“Let me get you a glass of sherry,” Lakehurst said, rising to his feet. He crossed to the beverage cart set against the wall and poured a generous portion of the light, reddish-brown liquid into three glasses. Cassandra watched him balance the delicate glasses in his large hand. He handed one glass to her, then his sister, before taking the last for himself.
He sat back down. “So tell us what happened,” he said, his expression sympathetic, inviting her confidence.
Cassandra drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She didn’t know why she felt comfortable with this gentleman. He was quite the tallest and largest man she’d ever seen. Larger than the smithy at Baydon Castle, and that man was big. She nodded mutely, looking forward to sharing her story with someone other than family. She wanted to hear their summation, if they thought the same as her late husband’s uncle and his wife, that she was ill with Hysteria.
There suddenly were voices outside in the hall. She jerked her head up, looking fearfully from Lord Lakehurst to Lady Guinevere.
“Please do not say anything about my reaction to the book. Or that I ever looked at it.” She patted her cheeks to bring color back to her face.
“Why?”
The voices were getting louder.
“Please?!” she repeated.
Lakehurst and his sister exchanged glances again, but when they looked back at her they nodded.
“We won’t,” Lord Lakehurst promised. “If you promise to tell us the tale later.”
“And you call us Lakehurst and Gwinnie, not Lord Lakehurst and Lady Guinevere,” Lady Guinevere added severely.
“I will try,” she said hurriedly before schooling her features to a pleasant smile and looking toward the door of the parlor as it opened.
* * *
Lakehurstand the two women stood up as his grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Malmsby, and the others entered the parlor. His grandmother had her arm linked through his cousin Ann’s arm, and the two women were giggling together like schoolgirls. Though her own red hair had gone white with age, her face revealed little of the evidence of her years. She bore just a few perpetual creases at the edge of her always-smiling eyes that reminded those who knew her how mischievous she could be.
“I gather all the pre-marital paperwork has been completed to everyone’s satisfaction?” he said.
His father, the Duke of Malmsby, slapped the Duke of Ellinbourne on his back. “More than satisfactory,” he said. “He insisted if anything should happen to him, Ann will have an ample income and will not be left dependent on an executor to control her money. Very enlightened thinking. I like that. I am glad to see this concluded before my journey to Northumberland tomorrow.”
Miles shrugged slightly, discomfited by the Duke’s praise. “I believe more men might stipulate such terms if they had to see what might happen to a widow when her well-being is not accounted for. My sister is totally at the mercy of what her uncle-by-marriage gives her as he controls the marquessate coffers.”
Lakehurst turned to look at Lady Darkford. She had her lower lip caught between her teeth and was looking down at her clenched hands, a blush staining her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Cassandra, to speak so openly,” said her brother, “however, your situation greatly angers me. That you are entirely dependent on your uncle-in-law to buy so much as a ribbon is intolerable. I would happily fund a widow’s jointure for you; however, the fact that you are forced to live with them or else they will take your son from you is not to be borne.”
Lakehurst’s eyes narrowed. “Live with them? On what grounds?” he asked, his eyes shifting to Lady Darkford.
“That they cannot ensure I would be capable of giving him the proper education for a marquess as I am a clergyman’s daughter without knowledge of the intricacies of the aristocracy,” she offered softly.
“That is ridiculous!” the Duchess exclaimed. She shooed Gwinnie out of the way and sat down next to Cassandra. She covered Cassandra’s clenched hands with her own. “We will have to do something about that!” she declared.
“Mother—” warned the Duke of Malmsby.
Lakehurst couldn’t help but grin. He couldn’t think how she—or anyone else in the family—might help Lady Darkford; however, he didn’t doubt his grandmother would begin plotting.
“You’re very kind, Your Grace; however, there is no way to circumvent the terms of Lord Darkford’s will.” Cassandra frowned. “I don’t know why Darkford changed the terms at the time of Alex’s third birthday, not six months before he died.”
“Someone probably advised him to do so. Probably his cronies,” the Duke of Malmsby said grimly. “Excuse me, Lady Darkford, for speaking plainly; however, my experience of Darkford in Parliament was he was a man too easily led by others.”
“Gullible,” Ellinbourne agreed, nodding.
Lakehurst sat down again as he observed Lady Darkford glower at her brother for his statement. Had she been deeply in love with the man? It appeared neither he nor his family had treated her well.
And what about her statement that her husband’s death was like the events in his book? He’d used his grandmother’s Versely Park estate, with its attached monastic ruin, as his inspiration for the story setting.
His heroine had been tied to a stone altar, the hero drugged and unable to help her. In rage and fear, his hero willed his mind to clear and his muscles to move in time to stop the demon-possessed man from burning the mark of Satan on the heroine’s fair shoulder, which would bind her forever to the Prince of Hell.
