Snowbound With The Baronet Read online

  Cassandra struggled to hide her dismay. She reminded herself that she wanted Brandon to be happy in the way a loving wife and family could make him. Yet the thought of him belonging to another woman gnawed at her heart. The notion of having him as the husband of her beloved younger sister threatened a lifetime of grief she could not bear to contemplate.

  In response to his cousin’s remark, Sir Brandon’s handsome mouth tightened. “I do not need anyone matchmaking on my behalf, Imogene.”

  Was he referring to her as well? Cassandra resented the notion. Did he suppose for one moment she would push her sister at him after having previously refused his offer of marriage?

  Perhaps Sir Brandon repented his severity, for he seemed to make an effort to moderate his tone. “I shall be the one trying to find you a suitable husband among the gentlemen at Everleigh, as I promised your mother I would.”

  Miss Calvert wrinkled her delicate nose. “I wish your idea of a suitable husband was closer to mine.”

  “There is more to a good match than a title, a fortune and a handsome face,” her cousin insisted. “Don’t you agree, Lady Cassandra?”

  If he had doused her with a pitcher of ice water, he could not have caught Cassandra off-guard any worse.

  “I... er...” she sputtered, vexed with him for putting her on the spot. Was this his idea of behaving like new acquaintances? “Having never been married, I am hardly qualified to offer an opinion.”

  She concluded her reply with a faint note of triumph. She had managed to evade the verbal trap Sir Brandon had set for her. However, if she expected him to let her off so easily, Cassandra soon realized she was mistaken.

  “A very diplomatic answer.” His blue eyes flashed with good-natured mockery. “You were not always so judicious with your opinions on any subject, regardless of your personal experience.”

  “Perhaps I have grown more prudent with my advancing years,” she quipped back. This reminded her of the way they had once bantered during their courtship.

  “That would be a pity. Your boldness was one of the things I always admired about you.” Sir Brandon’s lips arched into a half-smile which had a sweetly devastating effect upon Cassandra.

  It made her want to shove his cousin out of the way, lunge at him across the window seat and kiss him breathless.

  Fortunately, Imogene Calvert broke in on their exchange before Cassandra lost her head entirely. The girl sounded vexed that they were not paying sufficient attention to her. “I expect Lady Cassandra agrees with me, but does not wish to offend you, dear Bran. A man like Lord Alanham, with a fortune, a title and good looks would make a splendid catch. I cannot think why you do not approve of him.”

  Cassandra’s gaze flew to lock with Sir Brandon’s. She recalled Lord Alanham from her time in London Society. Did poor Miranda still secretly pine for her former suitor the way Cassandra had for hers?

  Lord Alanham? The mere mention of that name drove the beginning of a smile from Brandon’s face, as if he had bitten into an apple and found it full of worms.

  When he detected a flicker of recognition in Cassandra’s dark eyes, his features settled into a scowl. Prior to her unexpected rejection of his proposal, the only point of friction between them had been his persistent disapproval of her sister’s suitor.

  In response to Imogene and Cassandra’s stares, he muttered something vague about not judging a book by its cover.

  Every lady of their acquaintance considered Lord Alanham perfectly charming, just as all their schoolmasters once had. But Brandon had glimpsed another side of his old schoolmate. As a consequence, he would never trust the fellow. But honor forbade him to tarnish the reputation of even his worst enemy without solid evidence of wrongdoing.

  Could it be his antagonism toward such a seemingly agreeable gentleman that had soured Lady Cassandra’s feelings for him? If so, it increased his dislike of Alanham even further.

  He braced for her to join his cousin in defending the fellow.

  “Social standing and financial security are advantages any sensible woman must consider when she contemplates marriage.” Lady Cassandra’s tone sounded defensive. “And a handsome face is not to be sneered at.”

  Brandon had expected her to offer just such an opinion. Yet that did not diminish the sting of hearing her praise a man he detested. He prepared to contradict her.

  But before he could summon the words, Lady Cassandra continued, “However one must not forget that position and wealth can be lost and time will take its toll on even the handsomest face. A kind heart and honorable character are advantages that will last and even improve with age.”

  Brandon’s jaw fell slack, though perhaps that was better than grinning like a fool.

  “Forgive me, Miss Calvert!” Lady Cassandra’s attractive features twisted into a rueful grimace. “I did not mean to subject you to a sermon or a lecture. It seems I am still as opinionated as your cousin accused me of being, even when I have no experience upon which to base my beliefs.”

  “I did not accuse you!” Brandon protested, though he sensed she was only teasing. “I reckon your opinion is a very sound one.”

  “Of course you do.” Imogene rolled her eyes. “Because it agrees perfectly with yours. If I did not know better, I would think you had coached Lady Cassandra. Besides, who is to say Lord Alanham does not possess those other qualities as well? I wonder if people sometimes think ill of those who are more popular and attractive out of jealousy.”

  Did some part of his dislike of Lord Alanham spring from envy? Brandon’s conscience refused to grant him more latitude than it would to anyone else. On the contrary, it was far harder on him. Unable to defend himself in case he might not deserve it, he met his cousin’s charge with silence.

  Not so Lady Cassandra. “Surely you cannot suppose your cousin has any reason to envy Lord Alanham on point of looks, Miss Calvert. And if he does not have quite such a wide circle of friends, everyone who has the honor of acquaintance with him holds him in the highest esteem.”

  Her voice rang with righteous indignation that left Brandon pleasantly bemused. These hardly sounded like the sentiments of a lady for a suitor she had spurned. If he did not know better, he might suspect Cassandra Whitney held him in more than high esteem.

  But he did know better, his sense of caution reminded him. He’d once fooled himself into believing she felt more for him than she had. It was not a mistake he intended to make again, no matter how great the temptation.

  “Of course I wasn’t referring to my cousin.” Imogene performed a rapid turnabout. “I only meant to express my surprise that he would discourage me from thinking of his lordship in that way.”

  Brandon hoped Imogene would not turn the conversation back to the subject of his marriage prospects. It had provoked him to a state of near-panic earlier, when he’d feared she might mention his intentions toward Isabella Reynolds. Though he had not confided his plans to ask for the lady’s hand, Imogene seemed to sense his interest went beyond casual flirtation.

  But what would it matter if Lady Cassandra learned he had a new sweetheart? Brandon’s heart balked at using that word in connection with Miss Reynolds. He liked the lady and considered her a safe, suitable choice for a wife. His feelings for her were not clouded by sentiment any more than hers were for him. His feelings for Lady Cassandra were quite another matter... or could be if he did not keep them well under control. Hopefully he would not have to exercise that control long enough for it to be severely tested.

  “Come now, Imogene,” he said, “It is not polite for us to monopolize the conversation. What of you, Lady Cassandra, will there be a gentleman or two at Noughtly Hall who might meet your high standards and merit a little encouragement on your part?”

  Perhaps if he knew she had a suitor waiting for her, it would prevent his thoughts from straying in directions they should not.

  “Gentlemen at Noughtly?” Lady Cassandra shook her head. “I would be more likely to see a unicorn! But you are right to ac
cuse me of having high standards. Far higher than I merit, no doubt. That may be why I am so firmly on the shelf.”

  She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. Did it carry a faint undertone of regret, Brandon wondered, or was he only hearing what he wanted to hear?

  “You do not look that old,” Imogene assured Lady Cassandra in a patronizing tone that set her cousin’s teeth on edge. “I am certain there must be plenty of gentlemen who would be delighted to marry you.”

  Brandon bit his tongue to keep from agreeing, for fear he might sound too eager. That would never do when he was on his way to propose to another woman.

  “That is kind of you, Miss Calvert.” The corners of Lady Cassandra’s lips arched upward in a tormented parody of a smile. “But I would far rather have no husband than the wrong one. There is nothing so capable of destroying one’s happiness as a miserable marriage. I may not be able to speak from experience but...”

  At that moment, Mr. Martin concluded an amusing story which drew a great swell of laughter from the other men.

  It drowned out the rest of Lady Cassandra’s words except to Brandon, who had leaned forward with his ears poised to catch them, “... I certainly can from observation.”

  Did she mean what he thought she meant? Brandon knew her late father had been married at least three times. The odds that one of those unions had been unhappy were high, if his family’s experience was anything to judge by. Why had Lady Cassandra never mentioned it to him during their courtship?

  For an instant he was inclined to resent her reticence. Then he recalled that he had never told her any of his family’s secrets, either. During their courtship, they had formed as close an acquaintance as propriety allowed. Usually her stepmother or some other respectable chaperone hovered nearby. That was hardly conducive to soul-baring. Besides, he had wanted her to think well of him and not shy away from marrying into a family whose respectable façade concealed a shameful underside. Was it possible she had found out somehow or guessed the truth? Could that be the true reason she had refused to wed him?

  Those questions plagued Brandon and made him wish he’d gotten to know her better. But there could be no opportunity for that now. For the sake of peace, they had agreed to behave like new acquaintances who knew nothing about one another.

  When the other men’s laughter subsided, the group on the window seat resumed their conversation. By unspoken consent, they confined themselves to impersonal subjects. Brandon’s sense of caution approved, but his curiosity itched to learn more about Lady Cassandra Whitney than she had revealed to him during their decorous courtship.

  Chapter Five

  WHAT A STRANGE dream she’d had.

  As Cassandra groped toward consciousness the next morning, she recalled the details with intense clarity. She’d been on her way to Noughtly Hall when she suddenly found herself storm-stayed with Sir Brandon Calvert.

  Her imagination lingered on the sharp contours of his features and the deep, constant blue of his eye. She had dreamed of him before but always looking as he had when she’d last seen him. How had she managed to picture the way he might have matured in four years?

  With a self-indulgent sigh, she tried to sink back into her dream and enjoy Sir Brandon’s company for a little longer. But the waking world began to intrude. This bed did not feel like the one she shared with Vi. She was not wearing a nightgown, but the shift she wore beneath her dress during the day. Had she and Mrs. Davis reached Noughtly Hall? How strange that she could not recall it when her snowbound dream was so clear in her mind.

  But if she had arrived at Noughtly, her sleeping sister should not be snuggled against her providing welcome warmth.

  Cassandra’s eyes flew open and her gaze ranged around the small, gabled room, still heavily cloaked in shadow. She could make out enough to realize this was neither Rosemeade Cottage nor Noughtly Hall. It must be a farmhouse on the Wiltshire Downs where she was storm-stayed with a party that included Sir Brandon Calvert!

  The unmixed pleasure Cassandra had felt when she’d believed the whole experience to be a dream suddenly became very mixed indeed. Pleasure was only a small part of that mixture—one she tried to deny altogether but could not quite.

  Everything she’d seen and done the previous day came back to her. It had been one of the most distressing events she’d experienced in recent memory. Yet it had been one of the most exhilarating, too. She could congratulate herself that she had come through it with her dignity intact.

  But what would today bring? Would the snow have stopped or turned to rain so she and Sir Brandon could go their separate ways?

  Outside, the wind moaned around the eaves, while inside the little room, the air was filled with the drone of soft snoring from Cassandra’s bedmates. Much as she dreaded subjecting herself to the chill morning air and putting on cold garments, she could not continue to lie there not knowing what today would bring. Once she knew whether she would go or stay, she could prepare herself to deal with it.

  Moving as quietly as possible, so as not to wake the others, she slipped out of bed, groped about for her clothes and put them on. Shivering, she crept to the tiny window and peered through the shutter slats. Outside, the world was white as if everything had received a thick coating of meringue. Snowflakes swirled on the gusts of wind. Far from abating, they appeared to be falling harder than yesterday. So much for Sir Brandon Calvert and his confident predictions!

  Cassandra barely stifled a cry of alarm when she heard a floorboard creak behind her.

  “Forgive me for startling you,” Mrs. Davis whispered. “How does it look out there?”

  “Worse than yesterday.” Cassandra shook her head. “It is a good thing Mr. and Mrs. Martin are fond of company, for I believe they will have us with them again today.”

  “What a blessing we found our way here.” Mrs. Davis wrapped her arms around herself. Her teeth began to chatter. “If we cannot leave today, I might as well go back to bed where it is warm.”

  “So you should.” Cassandra chafed her arms to warm them. “Now that I am up, I shall go downstairs and see if there is anything I can do. Stir up the fire and put the kettle on at least.”

  As Mrs. Davis started back toward the bed, Cassandra realized this might be their only opportunity for a word in private. “One more thing. Would you mind not mentioning to anyone here the reason for our visit to Aunt Augusta?”

  “Of course not, my dear,” Mrs. Davis gave her arm a reassuring pat. “I thought perhaps you did not wish the gentleman to know. You may rely on my discretion.”

  “I know I can.” Grateful not to have to explain any further, Cassandra caught the woman’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you. Now get back to bed before you freeze.”

  The poor woman was clearly relieved to oblige. She scurried back and quietly slipped beneath the covers.

  Cassandra eased the bedroom door open and crept out into the narrow hallway. From one of the other rooms came the rumble of heavy snoring. Could that be Sir Brandon? Somehow she could not imagine him making such a ridiculous racket.

  With bated breath and tentative footsteps, she groped her way down the winding, uneven stairs, hoping she would not wake the entire household by tumbling down. After what seemed like a very long time, she reached the parlor safely. A few stubborn embers of last night’s fire cast a faint, ruddy glow over the room. Two men dozed in their chairs covered up with greatcoats. Another lay curled up on the window seat. Cassandra thought it might be Sir Brandon.

  A disturbing temptation lured her to tiptoe over and watch him while he slept. She managed to resist by picturing him waking up and catching her. How humiliating that would be!

  Instead she turned her steps toward the kitchen. The nearer she drew, the warmer the air seemed to grow. Cassandra thought she smelled a fire burning. Perhaps Mrs. Martin was up already, preparing to feed a houseful of unexpected guests.

  “Good morning,” she called softly. “What can I do to help you?”

  It was not th
e farmwife’s high-pitched voice that replied but a familiar bewitching baritone. “If you have any ability to control the weather, you might make it stop snowing. Otherwise you may refrain from criticizing my pitiful attempts to predict the future.”

  Sir Brandon rose from his seat at the kitchen table and greeted her with a bow.

  Hard as she tried, Cassandra could not suppress a smile. She had forgotten what a comical twist Sir Brandon could put on the most commonplace remark. Perhaps she had willed herself not to recall because it would be one more thing to regret about losing him from her life.

  As she approached the table, Cassandra strove to make her tone sound as carefree as his. “If I had any ability to control the weather, you may be certain I would have employed it as you suggest. I have no intention of reproaching you for hoping for the best, especially when all past experience supported your prediction.”

  Caution urged her to sit as far away from him possible, but she did not want them to have to speak too loudly in order to carry on a conversation. Neither did she want Sir Brandon to suppose she was afraid of him. So she sank onto the nearest chair, which happened to be beside his. “You are an early bird this morning.”

  “As are you.” He did not sit back down at once but first fetched a cup from the sideboard. “Who would think a baronet and a duke’s daughter would rise before the sun? I took the liberty of starting a fire and preparing a pot of tea. I hope the result is drinkable.”

  Resuming his seat, he filled the cup and slid it toward Cassandra. She raised it to her lips and took a sip. “Rather strong, but I count that in its favor. I am certain Mrs. Martin will not resent your liberties in the least, though she may be surprised to discover a baronet acting as her scullery maid. Where did you learn to make a fire and a pot of tea?”

  Even before he replied, she guessed the answer. “In his Majesty’s Army, of course. Military service can render a gentleman not entirely useless.”