Patricia Rice (15 page)

Cass shot him a furious glare. “You will not talk about
Thomas that way in front of me. I owe him my life, and I intend to make it up
to his family one way or another. It might take me years...”

Bertie grinned. “Just come over and hold his hand for a
while and you’ll have made it up to the pestilence. Worst patient my mother’s
had in years. She’d be grateful for a little reprieve, and Tom would be over
the hoop with joy at having you for nurse.”

Cassandra caught her breath in astonishment and growing
hope. Merrick gave her a wry gaze.

“You’ve stopped her tongue, Albert. Mark how you did that. I’m
certain we’ll have cause to recall it in the future. I believe the lady was
under the mistaken impression the lad was a martyr to her cause.”

That was the outside of enough. She had never given Merrick
reason to insult her like that, or make little of her feelings. She shot him a
scathing look and took Bertie’s arm.

“You are as thoroughly unpleasant as my brother warned you
were, my lord,” she informed Merrick coldly before turning back to Bertie. “Please
come in and have tea with me at Mrs. Singer’s and tell me how Thomas fares. You
cannot imagine...”

Panicking at the thought of entertaining the marquess’s
daughter all on his own, Bertie gestured at his friend. “I say, Merrick, you
better come with us. You do a better job at explaining these things.”

“I need explain nothing, Scheffing. The less said, the
better, in Lady Cassandra’s case. I have told you from the first that it is not
wise to talk about what happened. The gossip has been scandalous enough, and
Thomas is lucky the authorities have not arrested him. I don’t believe the lady
would want it to get about that there’s some chance the lad might live. Rupert
might take it into his head to return from exile if he thought he was safe from
the law.”

Cassandra felt the blood rush from her head, but she held
her chin high and continued to clutch Bertie’s arm. “I can see no harm in my
lending a hand to nurse Thomas. I owe him much more than that.”

Merrick scowled. “That was an idiot notion to give her,
Bertie. She is neither sister, nor mother, nor wife, and has no right to be
tending an unmarried gentleman.”

Cassandra and Bertie both began to reply at once, but
Cassandra rode roughshod over Bertie’s much less emphatic replies. “I shall do
as I see fit without your instruction, my lord. I am a married woman now, and
not your wife. I shall go right now to extend my gratitude.” Dropping Bertie’s
arm, she lifted up her stiff cotton skirt and petticoat and started down the
street.

“Disturb the Scheffings anymore, and I will tell your
brother where to find you,” Merrick warned as she began to stride away.

Her step faltered, but she did not stop.

~*~

Cassandra sat beside the wounded man’s bedside, tears
streaming down her cheeks as she watched his labored breathing in sleep.
Someone had discreetly pulled the covers over the bare muscularity of Thomas’
shoulders and upper arms. Cassandra scarcely took note.

Bertie and the maid stirred restlessly as she clasped the
patient’s hand. She wanted to send them both away, but Wyatt’s admonitions had caused
Bertie to take back his suggestion of playing nurse. If only Thomas would open
his eyes...

As if in response to her thoughts, Thomas’ eyelids flickered
and his hand twitched between her fingers. Then he was staring up at her, and
Cassandra beamed with delight. Impulsively she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“My hero,” she whispered wickedly against his ear.

Thomas grinned a slow, sleepy grin. “Lady Cass. Have I died
and gone to heaven?”

“You’ll not find me there,” she admonished, sitting up
again. “If you want to see me, it will have to be in this world and not the
next one.”

His gaze did not leave her face. “This world’s fine. Will
you stay?”

Bertie hurried to put a halt to his brother’s meanderings. “Lady
Cass just came by to see how you fared. Now that she knows mere bullets don’t
stop us Scheffings, she’ll have to be on her way.”

The boy’s warm expression grew remote, and he removed his
hand from Cassandra’s. “Of course. You will be joining your husband. Thank you
for your concern. I apologize for any trouble I have caused you.”

Cassandra threw Bertie an impatient look and reclaimed the
hand picking at the covers. “I have no intention of ever seeing Rupert again. I
owe you my life, Thomas. I would repay you in any way I can.”

The grin returned. “Marry me, and we’ll call it even.”

Cassandra laughed, squeezed his hand, and kissed his cheek
in farewell. “Of course. How can I do any less? I must leave now before Bertie
worries himself into a fit. You must get better so you can come and court me
properly.”

Bertie watched his brother’s face glow with more color and
animation than he had shown since his injury, and he had to give the girl
credit. If he’d had all that sunset-blond beauty bent over him, kissing his
cheek, he’d glow like a lantern too. For a chit scarcely out of the schoolroom,
Lady Cass certainly had a way of turning men’s heads without even trying. Why,
then, was Merrick so grumpy with her?

It didn’t matter to Bertie. Were she not already wedded, he’d
court her himself. Of course, he was supposed to make a wealthy match, but Cass
wouldn’t mind if they weren’t rich.

Driving her home after the visit, Bertie cast her pale face
a speculative look. A wife without a husband, and not even had a Season yet.
But that was a Howard for you. Did everything backward.

Despite Bertie’s objections, Cassandra asked him to let her
off at the drive to the Eddings’ estate. “I’m meeting friends, Bertie. You
needn’t worry about me. Do you think I might visit with Thomas again?”

Bertie nodded eagerly. “You’ll do him good. He’s been moping
around, calling himself a gudgeon, and not much interested in getting well.
Shall I call for you sometime? Where are you staying?”

Deftly avoiding answering, Cassandra held out her hand in
farewell. “I’ll send a note around, shall I? Thank you for being so forgiving,
Bertie. I think I would have hated me in your place.”

Red-faced, Bertie shrugged. “It ain’t your fault, Cass.
Duncan never should have let you marry a rum one like Rupert. Sure you don’t
need an escort? It ain’t right wandering these fields alone.”

“Oh, but I’m a married woman now, and this is my home, after
all. I’ll come to no harm. Good day, Bertie, and thank you.”

She set off down the overgrown drive, leaving Bertie no
opportunity to protest further. The rhododendrons had gone wild and towered
well over her head. She was soon out of sight of the road.

When she was certain she was no longer observed, Cassandra
allowed her shoulders to slump. It had been an emotionally draining day.

She hadn’t wanted Merrick to despise her. And she certainly
didn’t deserve Thomas’ adulation. All she wanted was a few good friends she
could talk to, someone to understand her predicament, someone to fill her
loneliness. Would she never be allowed that small luxury?

Not as things stood now. Breaking off a dead twig from an
overhanging bush, Cassandra tried to gather the strength to face the ruin that
was now her home. She could never bring her mother out here, nor could she ever
go to London to see her again.

She crumbled the twig and dragged her hand along the
scraggly plants as she approached the house. Peggy, her father’s former
mistress, had explained about annulments, sort of. She had said a man and woman
could marry and not go to bed together and the church would say they were never
married if they wrote a petition for annulment.

That was what she had wanted Rupert to do. Surely those few
minutes in Rupert’s bed didn’t make her a wife. How did one go about
petitioning for an annulment?

A solicitor would have to be hired, obviously, and she had
no money for such. She had more freedom as a married woman anyway. And Duncan
couldn’t try to trade her off to someone else.

It was better to be lonely than miserable.

“We can’t keep going to the butcher or these coins won’t
last till harvest. Can’t you hunt something?” Lotta dawdled over her second cup
of tea while regarding the blackened fireplace with distaste.

Across from her, Jacob lifted his cup with the same elegance
as his betters. “Even if I could nab a squirrel or hare, would you know what to
do with it?”

Ignoring the implied scorn, Lotta turned a grin to her
lover. “Not a bit. A pampered life, I lead. When will you keep me in the style
to which I’m accustomed?”

His lean face broke into a smile. “There’s many a way to do
it. We could do it honestly and seek employment elsewhere.”

“And leave my lady here alone? Never. We look after each
other, we do. Besides, no one else would look kindly on our pairing off, would
they now? Soon’s I had a bun in the oven, off I’d be in the streets. No
thankee, sir. I’ll stay here.”

Jacob glared at her. “You told me you knew how to prevent
that sort of thing. Don’t neither of us need that kind of trouble right now.”

Lotta bent forward to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of her
breasts beneath her loose blouse. “Ain’t any of us perfect. We all get caught
sometime. Now, what are your other suggestions for making a few coins?”

Eyeing the view, Jacob gave the matter some thought. “Selling
information always works well, but the only one with any coins to buy is our
high-and-mighty earl. He’d not take kindly to paying for information. The
marquess hasn’t got a ha’pence to spare. There’s always Rupert. He might be
willing to spare some of the ready to know where his wife is, but that rather
defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

Lotta sat up and adjusted her bodice with a glare. “You
bloody well better believe it. That bedlamite would have our arses for helping
my lady to escape. And she wouldn’t be left in any condition to protect us. Come
up with a better one than that, my genius.”

Jacob shrugged. “Your lady gambles well, didn’t you tell me?”

Hearing a footstep down the hall, Lotta signaled for silence
and began to speak loudly. “You’ll have to steal a hen, Jacob. We can’t spend
any more at the butcher. His prices are too dear.”

Cassandra stopped in the doorway to take in this domestic
scene. Lotta should have been baking bread, and Jacob had promised to look for
the leak in her bedroom roof. But their discussion set her thoughts on a different
path.

“You can’t be stealing our neighbor’s hens. We’ll raise our
own if need be,” she told them. “Surely it can’t be too difficult a matter.”

Lotta carried her dishes to the washbasin. “That won’t help
us none tonight. What are you planning on living on until then?”

Cassandra’s face lit with a blaze of remembrance. “Fish! We
can have fish. There’s a pond the next field over stocked full of them.”

Jacob removed his lanky frame from the chair with a glum
expression. “I expect you will be wanting me to catch them?”

Cassandra continued to beam with delight. “Not at all. I am
very proficient at it. You can clean them.”

Ignoring the butler’s crestfallen expression, Cassandra
slipped out the makeshift door in search of a suitable stick for use as a pole.
Lotta’s glare of disapproval had been sufficient reminder that the pond in
question belonged to Merrick, but the small matter of property lines had never
inhibited her. A pond was made for fishing, just as apples were meant for
eating.

Feeling as if she were finally being of some use, Cassandra
gathered her rudimentary fishing gear and set off across the fields. The sun
had risen warm and high, and the heavy cotton of her coarse gown weighed down
on her. By the time she reached the pond, she had loosened the tucker to let
her skin breathe.

She found a grassy overhang beneath a towering beech and
settled on a tussock. Removing her shoes and stockings, she wriggled her toes
in the cool water. Rolling her skirts up to her knees, she reveled in the
breeze. This was much better than trudging out to the fields to see if her new
workers were making any progress in the weed-grown pasture.

The fish bit willingly this day, and soon she had a small
string floundering in the water. Unwilling to return just yet, she sent her
line out one more time, wondering if the huge trout that used to hide on the
bottom had ever been caught. Feeling quite at peace with the day, Cassandra
began to sing to herself.

Rather enjoying the joyful noise she made, she tried out a
more boisterous tune. The water carried the sound back to her better than the
choir loft of a church, not that she had tried that holy place on many
occasions. Still, the music appealed, and Cassandra began a haunting lover’s
lament in full soprano.

By the chorus, a rich male baritone had joined her, and
Cassandra hid a grin as she added dramatic emphasis to the pathos of “his
lovely lids closed over his sad, dark beautiful eyes.” The ringing high notes
blended smoothly with the deep counterpart, and she launched into a livelier
tune as Merrick crouched down beside her.

His brown eyes crinkled with amusement, but he met her note
for note with a voice smooth enough to raise the hairs on Cassandra’s arms.
Garbed in a rough pair of broadcloth breeches and an open-necked white shirt,
he did not wear the formality of the earl.

Cassandra started on a rolling “fol-de-rol-ra-ra” that
caught the best of tongues, when a sharp tug on her line jerked her attention
from Merrick’s smile.

Nearly tumbling in, Cassandra hauled backward in an attempt
to draw the line.

“Hang on, I’ll get it. Old Bess must have liked our singing.”
Crouching behind her, Merrick added his strength by wrapping his arms around
her and grabbing the pole. “Steady now, or she’ll break loose. What the deuce
did you use for bait?”

“Worms. What else is there?” Cassandra gasped as the fish
struggled harder. Raising the pole in tandem with Wyatt’s efforts, she tried to
pull her catch toward shore. In the next instant, the pole snapped, she tumbled
backward, and Wyatt collapsed with a soft “Oomph” as he padded Cassandra’s fall.