Page 19 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 19

Rawdon House, London

“M any happy returns, Frances!” Cassian laughed, wrapping an arm around his niece’s shoulders. “Go on, open your present.”

Frances beamed up at him. “Thank you, Uncle! I’ve had so many presents today, I don’t know what to do with them all!”

“Well, you deserve them.”

Frances descended on Cassian’s present. It was a large, muslin-wrapped box tied with a pink ribbon. She was always so careful with her presents. If they were wrapped in muslin or gauze, she carefully undid the wrappings, smoothing out the fabric. If they were wrapped in paper, she took care not to tear it.

She’s such a gentle girl. Cassian felt a lump forming in his throat. Just like Matthew.

He found himself searching Frances’s face for signs that she was Matthew’s daughter. He saw them, more often than not. Frances might resemble her mother, but she had Matthew’s large, expressive eyes, his way of twisting up his mouth when he smiled, and his gentle, slow way of going through the world.

The thought hurt more than Cassian thought it would.

I miss you, Matthew. Everything would have been different if you were here.

What would you make of Miss Emily Belmont, I wonder?

Frances lifted the lid off the box and gasped. “Oh, Uncle, it’s beautiful! ”

She pulled out a rich, deep blue gown, rendered twice its size again by countless layers of gauze, petticoats, frills, and flounces. The sleeves were full and puffed, the neckline rimmed by lace which had cost a small fortune.

Frances skipped over to where Cassian lounged on the sofa, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I shall try it on at once!” she squealed. “I cannot wait to write to my friends at my finishing school and tell them about it.”

She darted out of the room without a backward glance, clutching the dress to her chest.

There was a silence after she’d gone.

Frances was like Matthew, the sort of person who lit up a room. That was all very well, but they tended to leave silence in their wake once they left.

Margaret had not spoken much. Cassian had noticed that she was drinking wine, despite the early hour of the morning.

Not that Margaret was a bad mother, of course. She adored Frances, and she had given her plenty of presents, but there was sometimes a tension between mother and daughter that Cassian did not know how to broach.

He leaned back in his seat and caught Margaret looking at him.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said at last, breaking the silence.

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up. “You thought I would miss my niece’s birthday party? My only niece, the only memory of my beloved brother? You do me a disservice, Margaret.”

She sighed. “I didn’t mean to offend you. But I do know that you were at Clara Van De Rio’s party until almost dawn.”

“I keep forgetting about your connections in the art world,” Cassian commented wryly. “It’s good of you to keep in touch with them, now that you’re a wealthy baroness.”

“Not as wealthy as everybody thinks. Aren’t you going to ask how I know?”

“It could have been anyone.” Cassian paused, picking up his half-forgotten teacup from a nearby table. It was cold, but he drank it anyway. “And did you hear about whether I had a guest?”

“Of course,” Margaret responded, holding his gaze. “Miss Belmont does not strike me as the type of young lady to enjoy an artist’s party.”

“Then you know very little about Miss Belmont. She had a wonderful time.”

An image popped into his mind, that of Emily’s flushed face, her pupils blown wide with pleasure. He could still feel her fingernails dragging across his scalp, his hair twisted around her fingers. It sent a ripple of pleasure through him.

He wondered whether he should have sent her a note that morning. She’d seemed rather dazed when she stepped out of the carriage. He’d stayed back to make sure that she got into her house, of course, and then left as the sun began to rise.

“I’m sure she did,” Margaret commented dryly. “In the future, however, I would advise against taking naive young women to parties of that kind, sneaking them out of their homes and returning them before dawn.”

Cassian allowed himself a smile. “Who said anything about sneaking out?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s quite a natural conclusion. Am I wrong?”

“You are rarely wrong.”

She scoffed, getting to her feet. A bottle of wine sat on a nearby table, and she poured herself another glass. Cassian watched her, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

“You may keep your disapproval to yourself, Cass,” Margaret said, not turning around. “How I choose to get through life is my decision and mine alone.”

“Perhaps now that Frances is home for good, you’ll think of turning over a new leaf,” Cassian responded, before he could stop to think whether it was a wise thing to say or not.

Margaret turned back sharply. “Don’t tell me how to raise my daughter, Cassian. Heaven knows you don’t visit her nearly enough.”

Cassian got to his feet. “And you know exactly why that is. I love Frances, for her own sake and the sake of my brother, but if the truth of her parentage comes out, she’ll be ruined. I won’t risk that, and I won’t let you risk it either. Don’t you think it pains me, knowing that she cannot call me ‘Uncle’ in public?”

Margaret pressed her lips together, turning away. “And don’t you think it pains me that she’s never known her father? Never met him for one minute? Oh, she’s so much like him that it hurts at times. He was the best man in the world.”

Cassian swallowed thickly, composing himself.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I was harsh. Let’s not compare our grief over Matthew.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, almost angrily. “Quite right. And this is Frances’s day. She was a little upset at leaving her friends behind at finishing school, but I’m glad to have her home.”

“Here I come!” Frances called, skipping into the room with a wide grin.

Cassian had been sure to get her measurements from the seamstress she and her mother regularly employed, and it seemed that he’d chosen well. The dress fit her beautifully. The material was expensive, heavy and rich, and would likely stay in fashion for a few Seasons at the very least.

Frances beamed, spinning around so that the voluminous blue skirts swirled around her.

“What do you think?” she chirped, holding out her arms to either side. “It’s beautiful , Uncle Cassian. Beautiful! What do you think, Mama? I could wear it for my coming out, couldn’t I?”

“Lovely, my darling,” Margaret said, smiling. There was a hint of sadness in her eyes, probably due to the mention of Frances’s coming out and the marriage that would surely follow. “Not blue for your coming out ball, though. White is traditional.”

Frances pouted a little. “Well, if you say so, Mama. I prefer blue, though. If I don’t marry during my first Season, I can wear this for the first ball of my second Season, can’t I?”

Margaret’s smile wavered. “But of course.”

“I hate to remind you of this, Frances,” Cassian interjected, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “but you mustn’t call me Uncle Cassian . ”

Frances blinked. “I know.”

“I really do mean it. It’s rather serious. Officially, I am not a relation of yours, and if you’re to inherit the baron’s money…”

“I’m not sure that I want the baron’s money, though,” Frances blurted out, staring down at her feet. She was pinching the fabric of her gown between her fingers, folding and pleating it over and over again. “It would be a false pretense, wouldn’t it? Because I am not his daughter.”

Margaret and Cassian exchanged a look.

“Now, darling,” Margaret said carefully, “we’ve talked about this, haven’t we? You deserve the baron’s money. As his widow, it ought to be mine, but he tied it all up in a most disobliging way. And you aren’t coming out yet—you’re barely home from finishing school. We need not talk about this yet.”

“No, I suppose not,” Frances murmured. Some of the joy had left her eyes.

A lump formed in Cassian’s throat. He couldn’t bear to see that hollow look in her eyes. It was too much like the look he’d seen on Matthew’s face that fateful night.

“Come, come,” he said, as jovially as he could, getting to his feet. “All these sad faces on Frances’s birthday? I should think not! Go and change out of that gown, Frances—I know how clumsy you are—and we shall play some games. I believe there is cake and jelly in the kitchen, just waiting to be served. We shall play games and eat sweets all afternoon. How does that sound?”

Frances’s face lit up. She was still of the age where sweets and games could make her happy. It would not last long, though. She was on the cusp of womanhood, teetering on the edge of becoming a grown woman. A lady.

She gave one last twirl in her new blue gown and then hurried out of the room, leaving the door swinging.

“Where does the time go?” Margaret said wistfully. “It seems like only minutes since she was a fat, little baby in my arms.”

“I wish Matthew could have seen her,” Cassian murmured, almost without thinking.

As always, a shutter came down over Margaret’s face, as it always did whenever Matthew was mentioned.

“I know you think I should have defied your father and married him anyway,” she murmured, “but it would have ruined us both. Matthew was… he was soft. He could never have survived a rough life. I thought he would forget me and marry someone suitable. I thought he would be rich and titled one day, and I would be nothing more than a passing memory. I never thought I’d bear a lifetime of this guilt.”

Cassian bit his lip. “You weren’t to blame. You weren’t to know he would do such a thing. It wasn’t you who killed him, Margaret. It was my father.”

He spat out the word. It always left a bad taste in his mouth. Father . Like a mouthful of acrid smoke.

“Love is ruinous, Cassian,” Margaret continued doggedly, draining her glass of wine once more. “I wish it had never touched me. I hope that Frances keeps her head and makes a rational choice when it comes to marriage.”

“Matthew warned me to avoid losing my heart. To counteract him, it seems, my father’s will compels me to marry and sire a child, or risk losing everything,” Cassian scoffed, shaking his head.

“Is that why you are seeking marriage?” Margaret asked, fixing him with a shrewd look.

She might be a little intoxicated, but not as deep in her cups as she was allowing him to believe.

Cassian pursed his lips. “You are referring to Miss Belmont.”

“I am. One would think a duke such as yourself would have better things to do than chase a woman who has already made him look like a fool at the altar once. Aren’t there other women?”

“There are,” he conceded. “But I’ve rather set my mind on that one.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes, leaning forward. “I hope you don’t mean that you’ve set your heart on her. In the game of love, hearts won and lost are lives ruined or wasted, you know.”

He snorted. “If you’re trying to warn me off love, don’t worry. I have no intention of falling in love with Miss Belmont or with anyone.”

“Then why, pray tell, are you pursuing her with such vehemence?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have much time. I think she will suit me and the cold marriage I have in mind. She has her own interests and aspirations, and once we have produced an heir and I receive my inheritance, we shall merrily part ways and avoid each other for the next few decades. See, I have thought of it all, Margaret.”

Margaret was quiet for a moment, twirling her empty wine glass between her fingers.

“You are too clever for your own good, my dear,” she said, eventually. “I think your plots and schemes are going to create a rope around your legs.”

“And I think you have drunk too much wine, my dear Margaret, to be using metaphors so freely,” Cassian retorted, rising to his feet and plucking the wine glass from her fingers. “It’s Frances’s birthday and a celebration of her coming home from finishing school. You will not ruin it with your drunkenness.”

Margaret sighed. “Very well. This Miss Belmont will take up all your time if you marry her, you know.”

“I don’t believe so.”

Cassian had his back to Margaret, concentrating on pouring cups of tea for them both. Still, he could feel her eyes boring into him, heavy with disapproval.

She doesn’t like Emily. Doesn’t want me to marry her. I wonder why.

“You mark my words, that girl occupies more of your thoughts than she should,” Margaret added, a sour edge to her voice. “I don’t care for her. I wish you could break the will, Cassian, and avoid marriage altogether. Falling in love will not be good for you.”

“I can’t break the will, and as for falling in love, I have no intention of letting that happen,” Cassian responded, turning to hand her a cup of tea on a saucer. Her hand shook as she took it, making the cup rattle. Some tea spilled over the side, pooling in the saucer. “Love is the one thing I do not want from my wife.”

Margaret stared at her teacup, a furrow between her eyebrows.

“If you’re worried that I will neglect you and Frances after my marriage, I can assure you that it will not happen,” Cassian added, his voice soft.

Margaret only sighed. “The promises of men are as thin as paper in the rain, my dear Cassian. I wish I could believe you.”

“You will believe me, given time.”

“You plan to propose marriage to her again, then?”

Cassian sat down beside the woman he had always thought of as his sister-in-law, even though she and Matthew had never formally exchanged vows. He knew, though, that Margaret kept Matthew’s ring. During the Baron’s lifetime, it was hidden away in a locked drawer. Now, she wore it on a chain around her neck, the circlet of gold hanging over her heart.

“I do,” he answered.

“And what makes you think she’ll accept?”

He paused, the teacup halfway to his lips.

With a faint smile, Cassian remembered the way Emily’s face had flushed when she climaxed, the way her fingers had tightened in his hair. He recalled the dazed, awestruck expression on her face when he had sat up and looked at her.

It was easier than I thought.

He pointedly did not think about his feelings at that moment. It was not about him after all, but winning himself a wife in good time.

He caught Margaret watching him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She probably suspected at least half of what had really gone on.

“Cassian?” she prompted.

He cleared his throat, taking a delicate sip of his tea.

“Oh, I have a feeling she won’t wish to refuse me this time,” he said, as lightly as he could. “Just a small hunch, you know.”