The Unofficial Suitor (17 page)

A moment later Annie was hugging her. Cassie fought against the tears that were forming in her eyes. “You are right. I could never bring myself to hurt anyone. But there must be some way out—some other alternative to marrying Lord Fauxbridge—because it is all I can do to avoid shuddering when he even touches my hand.”

“I cannot believe your brother would—”

“My brother? Geoffrey has told me he will sell Seffie to a white slaver if I do not comply with his wishes.”

For a moment Annie’s hand, which had been patting Cassie’s back, was still. “I was referring to your other brother, Digory Rendel.”

Immediately, Cassie felt better—strong enough even to move out of the comforting circle of the other girl’s arms. “Of course! How could I have forgotten? Digory himself said that he came to London specifically to make sure that Geoffrey did not force me to marry the wrong man. And despite his title and his wealth, no one but a featherhead like Ellen—or a greedy, grasping, selfish pig like Geoffrey—could think that Lord Fauxbridge would make any woman a good husband.

“Oh, Annie, please help me. Find Digory and explain what has happened. Ask him to meet me in the kitchen garden after we get back from the opera.”

* * * *

The opera was like a symbol, showing him how far he had come, Richard thought. Many times as a skinny, always very hungry young boy, he had stood hidden in the shadows of Covent Gardens, watching the elegantly clad gentlemen escorting beautifully gowned ladies into the theater. And now tonight, for the first time, he would be entering those majestic portals—entering the world of beauty and fantasy that lay behind the stone walls and heavy wooden doors.

He had, of course, already seen numerous other theatrical productions in America, even operas. But somehow the Covent Garden Theater was different—more special—because he still saw it through the eyes of the child he had been.

Would it live up to his expectations? Would it still seem a magical place, or would the layers of skepticism and cynicism that had grown around his heart prevent him from enjoying the pageantry and glamour? Would he see that the gold was merely gilt? That the velvets and satins worn by the actors were undoubtedly stained by sweat and make-up? That the houses and trees on the stage were merely painted canvas?

More important, would he see that the ladies and gentlemen in the audience, who all those years before had seemed godlike, were mere mortals? That like people everywhere, some of them were admirable and some were not. Some of the “ladies” had the souls of courtesans, and some of the “gentlemen” were as uncivilized in their habits as any longshoreman.

Adjusting the folds of his cravat, Richard surveyed himself in the looking glass. One thing he did not doubt—this time, instead of wearing dirty rags, he would be as elegantly dressed as anyone there, and his clothes could hide his true nature as well as anyone else’s. No one would suspect that he was not a gentleman—that he had not been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a family standing stalwart behind him.

Staring at the mirror, he observed the connecting door behind him open, and Tuke entered, a glass of brandy in his hand. Although John had reluctantly paid a call on Lady Letitia, he had resisted all of her and Richard’s entreaties to attend the opera.

“I wish you would change your mind and come with us,” Richard said. “There will be room for you.”

“It is not a matter of overcrowding the box,” John replied mockingly. “But if I came, I would be odd man out, and the numbers would be thrown off. Only consider, as it now stands, you will be escorting Lady Letitia, Perry is matched up with his cousin Cecily, Dillingham is paired with Lady Blackstone, which leaves young Ingleby to do the honors with Lady Cassiopeia.”

Knowing from years of experience just how stubborn his companion could be, Richard did not point out the obvious, namely that Lady Letitia could quite easily have found a female partner for John, also. Instead, Richard changed the subject.

“Have you succeeded in learning anything about Fauxbridge?”

“Everything and nothing,” John replied. “Everything about his family, his estate, his habits, his horses, his women. But nothing that will be of the slightest use for our purpose. As boring a bag-of-wind as he is, I have not yet been able to find a weakness we can exploit.”

Richard uttered a colorful oath.

“Do not despair so easily,” John chastised him gently. “As they say, Rome was not built in a day, and even God required six days to create the universe. I have been investigating the man for less than twenty-four hours. Only give me a little more time, and I will find the key to ending his courtship of Lady Cassiopeia.”

“I am sorry to be so lacking in patience, but I cannot help feeling the need to proceed with great dispatch.” Picking up his top hat and cane, Richard did not give John a chance to question the reason for his anxiety, which would have been hard to explain, consisting as it did merely of feelings, rather than logical thoughts. “Is Perry ready for the opera, or has he again slipped away to see a man about a horse?”

“I have seen to it that he is wearing proper evening attire, but from the glint of mischief in his eyes, I would say he has already prepared a last-minute excuse.”

Turning away from the mirror, Richard looked John straight in the eye. “As much as I am opposed to coercion, tonight I think we must see to it that Perry does not disoblige Lady Letitia.”

“Of course. ‘Twould be the height of incivility if he put a four-legged filly before his own grandmother.”

“Or even more appalling to contemplate, if he is allowed to slip away, the numbers would be thrown off, and you would doubtless be required to attend the opera in his stead.”

John grinned. “In that case, I am sure I can persuade the reluctant viscount to do his filial duty, even if I have to carry him bodily to his grandmother’s side.”

* * * *

Never, since the day she had first left Cornwall, had Cassie wished so desperately to be back home. She might have actually enjoyed the singing and the fancy costumes if anyone else in the theater had been paying attention to what was transpiring on the stage. Unfortunately, all the eyes in the theater were trained on her, or at least so it seemed.

The evening at the opera had not started out poorly, to be sure. But gradually everyone had become aware that Lord Fauxbridge, whose box was almost directly opposite Lady Letitia’s, was doing nothing but ogle her through his opera glasses. As a result, one after another of the occupants of the other boxes—followed in due course by the young bucks in the pit—had also begun craning their necks to see what the attraction was.

Or rather, who the attraction was. At first Cassie had felt herself blushing at being the center of attention, but she had assumed—wrongly—that when the performance began, everyone’s eyes would be on the dancers and singers. Now she was beyond blushing. Staring fixedly at the stage, she tried to avoid looking at the other boxes. Actually, all she really wanted to do was find a small, dark place to hide. It was unfortunate that no one had ever built a priest’s hole in an opera box.

Just the thought of such a thing made Cassie smile, and as soon as she did, a ripple of sound and movement swept through the crowd. Risking a glance around the theater, she saw to her added dismay that now people were not only still looking at her, but also talking about her—the “ladies” whispering behind their fans, the “gentlemen” talking about her openly, smirking with their friends, even pointing at her.

“Do you realize, my child, how much money most of the ladies here tonight would pay to be in your shoes?” Lady Letitia’s voice was a quiet murmur in her ear. “To be the center of attention at the opera is every woman’s dream. To that end, Lady Ermyntrude has festooned herself with every jewel and bauble she owns, the Mulrooney sisters have nearly bankrupted their brother to pay for their outfits, and Mrs. Hennings, among others, has come this evening in the sheerest of muslin gowns, dampened to reveal every one of her overabundant charms. Yet all their stratagems have failed, because it is you who has captured the fancy of the crowd.”

“They care nothing about me,” Cassie whispered back out of the corner of her mouth. “They only wish to see whether Lord Fauxbridge will be obtaining good value for his money.”

“It might help, my dear, if you were to picture Lord Fauxbridge standing in front of you at this moment.”

Cassie turned her head and looked directly at Lady Letitia, who, she discovered, was smiling seraphically, like the cat who has eaten the cream.

“Then you could imagine yourself placing both hands against his chest and giving him a mighty shove.”

The thought of the pompous Lord Fauxbridge tumbling head over heels into the pit was so ridiculous, Cassie had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Instead, she resolutely stiffened her back and fixed her most serene expression on her face.

Looking around the theater quite openly now, she felt her fear and cowardice melt away. Who were these people, to think they could stare her out of countenance? She was the daughter of an earl, after all. And not only that, she could cope with anything.

These people, however, were like delicate hothouse flowers. They would wilt if exposed to the biting wind of Cornwall—they would doubtless fall into hysterics if someone told them to skin a rabbit or muck out a horse’s stall.

Actually, if Ellen and Cecily were anything to go on, these ladies would probably have the hysterics if asked to iron their own ribbons or brew their own cup of tea.

When her glance reached Lord Fauxbridge’s box, she paused, once again seeing him in her mind’s eye tumbling over and over, like a child’s toy. The image made her smile, and at once the ponderous lord lowered his opera glasses. Then the fool held up his hand and wiggled his pudgy fingers at her, and again a murmur of sound swept the opera house.

Really, Cassie thought with disgust, the man has no common sense whatsoever. Deliberately wiping the smile from her face, she turned her attention back to the stage, but it was too late. The curtain was coming down for the intermission.

Glancing back at Lord Fauxbridge’s box, she was dismayed to see it was already empty. She would have wagered pounds to pence that she knew where he was headed, but she would have had difficulty finding any takers.

“Is it not wonderful?” Ellen spoke from directly behind Cassie’s ear. “I am positive Lord Fauxbridge is totally besotted with you. Now remember, if he asks to take you to meet his mother, you must say yes. Now is not the time to insult the man. He could still slip out of our grasp.”

I hope someone will let me know when it is the proper time to insult him, Cassie thought to herself. More practically, if she bestirred herself, she might still escape from the box before Lord Fauxbridge arrived. Standing up, she turned toward the door, but her step-mother seemed to have read her mind. Moving to cut Cassie’s escape, Ellen glared at Cassie, and it was obvious she was ready to go to any extremes to ensure that Cassie complied with her wishes.

Even knowing in advance it would be futile, Cassie looked around desperately for an ally, for anyone who might help her avoid the upcoming meeting with Fauxbridge. Her nominal escort for the evening, Mr. Ingleby, had already vanished from the box.

Then her eyes met those of Mr. Hawke, and she could see he fully grasped her predicament. The only thing preventing her from asking him to help was Digory’s words—”Men like you have described to me do not generally allow anyone else to make the rules for them.”

She had made a pact with Mr. Hawke once, back in that little inn in Cornwall, and she had survived unscathed. Dare she accept the offer she could now read in his face? Or would it be tempting fate once too often? Would he this time demand her soul?

Cassie’s desperate desire to escape from Lord Fauxbridge warred with her need for self-preservation. As a result, she was still staring mutely into Mr. Hawke’s eyes when the door to the box opened to admit Lord Fauxbridge.

Mr. Hawke raised one eyebrow in silent question. It would appear that the time had come for her to stop waffling around like a silly pea-goose and make up her mind. Deciding the devil she knew was safer than the pompous peer she had no desire to know, she nodded her head an infinitesimal degree. Mr. Hawke immediately bent and said something to Lady Letitia.

What it was, Cassie had no way of knowing, but before Lord Fauxbridge could do more than bow over her hand and begin to spout the most fulsome of compliments, Lady Letitia bellowed out, “Ah, Humphrey, dear boy. Come sit beside me and tell me how your dear mama is getting on. I have not seen her in an age.”

The “dear boy” was clearly torn by indecision, but Cassie deftly extracted her hand from his grip, and Lady Letitia took care of the rest. “Richard, do not stand there in Lord Fauxbridge’s way. Make yourself useful and take Lady Cassiopeia out for a walk in the salon. She is doubtless parched, and there is no need for her to stay cooped up in the box with an old woman like me. Dear Humphrey can keep me tolerably entertained until you return.”

Leaving behind a red-faced Lord Fauxbridge looking about as miserable as a grown man could look, Cassie laid her hand on Mr. Hawke’s arm and allowed him to escort her out into the corridor, which was now jammed with other theater patrons, some obviously intent upon securing refreshments, while others were merely using the opportunity to meet with friends.

As crowded as it was, a path cleared before them as if by magic, and Cassie’s smile gradually faded. For a moment she had forgotten how dangerous the man beside her was. She sneaked a peek up at his face. Well, perhaps dangerous was not the proper word since he had always treated her with the greatest kindness and respect. But still, there was definitely something about him that set him apart from the other gentlemen. Something that caused other people to move aside when he approached where they were standing.

It was not his clothing, which was in all ways a model of elegance and good taste. It was perhaps the intensity of his expression ... as if he were a man who was accustomed to getting his own way. But no, that made it sound as if he were an overgrown, spoiled baby, like Lord Fauxbridge. It was rather...