Seducing an Angel

/19/

"I AM going out for a walk," Cassandra said, though she made no move to put words into action. She was standing at the sitting room window, looking out on a day that had not quite made up its mind whether to rain or to shine, though it seemed more inclined to decide upon the former.

She had not slept well – hardly surprisingly.

Now this morning everyone had become insubordinate.

Mary had refused to stop working in the kitchen or to stop addressing Cassandra as /my lady/.

"You are my stepdaughter-in-law, Mary," Cassandra had tried to explain, but to no avail.

"/Someone/ has to cook our breakfast and make our tea and wash the dishes and all the rest of it, my lady," Mary had said, "and it had better be me since I daresay neither you nor Miss Haytor nor Billy knows one end of a frying pan from the other. And I am no different today than what I was yesterday and last week and last month, am I?"

William had been working on the sitting room door when Cassandra came downstairs, and now the door shut tight without having to be given an extra yank. Since then he had mended the clothesline outside so that it was no longer in danger of falling to the ground, taking a load of clean washing with it. And he was in the process of cleaning every window in the house, inside and out.

William always had been energetic and restless, of course, and far happier being busy with some manual labor than idling away his time at more gentlemanly pursuits. Nigel had intended him for the church, but William had openly rebelled after finishing his studies at Cambridge.

Alice was the worst of all this morning. She was attacking the sheets with her needle, and she was downright prunish. She had an annoying I-told-you-so look on her face, an expression to which she was entitled as she had indeed told Cassandra that William had not shot his father but that Nigel had shot himself.

And Alice had given Cassandra an ultimatum, or what amounted to one.

Either Cassandra agreed to honor the betrothal that had been announced verbally last night at Lady Compton-Haig's ball and would be announced in writing in tomorrow's papers, or Alice would have nothing more to do with Mr. Golding.

It was ridiculous and it was a non sequitur. But Alice was adamant.

"I daresay," she had said a few minutes ago, "Mr. Golding means no more than friendship by inviting me to accompany him to his family's home to celebrate his father's birthday. I daresay that after we return I will not see him again except by chance. But I will not even /think/ of seeing him again, Cassie, if you are going to insist on continuing with this silly and wholly unrealistic plan of settling in a small country cottage somewhere in the country."

"It is my idea of heaven," Cassandra had protested.

"Nonsense," Alice had told her. "You would be bored and miserable within a fortnight, Cassie. You would be far better off marrying the Earl of Merton, since despite everything the two of you seem fond of each other and I believe that after all he is a harmless, even decent, young man.

Besides which, there will be a new scandal if you break off the engagement now, and you really do not need another. You ought to have thought of all this before allowing him to kiss you in the middle of a ball. If you insist upon going to live in the country, I am going with you. And there is no point whatsoever in giving me that look. Looks do not kill. Mary will not be going with you, after all, will she? And though you will doubtless soon be able to hire half a dozen servants to take her place, you will not /know/ any of them. Or any of your neighbors. And what will they think if a strange widow comes to take up residence in their village without even as much as a companion to lend her respectability? No, Cassie, if you go, I go too."

She had seemed to know the main power point of her argument.

"And I will never see Mr. Golding again," she had added once more for good measure, snapping off her thread with her fingers.

And so Cassandra had threatened to go out for a walk.

"I'll take Roger with me," she said now, drumming her fingers on the windowsill.

Though Roger, the traitor, had been shadowing William about the house all morning. So had Belinda, her doll clutched to her bosom, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"You do that, Cassie," Alice said without looking up from her work. "And take an umbrella."

But it was too late. A carriage was approaching along the street, and it looked far too grand a conveyance to be on Portman Street even before Cassandra saw that there was a ducal coat of arms emblazoned on the door.

It drew to a halt outside her house, and she felt curiously resigned when the liveried coachman opened the door and set down the steps and handed the Duchess of Moreland down onto the pavement. She was not even surprised when he then proceeded to hand out the Countess of Sheringford and Lady Montford.

But of course. The whole triumvirate.

Their brother had announced his betrothal to her last evening.

"We have visitors, Alice," Cassandra said.

Alice set aside her work.

"I will leave you to them," she said. "I still have some packing to do."

And off she went before Mary could tap on the door and announce the three ladies.

And so it began, Cassandra thought. The grand charade.

"Lady Paget," the Duchess of Moreland said, sweeping toward her across the room and drawing her into a hug. "But you are going to be our sister. I am going to exercise a sister's right and call you Cassandra.

May I? And you must call me Vanessa. We simply refused to wait until a more decent hour to call upon you, and so you must forgive us. Or not, I suppose. Anyway, here we are."

She smiled sunnily.

The Countess of Sheringford hugged Cassandra too.

"Last evening," she said, "we were inhibited by a rather large audience and so could not greet you quite as we wished. It was wretched of Stephen to kiss you like that out on the balcony when I certainly brought him up to know better, but we were delighted nevertheless to discover that he was so deeply in love that he had grown reckless.

Stephen is almost never reckless. And we are very pleased that it has happened with /you/. Our only wish for him has always been that he find love and happiness, Cassandra. I am Margaret."

"And I am Katherine, Cassandra," Baroness Montford said, third in line to hug her. "Stephen engaged and planning a wedding! My mind has still not fully comprehended the reality of it. But there is so much to do we scarcely know where to begin. We know that you have no mother and no sisters, though it was a pleasant surprise to discover that Sir Wesley Young is your brother and that you are not all alone in the world. Meg, Nessie, and I are going to be your sisters after you marry Stephen, but we have no intention of waiting until that happens. We are going to help you celebrate your betrothal and plan your wedding."

"It is really quite wicked of us to be almost glad that you have no female relatives of your own," Vanessa said. "But we are glad, nevertheless. We are going to have /enormous/ fun for the rest of the Season – unless you plan to marry before it ends, of course. Where do you – "

"Nessie!" Margaret laughed and linked an arm through Cassandra's. "Poor Cassandra's head will be spinning on her shoulders if we do not soon curb our enthusiasm and stop jabbering. We have come to take you out for coffee and cakes, Cassandra – provided you do not have other plans for the rest of the morning, that is. And when we are sitting down and are relaxing, we are going to discuss your betrothal ball at Merton House.

We are going to see to it that it is the grandest squeeze of the Season."

Cassandra looked from one to the other of them – beautiful, fashionable, elegant ladies, all well married – and wondered if they could possibly be as delighted by her betrothal to their brother as they claimed to be. It did not take much power of observation to understand that they adored him. /Of course/ they were not delighted. They must be dismayed, alarmed, worried… They were, she guessed, making the best of a bad situation, of what they thought was a fait accompli.

She made an impulsive decision. Putting on an act for the /ton/ during what remained of the Season was one thing. Deceiving Stephen's sisters was another.

"Thank you," she said. "I would be delighted to go out for coffee in your company. And I will be pleased to help with the ball. There will be no wedding to plan, though."

They all looked inquiringly at her.

"There will be no /wedding/," she said.

None of them spoke. The duchess clasped her hands to her bosom.

"I like your brother," Cassandra said. "He is probably the kindest, most decent man I have ever known. He is undoubtedly the most handsome. He is also very… well, /attractive/. I believe he finds me attractive too.

Indeed, I know he does. That kiss resulted from our mutual attraction, nothing else. It was unpardonably indiscreet – on both our parts. The Earl of Merton behaved with great presence of mind and gallantry when he saw we had an audience. He announced our betrothal. But it is something neither of us wants, and we cannot allow the whole of the rest of our lives to be dictated by one foolishly impulsive kiss, though he, of course, feels obliged to protect my reputation. I cannot humiliate him by refusing to have the betrothal announced and celebrated, and so I have agreed to remain betrothed until the Season ends. Then I will put a quiet end to it. Your brother's reputation will suffer scarcely a dent, I do assure you. Indeed, everyone is sure to be very relieved for him.

Yourselves included."

His sisters exchanged glances.

"Bravo, Cassandra," Vanessa said.

"It is so /good/ of you," Katherine said, "to be frank with us."

"Now," Margaret said briskly, "we have to decide whether to let Stephen know that we know. Will he be annoyed with you for telling us, Cassandra?"

"Probably," Cassandra said. "I am sure he considers our betrothal real, and I believe he hopes to make me change my mind. He does not, of course, really /want/ to be married to me. But he is unfailingly gallant."

"And also," Vanessa said dryly, "incurably in love. That has been very obvious to us for a few days. And he openly admitted to me just a day or two ago that he really /likes/ you, Cassandra. That, when there is emphasis upon the word, is an enormously significant admission for a /man/ to make. I do believe that the male lips and tongue were formed in such a way that it is virtually impossible for them to utter the word /love/, especially in combination with those other two words on either side of it – /I/ and /you/."

"And so," Margaret said, "we must disagree with you, Cassandra. It would seem altogether probable to us that Stephen really does wish to marry you."

Cassandra could think of no answer to make.

"We will say nothing to Stephen of what you have told us, then,"

Katherine said, looking from one to the other of her sisters for confirmation. "And perhaps we will never need to. We must warn you, Cassandra, that his happiness is very dear to our hearts, and if his happiness can be achieved only through having you for a bride, then we will do all in our power to see that there is a wedding for us to plan."

"But you cannot /possibly/ want me for him," Cassandra said, spreading one hand over her bosom. "I am twenty-eight years old, I was married for nine years, my husband died under sufficiently mysterious circumstances that I stand accused of his murder in public opinion, and Lord Merton and I have known each other for little longer than a week."

She counted the points off on the fingers of her free hand.

"You need to know something about us, Cassandra," Margaret said with a sigh. "Perhaps it is due to the fact that we were not born and bred as aristocrats and have therefore found it impossible to /think/ like aristocrats even if we have almost perfected the behavior most of the time. However it is, we all contracted marriages that were potentially disastrous, and we have all somehow made them work. More than that, we have all made them into love matches. Why should Stephen be any different from us? Why should we warn him against the potential disasters of allying himself with you when the potential for happiness is there too?"

"We have learned to trust love," Katherine said with a smile. "We are eternal optimists. I will tell you /my/ story one of these days. It will raise the hair on the nape of your neck."

"If we do not leave here soon," Vanessa said, "we will be having coffee and cakes for /luncheon/ instead of for midmorning refreshments."

"I will go and fetch my hat," Cassandra said.

She was not sure, as she climbed the stairs, whether her decision to tell Stephen's sisters the truth had freed her of complications or merely entangled her in more.

He had told Vanessa, even before last evening, that he /liked/ her.

She smiled – and felt the ache of tears in the back of her throat.

William was on his hands and knees in the upstairs hallway, mending a loose floorboard that had been squeaking ever since she moved in.

After leaving the House of Lords, Stephen made his way homeward rather than toward White's Club as he usually did. He had much on his mind.

White's would be an uncomfortable place for him anyway today, after last evening. He would be the victim of some merciless teasing if he went there. The House had been bad enough, though no one there had made any open remarks. He had intercepted several knowing smirks, though.

Every gentleman's worst nightmare was that he would somehow be trapped by a small, inadvertent indiscretion at a public entertainment into an unwanted leg shackle.

His own indiscretion had hardly been a small one. And hardly inadvertent.

Good Lord!

But was his leg shackle unwanted?

He had fallen in love with Cassandra. He had lain awake last night trying to force his mind into total honesty, trying to strip away the layers of guilt and gentlemanly honor and wishful thinking that clouded it so that he might know the truth of his feelings. Not that the truth mattered one iota now. Cassandra must be persuaded into agreeing to marry him.

But the truth had stared him unwaveringly in the eye no matter how much artifice he had stripped away.

He /was/ in love with her.

But did it naturally follow that he also wanted to marry her? Did he want to marry /anyone/ this early in his life?

Those questions, of course, did not need to be agonized over. He had been caught in a rather deep embrace with her, and marry her he must.

Especially given the precarious nature of her reputation.

He was going to have a quick luncheon, he decided as he approached Merton House. Then he was going back out. He needed to talk to William Belmont. The truth of /that/ debacle had been wonderful to hear last night, but Stephen was not at all sure that blurting out the truth for the whole world to hear was the right thing to do.

Paget had committed suicide while in a drunken rage.

His body would quite possibly be exhumed from the churchyard and reburied in unconsecrated ground.

And Cassandra was his widow.

She would be embroiled in a newly unsavory sensation. /If/ Belmont's story was believed, that was. The chances were that most people would still believe the old axe murderer story. It was more salacious. The new story would merely revive a scandal that was becoming old news. Most people probably did not /really/ believe it and were growing bored with thinking it.

Perhaps Belmont could be persuaded merely to reinforce the official verdict on the death, which was that it had been accidental. He could claim quite truthfully that he had been there and had seen what happened. His word would carry some weight – except among those who were determined to believe the worst. He was the late Paget's son, after all.

And there was Cassandra to see after luncheon. He would take her out somewhere if the sun made up its mind to shine. He would begin his campaign of persuasion. He would use all the charm he could muster to persuade her to fall in love with him.

Actually, he could hardly wait to see her again.

He bounded up the steps to the front door and knocked lightly rather than produce his own key. He tossed his hat to the footman who opened it and grinned at his butler, who was just emerging from the nether regions of the house.

"There is no need to fall into a panic, Paulson," he said. "A luncheon of cold meats and bread and butter will be more than sufficient. Can it be on the table within the next half hour?"

But Paulson had something to tell him.

"Lady Sheringford and the Duchess of Moreland and Baroness Montford are here, my lord," he said. "They are in the ballroom, I believe. They /did/ say that they would not stay for luncheon, but they have been here longer than an hour and have doubtless forgotten how late it is. I have taken it upon myself to have a cold repast set out for them. I will add a place for you, my lord. All will be ready in ten minutes."

His sisters? In the /ballroom/?

It did not take any great intellectual effort to guess the reason why.

They were taking charge before he could even ask them to. They were planning his betrothal ball.

"Thank you, Paulson," he said as he turned to the staircase.

He took the stairs two at a time.

Should he /tell/ them? he wondered. About the betrothal being a mock one, as far as Cass was concerned, that was? He would not, he decided before he reached the top of the stairs. It was an irrelevant point. By the end of the Season the betrothal was going to be real on both their parts. They were going to marry during the summer. At Warren Hall, he hoped, though he would be quite agreeable to St. George's here in town if that was what she wanted when the time came.

He found his sisters standing in the middle of the ballroom, their heads tipped back to regard the chandeliers overhead. There were three of the latter, it being a large and magnificent room, though it had not been much used in his time. A single gentleman did not have a great deal of opportunity to host lavish entertainments in his own home.

His betrothal ball would be an exception. He looked forward to it with some enthusiasm.

Stephen stood in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I have counted seventy candle holders in this chandelier. There will be an equal number in the one at the other end. The middle one is larger.

It must hold a hundred candles or more. That is at least two hundred and fifty candles in all, not counting the wall sconces. It will be an /impossible/ extravagance. The candles alone will cost a fortune."

The voice was coming from the orchestra dais at the far end of the room.

Stephen had not noticed her before she spoke up.

Cassandra.

Her head was tipped back too.

As if Paulson and the housekeeper would not know how many candles would be needed to light the ballroom – without having to count holders and give themselves a crick in the neck into the bargain.

"I was about to send for the reserves when I heard my house had been invaded," Stephen said, raising his voice. "But it would be a pointless exercise, I can see. You have taken possession until after the betrothal ball, I suppose?"

"Unless /you/ want to plan it all on your own, Stephen," Margaret said as he walked farther into the room.

He grinned as he kissed her on the cheek and turned to do likewise for his other two sisters.

"Perhaps," he said, "I ought to call out the reserves after all to make sure none of you escape before the day."

Cassandra was approaching along the ballroom floor, looking slightly pink in the cheeks.

He went to meet her and twined an arm about her waist before dipping his head to kiss her briefly on the lips. It was a heady sensation, seeing her like this in his own home.

"My love," he said.

"Stephen," she said as he turned her so that they were facing his sisters.

They all wore identical smug expressions.

"We went out for coffee and cakes," Cassandra said. "I was congratulated by at least a score of people, Stephen, though the notice has not even appeared in the papers yet. It was all quite dizzying. And gratifying," she added as if as an afterthought.

"It is a good thing, then," he said, "that we meant what we said when we announced our betrothal at the ball last night."

Her eyes smiled at him. There were identical smiles on his sisters' faces. He wondered how they really felt about his betrothal.

"A very good thing," Cassandra agreed. "Though it was /you/ who made the announcement."

"As was only right and proper," Meg said. "One shudders to imagine what would have been the reaction if /you/ had made it, Cassandra."

It was a comment that sent all the ladies into paroxysms of merriment.

"And the very /idea/," Nessie said, "that you might /not/ have meant it, Stephen. Or that Cassandra might have contradicted you. It makes me feel quite vaporish just to /think/ of it."

"And we would not have had this lavish ball to plan," Kate added. "Or the even more lavish wedding this summer."

They all chose to be hugely amused again as if they were in some sort of conspiracy against him.

Stephen hugged Cassandra closer to his side and smiled down at her.

"I see that you and my sisters are getting along famously," he said. "I might have warned you that they would not wait until after the wedding to take you under their wing."

"We were discussing the colors of the floral arrangements before we turned our attention to the chandeliers," she said. "We all agree that the effect has to be bright and sunny, like a garden, though we have not yet decided exactly /what/ colors there will be or how many."

"Yellow and white," he suggested, "with lots of greenery?"

"Perfect." She smiled into his eyes.

"Inspired," Nessie said. "Cassandra is going to wear a sunshine yellow gown, Stephen. It will look quite stunning with her coloring, though of course she would look quite stunning even in mud brown. I am /mortally/ jealous of that hair."

"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.