Chapter Fifteen #2
Inside, Cassandra found no trace of Reuben, as she suspected, and none of the servants knew of his departure. Frustration filled her.
How on earth could she find him?
The Lord of Devil’s Acre.
Cassandra sat at her desk and took up her pen. She wrote two letters. One to the Lord of Devil’s Acre. And the other to the small band of widows she now considered close companions, calling for a meeting to discuss the upcoming masquerade ball.
It was time to reveal a deeper part of herself. She only hoped that the other ladies would see it for the opportunity it was. While it could very well cost her everything, Cassandra knew like love—friendship was also worth the risk.
*
The summons arrived three days after he’d returned to London and last spoken to Simon. Reuben had found a quiet flat in a respectable neighborhood buried among the working middle class. A place where he could blend in easily without suspicion or question. No one would find him here.
Yet Simon had.
It should not have surprised him. There was no place in London he could hide where the Lord of Devil’s Acre could not find him. Even if he should travel to America without accepting his friend’s help, he knew if Simon wished to contact him, he would.
When he arrived at Simon’s home, Reuben was ushered directly into Simon’s private study. His friend glanced up from his papers and set aside his pen.
“Thank you for coming.” Simon gestured to the chair opposite the desk. “Please, sit.”
“I see you kept a close watch on me,” Reuben said simply.
“You should know I have an infinite network of reliable informants throughout the city.” Simon smirked. “There is not a soul I cannot find should I have the need.”
“A momentary lapse on my part,” Reuben noted in good humor. “A mistake I will not make again.”
“I dare you to try to hide. You, of all people, should know such a feat is impossible.”
“I was not attempting to hide. I merely required a respite from my past.” Reuben regarded his friend. “I have come when summoned. Is there something you require of me?”
“I require nothing of you,” Simon said. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a letter. “But there is someone who does.”
Reuben’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What is this?”
“A letter.” Simon opened it. “From the dowager duchess.”
Every nerve in his body ignited as though electrified at the mention of Cassandra. Reuben sat taller, leaning toward the desk. “She wrote to you?”
“Yes,” Simon replied. “Shall I read it?”
He shifted uncomfortably. Was she meeting with him on behalf of her son? Had something happened that required his assistance? His heart ceased beating and an adequate verbal reply choked him. Reuben could only nod as Simon read the missive aloud.
“‘Dear Sir,
I am writing to formally request your assistance in a matter of extreme urgency.
I have spoken with my son, the Duke of Tolland, and informed him of the previous agreement made between yourself and my late husband.
Since I have no knowledge of the intricacies of the debt and the delicate details contained within, I defer to you.
I have instructed him to await your summons for a meeting to negotiate a path forward.
But for my true purpose, I will impose upon your kindness and request a personal favor.
Please direct me as to the whereabouts of Mr. Reuben Evans. It is important I speak with him directly concerning a private matter.
You may contact me directly at your discretion. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Cassandra Tolland’”
Reuben sat in stunned silence as the implication of those words took root in his mind. Not only had she spoken to her son about the debt, but she had arranged a meeting between him and Simon. Pride filled him. Her initiative and determination proved her resilience.
The second part of the letter hit him like a punch to the chest. Cassandra was searching for him.
“She wishes to speak with me?”
“It would seem so.” Simon handed him the letter.
Reuben read it again and again until the words blurred together. Finally, he raised his head in confusion. The request was simple, straightforward. Anyone reading this could easily dismiss the importance of such a statement, but Reuben knew. And it broke his heart.
He passed the letter back to Simon.
“How shall I respond?” Simon asked, folding the letter and returning it to the desk drawer.
“Tell her you have no knowledge of my whereabouts, as our business has concluded.” Reuben’s chest ached at the response.
He despised lying to her, but there was no helping it.
It was for her own benefit that he maintained his distance.
Her son’s disdain, the crushing burden of society’s judgment, not to mention the weight of her knowing his role in her husband’s death.
He could never put her through such agony.
She deserved better than him, and in remaining, he would only increase her heartbreak tenfold.
Simon arched a brow. “If that is how you wish for me to respond, then I will respect your choice.” He folded his hands and leaned on the desk. “But I must ask why you make the decision to reject her so adamantly. It’s not because…?”
Simon shrugged. “Most men are changed when they take a life. Perhaps they find themselves unworthy of love. Especially when the man they killed is the husband—”
Reuben held up a hand. He had known Simon knew the truth, but there was no reason to discuss the matter further. “It’s not that. Considering what that bastard did, I sleep soundly at the knowledge that my actions ended his reign of terror.”
“Then why do you reject her?”
“She is a dowager duchess,” Reuben replied simply. “I am no one.”
Resigned, Simon leaned back in his chair. “Very well. If that is how you feel, I will respond as you requested.”
“Thank you.” Reuben stood, ignoring the persistent pain in his chest where his heart lay fractured like a broken window. “Is that all?”
“Yes.” Simon rose to his feet and extended his hand. Clasping it firmly in his own, Reuben noted when Simon gripped it tighter. “There is always hope for redemption, my friend.”
Reuben acknowledged the sentiment, but it did nothing to soothe the regret building inside him like a gathering storm. He relinquished Simon’s hand and turned to leave.
Halfway down the hall, a familiar voice stopped him and a shiver of dread snaked down his spine. The Duke of Tolland stood just inside the door, speaking to the butler. The guest’s gaze snapped up at Reuben’s presence.
“Your Grace.” Reuben bowed out of habit, not respect.
“Evans,” the man said with evident distaste.
“I shall see if my lord is ready to receive you, Your Grace.” Finn bowed and scuttled down the hall behind Reuben.
Reuben clenched his hands into fists as he faced the duke alone. Their previous encounter left him bitter and wounded. Still, he maintained pleasantries.
“I trust you are well, sir,” Reuben said.
“I am.” The duke’s clipped response irritated him.
“And your mother?” Reuben asked, unable to contain his curiosity. “Is she well?”
The duke inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring, but he quickly resumed a measure of composure, schooling his features into a calm repose. “She is quite well.”
“A relief to hear.” Reuben bowed once more. “If you will pardon me, sir, I must be on my way.”
Eager to be away from the duke, Reuben edged around him, heading for the door. His hand gripped the doorknob when the man’s response drew him up short.
“I do not approve,” His Grace began, his tone brusque. “My mother is a dowager duchess. Such an affair could leave her reputation irreparably damaged and my family name tarnished.”
Reuben turned to face him. “I believe your family name is already blemished. Thanks to your father.”
The pointed barb struck true, and the duke’s cheeks turned red. Reuben paused, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes in an attempt to compose himself. When he opened them, the duke’s gaze burned into his soul.
“I am not responsible for the sins of my father,” the duke snarled. “But I will make damn sure that my mother is adequately protected from this moment on.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Reuben replied, feeling the weight of his vow.
“But…” The duke straightened, his tone leveling to a calm that belied his obvious internal conflict.
“If my mother wishes to pursue a relationship outside of her class and status, I will not interfere. Even though society will tear her apart should it come to light, so I do not think I can give my blessing.”
“Do you think I have not considered the implications of our relationship?” Reuben asked, his blood heated.
“For years, I have struggled in vain to suppress my feelings, to contain my desires. And all of it to ensure her protection. The sacrifices made in her name are well worth the price I have paid in blood, sweat, and tears.”
The duke reeled at the vehemence of his statement. “You love her.”
“I have always loved her,” Reuben snapped. “And I will until my dying breath.”
Simon appeared in the distance, his eyes glinting in the dim light, a faint smile on his lips. He nodded once. Without waiting for the duke’s response, Reuben retrieved his coat and hat, turned, and opened the door.
Out in the street, Reuben allowed himself to breathe. The cold November air stung his cheeks as he pulled on his coat and hat, bundling up tight against the winter chill.
He stalked toward Westminster Cathedral and around the corner until he’d reached the Thames. Staring out over the river, Reuben cursed himself for a fool.
In a pique of passion, he had tipped his hand in revealing his true feelings for Cassandra. Society would never sanction their relationship. This was no fairy tale. No happily ever after.
Broken and searching for connection, they had found each other, united by a common traumatic past. But they were from different worlds. Nothing could change that. Not to mention his role in her husband’s death.
Cassandra Sterling, Dowager Duchess of Tolland, was the love of his life, but she was a star gleaming in the skies, far out of reach.
He hung his head and followed the path leading to the nearest pub. Perhaps a hearty meal and a pint would clear his head. But he doubted it.
There was no enjoyment in any of it. Not when his heart lay shattered on the cobblestones of Westminster.