The Accidental Countess (11 page)

“What was that?” Good heavens, she’d completely lost the thread of the conversation and she was distinctly aware of the fact that Julian had just asked her a question of some sort.

“I asked how long you’ve known Lady Worthing.”

“Oh, Lucy? I’ve known her for—”

His brow furrowed. “Her name is Lucy?”

“Yes, why?”

“It’s just that—” He shook his head. “Never mind. My apologies. I interrupted you. You were saying?”

“I’ve known her since I was a child.” Warning bells sounded in Cass’s brain. She couldn’t admit that she and Lucy had been neighbors. He might begin asking questions about who her parents were and where they lived. She had to change the subject. Immediately.

“How is Daphne?” she asked in a rushed voice.

“My sister? How do you know her—”

“Oh, I, that is, Lucy mentioned her name to me. She’s your younger sister, is she not?” Cass smothered her groan. She was a complete fool. She’d gone straight from one untenable subject to another. Lying was entirely too complicated for her.
Blast. Blast. Blast
.

“Yes, Daphne is in London with my mother at present.”

“Is she old enough to have made her come-out?” Pretending as if she didn’t know that Daphne was nineteen might just make her lies sound more convincing. Never mind the fact that Cass herself had been at the girl’s come-out ball, sneaked some champagne with the younger woman, and then nearly fell into a giggling fit later when she and Daphne found themselves hiding behind a potted palm in the conservatory trying to elude rude (and smelly) Lord Montelroy, who seemed entirely too intent upon asking both of them for a dance.

“Yes, she came out last Season,” Julian replied.

“And has she made a match?” Cass asked next, also pretending she didn’t know all too well that Daphne was entirely unimpressed with the entire crop of London’s finest.

“Not yet,” Julian replied.

“Not to worry. There’s still hope for her. I’ve been out five Seasons now.” Cass winced. If they hadn’t been dancing, she might have clapped her hand over her mouth. Cass had been out for five Seasons but Patience Bunbury … apparently, Patience had been out for five Seasons as well.

The dance was quickly coming to an end, but Cass took a deep breath. She needed to stop talking about people they knew and Seasons and age. She needed to steer the conversation back to Julian. It was much safer that way. She’d come this far, been this bold. She might as well ask Julian another question. A question she’d always wanted to ask and could never quite explain why she hadn’t. Strangely, pretending to be someone else somehow finally gave her the opportunity to ask it.

“May I ask you something, Captain Swift?” Cass said, relieved that her voice didn’t crack.

He inclined his head, an inquisitive look on his face. “Of course, Miss Bunbury.”

She dared to meet his gaze. “What was the worst part of being in the war?”

His eyes narrowed briefly. His lips thinned nearly imperceptibly, but he did not hesitate. “Learning just how inexplicably unfair life is.” He hadn’t even paused. The answer had rolled off his tongue as if he answered that particular question daily. Perhaps he did.

Cass merely nodded. Life
was
unfair. That was the truth.

CHAPTER TEN

Julian strode into his guest chamber. He untied his cravat and yanked it from around his neck. He pulled open the front of his shirt and rubbed his throat. He could breathe again. Finally. Wearing a uniform had been his habit for the last seven years. Since he’d been back to England, to Society, he’d been forced to borrow some of his brother’s clothing and that included the stifling cravats. How long would it take before he got used to them again?

He took a sip of the brandy he’d requested from a footman before he came up to his room. Brandy was one thing he had missed about England. Not that the brandy didn’t come from France. But he’d never drunk any of it while he’d been there.

His thoughts turned to the night that had just ended. Miss Bunbury. Patience. He couldn’t get her visage out of his mind. She was beyond gorgeous, any man’s dream. But her quiet, calm demeanor had surprised him. He’d wondered at it. Many ladies of his acquaintance were talkative, always going on and on about fripperies and parties. His sister adored a party. Daphne never wanted to sit still. Penelope had certainly never seemed capable of sitting long enough to write a letter, let alone a long or meaningful one. In fact, the only female he’d known who seemed as quiet and contemplative as Miss Bunbury was … Cassandra.

Miss Bunbury had asked him what the worst part of war was. He’d been asked that question countless times. On the parcel riding back to England, on the mail coach to London, even in town when a few people had recognized him before he’d left for the house party. He usually answered with his normal, nonchalant, “I’m merely glad to be home.”

No one could understand the hell that was war. Not truly. They wanted their sordid details and the thrill of talking to a seasoned soldier. But no one truly wanted to know what it was like, the smell of wet warm blood, the dirt, the sounds of screams, and the fear that became so entrenched in your soul, you had no idea where it ended and where you began. No one wanted to hear about that. So he gave them the answer they wanted, a calm reassurance that there was life after war. Survival. That’s what he represented to his fellow countrymen. He was playing a role and he must continue to play it.

But when Patience Bunbury had asked him, all deep blue eyes and quiet resolve, he’d done something completely unexpected. He’d actually told her the truth. The worst part of war—the very worst—was learning how deeply unfair life was. Truly learning it. Was it fair that David Covington was dead? The young man’s body buried in foreign soil while his mother sobbed for him? David was an only son. Death shouldn’t have come for him. Was it fair that Julian had watched men die of infection, disease, thirst? Watched as they went mad from heat? Written letters to their mothers or their wives attempting to skim over the horrific details of their last moments on earth? No. None of it was fair. And it never would be. Least of all the fact that he, a second son, an unnecessary person, was still alive and well while his brother was now in danger.

Much to his dead father’s chagrin.

His thoughts turned to Donald and Rafe. They were lost in France, captured by the enemy, more than likely dead. Over the years Julian’s heart had hardened to hearing news of death. It was a hazard of his occupation after all. But it could not, would not happen to his brother, his big, strong, noble brother. Donald must live to fulfill their father’s expectations, to make their mother happy, to carry on as the Earl of Swifdon, as he was always meant to.

And Rafe. A few years younger, plenty more rash, a great deal more rakish, and hell-bent on causing trouble, the young man had run off to war the moment he’d had a chance. He’d been a solider, but his penchant for slipping in and out of places quickly, quietly, and unnoticed had earned him a spot as a spy. And he was a hell of a spy. Julian could only imagine that Rafe had been captured trying to save Donald, and that thought tortured Julian. He took another sip of brandy, swallowed hard, and stared into the fire that crackled in the hearth across the room.

Yes. Life was unfair. Fate sometimes made mistakes.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Ah, Lord Berkeley. I’m so glad you are here,” Lucy gushed as she ushered the viscount into the foyer the next morning.

Cass stood next to Lucy, beaming at the viscount. “It’s good to see you, my lord.”

“Thank you for inviting me, Lady Worthing.” Lord Berkeley winked at them both and bowed. “And it’s lovely to see you again, Miss Bunbury.”

Cass smiled and curtsied to Lord Berkeley. She’d always liked him immensely. Tall and handsome and blond, Lord Berkeley was a great deal like Julian actually. No wonder she felt so at ease in the viscount’s company. Yes, indeed. He looked a great deal like Julian as well. Only whereas Julian had gray eyes, Lord Berkeley’s were sky blue. The viscount wore dark trousers, a sapphire-blue waistcoat, a white shirt with a perfectly starched white cravat, and black top boots. He was ever so dapper and appeared to be in high spirits today.

Not to mention, it seemed Lord Berkeley had lost his stutter. Perhaps it was because he was no longer attempting to court Lucy. Last summer in Bath, the two had had a bit of a failed romance. But Lord Berkeley was obviously still great friends with Lucy, and clearly up for a bit of fun. He’d agreed to participate in this madness, hadn’t he?

“Thank you for your gracious invitation. I’ve been looking forward to it all week,” Lord Berkeley said to Lucy.

“Now in addition to calling me Lady Worthing and Cass Miss Bunbury, Miss Jane Lowndes is here and she has decided to be Miss Wollstonecraft,” Lucy informed him.

The viscount arched a blond brow. “Wollstonecraft?”

“Yes. She’s the niece of the author. In her head, that is.”

Cass elbowed Lucy and blushed at Lord Berkeley.

“What?” Lucy asked, her innocent look firmly ensconced upon her face. “Didn’t he ask Derek to write letters to me pretending they were from him last summer? If anyone is up for this little farce, it’s our Lord Berkeley here.”

It was true. Poor Lord Berkeley had been so overcome by his stutter that he’d gone to Derek and asked him to help him write letters with which to woo Lucy. He’d chosen Derek because Lucy had indicated how much she enjoyed her banter with the duke. Derek had agreed until he’d inconveniently realized he was writing letters to the woman he himself loved.

Lucy smiled at Lord Berkeley. “I can only say I’m sorry the party is not larger, so we might introduce you to some eligible young ladies.” She said to Cass, “Christian here is quite interested in finding a nice young woman and settling down to have an inappropriate amount of children. He told me so himself.”

“Lucy!” Cass pressed her palms to her burning cheeks. Not only was Lucy using Lord Berkeley’s Christian name—which just so happened to
be
Christian—she was mentioning his future children. “You must be the most improper duchess in the history of improper duchesses.”

“Which is exactly how I like it,” Lucy replied with another smile for Cass.

“I did, indeed, say that,” Lord Berkeley interjected, bowing. “But in an effort to change the subject and spare poor Lady Cassandra any more embarrassment, let me say that I look forward to meeting Captain Swift and enjoying myself at the house party.”

“Excellent.” Lucy clapped her hands. “Now, don’t worry that Garrett isn’t here.” Lucy put her arm through Lord Berkeley’s, drawing him farther into the house while Cass followed behind them.

“Yet.” Berkeley added with a firm nod.

Cass’s head snapped up. “Pardon?”

“He’s not here yet,” Berkeley replied.

Still smiling, Lucy shook her head. “Oh, no, he’s not coming. I thought you knew.”

Berkeley shrugged. “That’s not what he said to me this morning.”

Cass gasped. Her hand flew to her throat.

Lucy stopped walking. She dropped Berkeley’s arm and turned to face him. “This morning? You spoke to Garrett this morning? In person?”

Berkeley straightened his cravat. “Yes. We spoke before I left his house. He said he planned to come along as soon as he was able. Seems he had a few business affairs to attend to first.”

Lucy’s face was quickly turning a mottled shade of red. “You were at Garrett’s house this morning?”

“Yes. It was on the way. I decided to stop and see if he would like to come over with me.”

Cass resisted the urge to sink to the floor. Where was that elusive magic wand when one had need of it? Of course Lord Berkeley would stop to visit Garrett. Whyever would Berkeley assume that Lucy’s own cousin wasn’t invited to her house party? Oh, this was no good. No good at all.

Lucy quickly recovered herself. “Oh, well, that’s wonderful. It’ll be lovely to have him. I haven’t seen Garrett in several weeks, actually.”

Berkeley smiled approvingly.

Lucy looped her arm through the viscount’s again and they continued their stroll across the foyer. Cass followed in their wake, frantically tugging at the ends of her gloves and considering the possible scenarios over and over again in her mind, all of them equally horrifying and with sufficiently appalling endings.
What would Patience Bunbury do?

Lucy stopped at the foot of the staircase where a footman patiently waited. She faced Lord Berkeley. “Henry here will take you up to your rooms, my lord, and see that you are settled.”

Lord Berkeley bowed again and made to follow the footman away. “Thank you, Your Grace, er, my lady,” he replied.

He had barely taken two steps up the staircase when he turned back to face Lucy. “I nearly forgot. I saw someone else you both know while I was visiting Upton.”

Cass was still frantically attempting to think of a way they might evade discovery by Garrett. She was barely paying attention. “Someone else?”

Lucy echoed the same words.

“Yes, he arrived at Upton’s house just as I was leaving.”

Cass perked up and turned to face Lord Berkeley.

“Wh … who? Who?” Lucy sounded like an anxious owl. Her eyes were also nearly as wide as the fowl’s. Cass was half expecting her head to swivel.

Lord Berkeley smiled at Cass. “Why, none other than your very own brother, Lady Cassandra. Lord Owen Monroe.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“What would Patience Bunbury do?” Cass murmured to herself as she paced in front of the windows in the blue drawing room. How had the entire charade gone from tenuous to catastrophic in a matter of mere hours? She should have known this plan would never stand up to scrutiny … and the inclusion of several other people. The old Cass would have wrung her hands and asked Lucy what to do next. The new Cass, ahem, Patience, was determined to figure out a way to handle this.

“About what?” Lucy asked. As usual, she was doing several things at once. At present she was busily going over the evening’s dinner menu while picking out swaths of fabric for the new table linens the housekeeper planned to order.