Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
CASSANDRA
The servant’s face was pale. “No, Miss. You must stay here.”
Her uncles had been arguing all morning, their gruff voices resounding down the main hall. Ignoring the servant, Cassandra picked up her pace as she headed toward the dining room.
Stopping at the entrance, she peeked through the doors that had been left ajar. There were no other servants in the house left to stop her or to close doors against her peeking in as they did when she was much younger.
On the dining table lay her uncles’ favourite whore, Nancy, as if she were part of the meal. Uncle Alastair and Uncle Robert stood over her, the breakfast dishes pushed aside.
Cassandra chewed on her lip. Nancy was a year younger than Cassandra. She’d told her so once. She worked at the village alehouse and often stayed with them for days on end to pleasure her uncles, but she hadn’t visited Redthorne in several weeks. Were they enjoying their reunion?
Cassandra was expected to stay in her rooms most of the day, but she never did.
She watched them, she listened to them, she learned.
Two men taking a woman in so many different ways.
It had ceased to frighten her as it did in the beginning, the awkwardness of it, the noises they all made.
Now she observed it the way one observed storm clouds shifting in the sky.
Nancy let out a succession of rapid squeaks and moans.
Cassandra was not sure if they were of genuine feeling or performed to flatter her uncles on their prowess.
Certainly, she wouldn’t be rewarded for it with more money, as they had none to give.
But Uncle Alastair did enjoy compliments and, most importantly, subservience.
On that odd, drawn-out grunt of his, Uncle Alastair staggered back.
Nancy quickly rolled over, planting her feet solidly on the floor, her hands gripping the table.
Uncle Robert grabbed at her, and a wine glass toppled over on the table.
A small bowl with jam crashed to the floor, breaking into pieces.
Cassandra’s fingers curled in her dress, her nails digging into her flesh.
Pulling up his breeches and fastening them, Uncle Alastair went to the sideboard, ripped a roll in two and chewed with gusto as he watched them. His gaze caught his niece at the open doorway, and Cassandra hopped out of view like a skittish animal.
“What are you doing here, girl?” he growled.
“Forgive me, Uncle, I heard shouting.”
“And?” He sank his teeth into his bread once more.
“Forgive me.” Cassandra bowed and left the doorway.
“Stop!”
She stopped, her eyes remaining cast downward as she stepped forward into the doorway. “Uncle?”
“We are attending a party this evening, and you are coming with us.”
Her gaze lifted. “Me, Uncle?”
Uncle Robert grunted loudly like an injured beast as he finished with Nancy’s backside, slumping over her. Nancy glanced at her and looked away.
“Yes, foolish child. You,” continued Uncle Alastair as he handed his brother a glass of wine. “Nancy has brought a gown for you to wear.”
Nancy sat back up on the table. “It’s very pretty, love. All white with gold ribbon.” She took a piece of ham from a dish next to her and ate as if it were perfectly normal for her to be chatting whilst naked and perched on the dining table amidst the breakfast dishes.
In this house, it was.
“Off with you now.” Uncle Alastair dismissed Cassandra as he refilled his glass with spirit.
“Sir.” Bowing once more, Cassandra dashed off down the hallway.
Stopped.
Returned as practised as a cat and listened at the door as she usually did.
“Do you really think forcing the Duke’s hand is a good idea?” muttered Uncle Robert.
“We have no choice. I made him this offer the moment we received official confirmation from the Admiralty on Tristan’s death.”
“Poor boy,” murmured Robert. “Buried at sea…”
Cassandra’s fingers dug into the doorframe. Once, her brother had taught her to climb the orchard wall. “Go on, Cassie! Higher!” Tristan had urged, laughing as she climbed.
Buried at sea.
“No body meant no delay,” Uncle Alastair said.
Cassandra swallowed hard, her forehead pressed into the rough wood.
“And without her brother, the girl immediately passed into our guardianship.”
“Perfect timing,” agreed Uncle Robert.
“I was tempted to do it sooner, but it all worked out, eh? The Duke was most agreeable, and yet…he did not sign.”
“That one doesn’t like commitments of any kind.”
“Tonight, we shall remind him of his commitment, and he shall sign. There is no time to waste. A London solicitor handling Tristan’s affairs sent word last week saying it was urgent we meet. We need this engagement settled immediately.”
“And what better way than to show him how luscious the girl actually is.” Uncle Robert’s voice had that odd tone to it that sent a cold shiver over her flesh.
“Exactly,” murmured Uncle Alastair.
“Damn fine opportunity.”
“She is the only coin we have left, Robert. And now with her brother’s fortune as her inheritance, she’s no longer a pretty but penniless aristocrat. She has value.”
“Do you believe the old man wants to marry again? His son is full-grown. Did you not make an offer for the son?”
“I attempted, but he said he has other plans for the boy. No, no, he wants her for himself. Our niece shall be a Duchess.”
Uncle Robert let out a groan. “As long as our debts are cleared. I detest owing him. Oakley’s an obnoxious bastard.”
“Always has been. He and I agreed as gentlemen to the resolution of our debts to him and our debts in the village once they marry.”
“Excellent.” Robert sniggered. “With our niece, he gets a fresh young body to spend as he pleases. Good thing you kept her away from me all these years, eh?”
Cassandra’s insides pitched. Since the day she’d met her uncles after her parents’ death when they’d arrived at Redthorne to look after her, Robert had always stared at her as if she whetted his appetite like a freshly roasted loin of lamb. A very unique lamb.
Those first weeks, he’d insisted on brushing her hair at night, or when he walked alongside her in the park he would slide a hand around her middle or up and down her back. Much to her relief, Uncle Alastair would stop him. Even so, in the years since, Robert’s lurid attentions had never ceased.
“Brother, her virginity has always been our treasure, and I have done my best to protect it. Especially from you.”
Uncle Robert laughed loudly, and the sound of it made her stomach curl.
“Once she is his wife,” Uncle Alastair continued, “he will use her inheritance to pay off our debts. You can be sure the stingy bastard liked that idea exceedingly.”
“Finally, we will be able to show our faces in the village, be invited out, not to mention in London. Dear God, what a trial it’s been. Did you ask for the house? Will Redthorne be ours at last?”
“I did, but he did not reply. I had it put in the agreement, so when he signs… ”
“Well done.”
“And then, we will be connected to the Duke of Oakley. We shall be family. At long bloody last, we shall win.”
Win? Cassandra’s heart beat jostled in her veins. They would all win at her expense. Gain something they all wanted. Only she would suffer, and why? Because she was the female in this equation.
Married off to the Duke of Oakley, a man old enough to be her grandfather, who was infamous for his eccentric proclivities from what she’d overheard from her uncles and their whores over the years.
Her brother had been her legal guardian, but now, as her only next of kin, her uncles were, and they could do with her whatever they wished.
She was no better than chattel by virtue of her sex.
Her inheritance from her beloved brother would be drained to feed the Duke’s pleasures and her uncles’ addictions, which they never bothered to control. Women, drink, card games, finery of all kinds.
And Redthorne?
Her uncles had driven her family’s once fine estate into the very ground.
Now, she and her inheritance would become her husband’s property.
Would the Duke give Redthorne to her uncles?
What would he want with it? She supposed he could raze it to the ground, since Redthorne was right next door to Tidesfar.
Her forehead slid against the wall, and she attempted to take in a breath.
No use. Everything whirled about her. Whirled inside her.
“We will be forever beholden to him, won’t we?” Uncle Robert’s voice pinched.
“There is no other alternative. But it’s the girl’s money that will provide us with an income, not his.”
“Always so clever, Alastair. I do rely on you so for all these things.”
“I know you do.”
“And will I finally be paid in coin for all my services then?” Nancy’s clear voice rang out.
Cassandra bit her lip, her fingers clenching her dress. No, Nancy. No.
“My wages have not been settled these three months.”
“Presumptuous girl.”
“My mistress has forbidden me to come ‘ere again unless you two pay her what’s owed. And I—”
A smack against flesh. The crash of porcelain shattering. Nancy cried out, and Cassandra sprang back from the wall. Uncle Alastair let out that cruel hiss of his. “Get down off my table.”
“Ach, leave her there. She can clean up the mess,” muttered Uncle Robert.
Cassandra quickly slid behind the open door and held her breath as her uncles left the dining room. She remained still until the last footstep faded and there was only silence through the house. She darted into the dining room.
Nancy lay crumpled across the littered table, cheek pressed against a broken dish streaked with blood, her hair wet with spilled wine. A glass on its side rolled onto an overturned chair and broke.
“Go away, Miss.”
“Hold still.” Cassandra brushed shards of glass and porcelain away from her and pressed her handkerchief to the blood at her cheek, the cut along her shoulder. She had done it before.
Far too many times before.