The Unofficial Suitor (11 page)

“You can make it more difficult for me, but you cannot prevent it,” he replied.

“Or, under certain circumstances, I can make it more easy,” she countered.

He did not ask what those circumstances might be. She would tell him in her own time, but asking would only turn him into a supplicant, which would make his position weaker, and he fully intended to win this duel of words.

“My grandson does not intend to stay in England, does he.” She said it as a statement, not as a question, so Richard did not bother to confirm what she had already deduced for herself. “I do not think I will be able to persuade Perry to change his mind. You, however, have considerable influence on him.”

“I? I have never been able to persuade him to use the slightest caution before rushing into a dangerous situation.”

“I believe, however, that in this case he would listen carefully to whatever you might have to say. Do you deny that?” The old lady was really a ruthless opponent, giving no quarter at all.

“No, I admit I have some influence with your grandson.”

“And will you use that influence to help me persuade him to keep his title and estates and remain in England?”

“In return for which you will help me win the hand of Lady Cassiopeia?”

Her eyes fixed steadily on his face, she nodded.

“No,” Richard replied bluntly, “I will not.”

Lady Letitia leaned back in her chair and stared at him for long moments. Finally she spoke again. “I am beginning to have the feeling that whatever I were to offer you, you could not be bought.”

For a moment he could not speak. Her words had conjured up a memory of the time when he had been bought—when he had been a tall, skinny boy of fourteen with bruises covering his arms and legs, and with his back striped by a cat-o’-nine tails. Dragged ashore in heavy chains, he and John had been forcibly stripped of their clothing, placed on a block, and auctioned off as if they were horses. No, not like horses—horses were treated with more respect.

Forcefully banishing the memory of that dark hour, Richard asserted in a flat voice, “No, I cannot be bought.”

“Then,” Lady Letitia said, “I shall help you court your fair lady, and in return I shall ask just one tiling—a favor, if you would, not a bribe or a payment.”

The old lady was full of surprises. Richard, however, had never liked surprises since nine times out often they turned out to be nasty, even dangerous surprises. Nor did he have any faith in the altruism of people in general. “First you must tell me why you are willing to help me since I am admittedly not a gentleman.”

“Has my grandson ever mentioned to you that I am a confirmed matchmaker?”

Richard shook his head.

“I am successful in my chosen avocation because I have learned to see behind the masks people wear, to see the real people with all their shortcomings as well as their strengths. And I have also become adept at matching the people themselves—not their titles or their property. I have had very few failures—and I am referring to failed marriages, not failures to marry. Lady Cassiopeia has much of her mother in her, and knowing what I do about you, I believe that you and she will have a very long and satisfying marriage.”

“Because she needs to marry a wealthy man? One who is also strong enough to protect her from her brother?”

“Ah, so you have already heard of Lord Blackstone’s reputation?”

“I am afraid what I have learned about his lordship goes beyond a tarnished reputation. Despite his title, he has collected a wealth of enemies, which is hardly surprising, considering the fact that he appears to have no redeeming virtues.”

Lady Letitia nodded. “Quite accurately described. But actually Lady Cassiopeia’s needs were not my primary consideration. I was thinking more about what your needs are.”

“Why should you worry about me, a veritable stranger?”

“If it has slipped your mind that without your intervention on several different occasions my grandson would be lying in an unmarked grave in America, I assure you that I, at least, will never forget the debt I owe you.”

“And yet you tried to bribe me into helping you?”

The old lady smiled, a very satisfied smile.

Richard groaned. “Why did Perry not inherit any of your deviousness?”

“Deviousness?” she asked, her expression now all innocence.

“You were never trying to coerce me, you were merely testing me.” He should feel some anger at having been manipulated so easily and so effectively, but all he could feel was admiration. It was not often someone bested him as neatly as she had done.

“I do not read minds, Mr. Hawke, although I delight in giving people that impression. I also do not accept any one else’s evaluation of a person I am interested in. And you, I must admit, are quite the most interesting person I have met in months. Which brings us back to the favor I was going to ask of you.” She paused and looked at him expectantly.

“If you are waiting for me to say, ‘whatever you wish,’ then you shall have a long wait. I never agree to something without knowing what I am agreeing to.”

“All I ask is that you satisfy an old lady’s curiosity.”

“If I am to forgo styling myself a gentleman of leisure,” he said with a laugh, “then by the same token you cannot be allowed to call yourself an ‘old lady.’”

“But I am old, and I am a lady, and those two things have restricted me more tightly than the iron shackles that once bound you.”

Richard caught his breath, and for a moment it seemed as if the world had tilted beneath him.

“There are marks on your wrists,” Lady Letitia said simply. “And I recognize them for what they are. Scars like that are only made when manacles are worn for an extended period of time.”

Looking down, he saw that she was correct. He must remember to have new shirts made with sleeves an inch longer.

“Perry gets his love of adventure from me,” she continued. “But unlike my grandson, all my life I have had my freedom curtailed, my activities limited to what a well-bred English female was allowed to do. I was married off at seventeen to a man I had been introduced to only once, and by the time he died, when I might have had the freedom to travel the world and seek the adventures I craved, I had four small sons to take care of. Even though over the years I have adjusted to my ‘captivity’ and have learned the exact length of my ‘chains,’ I have never learned to love my cage, and it would be a kindness indeed if you would tell me of your adventures in great detail, so that I might experience a little of the world beyond my bars, even if only vicariously.”

Looking at her sitting there, her back so straight, Richard’s admiration for her increased. How many years had she endured her “chains,” always maintaining an inner integrity, refusing to grovel? A lesser person would have gone mad, or battered herself to death against the bars of her cage. How could he refuse her such a simple request?

Apparently taking his silence for acquiescence, she said, “To start with, you can tell me where you were and what you were doing in the six years between the time your ship was lost and the time you appeared in New Orleans with the beginnings of your fortune.”

Of all the things she had said to him, this last remark cut the deepest. Everything else he was willing to talk about freely—all his other adventures traveling around the world he could relate to her in as thorough detail as she was willing to listen to.

But not those missing six years—not the years that had been stolen from him. He had never discussed that period of his life with anyone, not even with Tuke. By tacit agreement, they never mentioned their time as slaves. Even now, more than a dozen years after they had escaped from captivity, the memory was still too painful.

Did Lady Letitia know that she had brought him to his knees with that one remark? She was not obtuse or stupid—she must know what she was doing to him by her “simple request.” But looking into Lady Letitia’s eyes, he saw no triumph, no morbid curiosity, no pity—only great compassion and deep understanding.

“I may look old and frail,” she said softly, “but my shoulders are still strong enough to help bear the burdens of my friends.”

Slowly and without conscious decision, he began to speak. “Our ship was not lost in a storm—it was attacked and sunk by pirates.”

* * * *

“I would feel so much better if we had a man to escort us,” Ellen repeated for at least the twentieth time since their hired hack had joined the line of carriages waiting to disgorge their passengers, who were all bound for the opening ball of the Season, being held this year at Sefton House.

Privately, Cassie thought that nothing would make her feel better except, of course, somehow miraculously being transported back to Cornwall. After several weeks of purchasing extensive wardrobes—always on credit, to be sure—interspersed by occasional morning visits to other ladies who were also deeply engrossed in preparations for the coming Season, the moment had finally arrived that she had been dreading ever since her brother had informed her he planned to support his hedonistic life-style by selling her.

Tonight she would be introduced to dozens of men, and the pre-sale inspection would begin. She felt positively ill at the thought of all the eyes that would be trained on her. “I think I am going to be sick,” she said.

Ellen patted her hand. “I felt the same way before my first London ball. But you need have no worry that you will be a wallflower. Believe me, the men will flock around you like bees around a honey pot.”

Before Cassie could explain that she would much prefer to sit out all the dances, the door to their carriage was opened.

After more than an hour of inching their way forward, they had arrived at their destination.

Half an hour later, when they were only halfway up the stairs, Cassie realized she had been overly optimistic. At the rate they were progressing, it would almost appear that by the time they reached the ballroom, the evening’s festivities would already be drawing to a close. Only one good thing had come of the long delay—her anxiety had gradually been replaced by boredom.

But they did, finally, arrive at the door of the ballroom, where they were announced with great ceremony. Such was the noise in the room, however, that Cassie doubted anyone standing more than five feet away could have heard their names.

Someone had noticed their arrival, however. No sooner had they passed through the receiving line than Ellen clutched her arm and murmured, “Oh, how fortunate! Lady Letitia is signaling us to join her. Did I not tell you I have some influence with her?”

Slowly, stopping frequently to acknowledge the greetings of old friends, all of whom expressed their delight at seeing her in London once again, Ellen began working her way around the edge of the room toward the place where Lady Letitia was sitting in solitary splendor. They were halfway to their goal before Cassie realized with horror that Lady Letitia was not actually alone, but was instead a member of a small party. Indeed, why should she have come to such an event if not with an ulterior purpose? Her “ulterior purpose” in this case was apparently her grandniece, Cecily Ingleby, who although boring, was not in the least bit threatening.

The danger, however, lay in the other members of the party. Lord Westhrop was now handing his grandmother a glass of liquid refreshment, and beside him—loomed was the only word that came to Cassie’s mind—the ubiquitous Mr. Hawke.

Catching her step-mother’s arm, Cassie pulled her behind the nearest pillar and hissed in her ear, “Wait! I do not wish to join Lady Letitia’s party.”

“Not join her? Are you insane? To disregard her summons would be tantamount to social ruin,” Ellen replied, starting to pull her arm away.

“But only see who is with her—the very men who you yourself said can destroy our reputation.”

After a quick glance around the pillar, Ellen smiled reassuringly. “We have nothing to worry about, my dear. If those men were going to tell scurrilous tales about us, the gossip would already have spread throughout the ton. Since it has not, we may assume they are men of honor, whose word can be relied upon.”

Cassie was not reassured in the slightest. “I am not worried about gossip,” Cassie said, hanging on more tightly to her step-mother’s arm. “But Mr. Hawke frightens me.”

“Really, Cassie, you surprise me. I had not expected you to be so missish.”

“It is not missishness. The way he looks at me, he makes me feel—” She broke off, not able to reveal to Ellen the turmoil she felt every time she met Mr. Hawke’s eyes.

“Have you no common sense at all? Have I taught you nothing? Mr. Hawke is said to be as rich as Croesus, and he can do nothing but add to your consequence if it is seen that you have attracted his interest.”

“But I fear his interest in me is serious, and I do not at all wish to marry him.”

“Marry? Pray, are you not putting the cart before the horse? The man has not even asked you to dance with him, and already you have him on his knees? I had not thought you so conceited. Besides, no one is going to force you to marry where your heart is not given.”

“Geoffrey intends to choose my husband for me,” Cassie said baldly.

For a moment even Ellen’s optimism seemed dented, but then she rallied. “Well, your brother is the head of the family, after all, and as such he has the right to approve or disapprove of your suitors.”

“But he has already told me to my face that I shall be allowed no say in the matter,” Cassie said, desperately wishing that somehow for once her step-mother would show a little backbone. “It is intolerable! I cannot allow him to ruin my entire life.”

“Well, after all, arranged marriages are not so uncommon. Why, my own father picked the man I was to marry. And I am sure he chose wisely since it is quite ... quite pleasant to be a countess.” Ellen’s voice wobbled a bit at the end, and her smile became almost a grimace.

“Oh, my dear,” Cassie said, instantly sorry she had put so much pressure on her step-mother, who was indeed a frail reed.

But Ellen was equally unable to withstand pity. At the first sign of sympathy, she affixed her social smile firmly in place. “It is not as though that man is a duke or an earl—why, he is just plain Mr. Hawke, without even a sir to add consequence to his name. I am sure you can attract numerous suitors who are vastly superior to him. Since you are the daughter of an earl, I cannot believe even Geoffrey would force you to marry a man with no title, no matter how rich he might be. So pray let go of my arm and come along, do, before Lady Letitia decides we have forgotten all about her.”