Page 75 of Impetuous

She arose and rang for the maid, taking her time about bathing and dressing. By the time she went downstairs, the breakfast dishes had long been cleared from the sideboard in the dining room, and she made do with a cup of tea and a piece of toast brought from the kitchen by one of the footmen. He also informed her that Sir Philip had left earlier this morning for a meeting with the estate agent and had said that he probably would not return until supper that night.

The day seemed much bleaker after Cassandra heard that news. She was glad that she had already slept through much of the day. She idled through the afternoon, packing for the trip to London in a dreamy, desultory way that was not like her. She spent some time in the nursery, half listening to the twins’ and Olivia’s chatter.

Cassandra did not see Philip until supper that evening. As soon as she walked into the room, his eyes went to her, and there was a gleam in them, quickly shuttered, as he gave her his usual polite bow. They said little to each other directly, joining the general conversation both during the meal and afterward in the drawing room as they listened to Joanna butcher an etude. However, Cassandra noticed that time and again she would find Philip watching her. There was a look in his eye, a glint of warmth and familiarity that, brief as it was, Cassandra still found stirring.

She wondered what would happen later tonight, if he would risk coming to her room. Her room lay almost at the opposite end of the hall from his. He would have to move unnoticed and unheard past his own mother and grandmother, as well as her aunt and cousin. It would be dangerous for him to do so—dangerous for her reputation, at least—but Cassandra couldn’t keep from hoping that he would. Later, when she went up the stairs to the bedroom floor in a group with her aunt and Joanna, Philip stayed downstairs after escorting the ladies to the foot of the spacious stairway. He bowed over each of their hands, and it seemed to Cassandra that his lips lingered a fraction too long on the back of her hand and that as he straightened up there was a meaningful gleam in his eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was real or if she was simply indulging in wishful thinking.

But she prepared for bed with greater care than usual, taking a perfumed bath and brushing out her hair so that it hung in a shiny fall across her shoulders and back, instead of putting it up into a neat braid, as she often did. She had little to choose from among her nightgowns, for all of them were practical white cotton, without even any frills or ruffles to dress them up. She wound up deciding to sleep in a simple shift that she often wore beneath her petticoats. It was sleeveless, with a round scooped neck, a very plain thing but a little less concealing than her high-necked, long-sleeved nightgowns.

Cassandra crawled into bed, turned the lamp down low and lay waiting for the sound of Philip’s footsteps in the hall. They did not come, however, and after a long while she fell asleep, curled up on her side, her pale hair spreading out over her pillow.

She was awakened by the feeling of the deep feather mattress shifting a little beneath her. Before she could come fully awake, a hand slid around her waist and Philip’s voice whispered in her ear, “It is I. Don’t scream.”

“Philip!” She turned, smiling.

“Sorry to awaken you.” He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, and he did not look the least bit sorry to her. “I wanted to make sure everyone was asleep. Grandmother has ears like a hawk when it suits her.”

“I am glad you came.”

“Are you?” He bent and brushed a kiss upon her lips. “I wasn’t sure, but I did not think you looked at me forbiddingly tonight.”

A giggle bubbled up inside her. “No. Indeed I did not.” She thought about asking him about the work he had been doing today or about their upcoming trip to London, but she found that she really was not interested in talking about that or anything else.

“We have to talk,” he said, gazing down into her eyes, his hand caressing her cheek. “I am sorry I was closeted all day with Simpson. And tomorrow will probably be the same.” His hand drifted downward onto her throat. “Then we will have the Moultons with us on the way to London. We should do it now.”

His eyes followed his fingertips as they trailed down over the white expanse of her chest and onto the luscious upswelling of her breasts, and he seemed to lose track of what he was saying. Cassandra didn’t care. She had no desire to talk; she suspected that he was wanting to make clear the parameters of their affair, and that was something she did not want to hear.

“There will be time enough later,” she murmured, reaching up to run her hand through his hair.

“What? Oh, yes…later…” He bent to kiss her, and there was little talking after that.

* * *

CASSANDRA WAS ALONE when she awoke. She had not expected it to be otherwise. When she had snuggled back against Philip, spoon-fashion, last night, she had known that very soon he would slip away back to his room. She was grateful, of course, that he was concerned for her reputation, but she found herself thinking how nice it would be to wake up with him by her side. To look into his face first thing each morning. Then she gave herself a mental shake. That was never to be, and she must get used to it.

There was as little to do today with Philip gone as there had been yesterday, and by the end of the morning, she was completely packed except for a few last-minute things. She had even got most of her aunt’s and cousin’s things organized. Joanna looked quite pleased with herself, and Cassandra could only think that the reason was because Philip was not hanging around Cassandra as he had been ever since they arrived at Haverly House. It afforded her some inner amusement to think how utterly wrong her cousin was about the status of Philip’s feelings for her, but even that was not quite enough to make up for the irritation of watching Joanna smirk.

Shortly after their luncheon, one of the maids knocked on Cassandra’s door and handed her a folded note. Cassandra pounced on it and read it. Her lips curved up in a smile. It was from Philip, as she had hoped. It said that he intended to finish with the estate manager this morning and suggested that she meet him at the old abbey for a ride around two o’clock.

Cassandra wasted no time getting on her riding habit, an old one of Violet’s, which she had kindly had refitted for Cassandra, and going down to the stables. The head groom wanted to send a groom with her, but she declined, reasoning that in a few minutes she would be joining Philip, anyway. When they had still been able to afford to keep a stable, she had always ridden without the services of a groom, and she felt rather foolish riding along with the groom trailing her at a respectful distance.

It was still a trifle early when she set off, but Cassandra didn’t mind waiting at the abbey. It was one of her favorite spots. When she arrived, she was not surprised to find that Philip was not there yet. She tied her horse beneath the shade of a tree and strolled around, peering into the various ruined rooms of the old monastery.

She heard the scrape of something on stone, and she turned, thinking that Philip had probably arrived. However, she could see nothing but another wall beyond the tumbled-down wall of this room, so she walked back out of the room and turned down the remains of a long, narrow corridor. She passed another doorway, and a flicker of something caught her attention. But before she could stop or turn back to see what it was, something slammed into her from behind, knocking her to the floor. A sharp pain split her head. Then there was nothing….

* * *

CASSANDRA CAME TO consciousness slowly. Her head was throbbing, and she felt sick to her stomach. She opened her eyes, which she quickly discovered was a mistake, and closed them again until the world stopped spinning. She let out a groan and lay there for a moment, collecting her thoughts.

She was lying on something hard—it felt like a wooden floor to her—and the smell of dust tickled her nostrils. The air was dead and still. Slowly her mind cleared, and she remembered being at the abbey, walking along the corridor…then being hit hard, the ground suddenly in her face, and pain exploding in her head.

The memory seemed to stir up the pounding in her head, but it did not clear up her confusion at all. Where was she? What had hit her? Her first thought was that a stone must have fallen from the wall and struck her, knocking her down. But even in her still-dazed state, it didn’t take long to realize that that theory made no sense. If a stone had hit her, she would still be lying in the abbey, with the sun pouring light over everything, not in a dimly lit room.

Slowly, using great care to keep her head from spinning again, she raised her head, then pushed herself up onto her elbow. Thankfully, though her stomach lurched a little, she did not lose her lunch, and after a moment she felt better. Gradually she continued until she was sitting up, and she looked around her.

This was no place that she recognized. She was in a large round room that rose straight up about two stories tall. The walls were brick, and there were four windows higher up. Rickety stairs, in many places missing steps, ran up the wall to the wooden ceiling above. The last stretch was not stairs but a ladder that went through a square hole in the ceiling. In the center of the room stood a large pole going all the way up and through the ceiling. At the bottom the pole was some sort of machinery with gears. All of it looked quite old and long unused. A coating of thick dust lay over everything.

There was a trail through the dust on the floor, leading from where Cassandra sat to a short wooden door in the wall not far away. It was the mark, Cassandra supposed, of where someone had dragged her through the door and across the floor. There was no sign of any other person about.