Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CASSANDRA
“So very many invitations and notes. Such beautiful flowers. You have made quite the impression. Admirably done, Your Grace.” Frederica clapped her hands together at the sight of this morning’s deliveries to Rosamund and Cassandra.
Cassandra only grinned as she shuffled through the heap on the parlour table, separating her correspondence from Rosamund’s.
“Your gown sounds magnificent. Your hair…If only I had been there to witness it all,” said Frederica, her cheeks rosy.
A hard gust of wind rattled the shutters and the window panes. “Heavens,” Frederica’s eyes widened. “The weather has gone quite mad this morning.”
Cassandra’s gaze quickly shifted out the open front door to the garden, where Rosamund spoke to the messenger, who she’d charged with sending off Cassandra’s letter to Rowen. Alongside the messenger stood the gardener, who awaited further instruction from his mistress. “Frederica, I have news.”
“More news?”
“We were most fortunate that you were unable to attend last night.” Cassandra lowered her voice.
“How so?”
“Your brother-in-law is in Jersey. He was at the salon last night.”
Frederica’s shoulders sank, dread flashing over her delicate features. “I feared this would happen one day. But now with the child… All this time, this is the first I’ve heard of him coming. Did he see you? Did you speak with him?” she whispered.
“He spotted me and immediately engaged me in conversation. I can tell you, in all the years I’ve known him, Lord Enggers has not changed one jot.
Well, that’s not true—he is rather more rotund now.
I suppose all that conceit gels in the blood and settles in the flesh after a great while.
Even now, as he is under fire for that horrible business in Morbihan, he is as arrogant and contemptuous as ever. ”
“I’ve read all about that expedition. Since that awful night months ago, a number of dead bodies have washed up on our shores. They say there were only a handful of survivors, who the French treated most brutally. Some may have managed to escape, but still no one knows for sure."
“Terrible.”
Frederica bit her lip. “Was his wife with him at the party?”
“She is in England.” Cassandra took her cold hand in hers. “Until he leaves, I urge you to stay at home and see no one. Let us pray his stay will be mercifully short. This morning I had every intention of going to you to inform you, but you arrived here before I’d even come downstairs.”
“After months of confinement, I’m so very tired of being alone at my cottage. This morning, I thought a short walk and a visit with you and Rosamund to hear all about your evening at the salon would be just the thing.”
“You do look well.”
Frederica let out a soft laugh. “I feel well. And the best news is that the babe slept through the night without interruption.”
“Splendid.”
“Oh, indeed it was,” she laughed. “Let us hope such a night was not a rare phenomenon, but shall continue henceforth.”
Cassandra gestured to the many bouquets of flowers on the table. “You must take a few of these home with you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
Rosamund’s raised voice carried down the hall as if snatched by the wind. She argued with her gardener over the shaping of her hedges. Cassandra leaned into Frederica. “I received quite a few more than Rosamund, and I don’t wish to upset her. Last night was truly her triumph.”
Frederica brought a small bouquet of white roses to her nose. “There’s a small box here addressed to you.” Frederica handed her the box.
Cassandra opened the letter that accompanied the parcel, her lips pressing together.
Frederica reached for a bundle of pink flowers. “Is it from a secret admirer?”
“A French count, who I met last night. He’s an acquaintance of your brother-in-law’s, in fact. He’d introduced us. Rather peculiar sort.” Cassandra read the letter.
“What does he say?”
“He calls it an unexpected honour to meet the Duchess of Oakley…” She skimmed further. “Says he once knew the Duke’s father and the Duke when their paths crossed in Lisbon years ago. He sends a gift from France as a token of friendship, and expresses hope we shall meet again.”
Cassandra put down the letter and opened the small box. She unwrapped the heavy item from a blanket of silk. A midnight blue glass flacon filled with liquid.
“Such a lovely bottle.”
“It’s perfume.”
“Perfume from France?” Frederica’s voice had a fanciful quality to it that made Cassandra smile.
Cassandra gently removed the silver stopper from the flacon and brought it to her nose. “Mmm.” Her brow furrowed.
“Is it not to your liking?”
She handed Frederica the perfume, and she sniffed it. She let out a languid sigh. “Gorgeous.”
“If you like roses it is….”
“Everyone loves roses.”
“I love real roses in one’s garden. I’m afraid I have no love for such heavy rose scents. Especially ones that are deepened with ambergris.”
“Is that what it is? Why, that’s rather rare and extravagant, is it not?”
“Quite a luxury.” More like old world aristocratic excess, thought Cassandra.
“To have a perfume of such calibre from France…perhaps if you tried the scent on your skin, you might change your mind?”
“I know my tastes quite well. It’s of no use to me. Such a fine gift should be enjoyed by someone who appreciates its value. You must keep it.”
Frederica’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t possibly. Such a gift…”
“I insist. The fragrance’s virtues are lost on me—from the elixir itself to the giver of the gift.”
Frederica carefully opened the bottle and dabbed perfume on her décolletage. “The Comte is trying to make an impression. Quite a gesture...”
Cassandra found the gesture rather excessive and pretentious. Frowning, she drew her head back as the thick scent invaded her nostrils.
Was the Comte indeed known to the House of Oakley?
She had no way of verifying that right this minute.
Stephan’s cryptic warnings from last night came back to her.
This man could simply be another desperate émigré hoping for favours and bestowing his treasures from the old country as a way to impress.
“Think of it…” Frederica murmured. “This is old France, lost France, captured in a bottle.” She admired the flacon as a shaft of sunlight illuminated the blue glass. “You are very kind, Your Grace. Most generous.” She sniffed at her wrist and smiled deeply. “Such decadence…”
Rosamund’s stern voice rang out. She still disagreed with her gardener. Frederica bit her lip.
“I think you should take your leave, Frederica. Tell Rosamund you need to check on the child as he has been fitful.”
“But I—”
“You will tell her this so that she will not bother you with invitations in the coming days. She and I have been invited to a great many dinners and a dance later this week, but if Lord Enggers is still here, he will surely be in attendance, and you cannot take such a risk. For the child, of course.”
“Of course,” Frederica agreed.
“Rosamund and I shall tell you all the stories there are to tell. And I very much look forward to seeing the baby again. He must be growing soundly.”
“His appetite knows no bounds.”
She smiled. “As it should.”
Cassandra called for the servant to wrap the flowers and the perfume for Frederica to take with her. It was done quickly as the ladies said their farewells. Outside, Frederica interrupted Rosamund’s tense speech to her gardener and bid her farewell.
Whilst the maid arranged the remaining flowers in vases, Nancy organised her mistress’s correspondence. “What is that smell, Ma’am? Seems too heavy to be from the flowers.”
“It was a gift of perfume. A very sweet rose. I gave it to Mrs. Ashton as she liked it very much.”
“Well done.” Nancy’s lips twitched as she gathered Cassandra’s letters and cards in one even pile.
The wind rattled the shutters again. “I think I shall take a turn about the garden to recover from it.” Cassandra laughed, but Nancy’s stillness over the Comte’s letter drew her eye.
Nancy did not know how to read.
“Nancy?”
Nancy quickly lifted her gaze, her lips parted. “This letter…the hand is very fine. Quite old-fashioned, is it not?”
“It reeks of another age. Like the scent.”
Nancy folded the letter and wiped her hands down her smock.
“I think this room could do with fresh air.” She crossed to the window and unbolted the sash.
Instantly, a cold draught burst in, sweeping away the piles of cards, invitations, and letters.
Nancy darted back to the table to put them to right once more, and Cassandra took up her shawl and went outside.
The thick clouds in the sky had darkened.
Cassandra wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
The day had begun so full of bright sun.
She crossed to Rosamund and her gardener, who were at the other end of the garden.
Turning for a moment, Cassandra caught sight of Frederica in the distance, walking down the lane to her cottage, holding the basket overflowing with colourful flowers.
Her hat fluttered wildly and, clasping it, she stumbled.
Then Frederica was out of sight.