Memories of You (Cooper Siblings Scandals #1)

Chapter One

Not bothering with her shoes, Cassandra Cooper bolted out of her bedchamber and sprinted down the hall.

Cotton stockings slid along freshly polished hardwood with a high-pitched squeak as she rounded the corner to the staircase.

Taking the steps two at a time, she barreled toward the first floor.

The chime of the grandfather clock echoed through the house.

She paused and counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

Three in the afternoon.

The Earl would be there any minute!

Gathering her skirts about her, she hastily maneuvered through darkened hallways with time-weakened floorboards. Matthew had promised to fix them once he gained the funds, but he had made many such promises concerning Cooper House.

Such as fixing the door hinges!

Aged hinges and unbalanced pressure turned the house into a wind tunnel on days such as today. One powerful gust of wind would set off a chain reaction through the narrow halls, slamming doors open or closed as the air shifted. Another fix to add to the estate’s ever-expanding list of needs.

But change was in their future—she could feel it. The family’s prosperity depended on the meeting that would take place that afternoon.

Stomach churning with nausea, she had tried to stay busy by writing her thoughts down in her diary. All of them. Ink trickled in thin looping strokes from her quill to the pages in a rapid stream of words that only stopped when she came to that.

Cassandra had never ushered it aloud, had never written it down, but there it was, clear as day.

That.

Once written, she could scarcely read it again.

A thought crossed her mind—what if someone else read it?

The question turned to acid in her stomach.

Nothing was safe with Caroline around. Snooping and nosy, her younger sister would read it, tell Matthew, and Cassandra would never hear the end of it.

No simple disposal would do. No amount of scribbling out or tearing into shreds would erase the words on the page. It would need to be burned.

She ripped the page from her diary, folded it into thirds, and placed it on the desk at the same time that someone opened the front door.

Air shot through the house in a crescendo, blowing her bedchamber door open.

The parchment zipped out of her window, twirled high, and tangled itself in the upper branches of the oak tree in the backyard.

Oh, why couldn’t she leave well enough alone?

Heart pounding, her strides lengthened. The back door was mere steps ahead.

As was Matthew, exiting from the kitchen.

Reflexes activated and Cassandra skidded to a halt inches from her brother, leaning up on her toes to avoid a collision. He stumbled mid-stride, his brown eyes widened and his mouth worked open, closed, and open again.

He let out a startled yelp as she shouldered past him.

“Cassandra?!”

Cringing, she threw over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”

“Cassandra!”

She burst through the double doors and hopped across the cobblestone terrace.

The wind whipped fiercely around her, pulling tendrils of sable hair loose from her chignon.

She came to a stop in front of the old oak tree.

A looming titan covered in emerald leaves, its long branches reached skyward and spread, creating a protective canopy over the two story home.

The folded piece of parchment waved at her mockingly from the upper branches.

Taking a solidifying breath, she steeled herself for her plan. Climb the tree. Retrieve the page. Burn it. And what did it matter that she hadn’t climbed a tree since she was a child? It wasn’t as if one forgot how.

Right?

The ghost of a swing, a frayed rope thrashed through the strong wind as if it were a snake with its tail caught in the branches above.

Cassandra tested her weight before using the rope to leverage herself to the first row of branches.

Her lungs heaved with the effort it took to climb.

All the while, she lied to herself that she wasn’t that high up, that her knees knocked as she wobbled over thin branches because she was climbing a tree in a dress.

It had absolutely nothing to do with her lifelong fear of heights.

Nothing at all!

“Have you lost your wits?!” Matthew shouted, rushing out into the yard.

Another set of branches up. The page was almost within reach. She brushed her fingertips over the edges, leaning forward on her toes. Almost… there….

“Get down!”

“I will!” She pursed her lips. If she went down a bit to the left, and then one step up—yes, that might work. She slid across the branch, balanced on the arches of her feet, flinching as her stockings caught on bark.

“Now, Cassandra!” Matthew boomed from below.

Cassandra reached up and grasped the page in her hand. Got it! She gripped the parchment between her fingertips and tried to slide back to the path she used to ascend. Page in hand, she took a victorious step and—

Rrriiippp.

A shock of cool air bit her ankles as the lace trim of her petticoat tore and twisted around a small branch.

An experimental tug only tangled the lace further.

Teetering on the edge of the branch, Cassandra bent down to free herself and slipped on the moss below her feet.

Her stomach dropped, and she grasped at the branch above her with scarcely enough time to prevent her from falling.

Righting herself, she realized it would be impossible to free herself and maintain her balance.

“I’m stuck!” Cassandra hissed toward her brother.

Matthew threw his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable!”

“My lord,” a male voice called out from the back door.

Henry Davis, a waif of a man in his sixties, had served as the Cooper’s butler for Cassandra’s entire life.

He possessed a razor sharp attention to detail and a strict adhesion to rules and schedules.

He kept up with the Coopers and their unconventional ways by speaking only when necessary, and always in short and succinct sentences.

To her knowledge, he had dropped his guard only one time.

“Earl Bolderwood has arrived. I’ve shown him to the—” Davis looked up in alarm. “My lady?!”

Make that two times.

Davis quickly redirected his gaze toward the grass. “A tea service is being prepared. If all is in hand, perhaps I shall be about my duties…?” He stood straight and waited for Matthew’s order.

Matthew ground the bottom of his palms into his eyes and groaned loudly. “Yes, Davis.”

The butler nodded and disappeared from view. Matthew gripped his hands into fists at his sides, his shoulders tense. “I don’t have time for this,” he hissed through his teeth and stomped away.

Cassandra took a deep breath to steady herself.

Now that she didn’t have an audience, she focused on her task.

The moss felt slick and cold under her feet, sending a chill through her.

The Earl was here. Already the interview had begun.

Lord Bolderwood was a no-nonsense type of man who abhorred wasting time.

If all went well, following tea, he would want a tour of Matthew’s workshop.

Their path would go straight through the yard.

She had to get down. Now.

Still fighting with the fabric, she heard heavy steps on the grass below.

“I’m trying, Matthew.” Cassandra huffed.

She coughed as a gust of wind pushed her hair across her face and into her mouth.

Spluttering, she rubbed her face against her shoulder to dislodge the locks.

Her eyes trailed to connect with the face of the man below, and sickening mortification settled into her gut.

“I’ll say.” He let out a whistling breath. “It has always been a dream of mine to save a damsel from a tower, but I suppose a tree will do.”

It took a moment for her to reconcile the man below her with the man she knew.

He was so clean. Combed and styled, his black hair was as sleek and glossy as a raven’s feathers.

He must have used Matthew’s pomade. A grin crossed his freshly shaved face.

How long had it been since she had seen him without a beard? Months, surely.

A blue suit jacket and a silver cravat replaced his normal black-powder stained work shirts and rolled sleeves. The cut of the suit made his shoulders appear broader than usual. His blue eyes lingered up, and he laughed at her.

Seth Reeves.

Of course, of course, it would be him. Cassandra groaned. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Clutching what she could of her skirts, she pulled valiantly at the fabric wrapped around the branch, but her hands shook.

How ridiculous she must look, and to him of all people.

“Do you need help getting down?” he asked conversationally.

“Go away.”

“Is that any way to greet someone offering you assistance?”

“I don’t need your help, Mr. Reeves. You may return to your meeting,” Cassandra replied evenly, attempting to channel the aristocratic tone of her ancestors. “I’m managing on my own, thank you.”

“I’ll politely disagree with you.” Mr. Reeves chuckled and unfastened the buttons of his coat.

“Even if that were the case, I’m afraid it isn’t up to you.

Cooper implored me to fetch you, quite urgently, I’ll have you know.

” He removed his coat and folded it across a lower branch.

“I cannot in good conscience disobey the direct orders of a Viscount—”

“You disobey his orders all the time!” Cassandra glared at him.

“—especially,” his eyes met hers deliberately, “on such an important day.”

Cassandra swallowed thickly, and cast her eyes down to her skirts, willing them to untangle. Mr. Reeves made quick work of removing his shoes and placed them on the ground. “Fear not, my lady, you’re in good hands,” he said. “I’ve been told I’m something of a climber myself.”