Seducing an Angel (35 page)

“Paulson will scold me for a month,” he said, “if I do not spirit you all to the dining room within the next five minutes. He has had a cold luncheon set out for us all.”

“Oh,” Cassandra said, “I really must not—”

“—say no,” he said hastily. “I agree. You really must not. You would not enjoy being on the wrong side of Paulson for the rest of your life, Cass.”

“I am rather hungry” Kate said, sounding surprised. “Of course, I resisted having a cake with my coffee. Paulson is a dear, and I shall tell him so.”

Stephen’s sisters made their way out of the room without further ado. He kept Cassandra where she was for a few moments longer, until they had the ballroom to themselves.

“I was coming to call on you later,” he said. “I could scarcely wait. I have been thinking of you all morning instead of concentrating upon the business of the House. You look lovely in that particular shade of pink. It ought to clash horribly with your hair. How clever of you to know that it would not.”

“Oh, Stephen,” she said with a sigh. “I
wish
last evening had not happened. You and your sisters are so dreadfully …
decent
.”

He grinned at her.

“If you are still bent upon making this a temporary betrothal,” he said, “you will discover how horribly
indecent
I can be, Cass. I will fight for you quite mercilessly and with every dirty tactic I can muster.”

She laughed and cupped his cheek with one palm.

He kissed her, prolonging the embrace just long enough to leave her slightly breathless.

“An angel with grubby wings,” she said. “It is a contradiction in terms.”

He took her hand in his, laced their fingers together, and led her in the direction of the dining room. Bless his sisters for bringing her here.

To his own home.

20

I
T
was almost fortunate, Cassandra thought during the following week, that her temporary betrothal and preparations for the ball kept her so very busy. For it was difficult to be patient. Her lawyer had warned her that though he expected a speedy and successful resolution to her claim, nevertheless they could not reasonably expect to hear anything for two weeks, perhaps longer. In the meantime, she must not worry.

They did not, of course, hear anything. And she did, of course, worry.

But life had become impossibly busy. There was a dinner party to attend at Wesley’s one evening. Cassandra had not taken him into her confidence, as she had Stephen’s sisters. He would not approve. And he would surely blame Stephen, which would be grossly unfair. He was delighted by the engagement. He saw it as a solution to all her problems.

“For even if you recover your money and jewels, Cassie,” he said, “you will still be alone, and there will still be people who will think the worst of you. Merton will be able to protect you from all that.”

She
had
told her brother what William had said about Nigel’s death. She had also told him that William had been persuaded to say nothing to anyone else at least until her claim had been settled.
Wesley reluctantly agreed that it was probably a good idea not to stir up the old scandal again just when people were beginning to lose interest.

There was another dinner party and small soiree to attend at Sir Graham Carling’s, and a private concert to which Cassandra had received an invitation the very day notice of her betrothal appeared in the papers. There was a garden party the day after that, and again she had received a personal invitation.

Every day Stephen took her driving or walking in the park. On the day of the garden party, he took her for a morning ride on Rotten Row instead, having hired a horse for her for the occasion. It seemed to be years since she had last ridden and probably was. She had almost forgotten how exhilarating it was to be seated sidesaddle on a horse’s back, feeling its power and energy beneath her and controlling it all with the skill in her own hands.

But it was the preparations for the ball that consumed so much of her time that she even suggested on one occasion that perhaps she ought to give up sleeping until she had time to indulge in it again.

There were lists—endless lists—to be drawn up and acted upon. There were invitations to send and flowers to order and an orchestra to engage and a menu to be planned and a program of dances to be drawn up and … Well, the tasks were never-ending, it seemed. Stephen’s sisters could have done it all very well without her, Cassandra knew. Indeed, even one of them could. They might have grown up in a country vicarage, but they were now perfectly competent ladies of the
ton
. They insisted, however, that they work together and that Cassandra make one of their number.

“It is going to be such
fun
,” Vanessa said, having chosen to ignore Cassandra’s claim that she would never actually marry Stephen, “to have another sister. I have two sisters-in-law from my first marriage and three from my marriage to Elliott, but there is always room for more. There is
nothing
as wonderful as family, is there?”

Cassandra began rather wistfully to believe that indeed there was not. Stephen’s sisters did not live in one another’s pockets. They had their own separate lives, and they lived in different parts of the country except during the spring, when they met in London for the parliamentary session and the Season. But there was a closeness among them that made her heart ache with envy and longing.

She met Viscountess Burden and the Countess of Lanting, sisters-in-law of Vanessa and Katherine, during the week and even they claimed to be eager to welcome Cassandra into their larger family.

Yes, family—and sisterhood—were precious commodities indeed.

And life was busy.

Even at home it was not tranquil.

William was a wealthy man. Even apart from his portion as Nigel’s son, he was rich, having amassed something like a fortune in the fur trade during his years in America and Canada. Now he was ready to settle down. He wanted to buy land, to become a gentleman farmer with Mary at his side and his family already begun.

But Mary had dug in her heels. She would have been out wandering the roads of England as a vagabond, or in jail somewhere as a vagrant, if it were not for the kindness of Lady Paget, who had little enough of her own, the good Lord knew, when she was sent away from Carmel but who had taken Mary and Belinda—not to mention Roger—with her when she went. Mary was
not
going to abandon her ladyship now just because Billy had come home, not, at any rate, until she was married right and tight to the Earl of Merton, who was a proper gentleman no matter what he did when he first met her ladyship—though
that
, no doubt, was on account of the fact that he fell in love with her, as what man would not when she was so beautiful? He had more than made up for his sins since. And if Lady Paget chose
not
to marry his lordship, though it would be remarkably foolish of her not to—
not
that Mary had any right to judge her betters, especially to call
them foolish
—then Mary would
stay with her until she got her money and settled somewhere with proper servants. Though Mary wanted to see those servants with her very own eyes first, because there was no knowing what riffraff there might be in London who thought they could cook and clean for a lady. Mary was staying, at least for now, and if Billy did not like it and wanted to go off looking for land before she was good and ready to go with him, then so be it.

Every time Mary delivered this lengthy speech or some variation on it, she ended up in tears, her apron up over her face, and William had to offer a shoulder for her to cry on while he patted her back and grinned and assured her that he had no intention of going anywhere before Cassie was settled. And Mary must be a goose if she thought he would go.

Alice was no better. She returned from her three days in Kent looking ten years younger. Her eyes glowed. So did her cheeks. So did her whole person.

“Cassie,” she said before she had been back in the house ten minutes, “they are wonderful people, Allan’s family. They are a close-knit group and yet they opened the arms of friendship to me. More than friendship, actually. They treated me like one of themselves.”

Allan
now, was he?

“I am so glad,” Cassandra said. “You are to see more of Mr. Golding, then?”

“The silly man wants me to marry him,” Alice said.

“Silly indeed,” Cassandra agreed. “Did you say yes?”

“No,” Alice said, setting her cup in the saucer with a slight clatter. The cup never had made the full distance to her mouth.

“No?”

“No,” Alice said firmly. “I asked him to give me time to think about it.”

Cassandra set her own cup and saucer down on the table beside her.

“Because of me, I suppose,” she said.

Alice pursed her lips but would not deny it.

“Alice,” Cassandra said with a severity that was not feigned, “if you and Mary between you force me into marrying Stephen, I will have the greatest difficulty forgiving either of you.”

Alice merely looked mulish.

“Of course,” Cassandra said, “both of you would deny that you had done any such thing. You are both postponing your futures or even denying them altogether just in case I do
not
marry him. I will not allow such tyranny. I will give both of you notice—very
short
notice. I will terminate both your employments.”

“What employment?” Alice asked. “I have not been paid in almost a year. I think that means I am no longer your servant, Cassie. I am only your friend. You cannot give your friends the sack. And if you try to get rid of Mary, she will only give you the length of her tongue and burst into tears and make you feel like a worm. And then she will stay and refuse to let you pay her, and you will feel like a giant worm. And Mr. Belmont will stay with her because, to his credit, he is besotted with her—and with Belinda. And you will be forever tripping over him as he mends everything in this house that needs mending—a never-ending task if ever I saw one. You will end up feeling like a
dragon
.”

Cassandra shook her head and picked up her cup and saucer again.

“I am going to buy a cottage with
one bedchamber,
” she said, “and there will be no room in it for anyone but me.”

Having had the last word, she drank her tea to the dregs with some satisfaction.

And why were Alice and Mary suddenly on Stephen’s side when less than two weeks ago they had both thought him the devil incarnate? But that, of course, had been before they met him. How could
any
woman resist those angelic looks once she had set eyes upon
him? And how could any woman resist his warm charm when it was directed her way? He did not play fair. For every time he came to the house—and he came every day—he had a word and a smile for Mary and a word and a smile for Alice.

Oh, he did
not
play fair. For of course,
she
had to look upon all that beauty every day too, and
she
had to expose herself to all that charm. And
she
had memories of more than just good looks and charm.

And always at the back of her mind was one needling question: Why could she
not
marry him when there was not a bone or muscle or blood cell in her body that was not giddy with love for him?

She had not killed Nigel, and Stephen knew it. She was not so foolish that she still believed every man in the world to be rotten to the core. She had been unfortunate to marry a man with a sad illness that was destructive both of others and of himself. It had not been her fault that he could not be cured of that illness. Neither had all the beatings she had suffered been her fault, though for all the years of her marriage she had blamed herself.

There was no real reason why she should not marry Stephen and reach for a little happiness after all the years of pain. Except that she felt used and sullied and world-weary, and Stephen seemed the opposite. She could not convince herself that she would not somehow be harming him by marrying him. That she would not be stealing some of his light.

And did he really love her? If that kiss had not happened to force him into offering her marriage and to make him gallantly claim to be in love with her, would he ever have freely wanted to do either?

Perhaps eventually, Cassandra thought, she would regain her confidence and self-esteem to such a degree that she would consider marrying again. But not now. Not yet. And not Stephen.

But how could there ever be anyone else
but
Stephen?

One thing she no longer doubted—in the privacy of her own heart. She loved him with all her being.

*  *  *

Stephen had not been as busy as Cassandra, or at least no busier than he usually was. He had offered his assistance with the planning of the ball, which was to be held at
his
house to celebrate
his
betrothal, but his sisters had looked at him collectively with the sort of fond impatience they had sometimes shown him when at the age of ten or so he had arrived home with torn breeches or muddy boots just when they were preparing for a church bazaar.

Men were not needed for
ton
balls, it seemed, in any capacity but to dance with the ladies and make sure that none of them were wallflowers.

He concentrated most of his energies that week upon persuading Cassandra to marry him during the summer—without actually saying a word on the subject. He concentrated upon making her fall in love with him.

It was no longer a matter of gallantry.

It was a matter of his own lifelong happiness.

He did not tell her that, though. The very last thing he wanted to do was trap her into marrying him by engaging her pity. He had told her once that he loved her, but now actions must convince her that he had spoken the truth.

The ballroom looked quite stunningly gorgeous. It looked like a summer garden, complete with sunshine. Not that there
was
sunshine, but the yellow and white flowers and the banks of green ferns gave the illusion of light, and the candelabra overhead had been washed and polished and rubbed into such brightness that the three hundred candles seemed almost superfluous.