Elizabeth Mansfield (23 page)

“Then one would have been mistaken,” Cassie said shortly.

“You didn’t do something mischievous, did you, Sandy, like getting rid of them for my sake?”

“No, of course not,” Sandy said, offended. “What do you take me for? A man’s letters are sacrosanct, like confessions to a priest.”

Cassie’s eyes fell. “Yes, of course.” She got up and paced about the room, wringing her hands. “Then how do you explain it, Sandy? Elinor wrote every week for two months. Why have the letters suddenly stopped?”

Sandy shrugged. “I’m not certain, but I’ve heard rumors. The Langstons are staying in Italy now. They say Elinor’s been seen in the company of a Venetian count.”

Cassie gaped at him. “Good God! Are you suggesting she’s fallen in love with
someone else
?”

“How can I tell? But the rumors and the absence of letters do seem to suggest that it’s a logical assumption.”

“But she
can’t
!” Cassie exclaimed, stamping her foot in irritation. “The little wretch can’t
do
that to Robert now!”

“But, Cassie, how can you say that? It will be good for your marriage, won’t it, if Elinor and Robert forget each other?”

Cassie waved away his words with an impatient flick of her hand. “No, it won’t, dash it all! Not now! He hasn’t forgotten her, don’t you see that? Her letters are all he has left of the life he dreamed he’d have.” Tears began to stream down her cheeks unchecked. “When things go b-badly for him, he locks himself in his little study and
re-reads
those d-deuced letters for consolation!”

“I say, Cassie, how can you know that?” Sandy demanded suspiciously.

“Never mind. I know. You may take my word.” She dashed the tears angrily from her cheeks. “And after all the dreadful things that he’s been through, to be so coldly dropped by his precious ladylove is bound to be the last straw! I won’t
have
him hurt like that! I
won’t
!”

Sandy stared at her in astonishment. He’d never seen Cassie so wrought up. “But I don’t see what you can do about it, my dear,” he mumbled helplessly, getting up and handing her his handkerchief.

“N-Neither do I,” she moaned, dabbing at her eyes. “Neither do I.”

He put a consoling arm about her and let her head rest on his shoulder. “Don’t cry, Cassie. Tears don’t do anything but redden one’s—”

The door burst open. “Confound it, Cassie, did you tell that deuced butler to—?” Kittridge, taking belated note of Cassie standing in Sandy’s arms, stopped stock still in the doorway, his mouth agape.

Cassie broke from Sandy’s hold abruptly. She felt a stab of guilt, not for standing in Sandy’s embrace (for, in truth, she’d barely noticed his arm about her), but for the tears she’d been shedding over her husband’s disappointment. The last thing in the world she wanted was for him to discover her interest in his private love letters! She turned away so that Robert would not see her face. “
What
did I tell the butler, Robert?” she asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Robert mumbled in embarrassed chagrin. “It’s not important. I interrupted. Excuse me.” And he backed out of the doorway and shut the door.

“Good God!” Sandy exclaimed, blinking at the door through which Kittridge had just disappeared. “I think the gudgeon suspects me of … of fondling his wife!”

“Don’t be silly. He must have seen that I was crying. I only hope he didn’t suspect that I was crying over him.”

“I would much prefer
that
than to have him think you were crying over
me
,” Sandy muttered. “He might very well call me out!”

“Call you
out
? Why on earth would he do that?”

Sandy made a gesture of impatience. “Out of jealousy, of course.”

“
Jealousy
?” Even in her misery, Cassie had to giggle. “It’s you who’s the gudgeon, Sandy. Robert wouldn’t be jealous over me.”

“Why wouldn’t he? You’re his wife.”

“Yes, but you know as well as I that he doesn’t love me. What do you suppose I’ve been agonizing about for the last quarter-hour?”

“Oh, yes. Elinor’s letters … or rather the lack of them. I’d forgotten that for a moment.” He sank down on the hearth and wrinkled his brow. “As to that, Cassie,” he said thoughtfully, “I think you are needlessly overwrought. Robbie may suffer a few pangs for a time, but he’s bound to get over it. Elinor’s finding a new love will be the best thing for everyone in the long run. You’ll see.”

“Oh, Sandy,” she chided, both amused and impatient, “you are truly wonderful. Always the optimist. Has there ever been a situation so dark that you couldn’t find a ray of light to pin your hopes on?”

“Only when the situation involves me,” Sandy admitted, grinning up at her sheepishly. “Like Eunice not coming down to London all this time. I was not very optimistic about that, I’m afraid. Tell me, Cassie, doesn’t she care for me at all?”

“I’m not the one to ask, Sandy. Ask her.”

Sandy’s full cheeks seemed to sag. “I think I’m like you, my dear. Too shy to tell my love.”

“Do you think my problem is shyness, Sandy?” She dropped down beside him on the hearth. “Am I like the girl in
Twelfth Night
, who ‘never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on her damask cheek’?”

“Exactly like her,” he said, shaking his head admiringly. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“Shakespeare would be flattered,” she laughed. But soon her worried frown returned. “Dash it all, Sandy, I wish my situation were as simple as that. One can overcome shyness. What one can’t overcome is a love that’s placed elsewhere.”

“I wish I could think of some way to help,” he said.

She got up and crossed thoughtfully to the door. “Perhaps I can help myself. Only promise me two things, Sandy, my dear.”

“Anything. Anything at all.”

“Then first, try not to be shy with Eunice.”

He shrugged dubiously. “I’ll try, but—”

“It won’t be hard,” she assured him. “Faint heart never won fair maid, as they say. But the second promise will be harder to keep. You must promise me that, no matter what, you won’t say a word to Robert about the rumors about Elinor. Not a single word.”

“But Cassie, what good would it do to keep him in the dark? After all, if no letters come—”

“Perhaps they will,” she said mysteriously. “Meanwhile, you must take my word that it will be best for him not to know anything about it.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

When Sandy, on his way to his room to change for dinner, rounded the bend of the stairway, he was startled out of countenance by the sudden appearance of his host, who lunged out of the shadows at him and grabbed him by the lapels of his fashionable riding coat. “What did you think you were
doing
, you damnable bounder?” Kittridge demanded furiously.

“I knew it,” Sandy sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward. “I
told
Cassie you’d call me out.”

“And so I will,” Kittridge snapped, although he was somewhat taken aback by his friend’s complacency. “What else can a man do when he finds his best friend trying to seduce his wife?”

“You can loosen your hold on my best coat, for one thing,” Sandy said in disgust. “I was
not
trying to seduce your wife. I was letting her cry on my shoulder. Like a friend.”

“Like a
friend
?”

“Exactly.”

Kittridge released his hold. “It didn’t look like a friend’s embrace to me,” he grumbled sullenly.

Sandy smoothed his crushed lapels calmly. “I don’t care how it looked to you. You’re out in your reckoning, old fellow. You should think shame on yourself! If you’ve become so deranged that you believe Philip Sanford would seduce his best friend’s wife, your vision is surely askew.”

“Am I acting deranged?” Kittridge asked, feeling foolish.

“As the proverbial loon,” his friend retorted flatly. “In the first place, any sane man would be able to tell that Cassie isn’t the sort to play a husband false. And in the second place, I happen to be in love with your
sister
.”

Kittridge ran a confused hand through his hair. “Then, hang it, why was
my
wife crying on
your
shoulder?”

“That, old fellow,” Sandy said, proceeding up the stairs, “is something you’ll have to ask her.”

“I suppose,” Kittridge muttered sheepishly, “I ought to apologize to you.”

Sandy turned round and grinned down at his glum-looking friend. “No need for that, Robbie. No offense taken. I know how love can make a man loony.”

“Love?” Kittridge gazed up at his friend in genuine astonishment. “Are you suggesting that I’m in love with Cassie?”

“It certainly appears so to me.”

“Don’t be daft!”

Sandy shrugged. “Have it your way. When it comes to these matters, I’m far from expert.” He turned and continued up the stairs. “If I can’t determine if Eunice feels the slightest
tendre
for me, how can I be sure about you?”

* * *

Kittridge considered the question as he walked slowly to his little study. Could Sandy possibly be right, he asked himself? Was it possible that he’d fallen in love with Cassie without realizing it? His feelings were certainly muddled enough to be the stirrings of love. Ever since the night she’d so adamantly rejected him, he’d become more and more aware of how much he wanted her. But that yearning might only be the automatic response one felt for something one couldn’t have. It was certainly not comparable to the adoration he’d felt for Elinor.

He locked himself into his office and, seating himself at his desk, stared at the letters Sandy had brought him today. There was not one from Elinor among them. He’d expected to be devastated by the absence of word from her, but the truth was that he hadn’t felt the expected disappointment. In fact, the only feeling he was aware of was relief. He couldn’t understand it, but that word “relief” seemed to be the only one that accurately described his emotion.

He took out her letters from their cubicle and opened a few of them. His eyes roamed over the familiar words without bringing him the familiar pain. Was this another sign that he’d fallen in love with Cassie? He shook his head in self-disgust. Was he such a loose screw that he could forget his allegiance to the one great love of his life and attach himself to another in only a few months? The thought sickened him.

On the other hand, rereading Elinor’s letters reminded him of the weight of guilt her outpourings of love had pressed upon him all these months. No wonder the absence of a letter brought relief. If Elinor’s affection had weakened with time, or if she’d herself fallen in love with someone else, he would no longer need to feel responsible for her unhappiness! As sad as the end of their love might be, it was good to feel the weight of guilt lifted from his shoulders.

He let out a long breath and, leaning back in his chair, tried to stretch his legs out in front of him. But there was not enough room under his narrow desktop. He must, he thought, ask Cassie to find him a larger table. She had a knack for making a room comfortable. Perhaps she would agree to set her talents to work on this place.

Cassie. Even the name had a comfortable resonance. Loesby and Sandy had both been telling him for months how lucky he was to have found her. They were quite right, of course; he could see that now. But that didn’t mean he loved her. Even his ridiculous attack of jealousy didn’t necessarily mean he loved her, although he had to admit that, when he’d seen her in Sandy’s arms, he’d felt a wild, insanely furious desire to wring his best friend’s blasted neck!

He had no answer to the mystery of his muddled feelings, but one thought brought a rueful smile to his lips.
Wouldn’t it be a delightful surprise
, he asked himself,
if I found myself in love with my own wife
?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Eunice and her daughters were packing to leave. Cassie would have been heartbroken, except that her sister-in-law’s reason for departure was such a happy one. Eunice was going to marry Sandy!

The decision had been made so quickly that it astounded everyone, even Sandy himself. He had followed Cassie’s advice and, throwing caution to the winds, made a declaration of love that was not at all shy. “Eunice,” he’d declared, pulling her into his arms, “I’ve been wanting to do this for ten years.” And he’d kissed her squarely on the mouth.

“Sandy!” Eunice had gasped. “What does this
mean
?”

“If you don’t know,” he’d retorted, “I must not be doing it well.” And he kissed her again, with even more fervor. It took several more of such demonstrations before she admitted, laughing breathlessly, that he’d made his intentions clear enough. By that time she knew she was his. Her doubts about her feelings for him had entirely disappeared. “I had no idea,” she confided giddily to Cassie later, “that he was so … so
talented
!”

The day of their departure was a confused amalgam of merriment and tears. The two little girls, while very happy at the prospect of having the cheerful, moon-faced Sandy as their new father, nevertheless stood weeping among the boxes and bags piled up in the Great Hall just before their departure. They’d loved their months at Highlands, and they were thrown into despondency at having to say good-bye to their Uncle Robert and Aunt Cassie. Only the promise that their uncle and aunt would be coming soon to London for the wedding stopped their wails.

Eunice, too, was weeping at the thought of parting from Cassie. Dizzily light-headed as she was at finding herself in love after so many years, she was nevertheless heartbroken at separating from the woman who’d become her best friend. Her ambivalent feelings were clearly visible as she directed the servants in the stowing of the luggage with one hand while dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes with the other.

When the protracted good-byes were under way, and Eunice and the girls were weeping in earnest, Cassie drew Eunice away from the others and asked for a moment of private conversation with her. Eunice, surprised, of course agreed. Cassie led her to the sitting room. “Eunice,” she said tensely, carefully closing the door, “I have a very great favor to ask you.”