Snowbound With The Baronet (22 page)

A dozen questions clamored in Brandon’s thoughts in response to hers. He hardly knew where to begin. “What do
you
suppose took place here this evening? Why is it not to be wondered at and what circumstances are you referring to? Why would it be best to pretend nothing happened? You know my attitude toward pretense when it comes to matters of affection.”

“Indeed I do.” Cassandra gave a mirthless little chuckle that seemed to belittle his deepest principles. Could she possibly be the same woman who had melted in his arms such a short time ago? “It is the same as your rigid, impractical attitude toward the occasional innocent falsehood.”

She seemed to sneer at him and his beliefs. Where was the woman he thought he had grown to know so well during these past few days? Had Cassandra pretended to be someone she clearly was not, or had he deceived himself about her?

“The kiss that took place between us was a foolish mistake for which no one is to blame,” Cassandra continued as she went about the task of tidying the kitchen. “It was simply the result of being cooped up together again after all these years. Who could blame us for fancying old feelings had revived under such circumstances?”

“It was not a fancy!” Brandon grasped her hands and drew her away from the table, to make her give more than a crumb of attention to the vital matter they were discussing. “I meant what I told Imogene. I love you, Cassandra and I want to marry you. You made me believe you could return my feelings. I know you once cared for me enough to refuse my proposal in a misguided effort to protect me. Is that what you are trying to do now?”

She refused to meet his gaze but pulled herself up tall and proud. Then she shrugged her arms from his grasp the way she might have brushed a bit of dirt from her sleeve. “I cannot deny I was quite smitten with you at one time. But that was four years ago. A great deal has changed since then.”

“Not my feelings for you!” Brandon insisted, though he could not keep an edge of doubt from sharpening his tone. Had he continued to love her all these years and did he love the woman she had become? Or was he still infatuated with his ideal of her—the perfect lady-love whose eyes were like the sun and lips like coral? The goddess whose feet scarcely touched the ground and whose lips never spoke a false word?

“I am certain you believe that or you would not say it,” Cassandra replied. Was she patronizing him now? “But the fact remains that you planned to propose to Miss Reynolds. If not for an unfortunate accident of the weather, you might be engaged to the lady by now.”

Brandon longed to deny her claim, but how could he? Instead he took a different tack. “Imogene told you that, I suppose. She had no right to! I assure you I told her no such thing.”

Cassandra was not so easily put off. “But it is true, is it not?”

“I was considering the possibility,” he began, only to meet her doubtful look. “Oh very well, I did intend to propose to Miss Reynolds, but only because I had given up any hope of you. And because I need to produce an heir.”

Her fine, dark brows rose. “Is that not the case for every gentleman of property?”

“I suppose so. But for me it is particularly vital.” He shrank from confessing the reason when she was keeping a secret from him. Had she raised the subject of Isabella Reynolds, hoping it would distract him from the mystery surrounding her visit to Noughtly Hall?

He must tell her, he decided at last. Perhaps then she would understand how important it was that they be able to confide in one another. “You may recall what I told you about my parents’ marriage. In recent years, I learned that they were both unfaithful. My mother flaunted her affairs under my father’s nose, yet for the longest time, he never suspected the depth of her disloyalty.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened. His revelation seemed to shake her frosty composure. “Do you mean to say your brother is not...?”

“Not a true Calvert.” Brandon gave a bitter nod. “I always wondered why our mother favored him so much, while I could do nothing right in her eyes. Before my father died he made me promise to start a family so my brother would not inherit a title and estate to which he has no right.”

“I see.” Cassandra murmured. “You were in such haste to obey your father’s instructions that you could not wait for Miss Reynolds but felt you must propose to the first likely lady who crossed your path. Excuse me if I choose not to be flattered.”

“It was not like that!” Brandon plowed his fingers through his hair. “Why must you twist everything to put me in the wrong? You remind me of—”

He stopped himself but not soon enough.

“Your mother?” Cassandra whispered.

For a moment her mask slipped and he glimpsed behind the unruffled facade to much more intense, complex emotions she sought to conceal. If only he could interpret them.

He gave a curt nod to which Cassandra responded by shaking her head. “I do not mean to put you in the wrong. What happened is not your fault. Nor do I blame you for wanting to keep your intentions toward Miss Reynolds private, especially if you were not certain you would propose to her. But do you not see? This promise you made to your father was on your mind when we were unexpectedly thrown together. It is perfectly reasonable that you should believe your former feelings toward me had been revived. I almost believed it myself and I did not have such a compelling reason as you.”

“What makes you so certain they were not?”

A wistful smile played across her lips, disappearing as quickly as it came. “It is tempting to believe that, but unlikely, don’t you think?”

Before Brandon could disagree she pressed on. “Even if we still cared for one another after all these years or fell back in love in a matter of days, what chance would we have for a successful marriage? Coming from the families we do—it would take a miracle.”

He wanted to contradict her but reason would not let him. Whether the qualities required for a happy marriage were passed down through the blood or whether the necessary skills were learned from observation, he and Cassandra were both at a grave disadvantage. He would be a fool to deny it.

“What about your reputation?” Brandon felt on much firmer ground with that aspect of the situation. “Only the vilest blackguard would threaten a lady’s reputation with a kiss like that then refuse to marry her. We must wed. It is a matter of honor.”

Immediately he sensed his words were having the opposite effect than the one for which he’d hoped.

Any trace of softness or suppressed longing disappeared from Cassandra’s countenance, driven away by proud severity. “You need not fret about your honor, Sir Brandon. I thought that must be the true motive for your insistence we wed. You have not refused to rescue my reputation. I have refused to be rescued. I would rather risk celibate disgrace than marital misery. Besides, I doubt either Mrs. Martin or your cousin will breathe a word of what they saw. Consequently, my reputation and your honor are not in such grave danger as you imagine.”

Reason warned him to accept her answer and be grateful to her for releasing him from his obligation. But he could not prevent himself from offering up one last feeble inducement. “I would do anything in my power to ensure you were not miserable in our marriage. I would do anything to make you happy.”

Cassandra remained unswayed, which she demonstrated by promptly turning away from him. “I know you would, and I would try to do the same. But I do not believe it is in anyone’s power to make another happy. My misery would come from knowing I had kept you from a more suitable marriage by taking advantage of your honor and obligation to your family.”

Why must she harp on those? They were only his
excuses
for wanting to marry her, not his reasons. He would have asked her, but something else she’d said kept him silent. Deep down, he knew she was right that no one could make another happy, just as no one could compel the love of another. He had tried all his life to make his mother love him, to no avail. That failure had bred heartache. The last thing he wanted was to repeat that destructive pattern with Cassandra.

After a pause she spoke again in a softer tone. “You deserve a wife you can respect and trust.”

“I do respect you!” Brandon wanted to insist he trusted her, too. He had tried. If only she had not made it so difficult.

“For the moment, perhaps.” She fired the words back over her shoulder. “But respect cannot survive in the absence of trust. You have shown admirable restraint not to inquire about my reasons for visiting Aunt Augusta in Bath. Yet I know you must want an explanation.”

“I want you to tell me of your own accord because you trust that you
can
tell me the truth and it will make no difference to my feelings for you. I swear it will not, whatever is the matter.”

She shook her head. “I can only tell you that it is not as dreadful as you suspect. But I am certain it would alter your feelings toward me.”

“I cannot imagine how that is possible if the circumstances are as innocent as you claim. Why can you not tell me and allow me to decide for myself, the way you ought to have done four years ago?”

Why was he arguing and pleading when he had so many doubts himself? A wise man would seize this opportunity to extricate himself from a situation that threatened more heartache.

“I
wish
I could tell you.” Cassandra’s voice fell to a pensive murmur. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “But it is not in my power. It is not in my nature.”

He marched around in front of her to make her face him. “You are quite determined to refuse my proposal for the second time after you admit regretting that you refused me before?”

“You never made me a formal proposal this evening.” Her glance flitted this way and that, refusing to meet his. “You only declared your intention to do it.”

“Do not quibble!” The words burst out of Brandon, louder and fiercer than he’s intended.

Cassandra gave a violent start and shrank from him in a way that tore at Brandon’s heart. But she soon gathered her composure and struck back. “Very well, then. Since you are so fond of the truth, here it is. I
did
regret refusing you four years ago and I expect I shall regret refusing you now. But I believe any regret I suffer as a consequence will be less than if I accept your offer.”

How could he argue with that? If so much tension and hostility bristled between them during the mere
discussion
of marriage, how could they hope to be happy together? “Then there is nothing left to be said.”

His despairing resignation seemed to soothe the antagonism his opposition had inflamed. When Cassandra answered, her tone was once again soft and wistful. “Only one thing. I am sorry with all my heart that I could not give you a different answer. I wish you all the happiness in the world with Miss Reynolds. I hope she will prove worthy of you in every way.”

The fond luster in her dark eyes and the sorrowful affection in her tone made him care for her in ways she refused to accept.

It was too frustrating and heartbreaking for Brandon to bear. He must get away from this place at once. He must get his life back on the clear, straight path it had been heading before the storm and his encounter with Lady Cassandra Whitney threw it off course.

“This is goodbye then.” He turned and strode away, ignoring the pleas of his heart.

To himself, he muttered. “I pray it will be our last.”

“
W
HAT ARE YOU
moping about now, Cassandra?” Great-aunt Augusta’s sharp query crashed in upon her private thoughts like a bludgeon blow to a wounded limb. “I must say, when I invited you here to act as my companion, it was in the belief that your youthful company would prove stimulating. Instead it has been quite the reverse. I have had more animated conversation at funerals.”

The two women sat in the smallest sitting room of Noughtly Hall with a good fire going, yet the chill of this cold, snowy winter seemed to penetrate the very marrow of Cassandra’s bones. She had only been here for a fortnight, yet already it felt like several long months. Only the arrival of letters from her sisters lifted her gloom. But the continuing heavy snow had disrupted the flow of mail more than once.

She considered using the dull weather and enforced seclusion as an excuse for her low spirits, but her ever-present thoughts of Sir Brandon Calvert prevented her. Her reluctance to be a burden to him had made it impossible for them to be together. But at least she could honor her feelings for him by trying to be as truthful as he would wish.

She arranged her features into the best imitation of a smile that she could manage. “I am sorry to have disappointed you, Aunt Augusta. I shall endeavor to do better. Would you like me to read to you? Or perhaps we could move to the music room so I could play the pianoforte.”

She could scarcely afford to jeopardize her position here. It was her only means of providing Evie with an opportunity to seek the kind of love that had eluded her sisters.

Had love truly eluded her? An inner voice of truth challenged Cassandra. The voice sounded like Brandon’s. Had love eluded her, or had she run away from it because it threatened her precious pride and self-reliance?

“I am tired of being read to,” the viscountess complained, “particularly in that lifeless monotone. Neither do I wish to quit this room since it is the warmest in the house. Would a little conversation be too much to ask? Tell me more about the time you spent snowbound at that farmhouse. It has the makings of a rather diverting tale.”

For the first time since coming to Noughtly Hall, Cassandra truly looked at her great-aunt. Not for her the light muslin dresses and natural hair styles currently in fashion. She continued to wear a towering, powdered wig and the elaborately hooped, corseted gown of a more formal era. Cassandra could not imagine Lady Augusta ever crossing the threshold of a farm cottage.

She knew her great-aunt had made an arranged marriage to a wealthy nobleman many years her senior. Their only child had died at a young age and her husband not long after... of a broken heart, perhaps? In nearly fifty years since then, the viscountess had lived in comfortable splendor... and bitter loneliness?