Page 19 of The Raven’s Lady (The Duke’s Men #2)

T he dry spell that set in after Raven’s quarrel with Cassie continued as the ball approached. Raven filled his days with a thousand and one details, more even, he thought than the renovation of the hall required. When things were well in hand, musicians and menu, flowers and candles, lanterns for the formal garden, extra help to assist with the carriages, he took a brief trip to London for a ring.

Late in the afternoon of the day before the ball, Wenlocke and his duchess arrived at Verwood. While preparations kept the servants busy in the hall, Raven took his guests around the property, and enjoyed their compliments on the beauty of the place and the renovations he’d made. A simple supper on the terrace followed. It had been impossible not to invite Jay to join them. Raven’s grandfather was there, as well.

Around the table in the long, lingering day, Grandfather Cole was willing to admit that Raven had done good work renovating the hall, but he continued to wonder why Raven wanted to spend more time in the country, no matter how pretty his neighbor was.

“Nothing to do in the country,” Grandfather complained. He did not himself ride, shoot, or fish.

“Can’t agree with you, there, Mr. Cole,” Jay chimed in. Wenlocke lifted a brow, and Jay took the cue. “There’s plenty of work for me. I’m training a horse for the dowager.”

The duchess, a lover of ponies, looked at Raven. “We didn’t see your stables, did we, Raven?”

Raven caught a questioning glance from Jay. “No, ma’am. My agreement with the dowager does not include her stables, so I don’t generally go there. But Jay can tell you how the training goes.”

Wenlocke and the duchess exchanged a glance before she turned to Jay again. “Do tell us about this horse, Jay.”

“He’s a bit of a secret, ma’am.” Jay smiled.

“A secret? How so?” she asked, her vivid blue eyes alight. She had always been one to get them talking even as boys when they’d felt particularly awkward. Wenlocke sat back, wine in hand, to watch his wife in action.

“He’s not run for three years, and we hope to surprise his rivals when we bring him on.”

“And when will that be?” the duchess asked.

“The dowager will decide, but I’m pushing for the end of July at the Duke of Richmond’s for some flat racing. At five, Hermes has the stamina for the six-furlong. If he can place, the dowager would be pleased.”

As the questioning progressed, Raven attended to the food on his plate. He knew that Hermes’s training continued, but since Jay moved to the Crocketts, Raven had heard nothing. Instantly, he wondered whether Cassie would go to the race with her grandmother. He had avoided seeing her, or she had avoided him, but he had felt that she was nearby. Now, perhaps, she would leave Verwood.

The duchess asked questions about training methods, and, finally, how Jay meant to get the horse to Chichester, some fifty miles away.

“Moving a horse that distance is always a difficulty, but the dowager has a plan. She’s had some experience getting a horse there.” Jay turned to Raven. “Maybe, Raven, when you finish designing fire engines, you could design a traveling horse box. It will be a slog getting Hermes to the course. We’ll start directly after your ball, I should think.”

Raven looked up, and realized that Wenlocke, ever the keen observer of people, had been watching him. When they were boys in London, it had been Wenlocke’s power of reading others that had kept them out of the clutches of those apparently amiable persons who sold boys into all forms of bondage. And Wenlocke had always known when one of his companions was troubled. Wherever they slept, Wenlocke made sure that the nightmares were kept at bay.

“And who will be your jockey?” the duchess continued.

“An unknown named Lester Oakley. He’ll make his name on Hermes, I suspect. But the real secret of our success is the dowager’s farrier, Dick Crockett. He’s got magic hands for calming a horse. We will take him with us, a sort of secret weapon.”

“So, the dowager is thinking of re-opening the Verwood stud?” Wenlocke spoke casually, but the tone did not fool Raven. It was like Wenlocke to investigate a situation before entering.

Jay nodded. “Hermes is five. Most of the purses are for two- and three-year-olds. If Hermes has some good outings this summer and fall, there might be interest in Verwood again.”

“I understand that her grace is famously set in her views of proper training. Did you win her over to the Jay Kydd method?” Wenlocke asked.

Jay laughed. “It helped that I happened to agree with her about the harm of sweating and stoving. And then I had Bluebell, the dowager’s granddaughter on my side. Have you met her?” He glanced at Raven.

“Bluebell?” The duchess looked curious.

“My name for Lady Cassandra. She encouraged her grandmother to take up where they’d left off Hermes’s training years ago.”

Raven worked at appearing indifferent. He had spent days, now weeks, trying to forget Cassie, and yet the mere mention of her name brought her rain-soaked image sharply to mind. Again, he felt Wenlocke’s gaze on him. He roused himself to turn the conversation to other topics, asking about the Wenlocke children.

When the sky at last began to darken, they stood to say their good nights. Jay strode off briskly for the stables. Grandfather called for his man to assist him. The duchess offered Raven a kiss on the cheek and her best wishes for his ball. She planned to call upon the dowager in the morning.

Wenlocke took his wife’s hand. “May we borrow your moonlit garden for a while, Raven?”

Raven nodded and turned away.

*

By nine on the evening of Raven’s ball, an excited young footman reported that carriages lined the drive. Servants stood outside to manage the traffic, and in the entry hall, to help the guests with coats and hats. Raven met his guests inside the great hall now transformed for the ball. The dowager stood on his right, and on his left, Grandfather Cole, and Honoria. One by one the neighboring families entered, making their bows, and staring wide-eyed at the transformation he had wrought in the old room. Tall brass tripods topped with a dozen glowing candles, chandeliers, and large white urns overflowing with summer blooms concealed the dark paneled walls and brightened the old place. Above was the new plaster ceiling. The orchestra, on its dais, played lively airs.

Amabel was to arrive a little before ten, and Raven hoped he could take her directly to the bench in the garden to make her his before the duties of hosting claimed him. The important thing was to secure Amabel’s hand. Among those duties, the most worrisome was dancing the opening set with Cassie. If she came. The dowager seemed to have no doubt about the matter, but Raven could not be sure. He had not seen Cassie since the rain in June. The past weeks had been warm and dry as if rain had been banished from England.

Standing beside him, the dowager and Grandfather Cole had little to say to one another. Grandfather’s insistence that steam-engines would soon replace the horse had not pleased the dowager. Now only Honoria made an effort to engage Grandfather in conversation. Raven caught snatches of his grandfather’s booming voice rising above the babble in the room.

“Don’t know why the boy wants to bury himself in the country like this,” was Grandfather’s comment.

“You can see, Mr. Cole, that he’s quite well-liked here,” Honoria suggested.

“He wants me to meet this chit he’s taken a fancy to. I don’t hold much with all this title nonsense, but if the dowry’s right, the connection could be good for business. God knows, the boy’s not done any business while he planned this frippery ball, a colossal waste of a man’s blunt.”

“But your business prospers, does it not?”

“It does. We’ve got orders for the Cole engine coming from five cities in America and three more in England.”

“How gratifying to know your engine designs are so highly regarded.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the Duke and Duchess of Wenlocke. The duke with his cool authority and the delicate duchess with her springy golden hair and easy grace drew all eyes. The duchess offered Raven her hands and a warm smile. Wenlocke clapped Raven on the shoulder, and nodded approval.

People turned to stare, as the duchess, once the Princess Giovanna Saville of Malfada, called “the fairy princess” by the papers, greeted the dowager, who unbent slightly to smile. Grandfather Cole simply wrapped her in a great hug, from which she emerged with a twinkling grin. Her husband straightened her silk headdress, dislodged by the old man’s hug.

Raven grew more impatient as the room filled. There was no sign of Amabel. He wanted her to make an entrance, to draw the eye of every guest as the Duchess of Wenlocke had done. The ball was for her. The ring was in his pocket. Whatever misgivings nagged him in the last month, he was ready to put them aside. He had stuck to his plan of not seeing Cassie. And he believed it had helped, still thoughts of her had a way of intruding at odd moments of the day. He would see the boys go down to the lane to the dower house and know that they were going to see her. He would see the dowager’s carriage leave for Sunday services and know that Cassie was inside. He would see Jay Kydd in Dick Crockett’s wagon heading to the Crocketts after a day of training and know that Jay had likely spoken with her. He would hear of her from the craftsmen and merchants who had supplied the ball, invariably congratulating him on bringing Verwood back to life like the old days when Lady Cassandra was the beauty of the town.

At last, the word came that a pair of carriages had arrived from Ramsbury Park. Viscount Tyne escorted his sister and mother, glittering in silk and jewels, and looking above their company. Amabel’s two young cousins appeared more excited for the ball. Then the earl and countess came in with Amabel herself. Her parents hung back a little, letting Amabel make her entrance. She did not disappoint in a rose-colored gown with a sparkling tiara on her golden curls and her vivid eyes bright. She curtsied prettily to the dowager, and gave her hand to Raven’s grandfather with becoming modesty.

“Now, aren’t you every bit as pretty as my grandson said you would be,” his grandfather said.

Raven greeted her parents and then took her arm. There was no warmth in their greeting, but they seemed to approve the hall. Just as he’d hoped, Amabel drew the notice of the room, and an admiring hush followed them, as he led her to meet Wenlocke and his duchess.

“My goodness,” she said. “What a crush! I had no idea you had so many acquaintances in the country.”

“It is a neighborhood ball,” he said.

“How very democratic of you!”

“Do you like the hall?”

She made a show of giving the room a careful scrutiny. “I do. You did all this for me, I think. I’m glad you took my advice about the flowers. And I like the idea of the little tables.”

“I have reserved a pair of them for the Ramsbury party, but first I want you to meet my oldest friend, Wenlocke, that is my long-standing friend.”

Raven did not know what either of the parties felt about the meeting. Polite greetings were exchanged, but his friends did not immediately see Amabel’s perfection.

As they turned away, Amabel said, “I didn’t know you counted a duke as a friend.”

“Since we were boys,” he said, tugging her toward the terrace and the garden beyond.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, her lips in their familiar pout.

“You’ve not seen the garden yet.”

She checked her step and looked up at him. “Must you really dance the first set with Lady Cassandra?”

“I must.”

“Then I shall have to make do with Tyne.” She tossed her head. “He doesn’t have your ear for the beat, you know. Maybe we should get lost in the garden.”

He gave her a warm smile. “We can try.” He led her out onto the terrace. The moon was bright overhead, and dozens of lanterns dotted the paths.

She gave a little gasp of delight, and he squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do,” she said. “But…”

“But?”

“I would like it so much more if it were truly yours. Do you see them often… your landladies?”

“Hardly at all. The dowager has forbidden me to enter the stables.”

“Does Lady Cassandra ride? I thought after her accident that she gave up riding.”

“Actually, she walks a great deal, but her rambles don’t take her near me.” That was the truth. Cassie was quite good at avoiding him. It threw him off his stride to be speaking of Cassie with Amabel. He reached in his pocket to check for the ring box.

They descended the terrace stairs and strolled along a grass path through the center of the garden, their way lighted by colored lanterns. The air was cooler than the ballroom, but warm enough to inspire the male crickets to sing their song. A few other guests stood on the terrace or wandered about the paths.

Raven led Amabel to the bench he had chosen. All summer he had thought of it as an enchanted place. Now, moonlight bathed, the stone looked cold. He spread his coat over the bench, and Amabel sat and folded her hands in her lap. Her dress glimmered like a shining river of silk.

He stood before her. “You must know that I have been looking forward to this moment for some time.”

She nodded, her posture expectant, her eyes bright, the tiara on her curls glittering.

He had practiced different ways to tell her he loved her. None seemed right. The words wouldn’t come. He decided there would be time to declare his love later. He still felt off his stride, and he settled for being accurate about his pursuit of her. “From the moment we met, your smile, your laughter inspired in me a regard I had not felt before, and which I hoped one day you could return.” He dropped down on one knee, and took her hands in his. “If you can return that regard, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Music drifted out from the hall. A woman laughed gaily from the terrace. The crickets chirped on. Amabel tilted her head to study him, and he could not be sure if what she saw in his face made her hesitate to answer, or if she regretted those other suitors she’d turned down. He did not dare draw a breath. There was a chance she would refuse him. The grass was wet under his knee.

At last, she smiled. “Yes, I will marry you.”

He raised her left hand to his lips and placed a kiss there. Later, he would worry about kissing her lips. He rose and joined her on the bench. “I have something for you.” He took her hand again and unbuttoned her glove, sliding it down her arm, and tugging her hand free of the satin. Then he pulled the little Rundell, Bridge & Co. box from his pocket, and opened it.

Amabel squealed with delight, and clapped her hands to her lips. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“It’s fitting then,” he said.

She held out her hand for him to slip the ring onto her finger. In the moonlight, the diamonds glittered coldly. “We must go back inside. I must see it in the light.”

He helped her up, and she tucked one arm in his, still holding out her other hand in the moonlight. When they reached the terrace, she stopped and turned to him. “We will have a brilliant wedding, and you will go higher. I know it.”

*

As they reentered the ball, Raven caught the eye of the orchestra leader. The musicians had played for over an hour, and their leader was clearly ready to begin the dancing. A quick look around the ballroom did not reveal Cassie to Raven. Perhaps she had decided not to come after all. The plan was for Amabel to tell her news to her parents first, and then for she and Raven, standing with her parents and his grandfather, to announce their engagement to all the guests. And everything was going according to plan.

He looked for his grandfather and found the dowager first, her keen eye focused on a knot of gentlemen at the door. Among them, Grandfather Cole stood out, unmistakable for his height and head of black hair. Wenlocke was in the group with his easy authority, along with a red-faced Earl of Ramsbury, a furious, white-faced Jay Kydd, and a sneering Hugh Haydon. Raven led Amabel to her mother, and excused himself as Amabel showed the ring to the other ladies. The cousins squealed as much as Amabel had done.

Raven cut through the dancers to reach the gentlemen at the door. His gaze met Hugh’s, and Hugh started. “You.”

“Farnley,” said Wenlocke evenly, “may I present Sir Adrian Cole. I believe he’s just become engaged to your sister.”

The others turned to look across the ballroom where Amabel held out her be-ringed hand for her mother’s admiration.

Hugh’s mocking gaze didn’t falter. Lord Ramsbury looked grim.

“It’s true, sir,” Raven said to his future father-in-law. “Lady Amabel and I were coming to tell you.”

“She’s accepted you then, has she?”

“She has.”

Ramsbury nodded, but offered no congratulations.

Raven turned back to Hugh. “Welcome to Verwood, Farnley. You’re in time for the dancing.” Raven meant to swallow his distaste for the man, even if Hugh’s resentment would not be easily overcome.

There followed a frozen moment in which the parties measured one another. Raven tried to avoid Jay’s eye, but it was no good. His old friend was plainly furious at the welcome Hugh received and could not be contained.

“Hah, Farnley’s as welcome in a stable as a case of the strangles!” Jay burst out. “I found him nosing about the dowager’s horses.”

It was an ugly accusation. Wenlocke shifted slightly to stand at Jay’s side.

Hugh looked bored. “I arrived late and drove my rig straight there. I looked for a groom, but no one seemed to be about.”

It was the sort of speech Raven had grown accustomed to among Amabel’s friends, a convenient version of events. Raven knew how such talk worked now. “You must not have seen the grooms waiting to assist our guests.”

“Just so, I missed them in the dark.”

“Missed them!” Jay broke in again. “Slithered past them like a snake in the grass.”

Wenlocke put a hand on Jay’s shoulder. “Come, Jay, let’s rally Sir Adrian’s servants to make sure they don’t miss any other late-arriving guests.”

Jay looked as if he might shrug off the friendly hand, in favor of planting a facer on Hugh, but it was Wenlocke’s hand, and one didn’t dismiss Wenlocke. Jay and Raven were the duke’s men. Loyalty to him was a permanent part of who they were.

“Gentlemen.” Wenlocke turned away. Jay gave Hugh one last savage glance and followed Wenlocke.

Hugh looked over the ballroom. “Interesting company you keep, Cole. I suppose it’s mixing in trade that makes a man less nice in his taste.”

“I don’t know,” Raven replied. “I’ve been mixing at Ramsbury Park. Will you join your family as Amabel and I make our announcement?”

Hugh spun to face Raven. “My father may have approved this unequal alliance, he’s always short of the ready, but don’t think that your thousands of pounds can make you one of us.” Hugh gave the great hall a sneering glance. “This may dazzle Amabel for a time, but you are like a toy she’ll tire of and cast aside.”

“Your sister picked me. I don’t expect to be one of you.” Raven knew, as he said it, how true that was. “I will be Amabel’s husband and will endeavor to promote her happiness.”

Hugh snorted. “Then you will have your work cut out for you. I doubt she wants a husband at all. She doesn’t like being ruled, you know.”

Raven walked away. Whatever the truth of Amabel’s character, whether she was vain or shallow, Raven doubted that Hugh had the least interest in her happiness. He made his way across the room to claim his fiancée at the tables reserved for the Ramsbury party.

With a little milling about, they arranged themselves in front of the orchestra dais.

*

Cassie had entered the ballroom as Jay Kydd stormed out, unseeing, with a handsome golden-haired man who had to be the Duke of Wenlocke. Then she saw Raven and Amabel, surrounded by her family and his grandfather in front of the dais. The Earl of Ramsbury proposed a toast. Amabel beamed. Hugh sneered. Raven stood with a smile frozen on his face. She didn’t think he saw her. She had learned the hard lesson of presenting a strong face to the world even as everything inside her screamed in pain. Now she stood as Raven sealed his fate. Momentarily, when she had seen Hugh’s angry face, she had thought maybe he had come to break up Raven’s plan. But she supposed that was not in Hugh’s power. He might dislike his sister’s marrying Raven, but he had neither the sense of principle nor concern for others that might lead him to action.

Honoria came to Cassie’s side, and gave her hand a quick squeeze, which almost was her undoing. A hollow ache in her chest now threatened to spread to all her limbs. She did not know how she could dance the opening set with him.

“He’s confused,” Honoria said. “He will realize he’s chosen wrong.”

“But he has chosen,” Cassie said.

“Well, he can’t be happy about it. He can’t have asked that girl to marry him, knowing he loves you.”

Cassie gave her aunt a sympathetic glance. Honoria loved her happy endings. “He doesn’t know he loves me.”

“But how can he get out of the thing now?” Honoria cried.

Cassie returned the squeeze of her aunt’s hand. “He can’t.” Only Amabel could release him now. “Aunt, we can’t help him. Instead let’s think of London. Will you go to Hatchard’s or Lackington’s first?”

At the end of the earl’s remarks, everyone did as they were expected to do, raising their glasses, and cheering on cue. Several young ladies slumped, visibly disappointed in Raven’s choice, as if they had wearied of the ball before it began.

*

Raven stepped out of the circle of Amabel’s family and friends. It was time to open the ball, and he had not yet seen Cassie. When the room suddenly hushed again, he became aware of his guests turning to the entrance. He turned to follow the crowd’s interest.

There stood Cassie, a Cassie he had never seen, but still Cassie. She wore an utterly fashionable pale blue gown of some fabric that seemed spun of air. It nipped her waist and bared her shoulders. Dark curls cascaded down her neck from a simple arrangement on her head. Silver threads of pearls in the dark strands caught the light. She passed into the room, warmly and easily acknowledging greetings from her neighbors, and like that, everyone forgot Amabel, forgot the engagement. His neighbors had come for her. The crowd opened a path for Cassie to the orchestra where she and Raven would lead the first dance. For a moment, she hesitated. Raven knew she had not wanted to make so public an appearance. Then she began to walk, her head held high, with that unmistakable dipping step of hers that could be so awkward. In this moment her walk caught the lilting rhythm of the music.

Amabel tugged his arm. “That’s not Lady Cassandra, is it?” she asked.

“It is,” said Raven, grimly. Once again, he felt duped. For him, Cassie had worn old straw bonnets, and faded, out-of-fashion gowns. She’d never done anything to her hair except to twist it in a knot at her nape. He had never seen the hollows at the base of her throat, or the sweet smooth flesh of her arms. You could have warned me , he thought.

And he knew that he had been blind. She had been before him all the time, but he had been thinking that Amabel was what he wanted, that winning her would undo the world’s judgment of him. But the world’s judgment didn’t matter. It could wound a person deeply, but it could not change who you were or alter the essence of one’s character. Cassie knew that. Her walk with all eyes upon her showed that she knew that.

*

Cassie reached the place where she must begin the dance with Raven. Her neighbors’ welcome had made the long walk possible. Without them, she never would have made it with so many eyes upon her. She was conscious of Amabel and her party in the crowd. They knew the full story of Cassie’s folly and humiliation. They had spread the hurtful phrase. But she could not be shattered again. The room was full of friends. Grandmama and Honoria were there. Cassie turned to face the crowd, standing as tall and as straight as she could.

Raven strode forward to stand at her side. He looked magnificent in the black-and-white of his evening wear that could not entirely disguise his muscularity. It was shocking how, seeing him, instantly undid all the efforts of a month of forgetting. She would have to begin again once this night was over. And she must get to London. She must replace the images in her head with other impressions. He was frowning at her.

“I’ve offended you again,” she said.

“Not, at all.” He took her hand. “So, you decided you could dance with me.”

Other couples began to take the floor.

“Grandmama was most persuasive. I will try not to let the side down.”

Lady Amabel and her partner, a young man Cassie did not know, took their places as the lines formed.

“Amabel forgave you, I take it,” she said.

“She did.” He was tight-lipped and unsmiling.

“Then everything has gone according to your plan. The room looks beautiful, and it is wonderful to see it full of people. A house like Verwood is meant to be connected to its neighbors. Thank you.”

The musicians ceased their tuning. Cassie faced Raven. He looked somber and grim. He should be radiating joy. She smiled at him. Then the orchestra struck up, a rather stately tune of an earlier time. They bowed to each other, and prompted by the music, took light steps to meet in the middle.

“It’s a dance,” she reminded him in passing. “You are stuck with me for mere minutes.”

On the opposite side, she turned to face him again. She should heed her own words. It was only a dance, but the dancing would undo all the work she had done to forget him. She might be unhappy, but she could not see why he should be so. All his efforts had brought Amabel to the lovely evening that he had made for her.

When the dance brought them together again as they moved down the line, he said, “We ended our brief friendship badly. I am sorry for that.”

“Then you have forgiven me for not telling you about Hugh?” It was some comfort that he regretted their terrible quarrel in the rain. For that she was grateful. They would not part as enemies. A turn took her away from him for a moment, and they came together again and joined hands to advance down the line.

“Have you forgiven me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. She had forgiven him, too easily, too completely. He wanted to be part of the world she’d left behind, a world she had taken for granted. Before the disaster of her Season and her accident, she had assumed that she would always have a place in that world. She knew better now.

The stately dance required them to join hands over head and behind their backs. Each time he seemed reluctant to let her fingers go. His gaze never left hers. The music made a space where they danced alone. The advance and retreat of the dance mimicked their friendship.

They reached the end of the line. The last moments of the dance required one more bow, one more coming toward each other and taking hands. The music ended with their hands still joined and his eyes gazing into hers. In a heart-stopping moment, she realized that he knew, knew that she loved him. It should be mortifying, but it was instead a release of pent-up feelings that had had no expression since they had begun. And then his face changed, matched her own, pain written plain on his features. He knew that he loved her, too. His eyes admitted it. But he would marry Amabel. She feared she would start shaking and not be able to stop.

There was a burst of clapping around them, and he tucked her arm into his and walked her to her grandmother and his grandfather. She caught the looks on their faces, Grandmama knowing, Mr. Cole confused. She turned her gaze to Raven’s evening shoes as he bowed his farewell. He would go to Amabel now.

When the supper interval began, Cassie slipped away. She had nearly fulfilled her bargain with Grandmama. London beckoned.

*

Raven danced with Amabel and with a half dozen of his neighbors’ daughters before the waltz he had saved for his betrothed. He made every effort to avoid looking for Cassie in the crowd. He was aware of having betrayed himself in the last moment of their dance.

Now that he knew his heart, the evening seemed interminable. His vision was extraordinarily clear. He could see each step of the way that led him to this moment. He could see the blue flame at the heart of each candle and the individual petals on the pink dog roses trailing from the tall urns. He had created a triumph for Amabel, and he owed her his allegiance even if that allegiance was compromised because his heart did not belong to her. She was lovely still, though her loveliness was a surface thing, a matter of paint and gilding rather than the grain of her being. But he could choose to make her happy. It was no small thing in life to care about another’s happiness. They might live more in London than in the country. Her sphere would be with her friends and his might shift back to his business.