Cass nodded. “Daphne, I do hope you do not take this the wrong way but you seem as if you are the type of young lady who knows how to do things you oughtn’t.”
Daphne blushed just a little, but then she laughed. “Oh, I understand, Cass. And you’re perfectly right. Actually, I take that as a compliment.”
Cass smiled back at her. “You should. I’ve asked you here because there’s something I want to do that is going to take someone of your skill and determination to do it. I need your help.”
Daphne’s eyes lit. She leaned forward in her seat. “Yes?”
“I don’t like the sound of this,” Jane said, shaking her head at Cass.
“Be bold,” Cass said. “I’ve been thinking about those two words. I’ve made mistakes, several of them. I’ve allowed myself to be told what to do by nearly everyone, Mother, Father, Owen, even Lucy. It’s easy for me to blame all of them, to take no responsibility for the part I played in all of this.” She lifted her chin. “But it’s not true. It’s time I stood up for myself, made my own decisions, and lived life on my own terms. I learned something being Patience Bunbury. I learned that I didn’t have to be the perfect little Society miss. The world would not come to an end if I broke a rule.”
Daphne waved a hand in the air. “Oh, dear, I could have told you that.”
Cass folded her hands in front of her and rested them on the tabletop. “I intend for things to be different now. No more being controlled by the whims of others. I intend to see to it that I live the rest of my life in peace and quiet. I want to go somewhere where Society and all of its silly titles don’t matter, a place where my parents cannot marry me off to the haughtiest title as if I’m a jewel to be sold.”
Jane’s eyes were wide. “Cass, I’ve never heard you speak like this before.”
Cass nodded. “I know. High time, is it not?”
“Yes.” Jane nodded resolutely. She took a small sip of her tea.
“Tell us,” Daphne prompted, leaning forward in her seat. “What do you intend to do?”
Cass glanced back and forth between both ladies. “I intend to run away and join a convent. And you’re going to help me.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Julian tossed his gloves and hat on the table next to the front door. His outing with Cassandra in the park the other day had been absolutely frustrating. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. What did the future hold for them? How could he possibly resolve their relationship? He might be able to forgive her for lying to him but it didn’t change the fact that she was in love with Upton and seriously considering marrying the man. And Upton, that fool, was warning Julian that he shouldn’t hurt her? He was completely daft.
How could Cassie respond so passionately to Julian’s kisses and then plan to marry Upton? It made no damn sense. Was it more of her playacting? If so, how could he have been so wrong about the girl he’d written to for years? The girl he thought he knew for so long? She’d asked him if he would be her friend. He’d been truthful in his answer. He didn’t want to be her blasted friend. He wanted to be much, much more than that. Her husband. He’d stupidly said no to the question, however, closing whatever bit of the door they had left open to them. Anger had made him do it. He was a complete fool.
Nothing had changed. Nothing including the fact that if Derek returned with no news, Julian intended to go to the Continent and find his brother and Rafe even if it meant he’d die trying. In that event, at least he would finally fulfill his father’s last request.
Pengree quickly swept up Julian’s hat and gloves, but he was halfway to the study by then.
“I have some letters for you, my lord,” Pengree announced, dogging Julian’s steps.
Julian stopped and turned around. “Letters?”
The butler stopped short, too. “Yes.” He handed Julian two different sealed pieces of parchment. Pengree cleared his throat. “The first one is from the Duke of Claringdon, and the second—”
Hunt? A letter from Hunt? “That’ll be all, Pengree.” Julian pushed open the door to the study and strode inside, ripping open the letter from Hunt as he went. Was this it, the letter that would contain Donald and Rafe’s fate? Julian held his breath. His gaze scoured the few words on the page.
Swift,
I’ll be returning to London Thursday afternoon. I will come to Donald’s house straightaway.
Hunt
The hand that held the letter fell to Julian’s side. He stared unseeing at the row of mahogany bookshelves that lined the wall. They were nothing more than a dark blur. He barely noticed the fire crackling in the hearth, the soft strains of the pianoforte playing somewhere in the house where Daphne was practicing.
Bloody hell. If Derek wasn’t telling any news, he either didn’t know anything or it was bad. If Donald and Rafe were dead, Hunt would wait to tell him in person. Julian knew that. A knife twisted in his gut. He closed his eyes. It was Wednesday. He had an entire day to wait.
Tossing both letters onto the nearby desk, he scrubbed his hands across his face and finally allowed himself to think about the worst. Mama and Daphne hadn’t mentioned it, either, but he knew they must have been thinking about it, attempting to prepare themselves. If Donald was dead, Julian would be the earl.
He clenched his fist, slammed it against the bookshelf. The sturdy wood didn’t crack, but the books danced along the shelves. His knuckles ached. He stared at them. Blood dripped to the carpet.
Damn it all to hell. This was not the way things were supposed to be. This was not what he’d been born for. He’d never wanted the title, wasn’t meant for it. His father had been quite clear about Julian’s role and Julian had already failed at it once. Now.… If Donald didn’t return…
