Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CASSANDRA
“Cassandra?”
She turned at the sound of the deep voice with the Irish lilt. “Stephan.” Her shoulders fell at the sight of him on a black steed.
“Did you not hear my horse, Your Grace?”
She only shook her head.
Stephan dismounted and handed the reins to the footman who appeared. “Your servant stopped me on the road, but I was already on my way to see you. I need to speak with you most urgently.” He bit out his words as if his life depended on them.
“Oh?” was all she could manage.
“Cassandra? Are you quite all right?”
“I might ask you the same question. You seem out of sorts. Rather more so than usual.”
“I am.”
“Come inside.” Cassandra led him into the house and through to the drawing room and closed the doors. She crossed directly to the carafe of wine. “Drink?”
“Most decidedly, yes.” He smoothed his wild dark locks back from his face, his tie loose.
She poured two Madeiras, and he came over and took his from her and drained his glass.
“I have come into information which the Duke has been waiting for,” he said.
“He has?”
“It is of the utmost importance, and I can trust no one else but you. I cannot say any more, for I would put you in grave danger. It is best you remain innocent in this.”
“Then how shall I write to inform him?”
“You will not write to him. You must go to him. You must leave Jersey at once and bring your husband this—” From inside his frock coat, he slid out a small, folded letter. It bore several creases as if he had folded it a number of times. “Only he will understand the verses. Only the Duke.”
She took the letter, and the doors blew open.
“I heard you were here, Mr. Delaney. How wonderful to have the great poet visit my home.” Rosamund’s eyes were bright, her face flushed as she strode over to them.
“Lady Rosamund, what a pleasure to see you.” Stephan bowed with the grandeur of one who knew how to revere great ladies.
A cheeky smile played on Rosamund’s lips. “Have I interrupted a tête à tête?”
“Not at all.” Cassandra cleared her throat. “I haven’t seen Mr. Delaney since the party, and he did us the honour of stopping by to give us his regards.”
“And that, pray tell, is a gift?” Rosamund blinked as she gestured to the letter in Cassandra’s hand.
“A gift for the Duchess. A poem written in her honour,” said Stephan smoothly with a tilt of his head.
“Oh, I say.” Rosamund flashed Cassandra a knowing smile.
“The Duchess and I had quite a conversation at the party about my new poem,” said Stephan on a grin.
Rosamund touched her arm. “Oh, darling, were you critical of Mr. Delaney’s work?”
“No, indeed,” said Stephan on a forced laugh. “Her Grace said she admired my dark metaphors.”
“Did she? You are fond of ghosts and shadows, Cassandra?”
“I am, yes,” Cassandra’s voice was tight.
Stephan continued, “And so I was inspired to write a few more verses for her amusement. A trifle, really. A small gift, as it has been so very long since we last saw each other.”
“Mm, indeed,” murmured Rosamund as if her mouth were watering.
Stephan’s back straightened. “As I must leave Jersey forthwith, I came to say farewell to you both.”
“You’re leaving us? No, you can’t,” cried Rosamund.
“I must.” His gaze darted to Cassandra. Heavy and resolute. Her fingers tightened over the poem. She had been charged with a mission.
“I thank you, Mr. Delaney,” said Cassandra. “I look forward to reading my poem. I am sure His Grace and I will treasure it always as we treasure your friendship.” She held out her hand to him.
“Your Grace.” He took it and brushed it with his warm lips. “Au revoir, ” he whispered roughly as his fingers squeezed her hand for a moment. He released her and stepped back, bowing to Rosamund.
Cassandra lifted her chin, struggling to maintain her composure as Stephan left the room, left the house. Where was he off to now? Would she ever see him again? Were they all in grave danger? His horse galloped away.
“Well, that’s a fine shame. I was hoping to invite him to present a poem at the historical society the week after next.” Rosamund pursed her lips. “Are you going to keep your poem to yourself, my love?”
The letter in Cassandra’s hand seemed to singe her skin, and her fingers curled even tighter around it. “Rosamund, I have shocking news. Frederica has died today.”
Her eyes widened, her jaw fell open. “No, impossible!”
Cassandra explained without revealing the entire truth, of course.
Rosamund brought a hand to her temple. “That poor girl. I shall make the funeral arrangements and inform Mary.”
“I shall pay for every expense.”
“Darling, most generous of you.”
“I must do something.”
“It shall be us and only a few others…” Rosamund’s voice drifted off as she sat at her desk and began to write a letter.
“When do you think the funeral might be?”
“In the usual three or four days, I expect.”
“I deeply regret I cannot attend. I must return to England immediately.”
Rosamund raised her glance to Cassandra. “But why?”
“I’ve heard from Rowen this morning, and he requested my return as new obligations have arisen that require my attention.
Now with this news of Frederica…I find I am quite out of sorts.
I’m sorry to leave you so abruptly, dear Rosamund.
I have enjoyed our time together here in Jersey so very much and had hoped it would be longer. ”
“As have I, my darling. You must do what you must. But now…” She let out a heavy sigh as she picked up her writing instrument once again. “Oh, what must be done with the child?”