Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CASSANDRA
The cold wind lashed through the hedges in Rosamund’s carefully manicured garden, racing over Cassandra’s skin, but she barely felt it.
A figure ran toward her, and she narrowed her eyes. Nancy.
“Ma’am. Much too cold and windy to be out here.”
“I couldn’t bear to be indoors. I could feel the walls pressing in on me, and I wanted to scream.” She swallowed past the knot in her throat. “Tell me, how is Mary?”
“Devastated. A man came from town. Said he were sent by Lady Rosamund to organise…”
“Yes.” Wincing, she averted her gaze to the lush hills in the distance, which had taken on a darker shade of green under the sudden drift of clouds.
Nancy came up closer alongside her, and the two of them walked past the rose bushes.
“While Mary and the other servants were busy, I took the opportunity to get the bottle—” From the inside of her cloak, she showed Cassandra the blue flacon, and Cassandra’s insides hardened at the sight of it. “I emptied it o’course. Bloody poison.”
“Destroy it.”
“I shall. But first I must tell you something that I fear might destroy your soul.” Her voice had lowered.
“Before we were interrupted by news of Mrs. Ashton’s death, I realised that my instincts had been correct.
The letter of the French Comte who sent you the perfume?
It’s your Uncle Alastair’s hand, Ma’am. I’ve seen it many a time.
He’d have me deliver messages to his friends, to my mistress, to merchants in town.
I was shocked when I first glanced at the letter.
I thought it could not possibly be…but I believe ’tis him. ”
Cassandra absorbed every word of Nancy’s into her blood, let it feed her heart, which beat strong and loud in her chest.
“Ma’am?”
“I believe you.”
Nancy let out a deep breath. “After His Grace expelled your uncles from Redthorne, they could have gone to France. Alastair and Robert oft’ discussed friends they had in Lille.”
“A cousin of theirs was established there, married, engaged in trade.”
“But now with the Terror …”
“They left and came here. And Uncle Robert is here too, I wonder?”
“Oh, that one could not survive without his brother. He depended on Alastair for everything. I expect he’s sickly and at home or—”
“Or died in France. And if so, Alastair would blame Rowen for it. Blame us both for their great misfortunes.” She blew out a breath. “I’m sure my uncle never expected to see me at Lady Hartwell’s party.”
“I’d wager he never expected to see his niece standing there as the Duchess of Oakley.” Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “And if he’s friends with Lord Enggers, surely he inquired about you, and his lordship filled his ear with every scandalous tale he could muster about you and His Grace.”
“I only wonder which man Lord Enggers knows—the Comte or Alastair?”
“What matters is that your uncle tried to kill you. And at this very moment, he’s eagerly awaiting to hear if the Duchess of Oakley has taken ill.
And if word does not circulate that you have been taken ill or worse, I fear…
” Nancy took in a tight breath. “We both know your uncle is capable of much.”
Cassandra lifted her chin. “We must leave Jersey at once.”
“I’ll see to the bottle and then go to St. Helier and arrange for our travel.” Nancy adjusted her bonnet as she met her gaze evenly. Cassandra’s heartbeat quickened. In this moment, Nancy was not the Duchess’s lady’s maid. No. She was young Cassandra’s fellow captive of two villains’ abuse.
Long ago in the dark halls of Redthorne, the two of them had shared whispers, secrets, laughter, and uneasy smiles, telling stories to make the hours shorter, inventing futures neither believed they would see. Listening always for the sound of returning footsteps.
Cassandra touched her arm. “Go, Nancy.”
Nancy bowed her head and took off down the garden pathway for the road as if she had never learned to listen for those footsteps at all.
Cassandra’s hand pressed against her décolletage where Stephan’s poem lay hidden. Could Uncle Alastair be connected to Lord Enggers and his plots? Nothing was beyond possibility any longer. Nothing.
In a matter of moments, the world around her had transformed into something even darker, more sinister than she had ever known. A surging tide that would pull them all under.
No.
She would stand against the swell of these waters. She would protect Nancy. She would protect Rowen.
Fire sparked in her belly.
“Nancy, wait!”
Nancy turned, her bonnet blown off by her sudden movement and a gust of wind. “Your Grace?”
“I’m taking the child to England.”
Nancy’s eyes flashed. “Of course you are.”
“Arrange for the wet nurse to travel with us. Assure her she will be given passage to return home directly if she wishes after we arrive. Tell her she must hold her tongue. Spare no expense.”
Nancy snatched up her bonnet and ran.