A False Proposal (2 page)

Cass’s face turned ashen. She opened her mouth and started to speak, but then lowered her gaze and hastily rose, cutting off her own words. Dropping a curtsy, she smiled, and, all sweetness, said, “Good day, Mr. Grey. Do visit us again sometime.” And then she rushed from the room.

Adam had gotten the last word. So why did he feel like the worst kind of rogue?

Chapter Two

Cass fled to her bedchamber, cursing herself for almost losing control. She’d rather be transported than allow Adam to know he’d reduced her to tears. But in truth, his words had stung, reopening a wound it seemed would never heal. She sat down at her dressing table and, chin propped in her hand, ruminated on their conversation.

First, the business about her fiancé crying off. Why had he assumed it wasn’t she who’d cried off? Adam wouldn’t have far to go for the truth. His mother, flamboyant and fashionable, had gained a reputation as a woman in the know. No doubt she remembered all the juicy details and would gleefully relate them to her son.

But it was the part about not being a suitable wife, not being able to hold her tongue… That truly hurt and seemed so unlike the old Adam, liaison-in-hallway notwithstanding. It bordered on cruel, and he had never been that. Perhaps he’d grown bitter because of his wartime experiences. She knew from Jack that Adam had been estranged from his father for some time; maybe that had made him jaded about everything.

Cass had always prided herself on her intelligence, her ability to hold her own in conversation. Her father, even though he’d been a viscount, was also a noted classics scholar. He had loved a good political debate and had been a close friend and supporter of Mr. Fox. From an early age, Cass had been encouraged to participate in family discussions by both her parents.

Apparently, Adam didn’t approve of women who made their voices heard. That was a change. The year she’d made her come-out, before the disastrous ball, Adam had been a frequent guest at Linford House. Jack had enlisted his help, ostensibly to fine-tune her social skills—dancing, conversing, warding off overly aggressive suitors. But Cass knew her brother was more concerned about having a trusted friend upon whom he could rely, to help him watch over Cass and keep her safe. To make sure she never lacked for a dance partner or someone to go into supper with.

During his frequent visits to the house, she and Adam had discussed and debated all manner of topics—the war, the Catholic question, the Poor Laws. Never once had he made her feel he did not value her opinion.

Could he be on the hunt for a wife? Politicians needed one.

Cass had begun to wonder if she might yet want to marry, now that Philippa was no longer a little girl. She knew that was what her family wanted for her. After the disaster with Lord Bentley, her erstwhile fiancé, she’d pushed all thoughts of marriage from her mind. Looking after her sister had become her highest priority, especially after her mother’s death. Although she’d maintained her equanimity when she told Adam she was securely on the shelf, in her deepest self, she didn’t want to believe it. Which was why his last comment hurt so much. It was a bit too close to the truth. The things Cass liked to talk about: politics, history, travel, to name a few, marked her as a bluestocking, the kiss of death if she wanted a husband. Women were not meant to be interested in matters outside the home, unless they involved charitable work.

Cass rang for her maid, and while she waited for Agnes, studied herself in the glass. Could any man want her for a wife? Desire her? She used to think so, but now she wondered. Ordinary brown eyes and hair; a good, some might even say superior, complexion. A tiny mole on one side of her upper lip was the only flaw. Straight nose, unexceptional cheekbones, and a rounded chin. At least it was not pointed, or receding.

More to the point, perhaps, for Cass—was there any man who would do as a husband for her? She’d blundered so badly the first time, been wounded so deeply. The possibility of making the wrong choice a second time made her sick inside.

“Afternoon, Miss Cassandra.” Cass’s good-natured maid, Agnes, entered the room, with a ewer of hot water for washing. She helped Cass undress down to her chemise. When her ablutions were completed, she slipped into a dressing gown, as it was too early to dress for dinner. After asking Agnes to return in an hour, she grabbed a book and curled up in her window seat. For some reason, her attention kept straying from her reading, a lackluster account of a gentleman’s travels in Italy and Greece. Was it because the man was a poor writer? More likely, the cause was her restless mind, which kept straying back to Adam. She wondered which countries he’d visited. Probably Italy and Greece, if he truly was, as he’d stated, continuing his education. One always heard that Mediterranean women were exotic, beautiful. Adam had probably romanced plenty of them.

It wasn’t simply his cutting words that had upset her. It was his…presence. His handsome countenance, his confident air. And the way he seemed to fill up the room. It had always been thus with Adam, and Cass had always fallen prey to it. She couldn’t allow herself to think about him as anything more than a longtime friend of her brother, a rather rude one at that. She must put him out of her head altogether. How hard could it be, when she hadn’t seen him in years? If she desired a husband someday, he would be the last person she would consider, and she was convinced the feeling was mutual.

…

As they had no dinner guests, Cass dressed in a simple sprigged muslin, a pale green. Just because she felt like it, she asked Agnes to dress her hair in a more stylish way than the usual knot at the top of her head. Nothing fancy, only a few curls left loose to brush the nape of her neck. Cass had to admit she liked the feel of it. Her brother commented on it.

“You’ve changed your hair, Cass. It flatters you.”

She blushed, aware of Cousin Louisa’s quizzical brow.

Philippa, always on the alert for opportunities, said, “
OOO-oo
. I bet you were hoping that handsome Mr. Grey was staying for dinner. Do you fancy him?”

Refusing to succumb to a ten-year-old’s teasing, Cass said, “Don’t be nonsensical, Philippa.”

“I wish
I
were old enough to dance with him at a ball, or accompany him to the theater,” she said, sighing dramatically.

“Maybe your wish will come true,” Jack said. “I don’t believe Adam has any immediate plans to marry. If you ask nicely, he may wait for you.”

“You’re funning me, aren’t you?” Philippa asked her brother, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Me? I would never do that, poppet.”

Philippa’s look was so scathing, Cass and Jack roared. Even Louisa chuckled. But afterward, she began instructing the child on the proper decorum at table.

“You had a rather extreme reaction to Adam today, Cass,” Jack said, sipping his wine.

She immediately went into a coughing fit. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I would say I rather had the worst of it,” Cass said. “He insulted me.”

“But you goaded him into it by questioning his interest in politics. And calling him ‘Mr. Grey.’ What on earth were you referring to, something about the year you made your come-out? As I recall, Adam played the role of perfect gentleman.”

“Nothing. Just some gossip I heard about him back then.”

“To do with his being a rake, no doubt.”

Cass glared at her brother. “Lower your voice. Pippa doesn’t miss a thing.”

“Well?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.” She’d agree with anything to get him to hush up.

“He’s much more serious now. The war changed him.”

Cass paused with her spoon in midair. “I suppose it would.” She recalled what Adam had said about Walcheren, how so many had died of disease rather than in battle. It seemed so unfair to go off to war, only to be struck down by an insidious enemy one had never anticipated. “It sounds as though what he experienced was horrifying.”

“It was, and I’m sure he told us the cleansed version.”

“It must be hard having to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Never speak the complete truth about what you suffered, and what you witnessed.” Cass was thoughtful for a moment. “Jack, is Adam still estranged from his father?”

“I’m not certain. He hasn’t mentioned it. Why do you ask?”

“No reason, only that a man’s father may be the only person who could listen and understand such a thing.”

Jack looked thoughtful. “I’ve never known what caused the break between them. Adam doesn’t speak of it. Whatever happened, he and his mother have lived in town since.” Jack paused long enough to drink some wine. “He rarely returns to Surrey, and she does only infrequently, though she owns a country home there. He’s got an older brother who still lives with their father, you know.”

“
Hmm
. I’d forgotten there was a brother.”

“I say, are you going to eat that soup or not?”

Cass realized she was still holding her spoon cocked halfway to her mouth. Quickly she brought it to her lips and swallowed. She didn’t taste a thing, though. Her thoughts, all her senses, were focused on Adam.

…

Cass hated balls. She blamed her former fiancé for it.

When she was younger, she’d enjoyed them well enough. Flirting with dance partners while keeping the complicated steps of a quadrille straight was a sort of competition for the younger set. After Adam had gone away for good, she relaxed and let herself be taken in by the excitement, fun-seeking crowds, and never-ending stream of
on-dits
spreading over town like the Thames overflowing its banks.

Somehow, she had managed to never become a target of the gossips. She’d conducted herself with dignity and some reserve, and although she loved to dance and flirt as much as anyone else, she had made certain her behavior was always above reproach. After all, she’d been schooled from an early age on ways of attracting a husband. Every girl was. She was also well schooled in French, Italian, the classics, music, and drawing, but somehow those didn’t seem to count as much. Making a fool of oneself by becoming intoxicated, loud, or silly, well, those behaviors tended to repel a man.

Then, two years ago, Cass had met Oliver, Viscount Bentley, and after a six-month courtship had become engaged to him. To her disillusionment, it was not a love match. She thought she might fall in love with him eventually, but realized it would be one sided. Handsome, sophisticated, and twelve years her senior, Bentley’s choice of Cass as his bride had been a surprise to everyone, including herself. It seemed more a giving-in to his obligation to produce an heir than a true wish for her hand, in particular. She would be a suitable mate for him and mother to his children. After all, she was willing, the daughter of a peer, and passably attractive and intelligent.

To her chagrin, he had kept an emotional distance between them, never confiding anything personal, nor had he ever made a serious attempt to learn more about the lady who was to become his wife. She’d given up on drawing him out after her few attempts had been met with a raised brow, one-word answers, or complete silence. Since he’d been so disinterested during their betrothal, life with him in a marriage had hardly born thinking about. Cass had begun to worry that theirs would be one of those alliances for posterity’s sake; that as soon as Bentley wed and sired an heir with her, she would see little of him. She had envisioned a lonely existence, spending her days with her children and other ladies who found themselves in the same situation, while her husband spent his at his club. And the evenings would have been even more depressing, Cass would have attended balls and musicales alone, while Bentley gambled and dallied with a mistress.

Cass had heard the rumors. She knew he’d kept a mistress. An honorable man would give up such a relationship before he wed, if only for a time. Perhaps her betrothed had not been an honorable man. She had considered talking to Jack about her concerns, but knew it would’ve been embarrassing for them both. And her mother, who had already been in the early stages of the illness that had taken her life, would have brushed her off and told her she was fortunate indeed to be marrying a man like Bentley.

After the horrifying event that had swiftly ended her engagement, she had stayed away from balls, indeed, from town; and when finally forced back by her family, she had situated herself squarely against the wall with the dowagers, chaperones, and the other women who were not yet married. Probably never would be married, most of them, herself included. She knew there were some in the
ton
who still regarded her with disdain; knew it, but was powerless to change it.

Tonight, though, for the first time, she felt a little flutter of anticipation in her belly. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t because Adam might be present, but she knew that was a lie. As she alighted from the carriage, she took a deep breath
. Calm down, Cass. He may not be here, and even if he is, he probably won’t even look my way. And he insulted me! I should be furious with him.

Dodging puddles and manure, she made her way to the sidewalk. The Mainwarings lived in a newly constructed home in Mayfair, and Cass paused to admire the elegant fanlights above the door and the lacy wrought iron work on the balconies above. They passed through a portico supported by fluted stone columns to join the receiving line. Since Jack had wished to escort his fiancée, Jenny, to the ball, Cass and Cousin Louisa were alone.

After greeting their hosts, she and her cousin entered the ballroom. Instead of making a beeline for the dowager’s wall, though, she hovered at the door, hoping to spot Jack and Jenny.

“Come along, Cass,” Louisa said. “Why are you dawdling?”

“Cousin, I believe I shall look for Jack. Do go on without me. I’ll join you later.”

Louisa cast her a suspicious look. Oh, for heaven’s sake, was she that firmly entrenched with the dowagers, wallflowers, and women on the shelf? So much so that her own cousin couldn’t believe she might want to do what other people did at balls?