory. Cassandra wondered if he was still vexed with his cousin for her earlier comments.

“How can you be so certain she does not know any of Lord Norrington’s guests?” Miss Calvert demanded. “I did not realize
you
were previously acquainted with Lady Cassandra. How did you come to know her, by the way?”

His cousin’s question clearly caught Brandon off guard, Cassandra sensed when he hesitated to reply. He must not want her to know the precise nature of their connection for fear she might pester him with more inquiries. Or perhaps he feared she would try to play Cupid between them. Much as he might wish to avoid either of those things, he would not want to be less than truthful with his cousin, either.

Before Brandon’s prolonged silence raised his cousin’s suspicion, Cassandra answered on behalf of them both. “Sir Brandon and I had several friends in common, so we frequently found ourselves invited to the same assemblies when my family came to London.”

She cast him a pointed glance to indicate this was how one exercised truthful discretion. He answered with a wry half-smile that managed to convey a measure of gratitude.

Cassandra’s reply seemed to satisfy Miss Calvert’s curiosity for she made no further inquiries about the nature of their acquaintance. Instead, she returned to the subject of the Everleigh house party. This time, Brandon did not interrupt or chide her. He must have realized there were worse things she might chatter on about.

As the evening drew to a close, Cassandra began to hope Brandon might have forgotten her earlier admission of her past feelings for him.

But as the company rose to retire for the night, he brushed past her, close enough to whisper, “We have matters to discuss, you and I. I shall be waiting for you in the kitchen early tomorrow morning.”

When she gave no reply except a look of alarm, he added, “Surely I deserve an explanation.”

His words echoed in her thoughts as she followed the other women upstairs and helped his cousin get ready for bed. Cassandra could not deny them. Brandon had admitted he would not have gone to war if she had accepted his proposal. That made her guilty of placing him in danger, no matter what he might say to the contrary.

That did not mean it would be easy to look him in the eye and explain why she’d acted as she had. At the time, she’d believed it was the right choice for both of them. Now she was not so certain.

Her doubts kept her awake that night as much as Imogene Calvert kicking her shins and stealing the bedclothes. At least the wind had stopped moaning around the eaves, but that was little comfort under the circumstances.

Finally, when Cassandra could no longer bear another minute of tossing and turning, she slipped out of bed, fumbled into her clothes and crept downstairs. The kitchen was dark and deserted when she reached it. A handful of glowing embers still smoldered in the grate. She swept out the ashes and kindled a new fire from the remains of the old. Warming her hands before the small blaze she waited for the kettle to boil.

The water was still only simmering when Brandon wandered in. He wiped the sleep from his eyes then stretched his long limbs and gave a deep yawn. “I did not expect to find you here before me. In fact, I was not certain you would come at all until the kitchen was full of chaperones.”

Cassandra shrugged. “I could not sleep so I decided I might as well be up. I cannot pretend I am eager for this interview, but you were right when you said I owe you an explanation. I fear I owe you a great deal more than that, but it is all I have to offer at the moment. “

It might have been easier to face him if he did not look so ruggedly attractive. He had not shaved in two days and now a dark stubble of whisker bristled from his sharply-etched jaw. His golden brown hair was rumpled in a way that made her hand itch to smooth it down then linger in a fond caress. His eyes had lost their direct, uncompromising stare. Instead they held a weary, bewildered look that was dangerously endearing.

Against her will, Cassandra’s hand crept up to the loose plait of hair that hung over her shoulder. She could imagine how disheveled it must look and how pasty her complexion. The smudges of exhaustion beneath her eyes would complete the pitiful picture. Her pride smarted at having him see her like this when he looked so wretchedly appealing.

“You are no coward, I’ll say that for you.” Brandon fetched himself a kitchen chair and placed it beside hers in front of the fire. “Now, before we are interrupted, kindly explain to me why you refused my marriage proposal if you did care for me after all?”

Cassandra’s stomach churned and her mouth went dry. How could she begin to explain in a way he might understand? Brandon had claimed he did not hate her for refusing him four years ago. Would he still be able to make that claim once she told him the truth? And would she ever be able to look him in the face once he heard what her father had intended to do?

Lady Cassandra Whitney did not look much like the daughter of a duke as she hunched before a cottage fire, warming her hands and pushing a stray lock of hair off her forehead. Yet she had an air of intrepid integrity Brandon could not deny. She was prepared to tackle a task she shrank from because she believed it was the right thing to do.

Why had she chosen to deceive him regarding her feelings? Until last night, he thought she had only pretended to care for him before cruelly rejecting him. Now it seemed her feelings for him had been true while her denial of them had been false. Whichever it had been should not matter. A lie was a lie and could not be excused, especially when it concerned matters of the heart.

Brandon had learned than harsh lesson from his family. However since his recent discussions with Cassandra, he was less certain of his long-held belief.

“Well?” he prompted her when she hesitated to answer his question. “Why did you refuse my proposal and make me believe you were only trifling with my affections if you did care for me? I tried all night to imagine a reason. Was it because of your father? Were you afraid I would treat you unkindly after we were married? Did you think I only wanted a broodmare to provide me with an heir?”

Much as he wanted to resent Cassandra believing him capable of either, Brandon found he could not. Hadn’t he been quick to judge her as heartless and deceitful as his mother, even though she’d given him no prior reason to assume such a thing?

What might have happened if he had not rushed to condemn her four years ago? What if he had questioned her more closely, rather than storming away? If he’d been more understanding, might it have shown Cassandra he would not be the kind of husband her father had been? Then perhaps she would have reconsidered her decision and they could have made a life together... raised a family.

A tantalizing vision rose in his mind of them celebrating Twelfth Night in their own home. A Yule log crackled on the hearth and a handsomely-decked kissing bough hung in the sitting room. He pictured himself bouncing a vivacious, dark-haired little daughter on his knee while Cassandra cradled their infant son.

When she began to speak, stirring him from his musing, Brandon returned to the present with a heart-wrenching jolt. How could he miss so acutely something he’d never had and perhaps never would? He tried to comfort himself by imaging a family he might have with Isabella Reynolds, but it was only a cold abstraction, not real to him like the other had been.

Cassandra shook her head. “I knew you were nothing like my father in that regard. But it was on account of him that I refused your proposal, when my heart urged me to accept. You see, there was another reason my father married the women he did, besides his quest to sire an heir.”

“What reason?” The question emerged in a gruff tone Brandon had not intended. He was only trying to keep his voice steady after hearing her admit she’d wanted to marry him.

“The root of all evil.” Cassandra refused to meet his gaze. Instead she stared into the fire as if it held the answer to any question he might pose. “My father was a proud man—the heir to a dukedom from the moment of his birth. He grew up believing he was entitled to whatever his heart desired. My grandfather was wise enough to realize it would ruin the family to indulge him in that way, so he gave Father a modest allowance and told him he must learn to live within his means.”

Her account puzzled Brandon for two reasons. “I agree that your grandfather adopted a wise course. But your family always appeared to live well. In any case, I do not see what bearing this has on our situation.”

“Indulge me a moment and it will become clear,” she murmured. “My father did live as well as he believed he deserved, off the fortunes of his wives. It would seem he and your mother had a similar view of matrimony. The difference was that the women who wed him believed they were marrying for love, poor creatures.”

Brandon still could not fathom why any of that had made Cassandra decline his proposal.

“Father’s first two wives obliged him by dying before he had run through their entire fortunes. Letty did not. By the time my sisters and I came out in Society, Father was deeply in debt, though we did not realize it. Did you never wonder why he discouraged Viscount Gilchrist and Lord Alanham from courting my sisters, while he looked favorably on my connection with a baronet?”

“It did occur to me,” Brandon admitted, feeling like a fool for being so blind to her father’s deception. “I thought it might be a measure of how well he believed you and I would suit one another. I assumed he valued me for more than my title.”

“He did indeed.” Cassandra heaved a dry, mirthless chuckle. “My father weighed you in the balance and found the size of your fortune more than compensated for what he considered the inferiority of your rank.”

She turned her head to look Brandon in the eye. “I had no idea what he intended to do. I realize I have given you little reason to believe me, but I swear by everything I hold dear, I did not know. Not until the evening before you proposed to me.”

Brandon knew what she wanted him to say. Though he could not resist the appeal that glimmered in her dark eyes, his need to learn the whole story was more urgent still. He could not be certain how many more minutes they might have alone. “What exactly did your father plan to do? Did he mean to make me
purchase
his consent for our marriage?”

Cassandra’s head drooped. “Perhaps that is how it would have begun. Then it would have been something else, and something more after that. It would not have stopped until he was in his grave or your fortune was exhausted. I overheard him telling Letty when she begged him to allow Viola to accept Lord Gilchrist. Father told her Vi should follow my example and find a beau with the capacity to assist our family. I knew then that if I agreed to marry you, his hand would always be in your pocket. I could not let him ruin you.”

Brandon believed her. How could he not? He had witnessed firsthand that kind of selfishness. If his family’s fortune had been exhausted he could easily picture his mother urging him to seek a rich wife for her sake.

But there was something else he found impossible to fathom.

“Why did you not tell me all this four years ago?” he demanded. “Why did you refuse my proposal and pretend it was because you did not care for me?”