The Tigresse and the Raven (The Friendship Series Book 1) Page 2

  Her heart thumped in her throat, choking off the words. “No, this cannot be.”

  “It is gone, Cassandra. Heavily mortgaged, as is this place.”

  Mortification stiffened his features. “I am indeed heartbroken that you had to learn the sort of people you have for parents. Your mother and I are neither respectable nor responsible. We’re only what the groom calls us when he thinks our backs are turned—The Quality.”

  Cassandra fought down her own distress and tried to soothe him. “Papa, I love you still, even if Tamer is lost.”

  “You may not be so fond of me when I am finished with this accounting. I’d hoped to have you well married at the end of this season. That would’ve left your mother and me free to leave the country. You see, my dear, we had to use what was left of your inheritance and dowry to buy this one season and a little time.”

  “But the impression has been given all over town that I have a respectable dowry!”

  “That lie will not be laid at your door. If it should come to light, the falsehood will be known as mine.”

  She stared, breathless from shock. “Is there anything left to sell?”

  “The carriages and horses go to Tattersalls tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Papa, you can’t auction the grays at Tatt’s! Sell them to friends. You’ll fetch a much better price.”

  “I’ve many acquaintances, Cass, but no friends who have the kind of blunt that’s needed. In any event, I’ve borrowed from them too often. And unfortunately, not repaid.”

  Cassandra heard bewildered desperation in her voice. “Papa, could we not make use of Mother’s jewels?”

  “Your mother cannot do without her fripperies and does not know that she’s been wearing paste for the last six years.”

  Cassandra sat, stunned to silence. She collected her courage to ask, “How deep is our debt?”

  “Thirty-three thousand.”

  Cassandra slumped back against the chair. No wonder her father looked so desperate! But there had to be a solution, other than the obvious one, which was to marry a wealthy man and quickly.

  “Papa, I never thought to hear myself saying this, but couldn’t you win it all back at cards?”

  “We are in our present dilemma due to my gambling losses and your mama’s fondness for extravagant fashion. I’ll never play again. I no longer have the credit, nor the emotional resources to do so.”

  She rapped a fist on the chair arm. “There must be some way.”

  “Please, do think of something. I loathe resorting to using you to pay for my sins.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first Seyton to do so. We Seytons are well-known for our profligacy and the tactic of using the issue to pay the piper’s price. It’s a wonder to me that I’m not addicted to every sin, having two Seytons for parents.”

  After a moment, she asked with her usual, reckless candor, “Whatever induced you to marry Mama?”

  He blandly replied, “She is beautiful.”

  “So are opera dancers, Papa, but one does not marry them.”

  “You are not kind, Cassandra.”

  “No. But I am honest. Let us hope that I’m also clever enough to find a way out of this financial pickle.” She narrowed her eyes in concentration, until she felt them widen with an idea. “Papa, I have the very thing to float us out of Dun Territory and into a pot of cream!”

  His attention remained on the garden. “What is that?”

  “We shall race Fleet. He’ll make bags and bags of money! There’s not a horse alive that can catch him over heavy ground, and at flat racing he’s ahead of the wind. Oh, what a perfectly splendid solution!”

  “No, Cassandra.”

  “But Papa, he’s still young enough that a race or two won’t harm him. We could give him ample time to rest between wins. And you certainly must know an adept and cunning jockey.”

  Her enthusiasm faded when her father bowed his head, leaned into the window frame. He hid his face behind a shapely hand. “Cassandra, last month, when we came to town, the squire came to visit.”

  “All the way from Devonshire? I hope you didn’t sell Tamer to him. He has a way of overusing everything until it is beyond repair.”

  “He didn’t buy Tamer.”

  “I’m glad. The field that borders our land and his sheep pastures has never been reclaimed from his ill use. It’s the talk of the district and—”

  “He came to request payment on a personal loan he had extended to me while you were at seminary.”

  “That couldn’t have been anything but unpleasant.”

  “Indeed. Quite unpleasant. I did try to tell him that I had nothing, but he insisted that I had the means to cancel the note before he broached the courts.”

  “The courts? It must never come to that! How did you fob him off?”

  “I was unable to do so. Cassandra, apparently while I was disguised, I signed Fleet as collateral. I am so very sorry, my dear. Fleet is no longer at Tamer, just as the house and land are no longer ours.”

  It took a moment to find her voice. “Squire Hempstead has my Fleet?”

  When her father nodded, her mind shied away from the distressing vision of the squire’s meaty hands jerking on Fleet’s bridled mouth. The reason her horse couldn’t be brought to town was due to his volatile temperament around strangers. Hempstead would have no patience with that.

  “But—”

  “Cass, he assured me that you’re welcome to visit Fleet whenever you like and had the temerity to lecture me on the inappropriateness of a girl riding a stud.”

  Shock forced her to view reality Then, there was nothing left. Nothing as important as Tamer Hall and Fleet. Her future livelihood and best companion had been taken away. All of her silly little girl dreams of finding a husband who would allow her to create a stud farm withered and died in an instant.

  The past and her future loomed in sharp contrast, exposing a responsibility not entirely her father’s. She frolicked through three seasons with grand airs, secure in her popularity and the belief that she could have her own way in all things. She assumed that achieving whatever she wanted was only a matter of flaunting her social position and the beauty she despised. She’d always known that her looks would bring her to this point, the sale of her exterior.

  She needed to latch onto something to keep her mind off Fleet. Desperation and confusion had her mentally leaping for any measure of control. She had no other choice but to take up the role of responsibility for her parents. If their futures depended entirely on her acceptance of a wealthy husband, it must be done.

  She settled into the idea and lifted her downcast gaze. “There is nothing left, then?”

  “We are completely without funds, my dear. The only answer is for you to marry.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Immediately.”

  She feared her lighthearted reply wouldn’t mask her panic. “How very inconvenient.”

  “My dearest girl, how we have wronged you!”

  “We will hear no more of that, Papa. I should like for you to find the richest gentleman out of all of my suitors, or any eligible parti. I can’t offer any suggestions as to my preference, since I’ve not taken any of them seriously. I trust you’ll choose someone kind and worthy. He needn’t be handsome or young. But I would like it very much if he had light hands on the ribbons.” Her mind went to a gentle giant. “You know how I cannot tolerate the sight of a rough hand on a soft mouth.”

  “I must agree.”

  “And I would find it especially agreeable if he is of sufficient height to…um…dance with me in a decorous fashion. Is it too much to ask, about the height?”

  Her father shook his head. “Years ago, I had some concerns that a young lady so very tall might not take. I couldn’t have been more in error. Arbiters invite you to every gathering, knowing how you attract gentlemen.”

  “Papa, is there any possibility of resurrecting the interest of past suitors?”

  “Three of them have since become betrothed. Four of
the most recent prospects are respectable and titled, but without the necessary blunt.”

  “There must be someone, Papa.”

  “There is only one left who might suit our needs. I hesitate, because his guardian is a rather disreputable sort. Don’t care for the man’s address and his coats are deplorable!”

  “The guardian or the ward?”

  “The guardian, of course. I don’t mind the shop smell, but the fellow reeks of it! His ward is a good lad, quite unexceptionable, but somewhat young.”

  “Are we in a position to be so particular?”

  “No, but this is a decision that will affect the rest of your life. I will be as particular as I may.”

  “Have any of the Four Eligibles come forward?”

  “I had wondered when they did not. Have you been introduced to all of them?”

  “Only Asterly, Sir Harry and Bantam Bates.”

  Cassandra paused when the memory of a quiet ride in the rain evoked an odd twisting sensation around her heart. She didn’t want to imagine what Rave would think of her when the scandal broke. For some reason she couldn’t admit or explain to herself, his opinion meant more than anyone else’s. She searched for the thread of the conversation to get away from yet another lowering thought and inwardly cringed when the lie slid out of her mouth.

  “I’ve yet to meet the elusive Ravenswold.”

  “Ravenswold! Out of the Four Eligibles, he would most definitely not be my choice for you.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why?”

  “Your Aunt Jane was friends with the earl’s late mother. You know your aunt’s feelings about me. She and the late countess delighted in disparaging me. Jane repeated every remark to your mother, who in turn, railed against me. I want nothing to do with that family.”

  To guide him away from talk of Ravenswold; she said, “Asterly is the only one of the Eligibles with any sense.”

  “Ah, but Asterly is quite poor, whereas Sir Harry and Bates have such style! And what about Bainbridge? Not one of the Four, but have you met him?”

  “I’ve known Bainbridge since childhood. Have you forgotten that one of his estates is connected to Tamer? And as much as I care for him, I don’t think we would suit, or that he would have me. Who is left?”

  “Only the ward of the odious guardian. Do you recall meeting an Arthur Fallone?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Nevertheless, you made a lasting impression on him! He possesses a decidedly charming and agreeable address. One could not help but like a man like Fallone, although he is rather reserved.”

  Cassandra stared at the garden flowers, scarcely able to think. The perfumes that had seemed so refreshing before now smelled cloying. She felt the weight of her father’s gaze.

  “There’s no time left for dithering, Cass.”

  Cassandra squared her shoulders. “Papa, I think he will do, this Mr. Fallone. Do you contact him, or must I do something feminine and foolish to renew his regard?”

  “I can’t conceive of how you’ve overlooked him. He’s been camped on our doorstep for weeks!”

  “Oh, Papa, he’s one of so many. And they’re all so tedious and tame.”

  “Conceited is what you are!” he teased with a chuckle, briefly resembling his former self. “And you’ll have very little to do with the marriage arrangements, my girl. Shame on you! Young ladies of innocence and virtue never exchange correspondence with gentlemen outside the family sphere.”

  “Oh, foot! When have I ever been taken as a proper miss? And furthermore, you like me this way. You’ve encouraged me to be outrageous, Papa. You are a rake, and undoubtedly why I prefer them.”

  “You shouldn’t, Cassandra. We’re a sorry lot.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what I like about men as a gender. I’m going up to see if Mama has decided to be done with her headache. I trust that you’ll make an arrangement that will suit our present needs. And don’t worry, Papa. I’ll not mind being married. If he is rich enough, perhaps I may be able to persuade him to buy back Fleet.”

  He walked her to the library door. “My dearest girl, I can’t tell you how grateful I feel that you’re doing this for your mother and me, and after we’ve dealt with you so shabbily.”

  The tears she’d been hoarding suddenly welled up and spilled down. She whispered something nonsensical and fled.

  Chapter 3

  Lord Ravenswold’s town carriage rolled into Piccadilly. He stepped down at the east corner of Bolton Street and entered Watier’s. He hadn’t come to partake of the gambling club’s excellent food, and he never wasted time gambling when he knew he would lose. He hunted a particular man, one who deserved a thrashing. His entire body itched with the urge to punish the lout who dared to insult his lady. It didn’t matter that she was unaware of his claim on her. She would know before long.

  An odd feeling settled over him as he thoughtlessly nodded at acquaintances coming and going. It felt as if generations of his family condensed into this moment. The Ravenswolds were a fractious lot, eager to pick a fight or draw daring boundary lines. Tonight, he followed the footsteps of ancestors who never backed down from protecting their territory. He felt helpless to stop and impatient to start. The Bible was right, as usual—it must be something in the blood.

  Inside the club, the aromas of cooking beef warred with pipe smoke and burning candle wax. He liked what the Regent’s chef did with a joint of beef, but he’d eaten earlier at Brooks. He divested himself of coat, hat and cane but retained his gloves to protect his knuckles. This visit would not take long.

  Rave turned to begin his search and felt his stiff expression relax into a smile when he spied a familiar face approaching, although recognition was secondary to the startling distraction of a bright lavender jacket. The gentleman in the atrocious garment, Sir Harry Collyns, was the twin of Rave’s closest friend, Lord Asterly.

  Rave glanced over the facade Sir Harry created for his evening on the town. His bright blond waves fell into a coup de vent—a fluke of nature that caused more than a little envious teeth-gnashing. His pale-yellow inexpressibles fit so snugly that he might as well have worn nothing for modesty’s sake.

  Rave couldn’t stop a grunt of laughter. No one but a bosom friend of Prinny’s would dare to show himself in such a rig in a club where Beau Brummell reigned.

  “Well met, Rave!” Sir Harry called in a melodious baritone ruined by the affected accents of the Holland House set. He lifted an amethyst-studded quizzing glass. “And what, my dear Whigish friend, do you do here? I thought Brooks was more your style.”

  “Indeed, it is. I am come to geld a court card. Care to second me?”

  Sir Harry’s evil chortle and expression clashed with his angelic exterior. “Oh, you excellent, sweet man! I was about to faint from ennui, and you have restored my soul unto me. Who are we to dispatch, and may I know why?”

  Impatient to get his fives on his quarry, Rave snapped, “Lord Peppleton, and no you may not.”

  Rubbing his palms together in unholy anticipation, Sir Harry said, “Lead on, Macduff!”

  “No, Harry, you shall be my hound. Point the way.” As they left the foyer, Rave asked, “Is your brother here?”

  “Perry? Never! Tories give him a rash. You couldn’t get him through these doors if you put a pistol to his head. My darling brother is somewhere on the continent, impaling frogs for king and country.”

  “Do you know where Peppleton is hiding?”

  “How impatient you are, ye of little faith. Of course I know where he is. He’s winning at Macao.”

  Ravenswold nodded to acquaintances as they made their way through the crowded club. “Does he have anything to say?”

  “A great deal and he’s only on his second bottle. The embroidery added to this evening’s pack of lies is appalling. It would surely force me to take the Mason’s way out and slit my throat if I had to resort to slander to get anyone’s attention. How did you hear of it?”

  “A di
screet aside at Brook’s, of course. Harry, are you sure you’re taking me to the right room?”

  “Naturellement! Nothing flies faster than gossip. I despise the game of bantering about the names of the fairer sex in men’s clubs.”

  “And here I thought your pretty face was the reason why all women fall in love with you.”

  “Well, yes, there is that, but they trust and appreciate a chivalrous spirit more.”

  “Do they, Harry? I shall keep that in mind,” Rave murmured and scanned the elegant card room. His roving gaze stopped and locked on his prey then he stepped back from the doorway.

  A speculative gleam brightened Sir Harry’s cobalt blue eyes. “You have an interest in the lady he so ungallantly maligns?”

  A memory of Cass flooded his mind, her glorious red-gold hair and the challenge in her feline, topaz eyes. “The lady has been talked about quite enough for one night. You know this place better than I. Where is the closest private room?”

  “There’s a card room down the hallway, second door on the right.”

  Rave asked, “You’re positive it’s unoccupied?”

  “Saw them leave a few moments ago. Heard them talking about making a bet at White’s.”

  “Then flush the fox from his hole and bring him to me. Shove him inside and pay someone to make sure that we are not interrupted.”

  Harry raised an eyebrow. “What a fearsome fellow you are this evening! I had hoped you would allow me to watch you make a hash of him.”

  “This is a private affair. Get him. And don’t tell who awaits him.”

  Harry touched the tip of his quizzing glass to his temple in a jaunty salute. “Tally-ho!”

  Rave stood to one side of the doorway to watch Harry tap Peppleton on the shoulder, unfold his painted fan and whisper in the baron’s ear. Minutes later, an unsuspecting Peppleton, who was well on his way to being fully in his cups, got escorted into Rave’s temporary lair. Aggravation coiled tighter at the sight of the fop who dared to put his hands on Cass and then malign her for defending herself from his slimy advances.

  Rave could barely speak through the tension in his throat. “You may leave, Harry.”