Page 32 of Unmasking the Earl

“She’s grown into a proper young lady. No more piggybacks or romps. That wouldn’t do. She needs to think about finding a husband soon.”

Ned refrained from spluttering at the word “proper.” Or laughing out loud. “I can’t imagine there’ll be any difficulty in that area,” he offered.

Carnforth winked at him. Ned wasn’t used to being winked at. He wasn’t certain he liked it. “Not with her looks,” the other man said. “Although bronze hair and hazel eyes are not exactly the fashion. But she is a right out-and-outer, isn’t she?”

Of course she was. She was stunningly beautiful, and desirable, too. It was an outrage that she’d had to resort to such lengths to attract this man’s attention.

“I couldn’t really say,” he demurred. “We’ve barely met. Has she anyone in mind for a husband? Or rather, has her father?”

Carnforth chuckled. “He’d have me marry the chit if he had his way.”

Ned shot him a sharp look. “Sounds like you might object.”

“Much as I like the old man—and Cassie, of course—it would be like marrying my own sister.” Still smiling, he gave a delicate shudder. “All the same,” he added, “she does have a huge dowry settled on her. Some distant relation who made his fortune in India. So, there’s no lack of suitors after her.”

Ned didn’t know why that information hit him like a punch to the chest. His emotions teetered between a surge of unbidden relief and pure outrage. Did the lackwit not know how Cassandra felt about him? How in love she was with this obtuse, undeserving creature?

“Has she had offers?” He had to ask the question, even if he didn’t like the answer.

“Plenty. But she’s holding out for…God knows what. The perfect man? As if there is such a thing.” He snorted. “Women, eh? How are we ever to understand them?”

How, indeed? It was quite clear Carnforth hadn’t been leading Cassie on. She had decided without any encouragement from him that he was the only man for her. However, as he’d observed last summer at his friend the Duke of Ulvercombe’s house party, men preferred it if they did the running, rather than the other way round. Marcus’s dogged pursuit of his beautiful quarry had paid off in the end, though it had looked to be a close-run thing at times…

It would do Cassie more harm than good if she continued to chase after Carnforth.

Ned gazed out at the leaden rods of rain and the carriages splashing past, churning up mud from the road that turned the curbstones black. Despite the grim weather and the long journey that lay ahead of him with its uncertain ending, his heart lifted a little.

“You see this?” Carnforth inquired, indicating the parcel under his arm, “A dozen yards of best Indian cotton, printed with rosebuds. I mean to take it to the mantua-makers and have it made up into a gown for my intended.”

Ned froze, then frowned. “Your intended? May I assume that’s not Miss Blythe?”

“Heavens, no,” Carnforth said, mildly appalled. “Even though both our papas might wish it. She’s far too dull for me. No, I’m referring to Lady Lucy Dyer.”

Good God. Cassie would not be pleased to hear this news. Nor would Wycherley. Not that Ned cared about the captain’s feelings. He deserved every bad thing that came his way. But not Cassandra. She would be devastated.

“Might I suggest, sir,” Ned said slowly, “that you are careful how you break this news to Miss Blythe? I fear she may be shocked at it.”

“I doubt it. She’s my friend, and I expect my friends to congratulate me.”

Not all of them, Ned thought. Cassie had risked her reputation for nothing and would certainly not rejoice at this news.

“Have you actually proposed to the lady in question?”

“Well, not quite yet,” the other replied, toying with the string on his parcel. “My father is dead-set on Cassie, you see. Very venal of him. But Lady Lucy is wealthy, too, so I daresay he’ll come round in time. Why on earth do you think Cassie won’t like the match?”

Ned was going to have to choose his words very carefully here, or Cassie would never speak to him again. He said, “I’m sure she mentioned a Mr. Julian Carnforth in quite glowing terms. Or someone else said she had.”

Damn it. He wasn’t good at dissembling.

“Oh, that,” said Carnforth. “Just a passing fancy, after her mother died. She was very young.”

“And yet, now that she is a woman grown, and has had a number of suitors, she’s rejected them all?”

A dubious expression crossed the man’s face. Good. He was getting the message at last.

“I see what you mean. I suppose it’s possible she might still carry a torch for me… But it’s of no consequence, now I’ve met Lady Lucy. She’s a bit tempestuous, but I have every hope of being able to calm her down. In time.”

And Cassie wasn’t tempestuous? Ned begged to differ.