“You promise to keep it a secret?”
“Yes.” She swallowed.
He gave her an intense look and for a moment, a heart-stopping moment, Cass was certain he knew her. “It’s odd, but I feel as if I could tell you anything. I cannot explain it,” he said. “There’s only one other person on earth whom I’ve felt that way about.”
An ache formed in Cass’s chest. “Pen… Penelope?”
“No. My friend Lady Cassandra Monroe.”
Guilt and happiness collided in Cass’s belly, where guilt promptly proceeded to beat the sop out of happiness.
Cass smiled and looked away, breaking their eye contact. He didn’t know her. He hadn’t guessed. Oh, the guilt.The guilt. “I promise, Captain Swift. I won’t tell your secret.”
He pushed a boot through the gravel, crunching it beneath his heel. “As soon as I find Penelope, I intend to tell her I cannot marry her.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cass paced in front of the windows in her bedchamber. Pacing, it seemed, was her new pastime. But if anything called for some pacing and worry, it was this latest bit of news. Julian planned to break things off with Pen? How could that be? How? Everything Cass had always known and believed seemed to be changing before her eyes. It couldn’t be this easy, could it? He’d already intended to end his engagement with Pen. What did he intend to do after that? Cass hadn’t had the courage to ask him. Not even as Patience Bunbury. He’d seemed so pensive, so quiet, so affected. Instead, she’d promised him his secret was safe with her and merely nodded when he’d told her he intended to break things off with Pen.
The one question she’d truly wanted to ask had died a slow death on her tongue. “Is it because of your friend Cassandra? Is that why you want to end your engagement?” But she couldn’t ask that. Surely he would have wondered why she’d made that leap.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Was it? Was it the answer to her prayers or the start of a nightmare? Pen? Jilted? Awful. Pen’s parents would be devastated. As for Pen herself, Cass wasn’t exactly certain how she would react. Her heart wouldn’t be broken, that much was certain, but surely she wouldn’t be pleased about being jilted by the man she’d waited seven years for. And none of this was like Julian. Julian was solid, and dependable, trustworthy to a fault. He would never hurt anyone or not hold up his end of a bargain. Something had happened to him in the last few months. He’d changed. She’d felt it in his letters but never dreamed it would be like this.
After his confession tonight, he’d quickly made his excuses and left the garden. Perhaps he thought he’d said too much to Patience Bunbury. And why had he told Patience and not Cass? He’d never hinted at anything like that in his letters to her over the summer.
And what about the news of Donald? It was unimaginable. Donald in France? Why would the earl be there? Parliamentary business, Julian had said, but that made little sense. Cass’s heart wrenched at the memory of the look on Julian’s face when he’d said, “If he doesn’t come back… I can’t…” She knew exactly what he meant. She didn’t know why, he’d never said why in his letters, but she knew that Julian had always felt like the unwanted son, the unnecessary son. He felt as if he wasn’t good enough to be the heir, the earl. She knew just how he felt because she’d played the same role in her family. Owen, eight years her senior, was a male, an heir. She was just a lowly female, whose only purpose lay in securing a decent match and aligning her family with another illustrious title. She’d wanted to reach out to Julian, run her fingers through his hair, comfort him, assure him that no matter what happened he could and would make his family proud. There was no possible way he could fail. As Patience Bunbury she couldn’t let on that she knew anything about his deepest fears. But as Cass she could. She could and she would.
She hurried over to the writing desk against the wall and pulled out a sheet of parchment, then she grabbed up her quill. She had a letter to write.
***
Thirty.Julian mentally counted off the press-ups as he did them in front of the windows of his guest chamber. Toes and palms braced against the floor, he pushed up his entire body using only the strength of his arms. Physical activity always seemed to clear his mind. He’d made a habit of doing press-ups on the nights before battles. Now that he was back in England, back in Society, he would have to do them in front of damask-covered walls on fine carpets instead of on wet, muddy, cold battlefields. Either was fine with him. As long as they still served to clear his mind.
Why had he confessed his secret to Patience Bunbury? Well, one of his secrets. He didn’t even know the young woman. There was something about her, though, something besides her beauty, something that made him feel safe and content and… at home. It sounded ludicrous in his head even as he had the thought, but he couldn’t help himself. It was true. There was something about her quiet, gentle nature, her unassuming personality, that far outshone her beauty. In her company, he felt as if he could tell her anything, everything, almost like… Cassandra.
Forty.He continued his exertion, his breathing coming fast and his arms burning with the strain. Normally, he welcomed the pain, tonight was no exception. It had taken him weeks to build his strength back up to be able to do this again. He gritted his teeth. Now he could only hope that Patience would keep her word and not tell Penelope what he’d said. Penelope was her friend, after all. It stood to reason that she might be tempted to tell. She’d promised him, however, and something told him she would keep that promise. But in the end, it wouldn’t matter. He intended to tell Penelope himself the moment she arrived, or at the first opportunity, at least.
Something else niggled at his conscience, however. It had been bad form to tell Miss Bunbury about his plans. The young woman had recently been jilted, after all. His confession might well have brought back those painful memories. She told him she was fine, but he had no doubt it would take a while for such a painful wound to heal. He knew all about healing wounds. Penelope had mentioned Miss Bunbury’s broken engagement to him and if Penelope bothered to write, it was serious. Yes, it had been wrong of him for more than one reason to admit to Miss Bunbury that he intended to end his engagement to Penelope.
Fifty.Groaning, he let go and fell to the carpet, spent. He rolled over and scrubbed both hands across his face. Who was he? He’d once been a man who would rather take his own life than be anything other than honorable. Now, he was poised to jilt his own would-be bride.
Life. That’s what it was. He’d learned the value of life lying on that bloody field outside of Waterloo. He’d learned it, and he would never forget.
A knock sounded on his bedchamber door, and Julian stopped short. He stood, strode over to the door, and yanked it open.
A footman stood at attention, two letters resting on a silver tray he held in front of him.
“I am sorry to bother you, Captain, but these arrived for you this evening.”
Julian thanked the young man and flipped him a coin. The footman bowed to him. Julian pulled the letters from the tray, turned, and shut the door behind him. Recognizing Derek’s bold scrawl on the first one, Julian ripped open the seal. He held his breath.
Swift,
Collin and I have arrived safely in France. Good news. We’ve questioned some people who heard a rumor about two Englishmen being held by the French. They think they know where the two men were taken. We’re leaving in the morning to look for the camp. Don’t worry. We’ll be careful in case it’s a trap. I’ll write again as soon as I know more.
Hunt
Julian expelled his breath. Wasn’t it just like Hunt to sign his letters Hunt instead of Claringdon? How long would it be before his friend got used to the fact that he was a duke? Julian smiled at the irony. He still thought of him as Hunt. How long would it be before he thought of him as Claringdon?
