The Tigresse and the Raven (The Friendship Series Book 1) Page 6

  Fallone said nothing, but she imagined his speech would be as elegant as his attire. When he bowed, she smiled and dipped a curtsy relative to his gender and station, then confronted the other occupants in the room.

  She knew her father well enough to perceive that he masked some yet to be explained distress. When he swiftly stood to offer his place on the couch, she wondered if he had already gambled away their newly gotten gains.

  During the continued silence, Cassandra wondered why her father didn’t make introductions. An elderly man sat on the couch directly across from her. She supposed him to be her father’s newest man of business, since so seedy a specimen could never be connected to the excellent Mr. Fallone.

  Cassandra had a fondness for the elderly, stemming from the lack of older role models throughout most of her life. She admired the wisdom and dignity their years of experience had given them, but there was nothing likable about the grotesque person sitting opposite. He watched her every move with spider-like fascination.

  Ingrained manners took over. She found the stilted silence ridiculous. She broke the quiet by asking their elderly guest if he would like sherry or tea. He answered in an almost unintelligible and guttural accent of unknown origin.

  Hoping she’d heard correctly, Cassandra prepared his cup and extended his tea, trying not to expose her aversion when his hand, ending in long, filthy fingernails, scraped over her wrist and fingers.

  Try as she might, Cassandra couldn’t erase her revulsion. Everything about him offended. His clothes were outlandish, especially compared with her father’s and Fallone’s attire. A flaccid belly strained against a grease-stained waistcoat of faded, garish orange-pink. A musty, rancid stench reached across the low table. He was unfashionably without gloves, and the hand relentlessly stirring the tea was paper-skinned and blue-veined. She could find nothing to compare with the courtly, dignified gentlemen of the ton or the hard-working tenants at Tamer Hall.

  When the tea stirring finally ended, the horrid creature raised jaundiced eyes to hers. A leer exposed ragged, rotting teeth.

  Cassandra swallowed a surge of nausea and struggled to form a stiff, courteous smile. If Bakers succeeded in nothing else, she impressed upon Cassandra a profound respect for her elders, but on this occasion, Cassandra’s stout stomach failed her. There was nothing to like about the disgusting fellow. She knew this instinctively. Her face a polite mask, she handed her father a glass of claret, which he usually preferred.

  Edward Seyton cleared his throat to speak, but the old man cut him off. “I likes it quiet when I has me tay.”

  Aghast and bewildered, Cassandra glanced at her father, surprised that he would allow such impertinence to go unchallenged. She wasn’t pushed to the point of insulting a guest, but she did raise one haughty eyebrow. Looking away from the lout, she smiled warmly at Fallone, who came forward.

  “Mr. Fallone, how do you like your tea?”

  “I do not take tea, thank you, Miss Seyton,” he replied, ignoring the old man’s glare.

  “Claret, then?”

  “Nothing, for now, I thank you.”

  Fallone’s calm gaze caught and held hers. She saw strength of character and intelligence in his warm brown eyes. A wave of trust soaked through her as she searched his concerned expression. She liked him, she happily discovered, but was startled by the sudden flare of anger that hardened his expression.

  Fallone announced, as if thoroughly enjoying the act of flouting the old man’s previous edict, “Miss Seyton, I must apologize for our conduct. We are not behaving in a manner to set you at your ease nor are we in any way correct. I shall rectify this by making known to you my guardian, Mr. Percy Beason.”

  Cassandra worked to conceal her aversion. She had hoped that the creature sitting across from her wasn’t Arthur Fallone’s guardian, someone who’d be part of their lives until her husband achieved his majority.

  She found the wherewithal to rise and to curtsy to Beason, whose dissatisfaction with his ward’s disobedience flared to snarling displeasure when Cassandra extended her hand to Fallone.

  “How pleased I am to see you again, Mr. Fallone!”

  Her heart constricted when she saw that he knew she didn’t remember him. Too polite to embarrass her by mentioning it, he bowed and took her hand. She could not but admire his manners and kindness when she deserved less. He held her hand firmly and longer than necessary. She liked the reassuring comfort of his steady grip.

  She broadened her smile. “I must thank you for all that has been done for my family, Mr. Fallone. You’ve been everything that is kind and so very generous! I sincerely hope that I shall prove to be everything that you could wish for in a wife.”

  The pressure of his hand increased, almost painfully, when her father’s voice cut across her own. “Cassandra, you’ve made an understandable mistake. Mr. Fallone was just leaving. He insisted on staying long enough to greet you.”

  Cassandra frowned. Her hand slipped from Fallone’s when she turned to look at her father. “Am I being terribly stupid? I thought we were here to finalize a marriage agreement.”

  Her father’s livid face looked like one carved from stone. “I’m afraid that we quite mistook the particulars of the marriage agreements. You are not to wed Mr. Fallone.”

  “Not?” she murmured, her mind suddenly crowded with Tessa’s bizarre notions. Frightening demons fluttered inside her head. An unnatural calm settled over the room.

  Unable to look her in the eye, her father said in a smothered voice, “You’re betrothed to Mr. Beason.”

  Dazed, she sat and looked at Percy Beason, who had been avidly soaking up her father’s explanation with obvious glee. He savored a loud slurp of tea and watched her over the cup’s rim.

  It’s a joke, she distantly thought, a nightmare. I shall soon wake up and go for a long ride on Fleet. Reality intruded when Beason’s breath wafted across the refreshment tray and fouled the air above the serving table. Her heart began to pound. A trembling began inside, working its way out to her limbs. Her fingers suddenly felt cold.

  The reality of her future came into focus when Arthur Fallone left without a word of farewell. Beason withdrew a handful of newspaper clippings from his coat pocket and tossed them on the refreshment tray.

  Cassandra stared at the dirty newsprint blooming oily spots from the glazed tarts beneath. The spreading stains sparked her numbed mind to life. Her wedding ceremony could well turn out to be the comedic social event of the season, after which, the ton would drop her like a stone. She wondered if Beason realized that.

  Beason had been sly and subtle in his usage of his ward. Her father and Fallone had been in such haste that they hadn’t bothered to pay attention to details—simple details, like which name was on the documents. She’d been sold for silver. She now belonged to Beason, had belonged to him this morning when she thought she walked in freedom. The law made it very clear that she, as his wife, would never be able to refuse Beason anything. Husbands could beat their wives if they didn’t behave, or even if they were perfectly good.

  She wasn’t afraid of a thrashing. She would laugh through a beating just for spite, but she was still, God help her, afraid for her father and her family name. Marrying into the trade class was one thing, but a divorce meant social death. And Beason had the money to take them to court if the contract wasn’t honored. He could divorce her, leaving her and Tessa to starve and her family in disgrace.

  But Beason wanted her. Oh, how he wanted her! It showed in the eager gleam of his jaundiced, red-rimmed eyes. He studied her body and rubbed his bony hand against his knee. Cassandra felt soiled and shuddered.

  Beason’s vulgar stare never wavered when he started to talk, not seeming to care that no one listened. Cassandra heard some of it then stopped listening as soon as she comprehended why he wanted her; partly for retribution and somewhat for amusement. He thought it hilarious that his ward had threatened to run away with Cassandra and marry in Scotland, when the contracts had alread
y been signed and his financial accounts closed.

  Her father said nothing to her or in her defense. From that day forward, Cassandra vowed to have nothing to say to him. She loved him, but his weakness and betrayal were too painful to bear. Since there was nothing that could be done legally, she walled up her feelings in wait for the time it would take to heal, which might be never.

  Chapter 8

  Cassandra remained closed up in her rooms and refused to leave. A trousseau, purchased by Beason, arrived daily. Only the first box had been opened. Tessa crammed the offensive garment back into its container but unfortunately not before Cassandra had seen it.

  Tessa pointed at the unopened boxes piled in the sitting room corner. “I say we sell the lot and buy passage to one of the colonies.”

  When Cassandra only shook her head, Tessa stamped a foot. “Get some gumption! We’ve got but a few days. Some tart’ll pay us something for the lot.”

  Smothered under a blanket of hopeless lethargy, Cassandra ignored Tessa’s various escape plans. Cards and invitations, which dwindled considerably since the betrothal announcement, remained stacked in a teetering pile on a silver tray. Cassandra felt she had enough humiliation in store without reading the veiled insults of people she never considered her friends. She had no interest in reading prying questions from a community that would soon exclude her from their ranks.

  Cassandra tossed the cards into the fireplace but held back the invitation to Lady Wethermore’s rout and three carefully penned notes bearing the Earl of Ravenswold’s seal. Tempted, she stared at the thick blob of wax. She recalled his huge, formidable presence in the confines of the curricle and endured a curious yearning. To read his notes would only weaken her resolve and make her long for what she couldn’t have. She cast his unopened messages onto the flames, wondering if the man ever bothered to read the newspapers.

  Two days before the ceremony Cassandra received a surreptitiously delivered note. She stared at the folded vellum in Tessa’s hand and eyed the elegant script with suspicion. The wax had not been imprinted with an identifying seal.

  Her life had become so boring that it seemed worth the risk of another insult in exchange for the thrill of reading something mysterious. She sent Tessa on an errand, broke the seal and unfolded a single sheet of paper.

  She read through the letter twice, unable to believe its contents. Arthur Fallone begged for a secret meeting. He insisted on speaking with her in private, regarding a way out of the marriage to Beason.

  Hope blossomed in her heart. After rereading the incredible message, she crushed the letter to her chest and pressed her fingers over her mouth to smother a grateful sob.

  Invigorating confidence erased her lethargy. She feverishly thought of ways to meet in secret and sorted through possible barriers and problems.

  Her parents had not yet returned from the holiday taken to ease their depression and guilt. Cassandra knew her parents well and didn’t expect them to return from Brighton until the last minute, if at all. They would avoid her and the problem until forced to confront the latest result of their irresponsibility. The arrival of Lady Duncan on the heels of her parents’ departure became the most difficult obstacle.

  Her aunt, furious with the hasty, unsuitable betrothal, spent most of every day reducing all the law firms in London into jellies with her threats. Her aim was to bully them into finding a legal way out of the betrothal. Gloriously outraged, she refused to listen to excuses. Her niece must be freed.

  Cassandra knew Beason was no fool. There would be no legal loopholes. She tapped Arthur’s note against her lower lip. This evening, her aunt would attend the opera. Outrage and disgust hadn’t brought Lady Duncan so low as to refuse social engagements. Her aunt’s habit of taking supper with friends after the performance meant she’d return late and not rise from her bed until after luncheon.

  Cassandra quickly threw Arthur’s note into the fire. His request to meet at the gates of Hyde Park at seven in the morning could be done, but she wanted no one, not even Tessa, to know.

  Cassandra scribbled a quick sentence. Anyone reading the brief message scrawled on the page would have no idea of its meaning. Only Arthur would understand. When Tessa returned, Cassandra asked her to send a footman to Mr. Fallone’s rooms with the message and silence the servant with a shiny guinea from Tessa’s hoard.

  Tessa immediately demanded to know what the note contained, and since Tessa would need to cover her absence and provide the bribe, Cassandra finally told all. An ecstatic Tessa danced around the room and pledged to help in any way she could.

  ***

  Ravenswold flung Lindy’s scarf across the tea table onto her lap. “You said in the park that there was time! I leave town for a few days and come back to hear she’s betrothed. You promised, Lindy.”

  “Ah, you finally fetched it. This one is my favorite.”

  “Lindy!”

  She gave a tiny shake of her head and sighed. “Sit down, Rave. I can’t have you hulking over me. I’ll make you a dish of tea.”

  “Can’t stand the stuff.”

  “And lower your voice. You’ll frighten the servants. I haven’t cancelled the rout. You can still meet her there, but you may not cause a scandal and carry her away. The girl’s had enough of that to last her a lifetime.”

  “And why the blasted rush—a ceremony only days after the announcement?”

  “Please, sit down and stop pacing!” She glared up at him when he ignored her request. “We shall find a way around this, Rave.”

  “But why have it done so quickly?”

  “For any number of reasons, I expect. It has come out that the family finances are in a terrible state. Hurbert says that Seyton has papered the town with his vowels. From what I know of Cassandra Seyton, she won’t let her parents down.”

  “I recognized her for a proud lass from the start.”

  “It may be more than that, Rave. I believe she has a great deal of honor. Having once possessed that quality myself, I can still distinguish it in others.”

  Rave stopped pacing and looked down at Lindy’s pinched expression. “Enough of that, Lindy. What’s done is done.”

  She tipped her head. “You are perfectly right. Let us focus on what we can do for you.”

  “Look at me, Lindy.” He sat beside her. “Nothing will cause me to break our friendship.”

  A naughty smile smoothed the tightness from her features. She picked up the scarf and slid the slick material through her fingers. “But I suspect you will no longer feel obliged to repay me as you did recently.”

  He produced a grin to mirror hers. “No, love. That’s over now.”

  She chortled her sensual laugh. “Ah, well, there are others. You haven’t promised that you won’t shoot Beason.”

  “I can’t promise that. It would be preferable to ruin him, but from everything I’ve learned, that may not be possible.”

  Lindy lifted a shoulder, an elegant shrug. “He is inconsequential, if not for the grief he has caused Miss Seyton. I have no doubt that he paid handsomely for her, which means he is rich. There are other ways to thwart him. We both know people with influence.”

  Rave rubbed his brow. “That’s exactly what I thought, but Lindy, I went to some of my friends. Some of the most powerful men I know refused to speak to me about him. A few of them got quite white about the lips. Beason is not inconsequential. He has some influence. I’ve not yet discovered its source.”

  Lindy cast aside the scarf and reached for her teacup. “It’s obvious, Rave. It could only be one of two things—either scandal or money.”

  “Or both.”

  He got up to continue pacing. The silence of their thoughts filled the room. Lindy sipped her tea. She replaced her cup on the saucer with a delicate click.

  “Rave, what are you thinking?”

  He watched the passage of his boots across the carpet. “Perhaps snatching her from the church steps before the vows.”

  “Yet another scandal. How tediou
s. You still haven’t promised not to shoot him.”

  “As much as I would love that, I’ll curb my baser urges and leave that as a last resort. If she’s to be my future countess, public humiliation is a poor way to start.”

  “I agree. There must be other ways to bodily remove Beason that don’t involve spilled blood.” She started to say something else and stopped. “You’ve thought of something. That smile is positively unholy. What are you thinking?”

  Rave resisted the impulse to lick his lips. “Impressment.”

  “What captain would—oh, I understand. You’d pay to have him captured and impressed. But isn’t that done off the docks?”

  “A good point. I’ll lure him there. Yes, impressment. What do you think?”

  “That I’m glad you’re my friend and not my enemy.”

  Chapter 9

  Unable to sleep due to the expectation of the clandestine meeting with Arthur, Cassandra stayed awake, worrying. After distant bells tolled midnight, she heard a furtive noise in the back garden. She sat up in bed and listened. The night, warm early spring, allowed for the balcony doors to stand open. She strained to hear the faint noises, her gaze darting around the moonlit room until a pebble flew between the doors and bounced across the carpet.

  Cassandra acted without considering the consequences, somehow certain that Fallone waited in the back garden. She slipped out of bed and drew on a wrapper. Picking up the pebble, she threw it out over the balcony railing and heard its descent through the tree leaves. A moment later, scuffling, swishing sounds rose up from underneath the balcony. She flew across the room to lock the bedroom door and light tapers. When she looked up from lighting the last candle, Arthur Fallone stood on her narrow balcony.