Chapter 31 #2
She sipped her drink. “This evening you are indulging in your great love for poetry and the dulcet tones of the harp, are you not?”
“When one is abroad, one finds a great many intriguing things in which to indulge.” His voice lowered as he moved closer to her. “However, for my part, poetry is not one of them.”
“Perhaps the harpist herself is more intriguing to you? Or the soloist from Paris, who I understand will be giving a performance shortly?”
His eyes glinted at her. He was a famed seducer after all. Nancy had heard that even his servants, female and male, weren’t safe from his peccadilloes. Shifting his weight, he made a crude comment about one of the guests. She ignored him.
Over his shoulder, Cassandra caught sight of an older gentleman who, from his appearance, seemed to be from another world.
His clothing was in the classic French style, he sported a pointed beard, and even had a black patch over an eye.
He had to be a French aristocrat newly arrived in Jersey, having survived tumultuous France.
He stood against a wall, completely still, staring at her.
A servant stopped and offered him a drink, but he kept his attention fixed on her.
“You are in Jersey alone then, Your Grace?” Enggers brought her attention back to him.
“I am with Lady Rosamund,” she replied.
“I meant your husband, of course.”
“The Duke of Oakley has many obligations in London at this time, and unfortunately, was unable to leave for a holiday.”
“What a pity.”
“It is indeed a pity he is not here with me. He especially would have enjoyed this evening’s fine entertainments.”
Enggers’ lips rolled as he chewed on a sweetmeat. “I’m quite sure you shall find many ways to entertain yourself without him.”
Cassandra began to turn away, but the gentleman with the eyepatch silently stepped beside Enggers. With his one eye on her, he bowed, smoothly, gracefully. So very poised, and yet…it was as if a shadow followed him.
“Ah, my dear friend—” Enggers’ head tilted toward the man. “Your Grace, may I present the Comte de Lévignac. He is lately come over from France. The Comte is a friend from many years ago, before the troubles began.” Enggers gestured at Cassandra. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Oakley.”
A ringed hand gracefully fluttered to the Comte’s chest as he bowed his head. “Your Grace, mon plaisir,” he remarked in a thin, throaty voice.
Cassandra’s insides coiled as the Comte’s stealthy gaze raked over her from head to toe. It wasn’t provocative, but…peculiar. The thick scent of wax in the room began to stifle her. The Comte leaned forward in her direction.
“Your Grace, there you are—” Stephan came up alongside her like a rush of fresh sea air.
The Comte retreated, and Enggers’ smile thinned. He did not like being interrupted, especially by handsome younger men.
“The remarkable Mr. Delaney,” On a brilliant smile, Cassandra offered Stephan her hand, which he took, clutching tightly, his green eyes locked on hers. “What a thrill to hear your latest verses this evening, sir. You made quite an impression on us all. Do you not think so, Lord Enggers?”
Enggers sniffed in air. “I could not say. Good evening to you both.” With a curt nod and a glance at his friend, both men withdrew. Cassandra let out a breath. Even though they’d left, their presence lingered over her like a cold gloom.
“Have I scared off the Foreign Undersecretary and his friend?” asked Stephan.
“Thankfully, yes. Do you know his friend, this unnerving Comte de Lévignac?”
“I have spotted him about the ale houses on his own, but never heard his name before. Jersey is brimming with these aristocrat refugees. Most of them have been through it.” His pointed gaze shot around the room.
“Indeed, there are many ghosts wandering these islands now.” His voice had a heaviness to it.
“You spoke of ghosts in your poem this evening. I must say I found your verses thrilling—and unsettling all at once.”
Stephan drew closer to her. “My dearest Cassandra, so much horror has happened in our world of late. Horror that cannot be unseen or unheard, and betrayals that cut deeply.”
Cassandra knew they were not discussing poetry.
Suddenly, his features eased, and he took her hand again. “It is so very good to see you. You and Rowen are well?”
“Yes.”
He released her hand. “How long are you staying in Jersey?”
“I’m not sure as yet.”
“You must take care whilst you’re here, Cassandra. It is no longer the Jersey you remember.”
“I realise the island is rife with all kinds of rogues and vagabonds.”
“A volatile mix of distraught refugees, wounded people, and traitors. Wounded men take on many disguises after the terrors of war.” The look in his eyes was suddenly strained.
“And some wounds do not stay hidden for very long, for wounded men grow desperate. And desperate, displaced men make dangerous choices.”
“Stephan—”
“Forgive me.” A tight grin flashed over his features, and he cleared his throat. “We must see each other again.” His tone was decidedly not unreserved and warm as it always used to be.
Cassandra’s pulse quickened. “Yes. Yes, we must…”
A cello’s dramatic notes dragged through the room. And Stephan was gone.