Chapter 17
The rider was not Christopher.
Ewan felt this like a blow to the side of the head. He was not sure if it was regret or relief that he felt as the pain moved through him, nearly making him stagger to the side.
The man was a stranger, gaunt-looking and thin as he reined the horse in sharply and came to a stop right in front of Ewan and Cassandra, nearly spraying them with gravel from the drive.
“Your Grace,” the man said, his voice hoarse. His eyes were dark and sunken, his face very pale, and when he dismounted, Ewan could see that he was unsteady on his feet. He sank into a low bow. “You are the Duke of Calder, are you not?”
“I am,” Ewan said. He was dimly aware that he was still holding Cassandra’s hand, and that his own had grown sweaty. But he did not release hers. Not yet. “You have a message for me?”
“Indeed.” The man’s dark eyes bored into Ewan’s. “My name is Mr. Thomas Wainwright, and I bring news of your brother, Lord Christopher Dunmore. He lives.”
Whatever Christopher had felt when he saw the stranger, all of it was doubled now. The pain was so acute in his stomach that he actually placed his free hand there, as if he might double over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cassandra raise one gloved hand to her lips.
Reality slipped away from Ewan. The world tilted. It took him several deep, calming breaths to bring the world back into rights.
“My brother,” he heard himself say. “He—”
“He lives,” Thomas finished for him. “I know this must be a shock. The ship that he was on, we were both passengers on it. We were hit by a terrible storm and both of us were thrown overboard. It was only a miracle that we managed to cling to one of the masts that had been knocked into the water. For nearly a day, we drifted, until finally, we made landfall. It has taken some weeks to recover our strength. But as soon as we did, Lord Christopher bade me ride ahead and tell you the fortuitous news.”
Ewan was aware that he was gaping. He managed to shut his mouth, but even so, he gazed at the man in wonder.
Christopher was alive. The words settled over his heart like a balm.
Tears filled his eyes all at once, unexpected but not unwelcome.
He had not realized how much grief he had been carrying all these days, the ways in which he had been trying to hold it together so that Cassandra would not know how much he suffered.
He had wanted to be strong and decisive in the face of the tragedy. But now he felt his knees buckle, and if it weren’t for Cassandra’s strong grip, he might have fallen forward again.
“This is a miracle,” he heard Cassandra whisper from his side.
“Yes.” Thomas smiled at her. “It is a miracle.”
“But—why did he not write?” Ewan asked. As the new reality started to coalesce in his mind, Ewan realized he had questions. “If it was weeks ago that you came ashore, why did you not send word as soon as you could?”
“Because we could not!” Thomas said, shaking his head. “Your brother was very sick. He spent at least a week delirious. And although I knew his first name, I was not aware of who he was or to whom to send the letters.”
“And where is Lord Christopher now?” Cassandra asked.
“Half a day’s journey behind me,” Thomas said. “He is still recovering from his illness and must travel more slowly. But he wanted me to arrive here as soon as possible and spread the good news.”
“Then we must be ready for him.” Cassandra turned to Ewan now, squeezing his hand as she peered up at him. “We must prepare a welcome dinner. We must tell Cook to prepare lamb and pheasant. We must make it a celebratory feast, so that he knows… So that he knows how much he was missed.”
A dark cloud passed over her face, and Ewan knew at once what she was thinking.
Yes, Christopher had been missed. But he had also been replaced. They had waited only as long as they could, and then Ewan had married Cassandra. They had not even allowed for a full mourning period to pass before the nuptials had taken place.
I should not feel guilty, Ewan told himself. Lady Pembury was insisting on the wedding. I had to do something.
And yet, he could not imagine how his brother would feel, once he returned home and found that the woman he was supposed to have married had not waited for him. Had, in fact, replaced him with his older, more titled brother.
A knot formed in Ewan’s stomach. And from the look on Cassandra’s face, she was feeling the same thing.
The rest of the afternoon, however, did not leave much time for him to contemplate his guilt. There was too much to do to prepare for Christopher’s arrival.
They had to tell Cook, who ordered a lamb slaughtered, muttering about how you Dunmore brothers are always inconveniencing me. The vicar had to be informed that the gravestone was no longer necessary. And then they had to make sure there was enough wine, brandy, champagne.
There was also Lord Pembury to consider. He took the news of Christopher’s return without comment, or even expression, but Ewan knew that Cassandra’s father must be wondering at this seemingly miraculous turn of events.
The man had been meant to marry his daughter. Then he had disappeared, and the duke married her instead. He was a shrewd man, and Ewan could not help but worry that Pembury might think this had all been orchestrated.
But why? Why would Ewan and Christopher orchestrate something like this? Anyway, it only benefited Cassandra. She was now a duchess.
Everything was a flurry of activity. It was good. It left little room in Ewan’s mind for him to consider how his brother was going to react when he was introduced to the Duchess of Calder.
The sun was just setting over the mountains, casting them in an orange glow that made the heather look as if it had caught fire, when at last, the horse came into view.
Ewan recognized him at once. And when the horse finally clattered into the courtyard, he was already outside, waiting to greet his brother.
Christopher Dunmore looked almost nothing like his brother. Ewan noticed it every time he saw his brother after some time away, how little they resembled one another. Where Ewan was broad and tall, towering over everyone he met, Christopher was lean and of average height.
He was handsome, with a classical face, an aquiline nose, and high cheekbones. Unlike Ewan, he did not have dark hair and features, but was fair and had sandy-colored hair.
He was, in every measurable way, the preferable man to marry. The one that looked correct in ballrooms, who did not take up too much space, who was suited for dining rooms and dances.
Although at this moment, Christopher did not look particularly dashing.
As he dismounted from the horse, Ewan could see that his brother had become very thin. Christopher’s eyes were also sunken in his head, as Thomas’s had been, his skin looked sallow, and his hair looked lifeless and less colorful, almost as if he had started graying early.
His smile, however, was the same as it had ever been, as he opened his arms wide.
“Ewan!” he cried, his voice surprisingly hearty as it boomed around the courtyard. “It is good to see you, brother! I assume that Thomas has told you all about our brush with death?”
Christopher hugged him tightly, and Ewan hugged him back, not bothering to hide his relief and affection.
“Christopher,” he murmured. “I thought you were dead.”
His brother released him and stood back, grinning. “It takes more than a little storm to kill me, brother,” he said.
“Many others did die, though, if I am correct?” Ewan said, frowning, and Christopher’s smile faded slightly.
“Yes,” he said, couching quickly before smiling again.
“But I am one of the lucky ones that survived. And now that I am back, I do not plan to go anywhere. You shall have a hard time getting rid of me.” He laughed uncertainly.
“It does make one wonder why I thought it a good idea to run off right before my wedding. Although I have heard that the lady still found herself a good match?”
He raised a suggestive eyebrow at Ewan, whose stomach fell out of him.
“You heard about the wedding,” he said flatly, watching his brother’s face carefully for a reaction. So far, Christopher was still smiling brightly. Not even his eyes betrayed a hint of annoyance or anger or betrayal.
“I did hear,” Christopher said, grasping his arm.
“The ports were abuzz with it! My many congratulations to you, brother! And what an excellent lady for you! Lady Cassandra is one of the finest, most intelligent, and most beautiful ladies of my acquaintance.” He laughed. “That is why I was going to marry her.”
“Christopher…” Ewan began. “You must understand, I thought you were dead. I went to the harbormaster, and he assured me that the ship was gone, that there had been no reports of survivors. I did not intend to marry Lady Cassandra. But the political alliance with her father needed to be cemented, and her mother was insisting… And then one thing led to another. It all happened before I could fully comprehend what was happening.”
“Brother, do not worry yourself!” Christopher said jovially, his smile still firmly in place.
“I am not angry with you. Although I esteem Lady Cassandra very highly, it seems clear to me now that I was not entirely ready to enter the state of matrimony, which is why I ran off in the first place. If I had been truly ready to be a husband, I would not have done so.”
Ewan swallowed. “So you are not angry?”
“Of course not!” Christopher released him and rubbed his hands together. “Now, do you think we might have some food? I confess, I am starved for good cooking. It turns out, inns along the coast of Scotland do not have chefs as fine as a duke’s!”
Ewan ushered Christopher inside, where the entire staff was lined up waiting for him. The moment he entered, the staff burst into applause. Christopher’s smile grew wider as he beamed around Annabelle at the staff, many of whom had known him all his life.
“It is true!” He announced, raising his hands high. “I am not dead! And happier to be home than I could ever say.”
At that very moment, Cassandra stepped into the entrance hall. Her father, Lord Pembury, stood behind her, his face very still, his eyes watchful.
Ewan could tell, from the way Cassandra held herself, that she was nervous.
She was walking with her back very straight, her shoulders pushed back.
It made her look even more regal than she ever had.
The gown of ruby red chiffon, gold cording under the bust and around the long sleeves, only added to the vision.
She looked like a medieval princess in her tower.
Christopher froze when he saw her and her father. Cassandra stopped as well, and for a long moment, the two of them stared at one another, both their expressions unreadable. From where he watched by the front door, Ewan held his breath, waiting.
Then Christopher smiled, and Cassandra also relaxed, a small, flickering smile appearing on her lips.
“Welcome back, Lord Christopher,” she murmured.
“Come now, sister, you must call me Christopher now,” he said, striding forward and taking her hand, pressing it to his lips as he bowed over it.
From where he stood, Ewan could not see the expression on his brother’s face, but from the sharp pain in his chest, he knew one thing for certain: He did not like the idea of Christopher kissing his wife’s hand.
“We are siblings now, are we not?” Christopher asked, and Ewan thought he saw something dark and hesitant flutter across Cassandra’s face. But then it was gone.
“Yes, we are,” she murmured. “I was ever so sorry to hear of your ship’s destruction, and to presume you were lost at sea. I cannot tell you the anguish I felt, and also the relief, be it surprising, when the duke generously offered to marry me instead.”
“My brother is very generous like that,” Christopher said, and Ewan was sure that he heard a note of coolness in his tone. But then Lord Pembury stepped forward.
“Come, let us eat, drink, and be merry,” he said. “And celebrate the return of the prodigal son… at last.”
The next few hours were some of the strangest of Ewan’s life. They dined early in the great hall, after giving Christopher a chance to bathe and change. His friend Thomas also dined with them, who, it turned out, was the son of a prominent tradesman in Edinburgh.
As their guest, Thomas was seated next to Ewan, with Lord and Lady Whitmore on his other side, while Christopher and Lord Pembury were seated down at the far end of the table. Next to Cassandra.
And all night long, Ewan watched as Christopher engaged Cassandra in conversation. She could barely put one morsel of food into her mouth before Christopher was asking her a question, or commenting on something, or paying her a compliment.
He made her laugh, too, and Ewan was too far away down the table to tell if her laughter was genuine, or if she was simply putting it on to be polite.
It made Ewan feel queasy, and although the feast that night was one of the most decadent and delicious Ewan had ever seen, he could barely touch a bite.
Every time he tried, he would hear Cassandra’s laughter from the far end of the table, look up to see Christopher bent low toward her, whispering something in her ear.
It was impossible to focus on what Thomas Wainwright was saying, and Ewan knew, by the time they retired to the parlor for drinks, that he had been abominably rude.
But he could not help himself. Something had changed in him. He was glad to have Christopher home, of course he was, and beyond relieved and overjoyed that his brother was alive.
But seeing him with Cassandra, he could not help but wish that he was still far away.
Because there had been a time when Cassandra had preferred his brother. When she had hoped to build a life with him. And now he had returned. Even worse, with the marriage still unconsummated, it was possibly, legally, for Cassandra to ask for an annulment.
And while such a plan might anger her father, who seemed happy to see his daughter married to the duke, she would be perfectly within her legal rights to do so.
And the most shocking part of all was how afraid Ewan was that she would do so. Fear was clawing up through him, and he knew exactly where it was coming from. He was afraid to lose his wife.