Chapter Seven
As Sebastian walked away, it took all his strength not to turn back.
What good would that do, other than to give him one final glimpse of her?
He had been refused before and was well acquainted with the process.
One licked one’s wounds. Drank too much.
Wrote a bit of maudlin poetry. Threw it in the fire. And found another woman.
But he had been so sure this time that there had been something more between them.
She had devoted a week of her life to caring for him.
She had loved him then in a way he did not understand.
It was beyond the physical, two souls in communion.
The only thing he could compare it to was the bond he’d had with his grandmother, who had loved him unconditionally.
But it was different than that.
Perhaps he did not know enough about love to find it for himself. But he suspected she did, and he had wanted her to teach him. About love, and perhaps about insects, as well.
He smiled. She had opened herself to him, just for a moment. If he wanted to win her, he needed to do the same.
He was not used to being vulnerable, especially not to a woman.
But this one had already seen him at his weakest. Then, she’d shown him nothing but kindness.
That, and a hint of the same dry wit she was showing him now.
It was delightful, just as it had been a year ago. He wanted her now, just as he had then.
She might want him, but she did not believe in him.
She did not trust him. Probably because he’d given her no reason to.
He had been so eager to outpace her other suitors that he had charged ahead with his plans for their future and given no thought to what she might want from him or any other man.
Seduction was a dance. But so was courtship and the steps were more elaborate and unfamiliar to him.
He must hope that he had not ruined it all by today’s actions. If he could not have her love? Perhaps her friendship would be enough to sustain him. He would not even have that if she was convinced that his every action was an attempt to spite Septon or dishonour her.
A thought occurred to him and he darted into the next shop he passed and scanned the glass cases for only a moment before signaling the shopkeeper and explaining what he needed, sketching a design on a scrap of paper the man produced.
What he wanted was simple, nothing more a token of apology. The man said that because of the unique nature of the piece and his desire for it to be finished quickly, it would be expensive. Sebastian assured him that the money did not matter. He could double the price if it could be done today.
The jeweler was hesitant. But it took only a moment for greed to win out over irritation, and he promised that the job would be ready by evening, and delivered to the Duke’s townhouse, should that be convenient.
It was. Very much so. And it left Sebastian more than enough time to decide how best to present it, that he might wipe away the mess he had made of the morning. Then, perhaps she would allow him to begin again.
Later that evening, Cassie joined Julian and Portia at the dinner table, relieved to have a night without any planned activity. After what had happened on Bond Street, she did not think she could bear to go through the social niceties as if nothing momentous had happened.
‘Did you have a restful day?’ Portia asked as the soup was served.
‘I took a nap, and then went shopping,’ she replied, quickly adding, ‘I took Bessie as a chaperone.’ Then, she waited nervously for someone to announce that she had been spotted speaking with the forbidden Duke of Westbridge.
‘Did you purchase anything interesting?’ Portia said.
‘I was browsing. Nothing more.’ She took a spoonful of lobster bisque. ‘The bookstore had several new titles.’
‘I have an account there,’ Julian said. ‘Feel free to make use of it.’
The conversation turned to popular books with no further comment made about her leaving the house.
When dinner ended, they retired to the sitting room for an equally uneventful evening of patience and needlework.
It acted as a balm to her frayed nerves and was one more proof that she had been right to refuse the Duke.
She could not imagine him sitting comfortably for an evening in a room where nothing was happening.
They were too different in temperament to make a good match.
Not that he had been serious. He was up to something, she was sure. He could not really mean to choose a wife based on one year-old kiss. There must be a hundred woman he knew that well. Why her?
And had she really told him that she fed ants? The fact that he’d proposed after that announcement was one more proof that he was only joking. Or perhaps it was an act of pity, for he must have thought her mad.
When they went upstairs to prepare for bed, she was still pondering over it. Why had she spoken of ants? Why not rabbits, or birds? Even hedgehogs would have been better.
Or moles.
She winced. Bessie, who had been combing her hair, stopped, assuming she’d tugged too hard.
‘It is all right,’ she replied, and glanced at the crystal vase that held a fresh lilac. ‘Is that a new flower?’
‘Yes, miss. It was delivered to the back door for you.’ She grinned and tapped a folded piece of paper on the table. ‘There is a note.’
She reached for it, trying not to seem too eager. The single word SORRY was written in elegant script in the centre.
She turned it over and raised it to the light to convince herself that there was no hidden message there, before turning to look at the flower.
Something glittered amongst the purple blossoms of the cone.
She pushed them out of the way with a fingertip to see the gift that had been wired to the stem.
It was a stick pin of the sort that one might see on a man’s lapel or pushed through the linen of a cravat. She had seen women wear them on occasion, but they usually favoured larger, more dramatic jewels. The head of this one was so small it might go unnoticed when pinned on a spencer or pelisse.
It was a golden ant, the body made from bits of amber and the legs and antennae from fine gold wire. She untangled it from the flower and pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her smile.
It was the sort of gift that only a kindred spirit would know to give. When she wore it, he would know without her speaking that he had been forgiven. No matter what happened between them, she would cherish it.
She held it in her fist as Bessie tossed the nightgown over her head, and then carried it with her, setting it on the nightstand next to her as she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.
As she drifted off to sleep, her mind was filled with the golden glow of amber and the memory of a man’s wicked smile.
The next day, Julian had promised a surprise that he assured her would be more to her tastes than some of the other events of the Season.
‘Since you enjoyed your life in the country, I thought you might like to get out of the city for an evening,’ he said as they shared a late luncheon.
‘There is a tea garden that I have frequented you might find interesting.’
‘Not Vauxhall,’ she said, smiling. She had been there once before, and though it was very pleasant, it was quite busy and did not really feel like an escape from London.
‘The Montpellier is far smaller than Vauxhall,’ Portia said, smiling. ‘But there are some nice greens for lawn bowling, and you may pet and feed the cows that provide the cream for the syllabubs.’
‘Really?’ Cassie stifled a smile. It was proof that Portia had spent too much time in the city if she thought petting a cow was a novelty.
Still, it sounded like a delightful way to spend an evening.
She hurried upstairs and changed into a sensible walking dress of tan muslin and added a green linen pelisse that would keep out the chill of an evening outdoors.
Before she left the room, she went back to the night table and retrieved the amber ant that she’d received from Westbridge, pinning it under a ruffle on her bodice.
It was doubtful that the Duke would be in attendance, for the garden they would be visiting was in Walworth and quite out of the way.
But it was the perfect bit of jewelry for a night of al fresco entertainment.
When she’d returned to the ground floor, Julian had summoned the carriage and helped her into it for the ride to the edge of the city.
Their destination was even better than they’d described.
A box had been reserved for them that was cut into one of the hedges that surrounded the garden.
As they sat at their table, hornbeams surrounded them on three sides.
The fourth was framed with gauze curtains, which were rustic in daylight but took on a magical air as the sun began to set.
Mr Rutland joined them a short time after they arrived, which Cassie suspected was part of the surprise they’d promised.
In truth, she’d rather have petted the cows.
Mr Rutland seemed very nice. Or perhaps it was that he did not seem too bad.
She did not feel enough for him to care which of the two it was.
‘Miss Fisk,’ he said, bowing over her hand and smiling.
‘Mr Rutland,’ she replied, smiling politely.
‘It would please me if you would call me Andrew.’ He looked at her expectantly.
I imagine it would.
Since she could not think of a polite way to refuse him, she continued to smile and said, ‘Of course, Andrew. And you must call me Cassandra.’
He smiled and sat down beside her, helping himself to the light supper that had been laid for them, chatting amiably with Julian and casting occasional devoted looks in her direction.
But she doubted he had any real interest in the content of her mind.
When he bothered to speak with her, he limited their topics to the quality of the food and the superlative weather.