Marshall Paula A Biddable Girl

Marshall, Paula - A Biddable Girl
a biddable girl [070-4.2]

By: paula marshall
Synopsis:
"I must make one thing plain."
than in friem that is. That is partly why I have chosen to be my wife. I
have no desire to h~ family, and every desire to thwart m3 father by marrying
to secure the estate then not providing the Devereux line wil heir he so
dearly desired.
Damn the 1: say. I will see that you have a rich comfortable life, and in
return you w: faithful to me. You look the faithful sort.
He means that I am plain and bid, thought Cass numbly. But let him wait
after he has married me!
CHAPTER ONE
"MY DEAR Constantia, how like Papa. Inconsiderate in life, how should we
expect him to be any different in death? To leave his estate in trust at the
lawyers, and the will only to be read at the end of six months to give a
chance for Jack to be traced. Now the six months is up, the will is to be
read today, and all is still at sixes and sevens. I suppose there is no news
of Jack? Useless to expect that, too. I am astonished that Papa wished him
to be found after what happened twelve years ago." The Lady Constantia
Maxwell, the speaker's sister-they were the daughters of the late Earl
Devereux-- who was always a little timid in the presence of her dominant
elder twin, Amelia, Lady Thaxted, answered her as placatingly as she could.
"No need to worry, I am surge. My dear Edward says it is highly unlikely

that Jack is still in the land of the living. Gone to the devil long ago,
most likely. The estates not being entailed, Papa is sure to have left
everything away from him. And since Jack was the very last male heir, if he
is dead, the title will die with him."
Lady Amelia preened herself a little as she listened to these reassuring

words. As the wife of an inordinately rich peer who was only a baron, she
was certain that her father would have left things so that she, and not
Constantia, would inherit the lion's share of the well-endowed Devereux
estates. if so, it would almost certainly mean that when the next round of
new peers 5 was created, the Devereux title would be resurrected so as to
raise her husband to it.
"I am sure that we cannot wish that Jack is dead," she said, holding a
handkerchief to a dry eye, for it would not be proper openly to rejoice that
a brother's death was needed to bring about such a desired outcome, 'but
seeing that no one has seen hide nor hair of him since Papa turned him out
and disinherited him, and Thaxted says that so far the lawyers have been
unable to trace him, we must assume the worst, I fear. Which brings me to
another matter," she finished meaningfully.
Constantia, well aware of what her sister was thinking, mused sadly on the
bright little boy that Jack had been, so unlike his serious and censorious
elder brother Philip, dead these three years after a riding accident.
Such a pity that Jack had become so wild that their father had seen fit to
turn him out so summarily after that mysterious business at the time of their
mother's sudden death.
She and Amelia had been nearly ten years older than Philip, and fifteen years
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had separated them from Jack.
Their mother had been only eighteen when they were born. And what was this
'other matter' of which Amelia was hinting?
"Which matter?" she asked plaintively.
"The Scrap, of course."

"The Scrap?"
Lady Thaxted was impatient with her echo. "Cassandra Merton, of course. It
is what Thaxted calls her. Such a scrap of a thing. If Papa has made no
provision for her, what in the world are we to do with her? I am sure that I
do not wish for a plain stick to be l hung around my neck, to be found a
dowry and hawked about. I am equally sure that you and Edward will not wish
to be saddled with her, either." She sighed.
"I wonder why Papa chose to bring her into his household.
He never took the slightest notice of her, and no wonder. "
"Papa never took the slightest notice of anyone but himself," said
Constantia, a trifle mutinously.
"But you are wrong, Amelia. He did take notice of her during the last six
months of his life."
"Well, that doesn't help us now. Nearly nineteen, is she not? And still has
old Strood to wait on her, even though she no longer needs a governess. A
fine waste of money. Turn Strood away, I say, and send the Scrap to be
companion to old Cousin Flora. She was complaining in her last letter to me
that her companion needed pensioning off--she is growing deaf and foolish."
Since Cousin Flora could also be called deaf and foolish, this suggestion
seemed a trifle harsh on the companion, and even harsher on the Scrap. "No
hope of marrying her off, then?" Constantia ventured. She was never as
hard-hearted as her sister. But Amelia was not listening to her. She was
looking around the library.
"The first thing I shall do when we take over,"

she announced firmly, 'is improve Devereux House. This room, for instance,
has grown most shabby. Papa had become too much the recluse, Thaxted says.
We have plans for the estates, as well. They sadly need improvement. Papa's
agents are living in the Dark Ages--they will have to go too, and soon. "
She smiled complacently as she uttered these cruel words and added,
"That's all settled, then. I shall write to Cousin Flora as soon as the
will is read. The child ought to be grateful that we have settled matters so
well for her."
Out of sight of the two women so callously arranging her future, and that of
other helpless subordinates, the Scrap, Cassandra Merton, sat up indignantly,
her colour coming and going, her dark eyes--her best feature-glowing with
anger.
She shouldn't, of course, have been in the library to hear what was being
said by the great ones of her world. She should have been sitting in the
small drawing-room, primly doing her canvas work--a singularly boring thing
showing improbably huge cabbage roses on a dull beige ground. Instead, Cass
had borrowed Lady Thaxted's copy of Sophia, that delightful novel By a Lady
which she was not supposed to read--but was, avidly, every forbidden word .
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and wondering why they were forbidden!
The best place to hide herself, she had discovered long ago, was on the wide
window-ledge in the library behind the thick damask curtains, where the light
was good and she had a splendid view of the gardens of Devereux House, just
off Piccadilly. She was so well concealed that anyone who cared to look for
her inevitably gave up, and assumed that she had retired to her poky room on
the fourth floor, just below the attics where the servants were housed, next
door to the old schoolroom.
Which, Cassandra always told herself severely, was her just and proper place,
since she was that unconsidered, in-between thing, a poor relation of no
consequence given a home by the late Earl Devereux. He had felt a duty
towards the only remaining sprig of a branch of the family which had broken
away from the main trunk over a hundred years ago.
"Call me cousin, my dear Cassandra," he had told her on the first occasion on
which they had met, even though their cousin ship was such a distant thing.
Just twelve years old and shaking a little in her shabby shoes, she had
gulped a
"Yes, sir' back at him, and that had been that. He had hardly spoken to her
again until his last illness, when he had surprisingly sought her company,
asking her to read to him because his sight was rapidly failing.
But, in those early years, for her to call so cold and grand a person
co using would have been beyond her.
So, all in all, it was fortunate that their paths had seldom crossed, since
until the end of it she had always lived in the background of his busy life.
And now he was dead of apoplexy, or of disappointment that he had never
achieved office in Lord Liverpool's government which had so recently
consigned the late Emperor Napoleon to exile on St Helena. Lord Devereux's
place of exile had been the back benches of the House of Lords.
Cass had been reading Sophia partly so as not to think what would become of
her now that her protector was dead. His married daughters, the Ladies
Amelia and Constantia, both disapproved of her, she was sure, and had never
shown her the slightest affection. The only source of that was her one-time
governess, aow her companion, Miss Emma Strood, who would doubtless soon be
fussing around, trying to discover where she had vanished to.
The sisters had launched into their conversation so briskly that Cass had
had no time to emerge from her hiding place and inform them of her presence.
And once they had begun to speak of such confidential matters as their
father's will and her own abrupt disposal it was too late. It would be
highly embarrassing to all parties if she were to reveal that she had
overheard their plans for her.
And such plans! How unkind of them to speak of her so! And if Lord Devereux
had not shown her much affection, at least he had been willing to give her a
home--which was more than either of his daughters was apparently prepared to
do.
And Jack, the Earl's missing son. Where was he? In all the six years during
which she had lived in Devereux House and at the Earl's big country mansion
at Coverham on the Yorkshire moors, no one had ever mentioned the name of
Jack Devereux to her, other than to hint that he had mortally offended his
father.
She had known the Honourable Philip Devereux, the heir, who had, like his
sisters, disapproved of her as she had disapproved of him. He had never
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called her the Scrap, though.
That piece of cruelty had been left for Lady Thaxted and her husband to
commit. They had been constant visitors to Devereux House and Coverham, and
the nickname had hurt her more than she could have believed possible.
She had seen much less of Lady Constantia and her husband, Edward Maxwell,
since they were settled on Mr Edward Maxwell's estates in Westmorland. They
had rapidly travelled south when the news arrived that Lord Devereux, who had
turned into a fretful hypochondriac, was dead.
The vultures, thought Cass unkindly, always gathPAULA MARSHALL 11 ered about
a corpse and, from what ~she had overheard both the Thaxteds and the Maxwells
were certainly vultures. If Jack, who would be the new Earl Devereux, was
still alive and had not immediately arrived to claim his supposed dues when
his father had died, then that must be counted in his favour.
Cass wondered exactly what it was that Jack had done which was so terrible
that it had resulted in banishment. As she pondered on this she heard the
door close. The sisters had gone--leaving her to her book. But, alas, the
realities of her own life and those of the Devereux family now had more claim
on Cass's interest than the fiction which was Sophia.
She would ask Miss Strood about Jack Devereux. But Miss Strood was nowhere
to be found. Like Cass, she was undoubtedly dodging the two Ugly Sisters, as
Cassandra had irreverently dubbed Lady Thaxted and Lady Constantia Maxwell
since she had overheard them in the library. She had probably sought refuge
in the home keeper room, and was taking tea there, leaving Cass to her own
devices.
Cass made her way to the beautiful front hall where stood the small fountain
brought from Bologna by the third Earl, the late Earl's father. The
paintings by Tintoretto which adorned the walls had been acquired by the
second Earl on his Grand Tour. If Jack--or was it John? -- Devereux brought
anything back with him, when and if he was found, it was to be hoped that
they would not be Tintorettos. He was far from being Cass's favourite
painter.
What foolish things to think of! She had no more idea than the man in the
moon what the missing Jack Devereux might be doing or what he might be like.
It would be much more sensible to visit the housekeeper's room and see if
Mrs James would consent to give her a cup of tea. Her room had been a refuge
for Cass when she had first come to Devereux House, but since she had reached
the the ripe old age of almost nineteen Miss Strood had gently suggested that
it was not proper for Miss Mellon to hobnob with servants, even superior ones
like Mrs James herself.
Well, pooh to that today! She much preferred Mrs James, even if she were
only the housekeeper, to either of the two great ladies who had disposed of
her so callously. She was to walk poodles, was she? Or read religious
tracts to a deaf old woman--for she knew that Cousin Flora was of the
Methodistical persuasion, adhering to the Countess of Huntingdon's connexion.
"A most genteel mode of worship', she had told Cass some years ago, on her
one visit to Devereux House. Mrs James welcomed her warmly. She thought
that Miss Merton looked a trifle wan and, ignoring the slight disapproval on
Miss Strood's face, she immediately put her big copper kettle on the fire to
make a fresh pot of China tea.
She also set out her most delicate porcelain cup and saucer, produced a plate
of biscuits baked only that afternoon, and sat Cass down in her most
comfortable armchair.
"Miss Strood, why does no one ever speak of Jack Devereux?"
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questioned Cass, after she had drunk her tea.
The reaction of the two women was interesting. Mrs James shook her head and
Miss Strood primmed her mouth.
"My dear child..." Miss Strood's diction was even more formal than usual as
she answered Cass.
"He' was Lord Devereux's younger son, who was disinherited and
turned out without a penny twelve years ago for being wild. Something to do
with stolen money or property, I believe. It happened before my time here.
I do know that re' lord ordered that his name should never be mentioned again
by anyone, either servant or family, on pain of dismissal or banishment."
"I gathered that,"
interjected Cass inelegantly, her mouth full of biscuit.
"But what exactly did he do?" It soon became apparent that neither the
housekeeper nor Miss Strood really knew why the Earl's younger son had been
turned away.
"He was reputed to be a very wild young man," admitted Miss Strood at last,
'not at all like Mr Philip. He was very steady. "
"Too steady." Mrs James, who was normally a comfortable soul, was acid.
"I liked Master Jack; he always had a friendly word for us all. Mr Philip,
now, he took everything we did for him for granted."
"There's not so much as a picture of him anywhere," Cass commented.
"Oh, re' lord had them all taken down. I remember that there was one
splendid portrait of him as a very young man, done before he and re' lord
were at outs. It was taken up to the attic. He had his pet hawk on his arm.
He always loved animals, did Master Jack. Mr Philip, now, he couldn't abide
them."
"Oh, that portrait," offered Cass, without thinking. She had gone up to the
attics beyond the servants' rooms one day when she was bored. She had looked
out of the small windows across London and then had explored among the broken
boxes and old furniture and the paintings propped against the walls.
Curious, she had turned some of them around. They had been mostly brown with
age, as though good gravy had been poured over them, but she had come to one
which had held her entranced. She had been fourteen at the time and had
fallen in love with the unknown and handsome young man pictured inside the
ornate gilt frame. She had thought that he resembled every hero in the
Minerva Press novels which Miss Strood had recently and reluctantly allowed
her to read. He was tall and shapely, with long legs, russet coloured hair
and curious greeny-yellow eyes. He wore a fashionable version of country
clothing: his jacket was green and his pantaloons, descending into highly
polished boots, were a deep cream. But it was his smile and his rapt
attention to the hawk on his outstretched wrist which had held Cass in thrall.
She could believe that the pictured young man had been wild, for she had
thought that he resembled his hawk, but she could not believe that he would
do anything wicked enough to deserve being turned away for ever from his home
and family. She couldn't believe that he was dead, either, whatever Lord
Thaxted had said. He had seemed so alive and kicking--a favourite saying of
Geordie, the groom who had looked after her pony when she had been a little
girl before she had lost her parents and been taken in by the Earl.
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There had been some enchantment in the portrait which had wrought its magic
on Cass, so that whenever she had been bored or lonely she had gone up to the
attic, had turned the painting around and had sat before it so that she could
imagine that the hero in the novel she had been reading looked exactly like
him.
Miss Strood said coolly,

"So, Cass, you found it when you were exploring in the attics?"
Cass, surprised into a reversion to her childhood-- 15 which was not, after
all, so far off--put her hand before her mouth and then, taking it away with
a rueful grin, said,
"You knew, dear Stroody?"
"Of course, but it seemed a harmless enough way for you to pass a dull
afternoon, and I could have a nap in peace."
Fellow conspirators against the dull and proper regime laid down for Cass by
the late Earl, they grinned at one another.
"I feel let down and cheated," announced Cass dramatically, reaching for yet
another biscuit.
"There I was, thinking that I was rebelling against you and the Earl, and you
knew all the time what I was up to."
"And about the window-seat in the library too," Miss Strood agreed, taking a
biscuit in her turn.
"Mr Hunt told me about that."
Mr Hunt was the Earl's librarian. He and Miss Strood had arranged a course
of reading for her; having improved the schoolgirl French which Miss Strood
had taught her, Mr Hunt had recently been introducing her to Latin.
She was aware of Miss Strood and the housekeeper smiling kindly at her; Cass
knew that without them and Mr Hunt her life would have been barren indeed.
And, shortly, she would be losing them all for good. Poor plain Scrap, to be
disposed of like an unwanted picture: not turned towards the wall, but sent
to be companion to a cross-grained old woman. The only wish that she had
left before she was retired from life forever was that she might meet Jack
Devereux, to find out what he looked like twelve years after his portrait had
been painted. If he were alive, that was.
Cass was just about to take another biscuit, despite Stroody's disapproving
eye--she always asserted that if Cass indulged her overlarge appetite she
would become fat, despite Cass remaining obstinately and painfully thin
whatever she ate--when there was a knock on the door and Mr Greene the
butler, came in.
"Beg pardon, ladies--' he bowed, '--but Miss Strood and Miss Merton are
required to attend on Lord and Lady Thaxted, and Lady Constantia and Mr
Edward Maxwell in the library. It seems that the reading of the late Earl's
will is to take place this afternoon. Lord Thaxted was most particular that
all the members of the late lord's household should be present. That, of
course, means you, Mrs James."
What a to-do followed! Mrs James and Miss Strood at once declared that they
were not properly attired to be present at such an important occasion. Cass,
dressed in a drab grey high-wasted poplin gown of indeterminate style, with a
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small Quakerish linen collar, could not have cared less what she was wearing.
Miss Strood wailed at Mr Greene,
"Is there no time for Miss Merton and myself to change into something more
comme il faut?"
A shaking head from Mr Greene stifled Miss Strood's complaints--to Cass's
relief. Nothing was more calculated to induce boredom in her than to be
constantly changing one's clothes--particularly when one had a wardrobe as
limited as Cass's. To change from drab grey to dull brown, and both
outdated, was hardly her notion of passing an exciting afternoon.
So, at least one person following Mr Greene to the big withdrawing room was
happy. Further happiness for Cass would consist of being in the library with
Mr Hunt, spending a pleasant afternoon with him and his book learning.
Once they reached the library they found that Lord Thaxted was thoroughly in
charge of everything. Quite why this was so Cass was at a loss to
understand. True, he was the husband of Amelia, the late Earl's elder
daughter, but until the will was read no one could know whether that entitled
him to give orders so grandly around Devereux House.
She said as much to Miss Strood, who replied in a shocked tone,

"It is not for very young ladies to question such things, Cassandra. You
grow above yourself." She only called Cass Cassandra when she was really
cross with her, so Cass said no more, simply contented herself with thinking
all the things which she was apparently not to say, but which so obviously
needed to be said.
No need to distress poor Stroody overmuch--particularly when they were so
shortly to lose one another.
It was plain that she was unable to please anyone since, when they reached
the library, Lord Thaxted, who was already there with a small covey of legal
gentlemen standing deferentially by him, glared impatiently at her late
arrival. But was it Cass's imagination or was there a gleam in the most
important legal gentleman's eye which had a touch of the satiric in it? Cass
had discovered some time ago that she could, if not exactly read minds,
understand or feel what people were actually thinking rather than what they
ought to be thinking.
Chairs had been set out, and they were all directed to sit in them by Mr
Greene. Cass was at the back, almost out of sight behind the senior servants
and the Thaxteds and Maxwells. She thought that the gleam in the chief
lawyer's eye grew brighter when, once they were all seated, Lord Thaxted, a
portly man with a rubicund face, announced brusquely,
"Get on with it, man, what are you waiting for? After all, you have had six
months to prepare for this day!"
The chief lawyer, a Mr Herriot as Cass was later to discover, bowed, a little
too humbly, she thought-more secret satire from him, perhaps? In as neutral
a voice as he could manage, he murmured,
"With all due deference, m'lord..." a phrase which Cass, despite her youth,
knew really meant the exact opposite of what was being said.
"With all due deference, my lord," he repeated, 'we must wait a moment before
the remaining member of the party arrives. "
"Now who the devil can that be?" roared Lord Thaxted, whilst his wife looked
Page 7
daggers at both the lawyers and the company.
"Are we not all assembled here?"
"Not quite," riposted Mr Herriot with a smirk; as though on cue, the door at
the far end of the library opened--the secret door between two tiers of
bookshelves which gave access to the late Lord Devereux's study--and two men
entered by it.
At the sight of them Lord Thaxted almost bellowed, "By God, no. I refuse to
countenance this."
No wonder, thought Cass, for the first man who came in resembled no one whom
Cass had ever met before, either in appearance or in his clothing.
He was very tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped and long-legged. His
clothing was shabby in the extreme.
He wore a pair of elderly bottle-green trousers, not pantaloons, above

heavily scuffed black half-boots. His jacket, also shabby, was a long
wide-skirted navy blue one, with large brass buttons of the kind which
sailors on shore wore. His shirt was clean--had once been white, but much
washing had frayed it and had turned it cream. His cravat was simply a black
silk scarf, loosely knotted so that the ends hung down in front of his
disastrous shirt.
But it was his face which drew everyone's attention. It was the hardest and
coldest which Cass had ever seen. So hard and cold and harsh, indeed, that
it made the appearance of every other man whom she had ever met seem soft and
womanish. His hair was a deep brow ny-red, long, and tied back in the manner
of the late eighteenth century. His nose was as aquiline as a hawk's or an
eagle's, and his mouth was a grim straight line, frightening in its severity.
But it was his eyes which told the fascinated Cass at whom she was staring.
They were a feral greeny-yellow beneath straight black brows--they were those
of the handsome young man in the portrait in the attic! Here was Jack
Devereux at last! So shocked was she by him and by his changed appearance
that Cass did not even see the large square man who followed him like his
shadow.
For a moment after Lord Thaxted's bellow there was a deathly silence.
Then the grim man before them spoke.
"Who the devil are all of you?" he demanded in a parade-ground voice.

"What are you doing in my house? I want the whole pack of you, except the
servants, out of here in the hour."
CHAPTER TWO
ANOTHER deathly silence followed before there was a clamour of raised voices.
Lord Thaxted jumped to his feet, bawling,
"And who are you, I should like to know, to give orders here? And you, sir,"
he now roared at the lawyer, who was doubtless, Cass thought, grinning behind
his impassive mask.
"Why have you brought this ... creature here to insult us all?"
Mr Herriot replied, his voice sounding as though he occupied an island of
calm in an ocean of storm,
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"No creature, m'lord, but the proven and undoubted John Augustus, fifth Earl
Devereux, present became, on the instructions of the late Earl, he was traced
and found, and the will was read to him, as the late Earl so ordered, in my
office earlier this morning. He has, as his words to you have indicated,
inherited all, with one proviso of which I am instructed to inform you, as
well as some details concerning his bequests to a number of old servants."
Further clamour ensued. Amelia announced that she had no intention of being
left high and dry by her father, who must have been in his dotage to do such
a thing as disinherit her, whilst Constantia staged an elegant swoon, falling
half across her husband. Lord Thaxted, his face turning even more purple
than usual, announced loudly,
"Have you run mad, man? You have said nothing to me of this either before or
after my late father-in-law's death. No word that my wife and her sister
were to inherit nothing."
Jack Devereux's thick brows rose. He was lounging against one of the pillars
which upheld the painted library ceiling, a sardonic expression on his face,
apparently content to let his lawyer speak once he had thrown his thunderbolt
at them.
Nothing loath, Mr Herriot began again, after giving a short apologetic cough.
"M'lord, I did try to warn you to take nothing for granted about the
disposition of the late Earl Devereux's estate, but you chose to ignore me.
I could not make myself completely plain because to have done so would have
been to go against his instructions--which I was legally bound to follow--to
divulge nothing until the will had been read to the new Earl."
The company thought that he had paused, but he had not. He gave another
apologetic little cough and said no more.
Edward Maxwell, that mild and lethargic man, spoke at last. Since the late
Earl's death he had been content to let his more dominant brother-in-law take
the lead. Lord Thaxted having been reduced to helpless splutterings, he now
chose to comment.
"And that is all?" he asked.
"We are to learn no more?"

Jack Devereux, still lounging against the pillar, said in his harsh,
commanding voice, "Have you grown deaf, sir? My man here plainly said that
there was a little more to it than that I had, surprisingly, I agree,
inherited everything. Were you to cease badgering him he might inform you of
the rest. He might also read to you what my late father had to say of you,
but I would A m~AULr. OIRL? advise that you did not ask him to do so. You
might not like what you heard."
"I like nothing about this," bellowed Thaxted, standing up now, his chair
thrust behind him.
"Particularly you, yourself. Where the devil have you been for the last
twelve years? Are you, sir--' and he addressed the lawyer now '--completely
certain that this ... rogue... is truly Jack Devereux?"
"The fact that you consider me a rogue," Jack said coolly, his feral eyes
glowing, 'would doubtless seem to confirm that I am the unwanted Jack,
wouldn't you say? You undoubtedly thought me a rogue years ago, when I was
more conventionally attired and bespoke-- did you imagine that I might have
changed? "
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Whatever Cass had thought Jack Devereux might be like, she could not have
imagined the man who stood before them. If everyone else was behaving
exactly as she would have expected them to--including Miss Strood, who was
whimpering into her handkerchief, "Oh, Cass, if he turns us out, wherever
shall we go?" -then he, at least, was proving a surprise. Hardly a pleasant
one, perhaps, but none the less a surprise. As troubled as Miss Strood about
her possible future, Cass was, nevertheless, finding the whole scene as good
as a play.
And one which she was having the pleasure of appreciating without the chief
character in it even being aware that she was present. Seated at the back
behind the large chef and the equally large Mr Greene, she was sure that Jack
Devereux and his silent shadow-- and who was he? --did not even know that
she existed.
What he would do when he learned that the late Earl had taken her into his
home and kept her for the last six years, she couldn't imagine. Presumably
he had not seen fit to mention her in his will. Unless, of course, he had
counted her as one of the servants--but she didn't think that he had.
And, in their disappointment, how merciful to her would Amelia and Constantia
be? Suddenly, the banishment to Cousin Flora, which had seemed so terrible,
might now be viewed as some sort of a lifeline! To this had she been reduced
in a few short minutes. She would have to collect her wandering thoughts;
Lord Thaxted had been persuaded to sit down, although Jack was still lounging
against his pillar, and Mr Herriot had taken the will from its parchment
envelope and was reading from it that the late Earl had left everything to
his supposedly lost heir, John Augustus Devereux. At this point the lawyer
paused dramatically. Oh, yes, Cass decided, suppressing a nervous giggle, he
was undoubtedly enjoying himself, with all his recent tormentors at his mercy.
He resumed, 'with one condition, that, since I have decided that I do not
wish the name and title of Devereux to become extinct, my son John shall have
conditional charge of all that I die possessed of for the duration of three
months only, during which time he must immediately take to himself a wife.
From that moment on, he shall inherit unconditionally all of which I die
possessed. If, however, he chooses not to marry, then everything will revert
to the Crown, for I have no desire to enrich those whose sole interest in me
has been to inherit that which I may leave, and who could scarcely wait for
me to die to do so.
"It is my last dying wish that my son John will do as I beg of him, and thus
ensure the continuation of the Devereux line."
"He was mad," announced Amelia dramatically, 'quite mad. He must have been
to recall and reward after such a fashion the son whom he once threw off.
And why should he have thought that Jack would oblige him. He had never done
so before. Jack took his hands out his pockets, abandoned his lounging
position and walked to stand beside the lawyer.
"Oh, but I am determined to do so," he announced pleasantly, his grin as

feral as his eyes.
"It is, you must all agree, worth saddling one's self with a wife in order to
inherit such a prize. Certainly you all thought it worth while to spend the
best part of your lives dancing attendance on him in order to inherit, so you
can't criticise me for snapping up what is mine by right.
"I have already decided that I shall ask the first marriageable woman whom I
meet to become my wife.
I don't doubt that she, too, will think that being the Countess Devereux will
be worth the pains of having me for a husband! "
Page 10
This came out with such sincere and good-natured savagery that Cass felt like
applauding--or would have done if her own position had not been so
precarious. "And in the meantime," Jack continued, still in the same
pleasantly savage tone,
"I meant what I said. I want the pack of you out of here. I've changed my
mind and will give you until tomorrow morning. To insist on you going on the
instant would discommode your servants more than you, and they don't deserve
that of me, even though the rest of you do. And, speaking of the servants,
Mr Herriot, let us hear the rest of the will."
It was read in silence. M'lord had been more than generous to those who had
been his retainers for so long, but, as Cass had half expected, there was no
mention of her.
As he finished, Mr Herriot folded the will and laid it on the desk before him.
"Has anyone any questions of me, before I take my leave?" he asked.
"If so, pray put them now. We shall save a deal of time."
Beside Cass, Miss Strood, who had also not been mentioned, was quietly
sobbing. For where would she and poor Cassandra go now? Cast to the winds,
first by the old Earl and now by the new--for like Cass she was bitterly
aware that they could expect no help from the passed-over Ugly Sisters now.
No one said a word. Cass, suddenly aware that were she to say nothing,
nothing might be what she gained, stood up before she had time to be afraid
of being unladylike and drawing attention to her selL "Mr Herriot," she
asked, 'am I to understand that the late Earl Devereux made no provision for
my companion, Miss Strood, and myself, Miss Cassandra Merton, in his will?
And, if so, pray will you tell us where we may be expected to go, if we are
to leave by tomorrow morning, as the new Lord Devereux wishes? "
She had the pleasure of seeing Jack Devereux's head swing sharply to where
she had appeared between the twin bulks of the chef and Greene--both of whom
re' lord had remembered, whilst forgetting her. She had not wished to beg,
but Jack Devereux had been so plain-spoken that he could hardly complain if
such an insignificant creature as herself should also make her A BIDDABLE
GIRL. 9 position as clear as he was making his. Oh, yes, such a manner less
lout of a fellow deserved nothing more than that those who had to suffer him
should be as brusque as he was.
The heads of Amelia, Constantia and their spouses also swung round.
Amelia began angrily,

"Well, really--' before Jack Devereux rudely interrupted her. " Now, who the
devil have we here? " he' demanded of the lawyer, in the parade-ground voice
which he had used earlier.
"Who is neither relative, nor servant, and of whom I have no knowledge?"
Mr Herriot took him by the sleeve and whispered quickly and urgently into his
ear; Jack Devereux nodded as he spoke. Then he began to speak equally
quickly and urgently to the lawer, one hand outstretched, the other ticking
off points on his fingers, as though he were issuing instructions.
Mr Herriot looked across to where Cass was still standing, although Miss
Strood had tried to pull her back into her seat by tugging at her gown. Cass
had resolutely refused to oblige her. With no one to defend her she must
defend herself, or go homeless into the street. To do--what? It did not
Page 11
bear thinking of.
She watched whilst, under his breath, Mr Herriot began to remonstrate with
Jack, but nothing he was saying seemed to register with him, for he was
shaking his head and smiling. He pushed the lawyer away and said aloud,
"Enough! I have made up my mind. Miss Mellon, I wonder if you would do me
the honour of joining me here?"
Uproar followed again. None of it touched Cass. She had begun to live in a
world gone mad as everything that had underpinned her life collapsed about
her. If that was what the monster before her wanted, then she would do as he
wished. She pushed her way along the row of curious servants to emerge into
the aisle and walk coolly up it towards where Jack, his lawyer and his shadow
stood.
She thought that Jack's shadow gave her a shrewd and a pitying stare, but she
had no time for that. She gave the new Earl a bow, not a deferential one,
but as from one equal to another for, however much he intimidated others, she
would not allow him to intimidate her.
Now that she was near to him she could see the returned prodigal more
clearly. He had, she noted, shaved very carefully, even if the rest of him
was farouche. Though he was shabby, he was spotlessly clean, as was the hand
he had placed over his heart when he had bowed to her. It was square and
strong; his fingers were spatulate and his nails were cut short, but had been
carefully trimmed. There was a deep wave in the reddy-brown hair, and that,
too, was clean. Some intuition, some knowledge of the truth rather than what
others wished to be considered the truth, told Cass several things. First
and foremost, what Jack Devereux was wearing was not necessarily the clothing
he usually wore. Secondly, she also knew that whatever Jack Devereux was
now, he had once been a soldier. He resembled nothing so much as the
portrait of the condottiere, an Italian mercenary captain of the early
fifteenth century, which hung in the library. There was the same expression
in his feral cat's eyes, in the set of his body, in the uncompromising thrust
of his stern mouth. He was ready for instant action. Worse, the instant
action he was ready for now was to do with her.
But she must not flinch as his eyes took her in: her slightness, her
Smallness, her plainish face, her undistinguished brown hair, the whole aura
of permanent poor relation which she and her clothing gave off. Cass thought
that she hated him as she watched him so ruthlessly catalogue what she was,
the predatory eyes roving over her. He began to speak, and his first remark
surprised her, for it was a question.
"Exactly how old are you, Miss Merton?"
"I shall be nineteen in a month, re' lord

He shook his head at her.
"Not, m'lord, Miss Merton, Jack."
Cass nodded. Oh, yes, he was a bully, as she had realised from the first
moment he had walked into the room. When he said
"Jump' in that gravel voice, he expected people to jump. But she would not
jump for him.
Something in her attitude must have reached him, for he said softly, "I do
not intend to hurt you--quite the contrary..." His voice tailed off and he
was cataloguing her again.
Page 12
"I have another question for you, Miss Merton. Think carefully before you
answer me. You heard the will read just now?"
Why should that need a careful answer? Nevertheless, she paused a moment
before replying, "Yes, Jack."
"And you understood what the will said? That I must marry before three
months are up?"
Cass said,
"Yes, Jack," again. What could he be getting at?
"And you have no home, now that you have lost this one. My father saw fit
virtually to adopt you, but did not see fit to leave you the means of living
after his death?"
Cass repeated,
"Yes, Jack," again, but her face said quite plainly, why should you be asking
me questions to which you already know the answer? She was aware that behind
her the assembled family and servants of the late Earl were hanging on his
words, as baffled as she was.
"I should like to offer you a home, Miss Merton." Salvation, surely.
But Cass did not like the gleam in his strange eyes.
"Have you nothing to say, Miss Merton, to my kind offer?"

He was mocking her now. But she was equal to him. She was resolved always
to be equal to him if she were to be a dependant of the new Earl as of the
old, since being unequal with the old Earl had left her abandoned to the
world.
"I suppose, Jack, from the manner in which you speak to me that there is a
condition attached to this offer. I should like to know what it is." She
would also have liked to know what he was thinking, although the knowledge
would not have pleased her. Miss Skin and Bones is a shrewd piece, being his
silent verdict on Miss Cassandra Merton. "You are right, Miss Merton, and it
is clever of you to guess. You heard me say that I would ask the first
marriageable woman whom I met after I became Earl to marry me, so you may
have a roof over your head if you will become my wife."
He had made the declaration before the whole room. And if there had been
uproar before, it was as nothing to what followed now.
Miss Strood let out a loud and anguished cry. Almost as loud as the one
which came from the Thaxteds.
Jack's silent shadow was smiling ruefully, as though it was all he expected
from his companion. Mr Herriot was shaking his head. The only unmoved
persons in the whole room were Jack himself and Miss Cassandra Merton, who
had put her head on one side to examine him as solemnly as though he were a
rare species of insect. Or so it seemed to the amused Jack. "Do you expect
an answer now, Jack?" she asked him as the noise died down. Miss Strood had
risen from her chair and was rushing up the aisle towards them. To protect
her, no doubt. Cass did not need protecting. "I would like an answer as
soon as possible," he said, as though he were saying the most natural thing
in the world, and was not behaving so preposterously that his audience could
hardly believe what he had done, was doing, in making a public proposal to a
penniless young woman whom he had only just met.
Page 13
"Seeing that it will save me three months' tiresome chasing of marriageable
women if you accept me. You are a lady, you appear to be healthy and have
enough spirit to endure me as a husband. A man could hardly ask for more."
Something inside Cass shrieked, A woman might ask for love, but I suppose
persons of our class cannot demand that.
Instead she said, as cool as he was,
"Then, Jack, I suppose I must accept you. I am, I collect, as big a bonus to
you at this moment as you are to me--seeing that by marrying one another, we
shall each acquire a roof over our heads which we might not otherwise
possess!"
Jack threw his head back and let out a crack of laughter. Behind Cass, a
disbelieving Miss Strood, her hands over her eyes, let out a low moan at
these appalling goings-on which defied all the careful etiquette by which her
life had been ruled up to this moment.
Jack stopped laughing, to say,
"Bravo," and then, to the dismayed watching spectators,
"You heard that, I trust. Miss Merton has agreed to marry me. The
conditions of my father's will are to be fulfilled. I give you all, sisters
and brothers-in-law, leave to remain here so that you may see us legally
married as soon as a special licence has been obtained."
He bowed to Cass, who stood silent, swaying slightly, as the enormity of what
she had just agreed to struck home.
But it was too late to retreat or to deny what she had done. She had,
without any real pressure being put upon her, publicly and formally said that
she would become the monster's Countess. Through a haze of sudden fright at
her daring she could hear Jack telling her that he wished to speak to her
alone, about their marriage, the legal and other arrangements for it, and the
organisation of their life after it.
He had taken her small hand in his large one and had begun to lead her from
the library into his late father's study. He signalled to his shadow to
follow them, and was about to order Mr Herriot remain in the library until he
halted as its big double doors were thrown open.
The excitements of the afternoon were not yet over!
CHAPTER THREE
AN EAGER-FACED young man of flyaway appearance, in his very early twenties,
pleasant-looking rather than handsome, rushed into the library to stare at
the company which was about to process solemnly out of it, the day's business
plainly being over. "Oh, I say!" he exclaimed.
"I'm late, aren't I? Didn't get your message, sir," he went on, addressing a
grim- faced Edward Maxwell, 'until an hour ago when I arrived at my rooms
after travelling up from Brighton. Had to change, don't you know. My
presence wasn't needed, I trust? "
"Not really, Fred." Frederick Maxwell's usually lethargic father was both
short and acid.
"But it would have been all the same if it had. In any case, it has been a
fool's errand for all of us."
"How so, sir?" Fred was still eager. His happy stare found Jack, Cass
Page 14
standing beside him, and he opened his mouth to ask his father who the devil
was the commoner who had poor Scrap in tow.
Cass was acutely aware that, like the great cat whom she thought he
resembled, Jack's whole body had immediately tensed when Fred Maxwell had
burst in. She knew this because he was still holding her hand.
And that was the oddest thing too. For, from the moment he had taken it, it
was though pins and needles had invaded it, had run up her arm and had
travelled down her body to her toes. She had never, in her whole short life,
been so conscious of the presence of another person. It was an almost
hurtful sensation, but delightfully exhilarating.
"Who's he?" Jack rasped at Cass out of the side of his mouth, meaning Fred.
Well, perhaps it wasn't surprising that he hadn't recognised Fred, who had
still been a boy when Jack had been thrown out of the nest.
"Your nephew Frederick Maxwell," Cass whispered back. She didn't add, He's
rather wild, like you were, but there's no malice in him--in fact he's rather
silly. For some reason, she thought that there might be quite a lot of
malice in Jack Devereux. He was watching his brother-in-law explain who he
was to a bewildered Fred.
"My uncle Jack? The new Earl? Never! You're hamming me, sir. He looks
like a longshoreman touting for work."
This came out so loudly and so incredulously that Jack heard it and began to
laugh.
"He's truthful, at least," he remarked to Cass, his face one grin. He

dropped her hand and walked over to where Fred was now staring at him.
"Hello, Fred. Yes, I am your uncle. I didn't recognise you, either. Not
surprising, since you were little more than a howling babe when I last saw
you. You've come on a lot since then."
Fred remembered his manners at last. He gave the new Earl a low bow, said
cheerfully,
"Sorry I wasn't as respectful just now as I ought to have been. But you must
admit that I couldn't really have guessed who you are. You don't look a bit
like Grandfather, or Uncle Philip, that's for sure."
"We must meet again soon," offered Jack, more friendly towards young Fred
than he had been to any of his elders, 'but not today. I have an
engagement--' and he pulled out of his coat pocket a battered watch to check
the time '--shortly, I see, so I must leave when Miss Merton and I have had a
comfortable chat about our coming marriage. "
Fred turned scarlet and then white. He had a tend re for Cass which he had
never confessed to anyone, and certainly not to her.
"You're going to marry Cass? How long have you known her?"
Jack consulted his watch again.
"About fifteen minutes, I should say.
Your papa will inform you why I am marrying her, if you are curious to know.
" " Well, it's the oddest thing I have ever heard of,"
returned Fred.
Page 15
"I suppose there is a reasonable explanation for it,"
he offered doubtfully.
"Well, I haven't time to give you one now." Jack wasn't doubtful at all,
Cass noticed, only amused by what was happening.
"Nor have I time to listen to you now," said Fred eagerly. Amiable and eager
were his middle names.
"I
am due at Fronsac's Fencing Academy later this afternoon, for a lesson with
their new master, Jacques Duroy. "
For some reason this seemed to amuse Jack Devereux mightily. He began to
laugh, pulled out a tattered piece of clean linen which served him as a
handkerchief and wiped his eyes with it. All his relatives, scandalised,
watched this performance with stony faces.
They were even more scandalised when Jack remarked, as coolly as though he
were discussing matters of the most supreme gravity,
"Well, that's an odd coincidence, Fred, my lad, seeing that you're coming to
have a lesson with me. I'm Louis Fronsac's new instructor. I should
scarcely call myself a master."
"You're an instructor! In a fencing academy! You can't be! Besides,

your name's not Duroy. You're a Devereux." Fred was only uttering the
thoughts of all those in the library, masters and servants, who were
listening, fascinated, to this exchange. For the moment no one had any wish
to leave.
"I'm Duroy at the Academy because the customers like to think that all
fencing masters are French. And I teach there because, until this morning,
if I hadn't worked for my living I'd have starved."
"Well, you needn't work now," remarked Fred incontrovertibly.
"On the contrary." For the first time Jack was grave. "I have a duty to
work for Louis until he finds a replacement for me. He gave me employment
when no one else would. I owe him a debt of gratitude, and that's the
biggest debt of all--as you may find out if you live long enough."
This last dour remark broke the strange interlude in which Fred had held the
floor on his own. Jack turned away to rejoin Cass, and the noise of angry
voices rose again behind him. Lord Thaxted pushed Fred on one side and
caught Jack roughly by the arm to detain him. Cass watched Jack freeze. He
stood quite still, his back to Thaxted, resisting his pulling arm. And then,
his face an Aztec mask, so expressionless was it, he half turned, removed the
offending hand and said conversationally,
"I'll thank you not to manhandle me, Thaxted. I've killed for less. Say
what you have to without touching me again."
"Damn you, Jack Devereux," Thaxted roared, 'you're as ill-conditioned as you
were when your father turned you away. But even you must see that the Earl
Devereux cannot continue to be a so-called fencing master in a low dive where
blackballed gamesters and pigeons to be plucked, like Fred here, congregate.
"
This pretty speech had the disadvantage of setting Jack laughing and causing
Fred's father, Edward Maxwell to exclaim,
Page 16
"Now, see here, Thaxted, you wrong Fred, indeed you do. There's no real harm
in him--and why should he not learn to fence? Louis Fronsac's as respectable
a house as any."
Thaxted had gone beyond reason.
"Not with Jack Devereux in it, it isn't. The sooner he mends his manners and
takes his proper place in the world, the better. What will society think...?"
He got no further. Jack turned back again, thrust his face into his
brother-in-law's and said between his teeth,
"I don't give a damn what society thinks, or you either. And if you weren't
Amelia's husband I'd teach you a lesson in manners."
He drew back as Thaxted recoiled from the feral mask presented to him, and
said cheerfully to Fred, "See you later, my boy. Don't take any notice of
Thaxted here. He never had any sense when I first knew him, and he seems to
have lost what wits he had whilst I've been away!"
"Oh, I won't," exclaimed Fred happily and tactlessly. In the meantime,
Amelia shrilled at her husband, "You aren't going to let him get away with
speaking of you like that, Thaxted, surely?"
The large man, Jack's companion, spoke at last, to Amelia, of all people, in
a commiserating voice, pitched somewhere midway between educated speech and
that of the commonalty.
"Oh, I shouldn't advise you to make him provoke Jack too much, missis, if I
were you. Jack's even more of a devil with pistols and sabres than he is
with a rapier, and that's saying something. He's got a short fuse, too."
Missis, indeed! As though she were the cook or the housekeeper!

Amelia clapped her hands over her ears and made for the doors. Cass was hard
put to it to contain her amusement. This was wrong. This was not seemly.
They were here because a great man and a relative of them all had died; since
Jack Devereux had arrived, he had turned the place into a bear garden. The
joke was that he was the bear who ought to have been baited, and instead he
was doing the baiting. She was certain that every word he had uttered had
been designed to strike home. There was nothing impulsive in him, only cold
calculation. If he had been humiliated, turned out into the world to fend
for himself, unloved and ignored by all, he was paying them all back in coin
of his own choosing, not theirs. But whatever was she marrying? Why in the
world had she decided to live with this cold-hearted brute with a vicious
tongue? Cass almost wavered in her resolve, but then Jack took her gently by
the arm and led her into the study, shutting the door behind them, and she
was changing her mind again. For was he not offering her a kind of
freedom--the freedom not to starve?
"It's true what I said to Fred," he told her.
"I haven't much time to talk to you, and I am needed at the Academy. But I
wanted to reassure you. I meant it when I said that I had no desire to hurt
you. It's quite plain from what Herriot said to me briefly just now that
you are one of their victims. You and your companion, who were about to be
turned into the street. I wanted to secure your future, and as you so
accurately pointed out, I can do so by benefiting both of us. You understand
me?"
Cass nodded. She didn't know whether he frightened her more when he was
speaking to her so coolly and reasonably than when he was in his savage mode.
Page 17
Which was the true man? Did she want to find out?
Well, one thing was certain. Life with him was never going to be dull. And
what had he been doing before he had become a fencing teacher? Fred had said
that he was a new instructor. Had he always been one? She had thought him
to have been a soldier, but perhaps she was wrong.
He was speaking gravely and seriously to her. "Before you marry me, I must
make one thing plain. I intend this marriage to be one in name only. I
shall not touch you--other than in friendship, that is. That is partly why I
have chosen you to be my wife. I have no desire to have a family, and every
desire to thwart my late father by marrying to secure the estates and then
not providing the Devereux line with the heir he so dearly desired. Damn the
line, I say. I will see that you have a rich and comfortable life, and in
return you will be faithful to me. You look the faithful sort." He means
that I am plain and biddable, thought Cass numbly. But let him wait until
after he has married me! He says that he is giving me freedom, and I mean to
enjoy myself as I have never been allowed to do before. I shall keep my word
if he wishes me to be faithful-but that is all.
But she said nothing, bowing her head meekly. And with a quizzical
expression on his harsh face, he began to speak again.
"If this bargain is not to your liking, say so now, and I shall go outside
and tell them that you have changed your mind, and I must start looking for a
bride again. I don't think that I shall have much difficulty in finding one,
do you?"
"No," said Cass simply,

"I'm sure that half the mamas in society would throw their daughters at you,
and you would be spoilt for choice. So why me? You could have rank or
beauty, or rank and beauty. You know I have little rank, and it is plain by
the way in which you speak to me that you don't think that I have beauty
either.
So again, why me? "
"For that very reason," drawled Jack carelessly.
"I don't want some spoiled and pouting miss, who would expect me to dance
attendance on her and would cry at and to Mama if I wish to go my own way.
Now, according to Mr Herriot you are a sensible girl, who will do your duty,
as you have been doing since my father brought you into his house, and will
spare me all missishness I might otherwise acquire. Still haven't changed
your mind?"
A mute shake of the head was Cass's response to this. "Good. Now, before I
go, have you any questions to ask me? Not long ones, I beg."
"Yes." Cass, putting her hands behind her back, said demurely,
"One question. Who is your shadow? What is his name? And will he be part
of our household?" She rather liked the 'our household' bit. It told him
how determined she was to see him as her soon-to-be husband--no missishness
there.
If Jack was surprised by this unexpected request, he did not show it.
"He is Dickie Dickson. He is my great friend, and we owe each other our
lives--which creates a bond between man and man, you understand. And yes, he
will be part of our household. He will be my general factotum and still my
friend--not really a servant at all. We have been Dev and Dickie far too
Page 18
long for that."
Dev and Dickie. There was one other question she must ask him, even if she
could guess by his manner that he was anxious to be away.
"Dev and Dickie. He knew your true name, then?" Jack shook his head.
"Until today he and the world-or that part of it in which I have lived for
the past twelve years--has known me as Jack Devlin."
Cass thought that it would not be wise to ask him exactly in what part of the
world he had been living and what he had been doing in it. If he wanted
her--or anyone else--to know, he would tell her or them.
Patently he did not. She didn't think that Dickie possessed a looser tongue
than his master. It was also patent that they were a good pair.
"Enough. You have no more questions for me?" he asked, raising those strong
eyebrows and giving her his feral stare.
Cass had none for the present, but there was one thing which she couldn't
resist saying--even if one ought not to twist the tiger's tail.
"He won't like it, you know," she offered him elliptically. But,
surprisingly, he knew what she meant.
"Lord Thaxted, you mean? That Dickie and I will be friends and not master
and servant?"
Cass nodded.
"Then he may go to the devil. I take it that you don't. Mind Dickie and me,
I mean."
"Oh, no," Cass said.

"That is your mystery, as Mr Hunt, our librarian, once told me when we were
discussing some ancient manners and customs. Each age and person has their
own, he said."
"Did he, indeed?" Jack was grave again. Perhaps she had surprised him a
little. And now he was bowing over her hand, as elegant as Lord Thaxted
would have liked him to be with everyone, and not just with her, in private.
Before he straightened up he kissed the back of it, leaving behind such an
odd but pleasant burning sensation that long after he had gone, 'to do his
duty' as he had said, she could still feel it, as though he had put a brand
upon her.
Which must be a sort of wizardry he was practising on her, must it not? And
did everyone feel like that when he touched them, or was she the only victim?
-- if victim was the right word.
And now she must go to see dear Stroody and tell her that she was safe. And
there was another qualification she must make--if anyone could be counted
safe who was to live in Jack Devereux's shadow.
"Child," said Miss Strood sorrowfully, 'do you know what you are doing? "
"No," said Cass.
"Of course not. Not at all. But I need a home. And so do you. He is
giving us one. It's as simple as that."
Page 19
"Oh, yes, child, but at what a price! To marry him, such an ogre.
Does he not frighten you? "
"Yes," said Cass, 'of course. " There was no point in denying the truth~
Anyone who was not frightened of ^ B1DDABLE GIRL?
him must be a fool. As Lord Thaxted had been, downstairs in the library.
But he excited her too, and she couldn't say that to poor Stroody.
"He is using you." Miss Strood's voice had become a wail. She plainly saw
Cass laid out on Jack's bed as on a sacrificial altar, her body the price for
security. A joke, really, seeing that he had decided not to touch her.
"True." Cass nodded.
"But then, I am using him, so we are quits.
Would you rather that we walked the streets? Whatever the Ugly Sisters might
have decided to do with us, once Jack arrived they were ready to abandon us.
To spite him--and the late Earl. " Now this was a piece of shrewdness which
until today Cass had scarcely known she possessed. Was it Jack Devereux, or
being in a tight corner which had brought it on?
Miss Strood had no answer to Cass's last statement. Her thin hands worked
convulsively together, plucking at one another. She had lived on the verge
of ruin for so long that she could not believe that she had been saved. She
did not like to think that Cass had been sacrificed to save her.
More than that, in all their previous dealings she had been the dominant one,
Cass her pupil. Now their positions were reversed. Cass had gone beyond her
and she would never catch up with her again. Cass would be Lady Devereux,
the mistress of a grand establishment, a personage in her own right--as Jack
would be in his.
Hesitantly she asked,
"Do you wish me to remain with you, or would you rather I looked for another
post?" She knew that Cass would 'see her right' as they said, but there was
a plea in her voice that she should not be left to go, friendless, into the
world.
Cass spoke as lovingly and gently as she could.
"Of course I shall want you to stay with me, Stroody. I shall need a friend."
She was surprised at her own calm--no more surprised than Miss Strood was,
perhaps. But then poor Stroody did not know the truth: that Jack Devereux
did not want her, would not touch her--at least not yet, for Cass was
hard-headed, and thought that he might change his mind when he had been Earl
for a little while and found that he wanted a child after all. "Damn the
line', he had said earlier, but would he always mean it? No time to think of
that now. For the present, he meant it, and that must be enough.
And she was not sacrificing herself as poor Miss Strood believed--or was she?
Queen Elizabeth, Good Queen Bess, had cried aloud when she had heard that
her cousin and rival, Mary, Queen of Scots, had borne a child,
"And I am but of a barren stock? She, Cass, would be of a barren stock.
Unless Jack changed his mind, that would be her sacrifice.
Might it not have been better to have been turned out, to have taken her
chance of ruin, the ruin which awaited those of genteel birth thrown upon the
Page 20
street? She had no illusions as to what her destiny would have been. She
doubted very much that the Lord would have provided her with anything better
than the opportunity to sell her body; after all, He had provided her with
very little in her short life so far.
But that was being ungrateful to Him--for had He not provided her with Jack
Devereux? -- and Jack Devereux she would have to be content with.
Miss Strood was watching the changing emotions chase themselves across
Cass's face. It was as though she were growing up before her.
"Don't do this, child," she said, and put her arms around Cass as though to
protect her.
"Somehow we shall survive without you becoming Lord Devereux's prey."
Cass comforted her by patting her on her back. She wished that she could
tell poor Stroody the truth. But that would not be wise. She had survived
so far in her life by telling very little of anything to anyone.
"There, there, there," she crooned.
"No need to repine. He will play fair with me, I am sure." But she mentally
crossed her fingers as she spoke. For what did she really know of him?
Comforting Miss Strood was a tiring occupation--for both of them.
Finally, Cass sent her companion to rest in her own small room, a few doors
away from Cass's, leaving Cass to do the same thing in hers.
But she had hardly sat down on her hard and narrow bed, little better than
that of a servant, when her much needed solitude was broken by a peremptory
knock on the door. Without waiting for Cass to reply, the door was flung
open wide, and Amelia Thaxted, wearing the face of a tragedy queen, advanced
upon her.
"My poor dear child," she exclaimed, her tone suggesting that she and Cass
had been bosom bows until Jack's sudden reappearance, and that she was
renewing that friendship on the instant in order to help Cass in her time of
need.
"This marriage is quite impossible. Most unfair to you at your young age to
be saddled with such a violent rogue as Sack Devereux appears to be. Thaxted
and I are in agreement, as is dear Constantia, that we shall find you a home
between us, so that you do not feel the need to sacrifice yourself to him in
order to gain a roof over your head? She paused dramatically.
Sacrifice! Was everyone obsessed with the word where she and Jack were
concerned? No one, apparently, had thought that she was being sacrificed
when it had been agreed that she should be sent as companion to a
bad-tempered old woman in the far North, and that poor Stroody should be
turned out on the street.
Cass decided to find out what new fate, if any, had been decided on for her
companion.
"And Miss Strood?" she asked pleasantly, as though falling in with Amelia's
wishes.
Oh, this was better--it showed that the child knew her proper place--which
was not that of the Countess Devereux.
"Naturally, we should also offer a home to Miss Strood until she finds a new
Page 21
post. It won't be for long, of course, as I am sure that you understand."
"I see," said Cass, and then fell silent.
Silence was rapidly taken as consent.

"I am to tell Thaxted, then, that you will give up this ridiculous notion of
marrying Jack, and be taken under our wing?"
Their wing? Where had that refuge been before Jack's sudden and unwanted
arrival, when she and Constantia and the rest of them had been so willing to
turn her away?
It was plain that in their desire to thwart Jack, to make it difficult for
him to fulfill the conditions of his father's will, his sisters and their
husbands were prepared to do anything to stop his marriage to Cass.
Cass's swift agreement had solved his problem for him on the instant, so
anything which delayed his acquiring a countess would please them mightily.
If they were not to inherit their father's estates, then they would try to
prevent Jack from doing so.
"Wing' was the wrong word for Amelia to use.
"Dog in the manger' were the right ones, that was sure.
"Cass? Cass?" Heavens above! Amelia was pleading with her! And what a
delightful turn-up that was, given that Cass's conversation with her had
always taken the form of bullying roars from Amelia directed at the poor
dependant on Devereux charity! Cass would give her an answer, and as plain a
one as she could.
"Oh, no." She smiled sweetly.
"Much though I would like to accept your kind offer, I have given my word to
Earl Devereux--' she would not say Jack '--and I must keep it. Now, had you
made it earlier then I should have been bound by my word to you. But as it
is..." And she shrugged her shoulders eloquently.
Was not this the most delightful revenge for the selfish way in which her
disposition had been arranged?
The only flaw was that she could not let Amelia know that she was aware of
the somersaults which Jack's offer had caused them all to turn. That would
be most unwise.
Amelia turned purple again at this demure answer. She could almost have
sworn that the child was laughing at her as she made it. Desperate, she
tried again. She had told the others that she would bring Cass round, and
she would not give up without a right. "You can hardly wish to go through
this pantomime of a marriage simply to become Countess Devereux? What use
would a title be against the unhappiness that 47 a union with such a
the'er-do-well as Jack would bring you?"
"True," sighed Cass, 'but I gave my word--a trifle hastily, perhaps--and I
must now live with it. We even shook hands. " She pulled her handkerchief
out of her small reticule and wondered whether to dab her eyes with it, but
thought that that might be going too far. She had already gone too far.
Amelia could see that the case was hopeless. She clenched her fists and hid
them in the skirts of her gown--a maroon one, which did nothing for her
complexion.
"I have to say that I consider that you are being most unwise, and when in a
few months you come running to us for help, life with such a one as Jack
Page 22
being unsupportable, then do not think that Thaxted and I, or dear Constantia
and Edward will be willing to help you. I have given you your opportunity to
retract--and you have refused it. Mark that!"
She finished with an exclamation of such violence that Cass shrank from it.
"You have made your bed, my girl, and you must lie on it--with him!" Which
was not quite the threat that she thought it was.
CHAPTER FOUR
Two men were fencing when Fred Maxwell walked into the big hall of Louis
Fromac's Academy, which was situated in an old house in an alley off the
Haymarket. Fronsac had been a protege of Henry Angelo and was widely
regarded as one of the supreme modern masters of the small sword.
The room was lit with long windows that were curtained, when Fred arrived, to
prevent the sun from blazing into the duel lists eyes. Light came from
several chandeliers beneath a high roof. A small audience was watching the
two men, who were both dressed in the formal court clothing of the late
eighteenth century: white silk shirts, black silk knee-breeches, and light
black silver-buckled shoes. To complete the illusion of the past they both
wore their hair long, carefully tied back with black grosgrain ribbon.
They were fencing with light buttoned foils, masks over their faces.
To watch them was as good as watching a play, or a ballet danced without

music, so excellent was their performance. There seemed to be little to
choose between them in skill.
A page or flunky, a large watch in his hand which he constantly consulted,
suddenly rang a bell. Immediately, as though they were automata, both men
stood back, pulled off their masks, raised their foils before their faces,
and kissed them as though they had been involved in a duel to the death
instead of a demonstration of the beauty and elegance of fencing for the
benefit of the group of watching novices who had just finished their own
lessons.
It was only when the two men, nothing between them in height and grace,
walked towards him, panting and sweating slightly, that Fred realised that
one of them was his new-found uncle Jack Devereux, so different was he in
appearance and manner from the 'longshoreman' which Fred had dubbed him
earlier that day.
Jack had seen Fred walk in as he had swung away from his employer, Louis
Fronsac, to dodge that gentleman's attack in tierce. They usually worked out
together at some point in each day to keep their competitive edge. Too much
time spent in teaching novices and incompetents was likely to destroy their
fine control.
Dickie Dickson, who sat watching them, a sabre across his knee, was a good
performer with that weapon, but had to acknowledge that he was not in the
same class as Louis and Jack with a small sword, however much they tried to
help him to improve his performance.
"Thought that you might give your lesson a miss after this afternoon's
brouhaha, sir," remarked Jack as he towelled his face and watched Fred's man
help him to prepare for his lesson. He had seen Fred's surprise at his
changed appearance, and was happy to have wrong- looted him. He had made a
specialism of wrong-footing people from the day on which he had been turned
away from his home, had been thrown down the steps of Devereux House by three
sturdy footmen and told never to come back.
Page 23
Now he was watching his nephew, and presently began his lesson as
impersonally as though he had never met him before, calling him 'sir' most
respectfully, which only served to embarrass Fred mightily.
Especially since it soon became plain to Jack that whatever Fred might excel
at he was never going to become a master of the small sword, however hard he
tried. And try he did; Jack had to grant him that.
After half an hour's gruelling work Jack led Fred to a mirror, and made him
lunge at it, pointing out that, while he did so, Fred could see for himself
that his body was at quite the wrong angle for his thrusts to be successful.
By the end of the lesson Jack was still perspiring lightly, whilst Fred's
shirt and breeches were wet through: he was soaked to the skin.
The lesson over, Jack led Fred to a small table at the rear of the big hall
where drink was set out--ale, wine, port and several large pitchers of
lemonade. Jack picked up a glass and poured himself lemonade whilst Fred,
feeling a bigger fool than ever after his inept display, downed a giant
tankard of ale.
Jack surveyed Fred's stocky body, not at all that of a master fencer--he was
too short for one thing, and his reach was ineffectual--and asked
conversationally, "Tried boxing, have you, sir?" Nothing in his voice or
manner betrayed that he thought that he and Fred were relatives and social
equals.
Rendered uncomfortable by Jack's professionalism and servant-like

impersonality, Fred muttered,
"Come off it, Uncle. You are my uncle, goddam it and that ass Thaxted is
right. You shouldn't be capering here, calling your inferiors " sir"."
The reaction he got surprised him, but would not 51 have surprised anyone who
had known Jack Devereux for the last twelve years. He seized Fred by the
throat and pinned him, spluttering and turning purple, against the wall.
"You damned young puppy, has no one taught you sense or manners? A few
months as a seaman on a Navy ship or a private in the infantry would do
wonders for you. I do an honest job for an honest day's pay, which is more
than you have ever done, and I demean neither myself nor my clients by
calling them sir. They paid for that, as you have done. And in here I'm not
your uncle, remember that. I'm Louis Fronsac's man.
Besides, out of here I'll have you call me Jack, or nothing at all.
Understood? "
Jack could not understand why he was so angry. For most of the last twelve
years he had kept his hot temper under firm control. But ever since he had
walked into Devereux House and seen that pack of parasites who called
themselves his relatives battening on the work and labour of others, he had
felt the red rage building in him, and poor silly Fred was getting the
benefit of it! He released Fred and stood back.
"Shouldn't have done that, sir," he said, conversational again.
"Most unprofessional, but you did ask for it, sir. Now, answer my question,
sir. Do you box?"
Fred felt his bruised throat, then replied with as much dignity as a man
could whose voice was hoarse and whose eyes were watering after such a
vigorous manhandling,
Page 24
"A
little, Duroy. A little. "
He was pleased that he had remembered Jack's professional name, and Jack was
pleased, too. There was hope for the boy yet. All he needed was a little
discipline.
"Had any lessons from Jackson?" He cast a cold eye over Fred.
"You're a trifle overweight, sir. I recommend less ale. Try the
lemonade--or water."
"Last year. He said that he thought that I was promising, but I fancied
myself with a small sword.
That's why I'm here. "
"A mistake, sir, I think." Jack was polite without being servile.
"I
don't think you've much talent for it, to be honest. My advice is, go back
to Jackson and let him work on you. "
Fred was suddenly resentful. He had wanted to cut a dash with the foils, not
sweat and grunt like a bruiser.
He decided that attack was the best form of defence, and damn his uncle.
Jack . if he attacked him again.
"Really mean to marry Cass, do you?"
"Not here," riposted Jack grimly. He had no wish to discuss Cass or any of
his affairs with this half-fledged boy.
"I don't want to discuss Miss Mellon here." "Here," returned Fred robustly.
"Here, because I'm the gent, ain't I? So you must obey me. Do you mean to
marry her?" He felt briefly and exhilaratingly in charge of the tiger before
him.
"Yes, sir." Jack suddenly grinned and pulled an imaginary forelock.
And who am I mocking, he thought, myself or poor Fred?
"Right," said Fred, 'and now let me tell you something. If you do anything
to hurt Cass you'll have me to reckon with-- understood? "
Jack was hard put to it not to laugh at him, but for Fred's sake kept his
face straight. Which was more than Dickie, who had been eavesdropping on
their conversation, could do. He was openly smiling at the mere notion of
young Fred being able to force any kind of reckoning on a man who could, if
he were so minded, kill him in a dozen different ways, choose how.
Nevertheless, he was pleased to see that Jack did not mock at his nephew, but
nodded as gravely as though he were Fred and Fred were him, in terms of age
and experience.
"Trust me," Jack said, adding as an afterthought, 'sir. " Fred thought that
he did. There was something about Jack Devereux which compelled respect,
whatever his father and his mother, or his uncle and his aunt had said of
him. He possessed a strength, a sternness which belonged to no one else whom
he knew. He felt it necessary to add,
Page 25
"Cass hasn't anyone else to defend her--no father, no brother. So it's up to
me, you see."
Jack saw. He saw that Fred was sweet on Cass, to put it at its mildest. He
also saw that he would never have been allowed to marry her, so he was not
doing Fred out of anything. Whether he was doing Cass out of anything was a
different matter. He thought not. That he was exploiting her, he had no
doubt. But it was an odd form of exploitation, one had to admit, which ended
up in a penniless girl of plain face and mere skin and bones becoming a
countess.
Even if she did have to take Jack Devereux with the title.
Jack continued to wrong-foot everyone by deciding to live at Devereux House
whilst he continued working for Louis Fronsac, a decision which infuriated
all his relatives and raised the eyebrows of everyone who lived in the polite
world. Louis had told him that he would release him from his agreement to
work on until he found a replacement, but had met Jack's cold stare and
Dickie's asmued one.
"On no account." Jack's voice had been even frostier than it usually was.
"You are only suggesting it because I am Earl Devereux. If I were still

plain Jack Devlin you would not even have considered making me such an offer.
Besides, your offer is foolish after another fashion--think of the extra
money you are earning because so many curious fools are coming here in order
to boast that they have been taught by the Earl Devereux."
Louis had given in, as Dev and Dickie had both known that he would.
He redoubled his efforts to find another fencing master as soon as
possible--it was neither right nor proper that the owner of a great name and
great possessions should be 'capering round a fencing hall', as Fred had to
tactlessly put it.
The only person beside Dickie Dickson who approved of Jack's decision was
Cass. She was compelled to listen to his relatives bemoaning it--for their
own reasons they had all stayed on at Devereux House for the wedding, which
was to take place ten days after the will-reading. Even Miss Strood hinted
that she thought his behaviour barely proper. Great men, with great names,
it seemed to Cass, need not honour their contracts--if made with their
inferiors, that was. She had said nothing to Jack of her reaction to his
conduct, because after his proposal she had not seen him. He left Devereux
House early in the morning and only returned long after she had retired for
the night. It was plain that not only did he not wish or expect her to share
his bed, he did not expect her to share his life. She knew this because,
shamefully again, on the one afternoon which he had spent at Devereux House,
she had overheard him and Dickie talking about her in the library.
She had been sitting in her favourite place behind the curtain, and he and
Dickie had come in and started to talk before she had had time to let them
know that she was there.
And then it had been too late. "Why are you doing this, Dev?" Dickie had
asked him.
"Doing which particular thing, Dickie?"
"You know what I mean," Dickie had grunted. "Oh, marrying Miss Skin and
Bones," Jack had said carelessly.
Now, this was worse than being called the Scrap, and no wonder he didn't want
Page 26
to go to bed with her. Cass shivered, almost put her hands over her ears,
but the instinct to survive was now so strong in her that she listened on.
Knowledge was power, Mr Hunt had so often said, and she wished to know Jack.
Though how that might give her power over him, she had at the moment no idea.
"I would have thought it was obvious." Jack's voice was still careless.
"She is a woman whom I can marry quickly, without wasting time on some dam'd
fine lady who won't accept me, however much she might want my lands and
title, without me dancing a monstrous quadrille around her. I've no stomach
for that. Besides, this one will be grateful--be a biddable girl, I
shouldn't wonder.
Plain is better than pretty. I doubt whether she will be betraying me with
every hah dome young fellow she sets eyes on. "
At these callous words Cass clenched her small fists.
Damn him--she would betray him with every handsome young fellow she met, if
she were so minded.
"She's not the usual sort of woman, Dev," his horrid friend was saying.
"I have no " usual sort of woman", Dickie, only the common sort.
They're all much of a much ness you know. Most women have no character at
all, as the poet said. I doubt me that this one's different. "
He was so indifferent, so dismissive, that Cass's toes curled. Well at least

he was affording her the privilege of hating him. Just let him wait until
she was his Countess! She would show him what was what. Gratitude to him
for her salvation was flying out the window. She would demand the biggest
jointure she could get, an establishment to rival a crown princess's. The
Devereux estate could afford it. She would sleep on satin, dine on lark's
tongues and strawberries out of season, buy Miss Strood, as well as herself,
some decent bonnets. This descent into bathos almost had Cass laughing out
loud at herself. She clapped her hands over her mouth. It would not do to
be discovered.
He was talking about her again. She wondered if he would mention their
bargain to his friend, but so far he had not. He had said that it was their
secret and he was keeping it so.
"Why worry at this bone, Dickie? You have never troubled yourself about my
women before."
"This one's to be your wife, and she's so young... almost a child."

"But a shrewd one, you must admit. Did you not mark the speed with which she
jumped to be my Countess?"
Damn being your Countess, Cass thought inelegantly. It was the opportunity
not to starve which I was jumping at!
Dickie changed the subject, asking anxiously, "You're sure that you want me
to stay with you now that you're Earl, Dev? This kind of splendour ain't my
line, you know. We all us did the bowing and scraping to others. We was
never bowed and scraped at." Jack was laughing.
"Much bowing and scraping we did, Dickie, but I take your point. This way
round is better, you'll find. And why should it not be Dev and Dickie in
good times as well as in bad? Even if I don't wish to be Earl Devereux."
Page 27
"Will the good times be as good as the bad ones were?"
For a second there was silence, and then Jack spoke, his voice slow and
serious, the carelessness gone from it.
"I take your point, Dickie. We always stood between authority and those
authority ruled. The fun lay in reconciling the two things and outwitting
them both. Who do we outwit now that we are authority? The answer's simple.
All of them. All of the dam'd mealy- mouthed canting crew who've always
known where their next meal was coming from. The men who have never waited
for their death at dawn, the women who have never had to sell themselves for
necessity, only for pleasure.
We always had fun in the past, Dickie, now let's have fun in the present.
We've both got scores to settle with life--let's settle them together. "
There was silence after that. Dickie's reply was so low she could not hear
it, and then they were gone.
Cass tried to make sense of what she had overheard.

Miss Skin and Bones was easy enough to understand, if hurtful. That was
what he thought of her, and there was nothing that she could do about it.
Except make him pay a little after they were married.
But for the rest--what was she to make of that? What had he and Dickie been
doing? Conspiring together, of course, but about what?
Cass had given up the puzzle after a little time, and when she had been sure
that they were safely away, had pulled back the curtain and made for her
room. Miss Skin and Bones. Yes, he would pay for that or her name wasn't
Cassandra Merton!
"No!" she had announced furiously to her mirror on the fourth night, when he
had still not had the decency to come near her.
"This is not good enough. He owes me something, after all. if he is saving
me, I am saving him."
She had finally gone to bed with a complaining and tired Miss Strood toiling
at her rear at twelve, midnight.
She had pleaded that she wished to finish the book she was reading, in the
hope that Jack and Dickie--she knew that Dickie would be with him--would
arrive home before she would be compelled to retire for sheer propriety's
sake.
One thing was true. She was having a great deal of trouble sleeping.
And the reason for that was Jack Devereux. No sooner did she lie down than
he was in her mind whilst she was awake, and in her dreams when she was
asleep. Which was really stupid, seeing that she did not think that he had
given her another thought after he had walked out of the library on the day
in which she had heard him talking so carelessly of her with Dickie Dickson.
Miss Skin and Bones, indeed!
So it was quite shameful of her to be so obsessed by him--but there seemed to
be nothing that she could do about it. And it was those feral greeny-yellow
eyes which were doing the most damage to her hard-won composure.
Once in her room, she refused to dress for the night, and scowled first at
the mirror and then at the clock.
Page 28
She gave Miss Strood time to undress and go to sleep, before she crept onto
the landing and made her way silently down four flights of stairs. The first
one of them was uncarpeted, because it led to the servants' quarters, except
for the rooms occupied by Stroody and herself. It was to be hoped that the
Thaxteds and the Maxwells, including Fred, were all snoring peacefully.
Descending into the hall, she could hear male voices coming from the drawing
room. One of the voices was Jack's--and it struck her that she had only met
him once and overheard him once, and yet everything about him was indeliby
engraved on her memory. His looks, his voice, his clothes . she would know
his voice anywhere.
Her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated at the very last moment, overcome by
the enormity of what she was doing. Suppose the other male members of the
household were there? It wouldn't matter, if it were merely Fred, but to
endure the stares of the Lord Thaxted and Edward Maxwell . they had made
their opinion of her plain: from being a rejected poor relation she was now
dubbed an outrageous fortune hunter and was so being described to the rest of
society. Well, pooh to the rest of society. But she was A
still made a little unhappy at the prospect of the displeasure of those under
whose thumb she had lived for so long.
She finally turned the doorknob and walked in, a face-saving lie ready at the
end of her tongue to justify her presence if it were necessary.
It wasn't. Jack Devereux stood facing the door, talking to the only other
person in the room. Dickde Dickson, of course. Jack was propped up against
the beautiful marble fireplace which his grandfather had brought from Italy.
He no longer looked like the longshoreman that Fred had called him.
Not that he looked like an ordinary gentleman either. He was wearing black
silk knee-breeches, an open necked white silk shirt and a longish black coat
trimmed with silver. His hair was tied back by a large grosgrain bow. His
face hadn't changed; it was as stern and harsh as ever. Cass was not to know
that he was still wearing the clothes in which he fenced.
He bowed to her on her entry. It was so low that she thought he was mocking
her slightly. She couldn't be sure. Well, two could play at that game.
"Miss Menon, may I assist you in any way?"

Yes, he was mocking her. Had he guessed that she had come down determined to
speak to him? And now that she had, what on earth was she to say?
"I was a trifle restless on retiring. I decided to read, but I found that I
had left my book behind." Which was true, because she had left it in the
drawing room deliberately.
"This?" he enquired, picking it up from the chair in which she had been
sitting. He looked at it curiously.
"Young's Night Thoughts, hmm. A strange choice for a young woman."
"Mr Hunt recommended it," Cass returned primly. She had not really come down
to discuss her taste in reading with him. But what had she come down for?
Dickde Dickson was standing up. She thought he looked tired. He was not
dressed like Jack. He was wearing a scarlet jacket and blue trousers. He
had spent the day teaching young gentlemen to use a sabre, though Cass was
not to know that. After that, he and Jack had visited an inn near Fronsac's
Academy and they had drunk rather heavily, though neither of them was overset.
He rose, bowed to Cass, though not as low as Jack had done, and more
deferentially.
Page 29
"I will leave you," he said.
"You doubtless have much to say to one another."

Cass thought that Jack's expression announced that he had nothing to say, so
indifferent was it. Anger ran through her. It was shameful that he should
occupy both her thoughts and her dreams, that she was about to become his
wife, and that he should hardly know that she existed.
"You needn't leave if you don't want to, Dickde," he drawled.

"I'm sure that Miss Merton would not object if you wished to stay."
The look Dickde gave him was a reproachful one. He raised his shaggy brows
and was gone.
Jack indicated an armchair to Cass.
She shook her head, said, still prim,

"I didn't come down in order to stay."
"Yes, I know," murmured Jack.
"You came to collect the delectably fascinating Young. Pray, excuse me if I
don't believe you. Were you the innocent young creature which Dickie thinks
you, you would not be here at all. Alone with me in the middle of the night.
You really ought to be more wary of me. All your relatives and that
governess of yours would tell you to avoid wild Jack Devereux until the
marital knot was well and truly tied."
"But then, they don't know what I do, do they?" Cass's voice was as steady
as she could make it. He was really hateful. He was hardly seeing her, and
plainly regarded her as little more than someone who was a thing which he was
using.
Mr Hunt had told her about Immanuel Kant, and that he had said that the worst
thing that you could do to another human being was to treat them as a thing,
and not as a human being at all.
"That is," she added, 'if you really meant what you said. We shook hands on
the bargain. Have you already decided to go back on it? Because if so I
shall withdraw, and you may look for another young woman to be your untouched
Countess. "
The fetal eyes lit up.

"Oh, it bites, does it? I must remember that.
No, I mean to keep to our bargain, and when I said that you weren't innocent
I merely meant that you understood quite well what you were doing when you
accepted me, not that you were in any way experienced.
Persuade me that you didn't come down quite deliberately in order to speak to
me. " " No, because that is exactly what I did do. " Cass was defiant.
"You should have the grace to talk to me occasionally. No one else does."
She had not meant to say that--it reeked of self-pity. She was near enough
to him to know that he had been drinking, and that he was not quite in the
perfect control of himself which he had been on the day of the
will-reading--and in the library.
Page 30
"Nobody." He said the word slowly and deliberately.
"You mean besides your companion?"

"Miss Strood. Her name is Miss Strood. And yes, she talks to me. She
deserves to have a name as well as I do-- and you."
"Oh, I have so many names that I have difficulty in remembering which one I
am using at any given time,"
he told her, laughter in his voice now.
"But you are right to rebuke me. So, you are being ostracised for marrying
me."
Indifference had fled from his voice. He was angry. And when he was angry
he would be formidable, Cass knew. Thank God that he was not angry with her.
"Oh, I don't mind,"
she assured him, quite truthfully.
"But it would be pleasant if you spoke to me occasionally. Even my faithful

Stroody does not like it that you are ignoring me."
"I am not ignoring you. I have a life to live which has nothing to do with
Devereux House--or you. You might more truthfully say that I am ignoring
everyone because I haven't time to do anything else at the moment but pay my
debt to Louis Fronsac." Near to him as she was, Cass found his eyes more
fascinating than ~'ver. She could also see that he needed to shave.
His beard was dark on his chin. This, strangely enough, she found exciting.
She was not yet experienced enough in life and love to know that what
attracted her to Jack was his uncompromising masculinity, his power.
She shivered a little. Her skin seemed alive, crawling. Suppose he were to
touch her? What would she feel then? If the very idea was frightening, it
was also exhilarating.
"You owe a debt to me as well as to Louis Fronsac," she announced sturdily.

"You ought to acknowledge that."
"Bitten again." Now he was laughing openly.
"I chose you bemuse I thought you were a biddable girl. Are you?"
"Perhaps. If I am treated properly, that is. Will you treat me properly,
Lord Devereux?"
"Perhaps," he mocked, echoing her.
"If you'll call me Jack."
"Oh, you are not treating me seriously," she raged. "It's nothing but a joke
to you. Are you never serious?"
Oddly, this seemed to touch him. He moved nearer to her. Cass held her
ground. She would not let him intimidate her, even if she were alone with
him. "Oh, you wrong me,"
he told her softly,
Page 31
"I am always serious. Even though I may not sound as if I am. I find it an
absolute necessity that you call me Jack. Earl Devereux is someone I don't
know yet."
"But you must know him soon."
Cass spoke with great urgency.
"For that is what you are. You are no longer Jack Devlin, or any other of
the names of which you spoke. That is being serious, being Earl Devereux."
"Thrice bitten," he announced humbly, and Cass thought that this time he was
being serious.
"But you must understand I have been for twelve years now someone quite
different. And I liked being that man. Would you believe me if I told you
that I don't want to be Earl Devereux?"
She remembered that he had said as much to Dickie, that day when she had been
hidden on the window seat.
"Yes, I believe you. You spoke of a duty to Louis Fronsac, and I think that
you are right to fulfill it. But surely you also have a duty to your name,
and to the people who depend on you because of that name?"
'"A Daniel come to judgment! O, wise young judge"
"
Cass's eyes widened at that. Wild Jack Devereux quoting Shakespeare! What
next?
Jack saw her surprise and laughed again at her confusion. Cass only knew
that he was constantly surprising her. Well, she hoped to surprise him, and
then they would be quits. She gave a little sigh and looked at the clock--to
be surprised at the time it told her.
He read her face correctly.
"Bedtime for little girls," he murmured.
"And before you go, yes, I will find time to speak to you, and to... Miss
Strood." He had surprised her again.
"Thank you," she said simply.

"That is very good of you." She bowed.
"Goodnight, Jack."
He had yet another surprise for her. He leaned forward and kissed her
passionlessly on the cheek.
"Sleep well, my soon-to-be Countess. Reflect that after we have married no
one will wish to do other than please you. Whether that will please you is
another matter!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Five days before the wedding Louis Fronsac found another instructor and Jack
was freed from his obligation to him. That same afternoon the lawyers
arrived and Cass was sent for--and Stroody and Lord Thaxted.
Thaxted was there because Jack and the lawyers wanted him to witness that
Page 32
Cass was being fairly dealt with in the settlement made for her on marriage.
Fairly dealt with!
Jack was being munificent. Her jointure, her future as the Dowager if he
should suddenly die, were all arranged so that she should be richer than any
past Countess Devereux had ever been. Whether it was because of what she had
said to him at dead of night, Cass would never know. Certainly since then he
had made it his business to seek her out every day and spend some little time
with her.
"Getting to know you," he had told her.

Well, she ought to be getting to know him, but the more she saw of him the
less she knew of him.
She had sought out Mr Hunt on the day after her midnight conversation, and
had tried to find out what he thought of the new Earl. Discreetly, of
course, and obliquely. It would not have been proper to talk vulgarly and
openly about her future husband with one of his depend ants and a youngish
one at that!
Cass was well aware that Mr Hunt, fortyish and a little prim, had a tend re
for her, but whether that would ever have gone beyond merely yearning after
her, she now would never know.
She could see that life was going to be difficult--she had been able to talk
freely with Mr Hunt, Mrs James and some of the senior servants before her
elevation to the status of a great Lady.
She had read about chameleons and how they could change colour according to
their circumstances; Jack could be a chameleon, no doubt about it.
On this afternoon, to be spent with Thaxted and the lawyers, he arrived very
simply dressed--like a cit, Thaxted complained to Amelia. Cass thought that
neither of them could talk about Jack without whining.
He was wearing a very plain, inexpensive pair of black trousers, a white
cotton shirt, a short jacket and an almost non-existent cravat. His manner
was quiet, and it was obvious that he wanted the whole thing over as soon as
possible.
All the same Cass could not help wishing that he had arrived in his fencer's
uniform. Hate him she might, but she had to admit that he had looked
splendid in it. In his cit's turn-out he still looked the hard man he was,
but not at all romantic. In his black silks he had looked just like one of
Lord Byron's heroes--The Corsair, perhaps; 'there was a laughing devil in his
sneer' seemed an apt description of Jack at his naught lest
But he wasn't being naughty that afternoon, though the afternoon did contain
some odd overtones, all the same. After the dull but exciting business about
money was over, most of it relating to Cass, Mr Herriot turned to Jack and
said,
"I take it that you would wish me to remove the Devereux heirlooms from our
strong room, where they have been kept since your mother died, and hand them
over to your Countess once you are married?"
"Of course." Jack seemed faintly bored by the whole business.
Cass wasn't.
"Heirlooms?" she asked, voice tentative. "May I enquire what these
heirlooms consist of?."
Page 33
"Of course, Miss Merton. It is only proper that you should know. The
Devereux family possess a splendid collection of jewels, all designed for the
reigning Countess to wear."
"The reigning Countess'! So that was what she would be in less than a week.
"I could itemise them for you, Miss Merton." And without waiting Mr Herriot
picked up a piece of paper and began to read from it. It appeared to Cass,
as he informed her of parures, tiaras and suites of jewellery, all of them
consisting of every precious stone of which she had ever heard, and some of
which she hadn't, that the Devereux family were the owners of an absolute
Golconda--an Aladdin's cave of such magnificence that her mind reeled at the
prospect of wearing any of it, let alone all of it.
Mr Herriot paused when he reached the end, then said smoothly,
"Of course, in the event of your husband's death--which we hope will be long
delayed-- you would, of course, return them to us to hold until the heir
marries2 " Of course! " echoed Cass, as though disposing of thousands of
pounds' worth of jewellery was a commonplace thing for her.
"You will note, my lord," continued the lawyer, still smooth, 'that I have
not listed the Star of Rizapore.
That valuable piece is still missing. " He hesitated meaningfully-why
meaningfully? thought Cass--before adding,
"As I am sure that you are aware." Jack's grin was malevolent.
"Yes, I am aware, thank you. It has never turned up, then?"
"No, my lord," he replied, and then added,
"But that does not surprise you, I am sure." The look which Jack gave the
lawyer had Cass shuddering. She thought that if Jack resembled anything at
that moment it was a leopard about to strike. He controlled himself visibly,
remarking in a voice which would have cut steel,
"One more innuendo of that nature, man, and I will take Devereux business
elsewhere, and see that no one else ever hires you. You understand me?"
They locked eyes for a moment before Mr Herriot replied, his voice,
remarkably, still as smooth as before, "Completely, my lord."
Lord Thaxted, who had remained a silent witness of the proceedings so far,
gave an admonitory cough, although exactly who he was admonishing was a
mystery to Cass.
She gabbled hastily, before anyone said anything which they might regret
later,
"May I enquire what the Star of Rizapore is?"
Mr Herriot bowed in her direction to show, presumably, that she still had his
approval.
"Certainly, Miss Merton. It is a diamond of the first water, the largest
which ever left India. My lord's grandfather fought with Clive and brought
it back with him. He had it mounted for the then Countess Devereux to wear
as a pendant at the end of a chain embellished with sapphires, rubies and
pearls assembled as small flowers. It has been a Devereux heirloom ever
since."
Page 34
He hesitated, half glanced at Jack, who looked grimmer than ever, then said,
"The Star disappeared about twelve years ago, and has never been traced."
Lord Thaxted gave another cough, and Miss Strood looked distressed--a common
expression for her. Cass thought that the Star sounded vulgar, but decided
that it would be tactless to say so. Instead she faltered, as girlishly as
she could--for Jack and the lawyer were still staring bleakly at one
another-"It must be immensely valuable as well as beautiful," as though her
one aim in life was to wear it immediately, if not sooner.
"Yes, it was, Miss Merton." His use of the past tense seemed to please Mr
Herriot, for he smiled as he spoke. Cass's remark, however, spurred Jack
into a comment which was as acid as it was terse.
"My mother hated the dam'd thing," he offered. '"Too heavy, too much of
everything" , was how she described it. "
"Indeed." Mr Herriot bowed.
"That is all, Miss Merton. That completes the list."
"And quite enough," Cass returned briskly.

"I calculate that I shall be middle-aged before I have time to wear all of
them once. Perhaps it is just as well that the Star has disappeared."
This frivolous remark had Mr Herdot, Lord Thaxted and Miss Strood
frowning--and Jack smiling.
"That's the spirit," he said approvingly.
"Although I must say that they will do better ado ming my Countess than
locked away in a safe."
"Exactly." Mr Herdot bowed again.
"That concludes this afternoon's business, my lord. Unless you or Miss

Mellon have any further questions to ask me, that is. I shall bring all the
papers for you and Miss Merton to sign tomorrow, if that pleases you."
Jack shrugged.
"Nothing about being Earl Devereux pleases me, but, yes, bring everything
tomorrow--and the jewels. I should like personally to hand one of the pieces
to Miss Merton immediately after we are married."
Oh, so we are to adorn Miss Skin and Bones after she has been translated into
a countess, are we? Cass had a sudden delightful vision of herself, gems on
every finger, around her neck and wrists, in her hair and her ears, stuck on
her inadequate bosom, and she looking plainer and thinner than ever in
consequence. She saw Miss Strood's agonised grimace as she contemplated
saying something to that effect, and decided to spare Stroody's feelings.
But the satiric curl of her mouth had been registered by Jack, who
immediately decided that there might be depths to plain and retiring Miss
Merton which he had not yet plumbed. He offered her his arm, after bowing
punctiliously to Miss Strood.
Cass had been pleased to note that since she had reproached him for his
carelessness towards her he had been irreproachably courteous to Miss Strood.
So much so that she had informed Cass that she thought that Lord Devereux
was a much misunderstood man.
Page 35
"His manners to me are perfect," she had concluded, 'even if he is a trifle
brusque towards everyone else. " Well, calling him 'a trifle brusque' was
doing him a favour! Yet it was true that he was kindness itself to all the
Devereux depend ants however short he was with his relatives and the few
people in society who had called upon him to acknowledge his return to the
ranks of the respectable.
So, that was that. Jack exchanged a few innocuous words with her and Stroody.
"I hope, Miss Strood," he ended, 'that you are seeing that your charge will
be pro pertly attired for the wedding. "
This had Miss Strood all of a-twitter.

"Oh, we shall be off to a fitting tomorrow morning," she told him, thinking
again that handsome was good, but that strength and character in the face
were better.
"My only worry is that the dear child is far more interested in visiting
book shops and libraries, and consequently does not value being dressed ~la
mode as much as she ought!"
"Oh, we can't have that, can we, Miss Strood?" Jack was all helpful
gallantry.
"Not when my dear Miss Merton is about to become my bride. She will have
plenty of time to study once we are married. For now, my dear--' and he
turned to address Cass directly '--you must bend all your efforts towards
being as corn me il faut as possible. Take heed of everything Miss Strood
tells you and all will be well." The feral eyes were mocking her, telling
her that this was his small revenge for twitting him over his manner towards
her poor companion.
But he made up for that by kissing both their hands before he left,
announcing cheerfully,
"And I am setting you both a good example by visiting my tailor, so that I

shall be a veritable tulip of fashion, I dare swear, before the bishop who is
to tie the knot."
"Bishop!" exclaimed Cass and Miss Strood together, Miss Strood reverently
regarding the back of her hand which Jack had favoured.
"Oh, did I not inform you?" he asked them airily. "Yes, the Bishop of Bath
and Wells is by way of being one of my late mother's cousins and, having
arrived in town for the Season, has promised to officiate. So, you see, Miss
Strood, you must look as magnificent as possible yourself.
Spare no expense, I beg of you. I shall't. My hair is being cropped
tomorrow. We can only pray that, unlike Samson, losing it will not deprive
me of all my strength on my wedding day, when I shall surely need it. "
Cass could not help it. He had given her the merriest grin as he came out
with this last piece of impudent double meaning, and she exploded into
helpless and vulgar mirth.
Turning scarlet, she crammed her hands over her mouth to stop the giggles
whilst Mr Herriot and Lord Thaxted, who had been talking together, as well as
poor Stroody, gazed at her in wonder. Only Jack, delighted to have provoked
Miss Cassandra Merton into revealing a little of her true self, was enjoying
himself.
Page 36
"Glad to see you so happy, my dear. I shall tell Dickie that you are on your
highest ropes at the prospect of marrying me. The dear fellow was a little
exercised at the notion that you might find both myself, and the whole
brouhaha, too much for you. I shall be delighted to inform him of your good
spirits. He will enjoy the ceremony so much more if he thinks that you are
doing so."
Lord Thaxted's heavy eyebrows rose. Who cared what that vulgar fellow who
followed in Jack's shadow thought about anything? It was not for him to
worry about the state of mind of the future Countess Devereux. He had
softened a little towards Cass over the last few days, since she seemed to be
bearing up so splendidly, and was behaving herself so well--until her recent
outburst, that was.
Yes, she knew that Jack was twitting her, but she could not prevent herself
from saying,
"Must you cut your hair? I like it as it is."
"Yes, I must." He put on the most mournful expression.

"Dickie tells me that I shall be regarded as irredeemably eccentric if I
continue to wear the style of nearly thirty years ago. I am assured that a
Brutus cut, suitably windblown, will transform me into someone either fit to
be in Court, before the Lord Chancellor, or at Court, before the Regent.
Where Dickie ordains, I must obey. He ordains so seldom."
"Where is he this afternoon?"
"Drinking with some friends from--' Jack checked himself, ended smoothly,
'--from I don't know where.
He also ordained that I should not join him. He wants me sober for the
wedding. "
Cass had not enjoyed herself so much in years. The evident disapproval of
everyone in the room of Jack's light-minded conversation was a bonus.
Marriage, even if it were not quite what she had expected it to be, was
evidently not going to be dull.
"Yes," she informed him gravely, 'sobriety would be better. "

"I shall be as grave as the Bishop," Jack assured her. "I am told that that
is the correct thing to be on one's wedding day, and I am always determined
to do the correct thing, as I am sure that you are aware."
She was not aware of any such thing, seeing that so far he had not done the
correct thing once!
That lively pair, Dev and Dickie, disappeared for the last three days before
the wedding, after Mr Herriot had brought the documents round for Jack and
Cass to sign; Miss Strood and Dickie being their witnesses.
Disappointed because he had seemed to revert to his earlier careless ways
once the legal formalities which preceded the wedding were over, Cass, on the
day before the wedding, sought refuge in the usual place-the library's
window-seat--a new novel in her hand. She supposed that it would be the last
time that she would hide there, away from an unkind world. In twenty-four
hours--if Jack turned up for the ceremony, that was--she would become the
Countess Devereux, and the Countess Devereux would not need to hide herself
away. The Countess Devereux could indulge in every whim and fancy she cared
to, and Cass was going to make sure that she had a good supply of whims and
fancies to indulge in.
Page 37
Meantime, she was still simple Miss Cassandra Merton who was not allowed to
have any--except that of anticipating the wedding, which she had already
begun! She was supposed to be attending the dressmakers and milliners for a
final fitting of her wedding finery. Her wedding finery! The plain white
dress, with sweetly pretty silk snowdrops arranged at its high neck, did
nothing for her, merely accentuating the fact that Jack was marrying Miss
Skin and Bones. And its colour, or rather lack of it, only served to
emphasise her pallor.
Once she was married, she would make sure that she only wore clothes which
flattered her instead of clothes designed to flatter a plump, blue-eyed,
blonde beauty. She wasn't sure that she knew what they would be, only sure
that she would be able to find a dressmaker who would supply them.
Thinking about this, and other delights which she had begun to plan to make
her life interesting and to provoke Jack Devereux either into wishing that he
had not married her or into taking a little more interest in her, Cass found
herself unable to read her book--a new experience for her, and a strange one.
She had always been able to lose herself in a book, any book: her taste
ranging from the latest Minerva Press novel to the more erudite volumes in
the Devereux library, which only she and Mr Hunt had ever read.
A sleepless night didn't help matters--especially since it was Jack

Devereux's fault again. He had a nasty habit of crawling into the nooks and
crannies of her mind, so that when she was sure that she had forgotten him he
popped up again to plague her, particularly in the midnight hours when she
could not sleep, and when the most improper notions invaded her tired brain.
She was just about to fall into an exhausted doze when the curtain was drawn
back and Mr Hunt stood there.
"You are not feeling unwell, I trust, Miss Merton?"
"Oh, no," said Cass, and then apologetically,

"I
wanted to be alone. How did you know that I was here? "
Mr Hunt inclined his head deferentially. Best to do so when he was talking

to the future Countess Devereux.
"When the sun is in this direction, Miss Merton, it throws your shadow onto
the curtain. I have known for some time that this place was your refuge. I
have only disturbed you because Miss Strood is distressed by your
disappearance."
"Remiss of me to hide," sighed Cass. Astonishingly she realised that tears

were not far away. She steadied herself. She must not cry in Mr Hunt's
presence. Not on the day before her wedding. Perhaps it was his kind and
concerned manner and expression which were undoing here.
Something certainly was.
There was, however, one mystery he might solve for her. She had asked Miss
Strood more about the missing Star of Rizapore, but she had told Cass that it
must have disappeared before she had come to Devereux House, and that no one
had ever spoken to her of it. Perhaps Mr Hunt would be able to help her--he
had been librarian to the late Earl for the last fifteen years. So she put
her question to him.
"The Star of Rizapore," he echoed, as though he had never heard of it before,
his manner a trifle constrained.
Page 38
"One of the Devereux heirlooms as I understand. Why do you ask?" And then,
smiling a little, he went on,
"Of course, the lawyers came: it would be natural for you to want to know
what happened to what would have been the most remarkable gem in your
collection. I understand that it disappeared in mysterious circumstances
about twelve years ago, just after the late Countess's death, and that is all
that I can tell you. The late Earl was a close-mouthed gentleman, as I am
sure that you are aware."
And that was that. It was no more, perhaps a little less, than Mr Herriot
had hinted. What was certain was that it had disappeared at about the time
that Jack had been exiled.
Were the two things connected?
It was not a mystery that she could solve, nor did she wish the Star to be
found. It was not at all the sort of thing which she would want to wear.
"Will there be anything further, Miss Merton?" Mr Hunt was speaking to her
as though she had already passed beyond his ken. Apparently, in marrying
Jack she was losing his friendship: the happy afternoons which they had spent
together in the past were to be considered things of the past. She was Miss
Merton now, soon to be Lady Devereux, no longer Cassandra. Cass felt
desolate.
"We shall, I hope..." she was surprised to find herself on the Verge of
stammering 'be able to continue our course of study after my wedding, Mr
Hunt? "
He seemed to think before he answered.
"I expect that you may find that your new duties will take up most of your
time."
This sounded so final that the tears threatened again. What new duties could
he mean? Not going to bed and getting a new heir for the Devereux line--that
had been denied her.
Oh, dear--was that what was wrong with her, that she wanted Jack to be her
true husband? Could disappointment be eating her up? She didn't like him,
so she couldn't be wanting to climb into his bed particularly when he had made
it so plain that he didn't want her in it.
Mr Hunt was waiting for her to answer him, and, since she was struck dumb by
what she had discovered about herself, he was turning away, no doubt thinking
that their conversation was over.
Not so. Cass was suddenly aware that she wanted to retain Mr Hunt's
friendship and the library as a place of refuge, if not behind the curtain
then before the big table, where he laid out what he thought that she ought
to be reading.
"Oh," she told him, as lightly as she could, for he must not think her
overset by what was about to happen on the morrow, "I hope that I shall still
find time to improve myself. I am sure that Lord Devereux would expect it of
me, seeing how young I am."
Mr Hunt's expression told her that he thought such a supposition most
unlikely, but politeness kept him quiet. Cass thought it unlikely too. Did
Jack Devereux really wish to have a blue-stocking for a wife? She was sure
that he had had no mistresses who were bluestockings in his previous
Page 39
life--wherever it had been lived.
If Stroody was distressed, then she must go to reassure her, to try on the
unsuitable dress, the equally unsuitable bonnet, and acquire the bouquet
which she must carry but which would do nothing for her; Lilies of the
valley, snowdrops and harebells in silk were scarcely the symbols of Cass
Merton's character.
Mr Hunt, who had turned away, was now turning back again. It was plain that
he was screwing himself up to say. something. He hemmed and hawed for
moment, turned red then pale before he muttered, a little hoarsely,
"Miss Merton, I respect your mind. For a female's it is a good one. You
possess a power of logical thought rare in your sex. If, in the future, you
should ever need a friend be sure that you will find one in the person of
Edward Hunt."
He held out his hand to her, in token of what he had just said. He did not
say that he wished that he had offered for her hand before Jack Devereux had
risen from the dead, but it was in his mind, and had been since he had heard
of her coming marriage.
How like him to speak of himself so humbly in the third person, and how
unlike he was to that selfish and arrogant monster Jack Devereux, thought
Cass dazedly.
She said gravely, rewarding him with her hand to shake,
"That is very kind of you, Mr Hunt. I shall remember what you have just said
to me."
He held onto her hand for a moment, then said, the words wrenched from him,
"I only wish that I might have been able to introduce you to my mother. She
has a good mind, too. You would like her." He fell silent.
This time he had finished.
And what a turn-up that was. Nothing in Cass's short life had prepared her
for such a thing. Every day seemed to be bringing her new shocks. Surely
there could be no more.
But there were. After she had endured her fittings and Miss Strood's cooings
as to how sweetly pretty she looked, which brought her an acid answer from
Cass- "You mean my clothes look sweetly pretty. I don't." -she returned to
Devereux House to find Jack and Dickie still missing, but Fred in the drawing
room, looking distrait.
He had been waiting for her, he said. He looked pointedly at Miss Strood,
who absented herself, for Cass, so soon to be married, was now considered fit
to speak 'to young gentlemen' on' her own. Besides, Fred hardly qualified as
a man. Stroody simply saw him as an overgrown boy who could be no threat to
Cass.
"Yes, What is it, Fred?" Cass was short. She was tired, what with no sleep
and being pulled in and out of a series of unbecoming gowns, stockings and
shoes. Fred took no note of that. He was dragging at his cravat in the
oddest fashion, as though it were strangling him. Like Mr Hunt he turned
first red and then white, which should have warned Cass of what was coming,
but didn't.
"Look here, Cass," he burst out suddenly, after one final tug at his cravat,
which rendered it completely undone, 'do you really want to marry such a
Page 40
fellow as my Uncle Jack is? "
"Well, I must, musn't I?" said Cass employing her famous powers of logic for
which Mr Hunt had praised her.
"Seeing that I have agreed to be Ms wife."
"But only under a kind of duress, surely," exclaimed Fred.

"You thought that you had nowhere to go, seeing that my father and mother and
uncle and aunt had not the decency to offer you a home. I mean, that was why
you accepted his offer, wasn't it?"
Something seemed to have improved Fred's powers of logic, thought Cass

numbly, but she still didn't know where they were taking him. She was soon
to find out. "Perhaps," she answered him, as obliquely as she could, 'we
shouldn't be having this conversation, Fred. " " Oh, but we should," he told
her passioantely, and went down on his knees before her to prove it.
"Oh, Cass, if I had arrived earlier, and had known the truth, I would have
offered for you. It's not too late, you know. Say yes to me, and we can be
off to Gretna Green. We can take Stroody as a chaperon and be married as
soon as we get there. I can't sleep for thinking of you married to Jack! Do
say yes, please." He was clutching at the skirts of a woman who had just
discovered that, rogue and trickster though he might be, she was so attracted
by Jack Devereux that her one regret was that once they were married he
wasn't going to take her to bed.
Cass hadn't the slightest wish to get into bed with either Edward Hunt or
Fred, and surely that was what the whole business of being married was about.
With my body I thee worship. She didn't want to be worshipped by the poor
infatuated young man on his knees before her.
She could only be sorry for him and let him down as gently as she could. She
would try to do so without hurting him too much.
"Oh, Fred, I can't. First of all, think what your mama and papa would say if
I were to agree. We would both be ruined if I consented to such a thing.
Besides, I have given my word to Jack, both publicly and privately, that I
will marry him tomorrow, and I can't go back on it."
Fred stood up, muttering mournfully,
"I knew that you would say that.

You are a good girl, Cass, whatever Pa and Ma say. You're not marrying him
just for the title, as they keep hinting, are you? Say you're not. "
"My reasons for marrying Lord Devereux are for me to know," returned Cass,
still trying to be kind.
"But no, I'm not marrying him for his title; you may be sure of that."
"So that's that," said Fred, suddenly prosaic.
"But I had to try to change your mind, feeling as I do about you--you do see
that. And if you ever need a friend in the future, he sure that you can
count on me. I've already told Jack he will have to answer to me if he makes
you unhappy. I can't say fairer than that."
So Jack would have Mr Hunt and Fred after him if he made her unhappy.
The idea of such an unlikely pair being able to intimmidate the hard man he
Page 41
was should have made Cass laugh, but instead her throat closed and she could
not speak.
Suppose either of them had offered for her before Jack's arrival, what then?
There was no doubt in her mind that her answer to them would still have been
"No'. Because much though she valued Mr Hunt as a friend she could not see
him as a husband; and for her to have accepted Fred would have ruined him, as
she had already told him--his parents would never have consented to the
match... What had been unforeseen, though, was that she should acquire two
admirers, as well as a future husband, in the last few days--something which
Cassandra Merton would not have considered possible at the beginning of that
time.
If life had begun to surprise her, and was continuing to do so, could it be
possible that her future might be equally as remarkable as her past and
present were proving to be?
Apparently calm--Miss Strood had already complimented her on her
savoir-faire--Cass was actually living in a stew of fear. By evening Jack
had still not returned to Devereux House, and she was contemplating the
frightful possibility that he had changed his mind about marrying her, and
was about to resume his unknown life again. No one seemed to be curious
about what that life had been and what he had been doing for the last twelve
years. Frightened to find out what exactly he had been getting up to, no
doubt, or too frightened of him to enquire. There was no doubt that he had
thoroughly intimidated all of his relatives except Fred.
Cass was on her way down to supper--a lonely one, for she had missed dinner
on the grounds that she A BInDABLE GIRL? preferred to rest after the strain
of enduring so many fittings in one afternoon--and had reached the entrance
hall when Jack and Dickie finally arrived home. Miss Strood might miss the
signs of strain which Cass was trying to suppress, but Jack obviously had the
power to detect them. Or was it the little sigh of relief which she gave at
the sight of him which told its story?
He bowed to her and said, in that gravel voice which had the power to
entrance as w~11 as frighten her,
"My dear Miss Mellon, were you a little worried that I might have disappeared
again? If so, I must say that you flatter me--or is it that you are merely
worried that you might not become Countess Devereux tomorrow, not that you
might regret losing a husband?" He was a beast, but an intelligent one. No
one but Cass seemed to think that he was clever, but she had already decided
that he was too astute for his own good--as Stroody had once said of the
politician, George Canning.
Cass, putting her nose in the air, replied loftily,

"Not at all. If I am a LITTLE distraite it is because I wish to be
absolutely comme il faut tomorrow, and not let either of us down.
That would please all your relatives mightily, and I have no wish to oblige
them any more than I need. "
She knew at once that she had given something of herself away to the subtle
man opposite to her. His feral eyes danced. Yellow sparks almost shot from
them.
"Oh, bravo," he murmured.
"So pleased to hear it-- my sentiments exactly. I see that my life with you
Page 42
will not be dull. I owe you an explanation for my absence. I have been
clearing up the remnants of my life before I became Earl. Among other things
I owed a debt of gratitude to my landlady and I have been busy paying it ...
something which I am sure you would approve of." His landlady!
Probably his mistress, or his woman. A man who looked and sounded like Jack
would be certain to have had more than his share of both. She had decided
that he was, or had been, a soldier, but apart from her own instincts she had
no evidence which might lead her to believe that her assumption was correct.
She inclined her head graciously, practising at being Countess.

"Oh, I believe that, as you said the other day, you would always wish to be
correct. That assurance will sustain me through the ceremony tomorrow."
Jack gave a crack of laughter. Miss Skin and Bones had guts, no doubt about
it. There was more to her than met the eye. She was twitting him, telling
him that she knew that he was deceiving her. Dickie had warned him, as Fred
had done, that he must treat her properly, not hurt her, and he had growled
at him,
"Whenever did I treat a woman badly, Dickie, tell me that?" Dickie had
growled back,
"You have to remember that she's not the kind of woman you've been dealing
with lately, Jack. She may be shrewd, but she's still little more than a
child and can easily be hurt. I'll be watching you, so mind your manners."
Jack had been piqued.

"Well, one thing, Dickie, she certainly possesses the power to make men want
to protect her. First that ass Fred Maxwell threatened to have my guts for
garters if I mistreated her, that middle-aged librarian I've inherited looks
wounded every time he sees me with her, and now I've to endure you behaving
like an old woman on her behalf. What mysterious power does she possess,
and why can't I see it?"
"None so blind as those who will not see," Dickie had murmured cryptically.
"Just remember what I said. And remember that I'm neither a silly boy, nor a
womanish book-reading cleric."
Jack had shrugged.
Now, looking at Cass, he was still a little puzzled that she had the ability
to make so many of those around her wish to protect her. He thought that she
was well able to protect herself, but perhaps he was wrong. He shrugged
again.
"You have everything you need for tomorrow? Wedding gowns and all that?" he
enquired a little tentatively, well aware that he was not good at this kind
of small talk, but, dam reit he had to placate Dickie a little. He was
almost sure that Miss Casssandra Merton would prefer him to be more
plain-spoken--it was, ridiculously, Dickie and the rest whose sensibilities
he was protecting, not hers!
Amazingly, she seemed aware of this.
"I'm not good at this kind of thing," Cass offered apologetically.
"I
mean, talking without saying anything. Stroody says that I throw facts at
Page 43
people, and most people don't want to catch them. "
"After tomorrow you may throw a few at me," returned Jack, grinning now, 'and
I promise to catch as many as of them as I can. "
Did he know how much his smile transformed his face? The uncompromising
sterness that it possessed in repose disappeared. He was almost the young
man with the falcon again. Did he know that when he did that to a woman she
would want to do anything he wished of her without question? Was he even
aware how much plain Cassandra Merton, Miss Skin and Bones, was coming to
lust after him?
"That's what you say now," riposted Cass, her smile transforming her thin
face, 'but is that truly what you will say after we are married? Husbands
are said to take their wives for granted. "
Jack winced internally at this. It seemed that Cass might speak plainly to
him, but he was not to do so to her--or so everyone was telling him. Whose
sensibilities were being offended? He had none to offend, or so it was
supposed. Now he had become a gentleman, nay, a nobleman, again, was he
about to acquire some? He had spent twelve years turning himself into such a
hard man that in the world in which he had lived his cold self-control, his
lack of care for his own and other people's feelings had become a byword.
"My dear infant," he said, remembering that Dickie had called her a child,
'you may be sure that since we shall not be an orthodox husband and wife, we
may make up our own rules. I cannot say fairer than that. "
Cass's smile was radiant again. She dipped him a modest curtsy.
"Oh, Lord Devereux, I am delighted to hear you say so. And I shall hold you
to your word once we are married. I shall call on Dickie here to be a
witness to what you have said."
She had called him Dickie without thinking, because they were Der and Dickie
in her thoughts. She did not know it, but nothing she could have said would
have pleased Dickie Dickson more. He was one of the unconsidered in the new
world to which Dev had introduced him, and at a stroke Cass had shown that
she thought of him as a human being, like herself, and her future husband's
friend.
Everyone else in Devereux House allowed their eyes to rove over him
contemptuously, mutely suggesting that the new Earl was demeaning himself by
calling a nobody from the gutter his friend. Yes, Miss Cassandra Mellon
deserved to be protected, so she did, and no mistake.
What Cass also didn't know was how many allies she was collecting around her.
Jack was not yet one of them, even though he was the person who filled her
world the most.
Changed, damaged by his past, both known and unknown, the young man with the
falcon had stepped down from his picture frame and she was to marry him on
the morrow.
Cass held this thought to her all the way to her bed, and to her surprise she
slept soundly and dreamlessly that night, to greet her wedding day with a
smile as a peacock's shrill scream woke her from sleep.
CHAPTER SIX
HER wedding day! It was fine, which was something to be grateful for.
Miss Strood arrived early, twittering, and immediately behind her Lady
Page 44
Constantia Maxwell swam in, already dressed d l'outrance, even though she had
not yet breakfasted and the ceremony was some hours away.
She rudely dismissed poor $troody, who was babbling about what Cass should
wear before she changed into her wedding finery, and Cass made an immediate
note that this was the last occasion on which Lady Constantia would ever be
rude to herself and her poor companion.
It was stupid of her to forget that after the wedding Cass, as Countess,
would take precedence over her everywhere: at court, in the balkoom, at the
races and in every house which they visited. She would, in the strict terms
which governed their lives, have to 'yield the pas' to Cass, and Cass was
determined that yield it she would--and Amelia Thaxted, too. It might be a
small revenge and a petty one, but she had years of slights to make up for.
Meantime, she endured Lady Constantia's contemptuous patronage of the wedding
dress of which Stroody was so proud, and which was laid out piece by piece,
including the bonnet which Cass was to wear when she and Jack drove to
Roehampton, not far from where the Bessboroughs lived. The late Earl's
father had built a small and elegant villa there for a ballet dancer whom he
had brought over from Paris, and whom he had dismissed when, arriving early
one day, he had found her in bed with the gardener.
It was small enough to be human, Jack had told her--to Dickie he had said
that he had chosen it because it held no memories for him, either good or
bad. He had never told Dickie why he had been disowned by his father, and
Dickie, like Cass, knew better than to ask.
Lately, since Jack had christened her Miss Skin and Bones, Cass had taken to
eating more than usual, but that morning, waiting to become Jack's wife, she
found that she could neither eat nor drink. Food stuck in her throat, and
she could not swallow liquid. Miss Strood came in again with a tray of food,
after Lady Constantia had left her--not before reeling off a list of
admonitions as to Cass's behaviour before, during and after the ceremony.
Cass waved it away. The sight of food made her feel ill. Miss Strood
quavered at her,
"Are you well, my dear? You don't look well. You might feel better if you
ate or drank something."
"No, I shouldn't. I should feel worse. Don't ask me to go downstairs,
Stroody. Let me stay in my room. I need only to change once, into my
wedding dress--if I do that. You know how much I hate pulling clothes on and
off."
"You may be sure," said Miss Strood briskly, 'that after today you will have
your own lady's maid. I am surprised that Lord Devereux has not made
arrangements for you before.
Or that his sisters didn't insist on it. "
"Oh, I don't think that Jack has lived the sort of life in which wives and
ladies' maids figured much,"
remarked Cass with a wry smile.
"And Amelia and Constantia can't wait for the ceremony to be over. I believe
that they all intend to leave as soon after the wedding breakfast as is
decently possible. Why do they call it a breakfast when we shall be eating
it this afternoon?"
"I'm sure I don't know. Mr Hunt might be able to tell you, but I don't think
Page 45
that it would be proper of you to consult him today. You are sure that you
won't come downstairs? You might find that you wish to eat when you are in
company."
"Oh, I'm sure that I shall not." And that was that. Cass realised that to
Miss Strood she was already Countess, and that the days of Cass's tutelage
were OVer.
She wondered what Jack was doing. Dressing, Presumably. The ceremony was to
be held in the biggest salon in Devereux House, the Chinese Room. It was
rarely used, being reserved for great occasions, like entertaining the King
or the Prince Regent. It was called the Chinese Room because it was hung
with the most exquisite Chinese paper and contained a fabulous collection of
Chinese porcelain and furniture. Cass had thought that she might like to
have a Chinese-style dress made, in delicate yellows, pinks, greens and blues
to match the paper, but Miss Strood, and the Ladies Amelia and Constantia,
had thrown fits at the mere idea.
But she had already decided that once she was married she would order the
dress to be made, and a fan to match--a big one--and some lemon and blue A
m~A~L 6~RL?
and pink feathers for her hair--tall ones--and little turned-up slippers like
the Chinese ladies were supposed to wear.
This delightful notion, together with some others, equally eccentric,
entertained her so much that she forgot to be frightened, and managed to eat
some of the food which Miss Strood had brought her. Shortly afterwards,
Amelia Thaxted's maid arrived, and told her that her mistress had sent her to
help Miss Merton dress herself. It would not be proper for her to do it
herself, nor for Miss Strood to assist her now that she was to be Countess.
So Stroody sat in a chair and directed matters and made suggestions whilst
Cass was pulled about, and finally she and the maid pronounced her to look
'sweetly pretty', and a bigger misjudge merit than that Cass could not think
of! She hoped that Jack would not laugh when he saw her.
After that Miss Strood was dressed, and Cass told her that she looked so well
in her new leaf-green gown with its pretty saffron trimmings that it was a
pity that Jack was not a little older so that she could be Countess.
Miss Strood blushed becomingly at this unlikely compliment, and, with the
maid holding up the small train of the light coat which Cass wore over her
dress, they processed downstairs into the Chinese Room, where all the company
was assembled.
Cass knew hardly any of them: they included the Bishop of Bath and Wells and
some other grandees, friends of Amelia's and Constantia's families, to whom
Cass was introduced before she took up her stance against one of the double
doors which led into the room. Jack, she was informed, would enter through
the other, come over to her, and escort her to where the Bishop stood, before
a giant Chinese vase which had snorting dragons climbing all over it.
Lord Thaxted, to give the whole business a semblance of decency, or so he had
informed his wife, was to stand by Cass until Jack arrived. Cass would much
have preferred Mr Hunt, Fred or even Dickie to have performed this office for
her, but could not say so. She supposed that Dickie would be supporting
Jack. Not that that gentleman needed any supporting. She could see Fred and
Mr Hunt among the spectators.
They were both gazing at her with the same slightly mournful expression, as
though she were going to her execution. The senior servants sat to the
immediate rear of the family, and the more important of the junior ones were
Page 46
behind a rope at the far end of the room. She found out afterwards that Jack
had insisted on their presence.
Opposite to Cass was a French clock--a piece of make-believe chinoiserie,

seeing that the Chinese had no clocks. Time seemed to go so slowly that Lord
Thaxted, grunting, pulled out his watch to check whether or not Jack was
late. He was due to arrive at half past eleven of the clock, and surely it
must be that now!
But no. Just as the clock sweetly chimed the half- hour the door at the far
end of the room opened and Jack came in, Dickie in attendance. Cass could
hardly recognise them, particularly Jack--he looked so splendid.
The servants thought so too. A buzz of excited exclamations ran round the
back of the room until Edward Maxwell, seated at the front, rose and turned
to glare at them all, so that they fell silent.
Jack's russet-coloured hair had been cut short, and had fallen into light
waves, artfully arranged ~ la Brutus.
His dress rivalled that of the most a la mode dandy. His cravat was a snowy
vision, his black jacket, skintight black pantaloons, silk stockings and
light black shoes showed off his strong face and superbly athletic body to
perfection.
He wore no jewellery of any kind. An earl usually had some sort of star or
decoration to pin on his coat or hang around his neck: Jack had nothing. But
the lack of such baubles did him no disservice, for there was nothing about
him to diminish his natural splendour . or his natural air of authority.
Behind him, Dickie, loose-boned and stolid, was tricked out in a plain black
suit of a more orthodox cut than Jack's, and his black silk stock--he had
refused to wear a white one--sat uneasily round a neck unaccustomed to such
finery.
"Just for today, Dev," he had said, 'and in her honour. "
"Not mine, then?" Jack had, grinned at him. He knew Dickie well enough to
be aware that, friend though he might be, Dickie had no illusions about Jack
or any of his doings.
His arrival was the signal for the ceremony to begin. Afterwards, Cass could
remember little of it. She moved through it as though she were in a dream.
She knew that she said the right thing at all times, held out her finger for
Jack to put the ring on it, smiled until her face ached, caught sight of
herself looking composed and thoroughly in charge of herself in one of the
great mirrors with which the room was adorned, however odd and strange she
felt.
After the wedding and before the breakfast, Jack took her by the hand and led
her downstairs to the huge kitchen where, among the copper pans and on the
long oak table before the giant hearth, a meal was laid out for the servants
to eat after they had finished serving their masters upstairs. There were
bottles of good wine too, and glasses. Jack took one of the glasses, filled
it, handed it to Cass, and then ordered her to toast with him,
"Those who have made this day possible for us by their hard work,"
Behind them she heard Dickie, who had also been handed a glass mutter "Amen'.
Mr Greene called for three cheers for m'lord and his lady, and the cheers
were so heartfelt and enthusiastic that they were heard by the guests
upstairs, who were waiting impatiently for Jack and his bride to favour them.
Before they left, Mrs James came over to her and kissed Cass on the cheek.
Page 47
"Be happy, my dear. You have married a good man. He has given me a cottage
at Coverham and a little pension so that I may retire at last, in comfort.
He says he remembers the sugar buns I used to bake for him when he was a lad
and came to the kitchens for comfort."
After that, the reception upstairs was all anticlimax. There was no one
there to wish Cass happiness, and even though everyone said all that was
proper it came from cold hearts and not from warm ones. Perhaps the Bishop
was a little kinder than most of the others, but she did not really know him.
Perhaps he beamed like that at everyone.
Jack had told her that he would behave correctly, and so he did.
Occasionally, his large warm hand was there to hold 'her small cold one, and
give her comfort as the eyes of the quality silently quizzed and questioned
the upstart who had married the the'erdo-well Earl. And then she was led
upstairs, where a girl whom she had never seen before was waiting in her
room, and who told her that m'lord had chosen her to be m'lady's maid, and
that she was to dress her for the journey to Roehampton--so she had been
wrong to believe that Jack would not think of such things as a lady's maid
for his new Countess.
But a shock awaited her when she reached the big entrance hall where Jack
stood waiting for her, a living statue to rival the marble ones of long-dead
Greek and Roman heroes that stood in every niche in Devereux House. The
shock was that Miss Strood was evidently not accompanying her. She was still
wearing her leaf green dress, and was holding a small lace handkerchief to
her eyes.
Cass forgot herself. She was no longer that self- possessed person the
Countess Devereux. She was the small Cassandra Merton, who had possessed but
one friend in Devereux House, and that friend Stroody.
They had never been parted since Jack's father had introduced them on the day
she had arrived from her northern home.
A small cry was wrenched from her.
"Stroody! Are you not to come with me?" She suddenly sounded her real age.
Jack, who had ordered their parting, put an arm around her shoulders, to
reassure her, saying,
"Never fear. Miss Strood will be waiting for you when we return after the
honeymoon."
It was as though, at last, Cass realised the enormity of what she had done.
In a trice her whole world had turned upside down. No Stroody! It was like
saying no God, or no sun, moon and stars. Her companion took her
handkerchief away from her eyes, moving forward to kiss her on her cheek and
to say bravely,
"You have a husband, now, my dear. He must come first. I shall be waiting
for you, you may be sure."
"Promise," said Cass fervently, kissing Stroody back, and not looking at
Jack, who must be thinking what a cry-baby he was marrying--for although she
had shed no tears she knew that her very real distress was patent.
I must behave with dignity, she thought. I am a married lady now.
Stroody's position has changed, as mine has.
Page 48
She handed Stroody her bouquet, which she was still clutching. For some
reason she had picked it up after her maid had eased her into her new coat
and fastened the strings of her bonnet for her. She let Stroody go, saying
gently,
"You knew that you weren't coming with me, didn't you?
Why didn't you tell me? " There was no reproach in her voice, only a sad
dignity. Miss Strood stood back.
"Time for you to grow up, child. You will not always have me."
Jack pressed her arm.
"Come, my dear. The carriage is waiting, and the servants are outside to
cheer us on our way to Roehampton. We must not keep them waiting."
He was still being correct. And she must be correct. The Earl and Countess
Devereux were about to take their first journey together. The first of many,
perhaps? And horses must never be kept waiting. Cass knew that. She had
heard the late Earl say it often enough, and for the first time in Jack's
severe gravel voice she could hear an echo of the inflections of his father's
softer, gentler one.
She was handed in. He was beside her. He had changed into something looser
than his tight, fashionable clothes. He was wearing newfangled loose
trousers and a soft shirt with an open collar, such as Lord Byron often wore,
with a thin black silk scarf knotted loosely around it, the ends dangling
down in careless elegance.
He didn't look much like Lord Byron, though, whom Cass had seen on several
occasions when she had been in society. He was much taller, and broader, and
his face was so much sterner than Lord Byron's soft one.
Cass thought that now that the ceremony was over and they were alone together
he looked sterner than ever.
She shivered.
Jack felt the shiver and exclaimed,

"How can you be cold, Cass, on such a hot day?" For the late afternoon sun
was filling the coach, and gilding them with its orange rays. And then he
laughed and said ruefully, "For the same reason, I suppose, that soldiers in
Spain felt cold when waiting for the battle to begin on the hottest day of
Spain's hottest summer. You are not to be to frightened of me, Cass. I may
be a swine in many ways, but I always keep my word."
Soldiers in Spain! Did he know that he had given himself away? Or did he
think her unable to add two and two together? She had suspected ever since
she had met them that he and Dickie had been soldiers together, and he would
not have said what he had if he had not been speaking from knowledge, surely.
Had he been with the Duke's Army in the Peninsula? And, if so, in what
capacity?
Jack put a gentle arm around her. He had no idea what to say to his bride.
So far he had teased her, paid her the compliment of assuming that she had a
good mind, and spoken to her more frankly than he would have spoken to most
young things. But what did he really know of her?
He had watched her from beneath hooded eyes during the wedding ceremony and
afterwards--she had behaved with a natural dignity which put both of his
sisters to shame.
Page 49
Dickie and Fred had warned him not to hurt her, and he would try not to. But
he had had so little to do with innocent young girls since he had left home.
The women he had known were frank, generous and mostly unchaste. His mouth
twisted, and he looked more dour than ever. There had been one woman who had
been different, but she was long dead, and he thought that he might not meet
her like again.
Well, he had married this particular young woman partly as a joke and partly
to spit in the faces of the respectable, by defying the usual rules of polite
society. But in order to spare her feelings he had ended up by behaving as
correctly as a newly breeched parson, when his natural inclination had been
to make them all go on paying for what had been done to him twelve years ago.
How silent she was! He had already learned that she knew when to speak and
when to be silent, and she had impressed him by her savoir-faire and her
composure on this difficult day. Except for that one heartbreaking moment
when she had discovered that her companion was not to accompany them, she
had behaved like a woman years older than she was.
She deserved more from him than cold silence and indifference.
"You do understand why I ordered Miss Strood not to come with us?" he said
abruptly.
Cass nodded. She had been thinking about this very thing for the last few
minutes.
"Because I must grow up," she told him simply, 'become a real Countess and
not a pretend one, dependant on others. And that is why you did not tell me
beforehand. "
She had surprised him again. She was making a habit of it. He must not
underestimate her, for to do so might also be a cause of inflicting pain.
He nodded.
"Exactly. It's a creel world out there, and you must learn to survive in it."
"Did you learn to survive in it?" She did not know how to address him.
Should she say
"Devereux', as Amelia called her husband Lord Thaxted
"Thaxted', or should she call him Jack?

As though he had read her thoughts, he turned towards her and smiled, a flash
of superb white teeth.
"Call me Jack," he told her.
"I asked you to do that when we met, and I haven't changed my mind."
"Jack," said Cass thoughtfully.
"It suits you."
"It's the only part of my name which has remained constant," he said lazily.
"And, yes, I learned to survive in the cruel world. Just."
Cass waited for him to continue. He wasn't going to tell her anything about
his old life. That disappointed her a little. Was it that he did not trust
Page 50
her, or was it because his life had been shameful? Looking at his hawk like
profile, she didn't think that could be true.
Besides, Dickie Dickson would not be the friend of a bad man. Now, how did
she know that?
"Has Dickie come with us?" she ventured. Jack shook his head.
"No.
Fair's fair. If I took Stroody away from you, then it was only fair that I
lost Dickie. He's gone to stay with some friends in Shoreditch. He will
return when we're back at Devereux House. " " Did you live at Shoreditch? "
Cass was sorry that she appeared to be quizzing him so desperately, but she
had a not unnatural desire to know all about him, to find out what had
changed him from a pretty boy to a stern and striking-looking man.
Jack's smile was an odd one. Dickie had called her shrewd.
"You have a mind for a life at the Bar?" he asked her.

"Such questions, and all of them so ruthlessly probing."
"You know everything about me," Cass said simply, 'and I know nothing about
you. "
"Well then, yes, I had lodgings in Shoreditch. And that is all I shall tell
you. Better so."
Cass didn't think so. She gave a small sigh and sank back into the cushions.
She felt weariness claim her.
She shut her eyes. The motion of the carriage, the warmth which surrounded
her, even the sensations which being so close to Jack were rousing in her were
all combining to lull her, to drive her to the brink of sleep. Why was it
that she felt safe with him when, in some off way he was constantly warning
her against knowing too much of him? For so she interpreted his wariness,
his refusal to commit himself, his determination that most of him should
remain a secret to her. and to everyone else.
Sleep took her. And because she was asleep Jack's arm crept around her. He
did not want to feel anything for him but a distant friendship. Safer so,
for he felt nothing for her but a kind of pity for one who had been so
unconsidered.
Nevertheirs, when they. reached Roehampton and the coach stopped, and
footmen ran about opening doors, unloading luggage and pulling down steps for
them to descend from the coach and enter the waiting villa, why was it that
he waved them away and carried her, still sleeping sweetly against his heart,
across the threshold of their first home?
CHAPTER SEVEN
"M'LADY."
Someone was shaking her gently. Wherever could she be? Cass opened her eyes
to stare at a delicately flowered canopy over her head. She was lying on a
large four-poster bed, still in the clothes in which she had left Devereux
House.
Memory returned. She had been in the carriage talking to Jack and now she
was here, in a strange bedroom, and her new maid, Betty Aston, was rousing
her gently. She was Lady Devereux, Jack's wife; everything which she had
Page 51
known for the last six years had vanished. She was in unknown territory.
Cass swung her legs over the side of the bed. Jack-- or one of the footmen,
perhaps--must have carried her in. Betty was removing her light coat, urging
her to allow her to remove her new dress, to wash herself, and was leading
Cass, still feeling a trifle dazed, into a large room off the bedroom where
there was a washstand with a china bowl on it, and a free-standing bath.
There were jugs of warm water waiting for Betty to pour into the china bowl
so that Cuss might wash her face and hands.
It was odd to be so waited on, for until today she had looked after herself.
"The child must not get ideas above her station," Miss Strood had been
frequently told by the Ladies Amelia and Coustantia.
Well, her station was above theirs now. Casa ^ BIDDABLE GIRL? yawned as
Betty eased her into a nightdress of the finest pink silk' trimmed with the
most delicate lace. It did not at all resemble any of the sensible cotton
ones which Miss Strood had thought fit for her trousseau. Betty saw her
surprised look at it and offered as respectfully as she could,
"M'lord ordered this for you, m'lady."
"But it is surely not time to retire yet," protested Cass, a little

frightened, and yet a little expectant. He had said that she would not be
his true wife, so why had he given her this sinful-looking nightwear?
"It is past ten of the clock at night, re' lady You have been sound asleep
ever since re' lord carded you up.
See? And Betty drew back the heavy brocade curtains which covered the
windows, to show her the dying May moon of 1818 in its last quarter. So Jack
had carried her to bed. Did that mean anything--or nothing?
Food was waiting for her on a tray placed on the small table opposite to her
bed, and wine in a tail bottle with a crystal glass to drink from. Betty
poured some for her, and for the first time that day she ate the delicate
sandwiches, the tiny cakes, and drank the fizzy white wine with real
enjoyment.
"M'lord said that he would come to you when he has eaten supper. He thought
that you would prefer not to be woken in order to take it downwstairs with
him. So he ordered me to bring your supper up and prepare you for the night."
Oh, Jack intended to come to her room, did he? Was he about to break their
bargain despite all he had said?
And would she object if he did? The wine was delightful, and the fizzy
bubbles seemed to be bursting in Cass's head, making everything which was
happening 105 to her seem unreal. After she had eaten, Betty helped her into
the bed again. It was so high, and was set on a dais as well, so that a
small pair of steps was needed at its side to enable her to climb into it.
On the nightstand, besides a candlestick, was a small pile of novels.
On the top was the latest from the author of Sophia, entitled Anna Gentry.
Betty saw her pick it up, and said quietly as she unpacked Cass's bags and
hung up her clothes,
"M'lord chose those for you, the housekeeper said. He told her that you
would be sure to enjoy them."
By her speech and manner Betty obviously thought that Earl Devereux was a
Page 52
most considerate husband.
Cass smiled a little sadly and tried to read Anna Gentry, but whether it was
because of the situation in which she found herself, or the wine she had
drunk, she could make little of it. Betty curtsied and retired, leaving Cass
alone in the vast bedchamber.
But not for long.

There was a knock on the door, and when she called "Enter' in as firm a voice
as she could, although she was quaking inside, Jack came in.
He was carrying a bottle of red wine and a wine glass. He was not fully
dressed; he had shed his coat and had pulled off the black silk scarf which
he had worn earlier.
The top buttons of his shirt were undone, so that C_ass could see the thick
dark hairs cuffing on his chest.
The sight made her mouth dry and her stomach contract. That he had rolled up
his shirtsleeves, revealing strongly muscled arms also dusted with a
sprinkling of fine reddy-brown hair, didn't do much for her composure either.
"Good evening, my dear," he said, putting the wine and his glass down on the
tray which held the remains of her supper.
"I see that you have eaten well, and that Betty has looked after you."
He walked towards the bed and sat down on its side, near to her.
"Had you been awake I would have told you that tonight, at least, I must
spend in your room if the servants--some of whom are undoubtedly in the pay
of one or both of my sisters--are to be deceived as to the truth of our
relationship. Any hint of our bargain and my sisters will be crying foul,
and challenging my father's will.
Now, I have come to the conclusion that over the past twelve years I have
more than earned my inheritance, so I want no one to question the validity of
our marriage. "
He picked up Cass's hand, which was lying lax on the splendidly embroidered
counterpane, and said gently~ "You are not to be afraid of me. I have no
intention of doing anything to hurt you, no intention of breaking my word."
Cass did not know whether to be glad or sorry at what he was telling her. He
was so near to her, so masculine in his light clothes, which concealed very
little of the superb athlete that he was, that her heart beat faster than
ever. He mistook her pallor, lifted her hand and kissed it gently before
replacing it on the bed.
"You are a brave child, my dear, and you will make me a worthy Countess, I am
sure."
Every time that he touched her, however lightly, Cass's whole body seemed to
throb and quiver. It was only with the greatest difficulty that she
prevented herself from putting out her own hand to stroke not only his smooth
Cheek, but the strong jaw with its light dusting of dark stubble. She had
noticed some days ago that by evening he needed to shave again if he were to
preserve the smoothness which he had achieved in the morning. She wondered
what it would be like to feel the rough strong hairs against the soft palm of
her hand. Jack continued to mistake her silence for fear. He rose, turned
away, and Cass's heart resumed its normal rate. Over his shoulder he said,
in the gentlest voice which she had yet heard from him,
Page 53
"We shall have to provide some evidence that we shared a bed. Betty brought
my nightclothes up; to spare your feelings I shall change in the dressing
room." And he picked up a valise before he left her.
She could not help it. Cass had a sudden vision of him with absolutely
nothing on. She was sure that he was as muscular all over as his bare arms
suggested. As for the parts of him which made him male, as opposed to those
which made her female, she knew roughly what to expect, having seen the
statues which adorned Devereux House. But the notion of seeing in warm
reality what she had only seen in cold stone was simply adding to the
dizziness which was afflicting her. She closed her eyes, but that only
seemed to excite her the more.
Jack's return in a nightshirt which showed little of him should have

reassured Cass, but didn't. In it he seemed larger than ever, and more
formidable. He sat down in the chair on the other side of the bed from the
nightstand. He was carrying two glasses of wine--a white one for her and a
red one for him.
He raised his glass to her and Cass replied in kind. He drank his wine in
one swallow, and said wryly, "Nothing in my life has prepared me for this
night..."
Cass interjected rapidly,
"Nor mine either."
"Nor yours either," he replied. For the first time since she had seen him
that morning his face was full of its usual sardonic humour.
"It is not exactly the kind of situation which Sophia is wont to describe, I
do admit. I must apologise to you. I was wrong to marry you--wrong, having
done so, to afflict you with strange bargains.
But, alas, the deed is done and we are stuck with one another. I shall try
to be kind to you, but I am a man of strong temper, as Dicki is so fond of
reminding me. "
"Yes, I had noticed that," responded Cass dreamily. She calculated that she
had probably disposed of almost the whole of a bottle of white wine on top of
having eaten very little.
Jack's crack of laughter at her reply was a genuine one.

"Well, at least I chose a girl of spirit to play my tricks on. Dickie and
the rest are afraid I shall overwhelm you, one way or another. Shall I, Lady
Devereux?"
"Well, you haven't, so far."
"No, indeed. But you haven't seen me at my worst." Drink made Cass bold.
"Why do you always set yourself down, Jack? So far you have not said or done
anything to disturb me, and when you have lost your temper it has usually
been with good reason. Now, Philip..." She fell silent. Even a
drink-loosened tongue ought not to betray her into indiscreet comments about
a man's dead brother.
"Now, Philip...?" Jack was mocking her slightly. "What about Philip?
Am I not to know? "
Page 54
Cass shook her head.
"No, indeed. Only..." She hesitated a little 'for all your brusqueness
there is a kindness in you which was not in Philip, or your father. Don't
make me say any more. "
Jack was silent. Then he gave way to an impulse which descended on him out
of the blue. He leaned forward, put out a strong hand, pulled her face
towards him and kissed her. At first it was a chaste kiss on the cheek, and
then his mouth, controlled by itself and not by him, sought out and found her
tender lips.
So sweet! So sweet! Cass had never been kissed before, and his mouth so
soft on hers, so gentle, touched off tremors which ran down her body to her
very toes, taking in parts on the way which no lady should confess to owning.
It was like the effect touching his hand had on her, only infinitely more
exciting.
Oh, God! Cannon were going off in Jack's head. He was becoming roused.
Roused by this impudent child, whose innocence he had vowed not to subvert,
even if he was using it for his own purposes. His inclination was to throw
up both their nightgowns, climb into bed and finish what he had so mistakenly
started. He had meant to reward Cass with a brotherly kiss, comfort her a
little for being a brave girl, and here he was feeling as he had not felt for
years.
He was a bee sucking at her lips. He was a boy, kissing his first girl. The
lost years which had taken away his true youth almost before he had enjoyed
it vanished. He was innocence kissing innocence. Memory returned. He was
Jack Devereux, ruthless Jack Devlin, whose way with women had been notorious,
who had spared no one, not even himself, in his drive towards self-fulfilment
in everything that he had cared to undertake, towards asserting that,
whatever he had lost all those years ago, what he had gained since in
self-worth and character was of greater value.
Where he found the self-control to pull away from Cass he never knew.
Her eyes on him were like stars.
She clung to him, murmuring,

"Oh, Jack. Oh, Jack." She was his for the taking. Honour screamed No, and
whatever else he had sacrificed he had never sacrificed that--and he must not
start doing so now.
"I shouldn't have done that," he said hoarsely.
"Forgive me."
"Forgive you?" Cass's expression was dazed, drugged, as though she had drunk
laudanum.
"Why should I forgive you? It was ... wonderful. I never knew that kissing
could be like that."
Oh, damn, damn, damn. He had breached her innocence.
Cass wanted to say, Why did you stop? But reason told her that young ladies,
even newly married young countesses, probably ought not to ask such a
question. It was for men to lead and women to follow, in marriage as in
life. No one had ever said such a thing to her bluntly, but the inference
had always been there.
Page 55
But were not inferences there to be challenged? Jack sprang up. He walked
over to where he had left the bottle of wine. He poured himself another
glass, drank it down, picked up the haft-empty bottle and came over to where
Cass sat, numbly believing that in some way she had done something wrong.
Of course, he must have thought that she was trying to break their bargain.
She must go carefully or he would think that she was trying to trap him in
some way. Yes, that was it. And yet it was he who had started the kiss, not
she. Oh, being grown up and married was damnably difficult. Saying and
doing the right thing was no easier now than when she was a child. Once she
had thought that when she was grown up everything would become simple: she
would always know what to say and do.
Oh, what a wrong thing to think! Being grown up was harder, not easier.
Being Cassandra Merton was child's play compared with being Cassandra, the
Countess Devereux.
"My dear," Jack said--wine didn't seem to be affecting him.
"We must give the servants something to think about. In the morning I shall
empty the remains of this bottle on the sheets, so that when the servants
come to make the bed they will find a cause for gossip." Cass nodded. By
his manner he was pretending that what had just happened between them had not
happened.
For the first time she felt anger. He had no right. She was his wife.
She was not a child, even though he might think her one. And if he had a
temper, so had she. But she would not show it now.
"How are we to sleep, then?" she asked him, a little timidly.
"Are we to share the bed?"
He nodded.
"You between the sheets. Me on top of the counterpane," he told her briskly.
Jack thought that he would be able to withstand temptation if he didn't
actually touch her. He had discovered that, astonishingly, his child bride
presented a very real threat to his self-control. And not quite the way
which Dickie and the rest thought.
That seemed to be that. Jack blew out the candles. Cass settled herself
between the sheets. He lay down on top of them, trying not to let the
delicate scent of woman, lilac perfume and clean clothes, which wafted to
him from Where Cass lay, affect him too much.
He was not aware that Cass, before she drifted off into a sleep which came
surprisingly soon, was trying not to allow the masculine scent which Jack
gave off disturb her over much. Philip Devereux had smelled of soap, Fred
Maxwell of horse, Mr Hunt of dust and books, whilst Jack Devereux gave off
the aura of a strong and roused man.
Waking, Cass might have wondered how she knew that, but sleeping, she did no
such thing.
Waking was yet another thing. Cass, sleepy but happy, rolled over to put her
face into the pillow on which Jack's head had rested all night. His scent,
masculine and disturbing, was there, but he was not.
He had left her. Disappointment ran through Cass until she heard masculine
sighs and exclamations coming from behind the closed doors of her dressing
room cure bathroom. By the sound of it, Jack was having a bath or an
Page 56
extended wash. Further disturbing visions of Jack in the bath began to
plague Cass.
There must be something wrong with her--every time she thought of him it was
in this forbidden way.
Miss Strood had always rushed her by naked statues and certain pictures in
the galleries which they had visited, and perhaps she had been right. The
dressing room door opened, and there was Jack. His reddish hair, wetly
plastered against his skull, had turned black, making his stern face sterner.
He was wearing the light clothing in which he had arrived the night before,
and was plainly not going to get back into bed with her.
Without thinking, Cass smiled and stretched herself luxuriously, like a

little cat enjoying life. It occurred to her that, as Countess, one of her
privileges might be that of not leaping out of bed early, but of enjoying it
a little longer.
Jack saw Cass's imitation of a cat and looked away. He had woken up earlier
to find that during the night she had somehow insinuated herself into the
crook of his left arm and was lying against his chest. The sight and feel of
her had done nothing for his self-control. He had jumped out of bed, made
for the bathroom, ripped of his nightgown and begun to pour over himself the
stone-cold water from the pitchers left there the night before.
If that didn't make his treacherous body behave, nothing would. And then the
artful little minx--or the complete innocent, and he couldn't decide which--
went and tortured him by giving him such a dazzling smile that it transformed
her plain face, and it had shown off her body into the bargain.
Well, to be fair, she hadn't shown him her body so much as reminded him that
she possessed one. He had to either rush to the Haymarket to find a woman,
or try to control that part of him which was telling him, Damreit, she is
your wife, and last night virtually offered herself to you, so why are you
hanging back?
Because I don't want to hurt her. Later, perhaps-- when she's grown up a
little, and we know where we stand.
Meantime, he smiled back and said,

"Would you like to breakfast in bed? I usually go for a ride, first thing.
And then we can decide on a programme for the day. " Cass nodded. She
didn't want him to leave her, but he was apparently anxious to be off, and
breakfast in bed seemed an excellent idea. While she was waiting for it she
threw a robe about herself and went over to the window, to discover that it
looked down on a paved courtyard where Jack, now wearing riding clothes, was
walking a black horse up and down--a horse as magnificently male as he was.
She had seen all the Devereux men on horseback, but she soon grasped that
none of them could ride like Jack. He and the horse were one. There were
grooms standing by, and Jack began to put his horse through a series of
manoeuvres which had one of the younger grooms crying, "Bravo, m'lord!" He
was reprimanded by one of his elders, who nevertheless murmured something
admiring to Jack as he dismounted. Next, he mounted one of the late Earl's
big greys and mastered him.
Only the arrival of her breakfast took Cass from the window; when she looked
out again, horses and men had all gone, and the courtyard was empty.
She didn't see Jack again until the late afternoon, when he walked into the
pretty drawing-room with its portrait of his mother by Romney over the
Page 57
hearth. She was wearing the Star of Rizapore. He was carrying a pile of
official-looking papers, which he put down on a small desk which stood in an
alcove. He was dressed in his fashionable finery, and asked her gravely
whether he might sit with her while he worked.
Cass, who was busily engaged on her canvas work a kneeler for the Devereux
chapel at Coverham, murmured, "Of course," before she rang a bell which
brought in a pretty young maid.
"Tea for m'lord and me," she ordered, as coolly as though she had been doing
it all her life. Jack sat himself down at the desk and began to read his
papers as though his life depended on it. When the tea-board arrived, he
moved to the big armchair facing Cass, on the other side of the hearth.
There was no fire in it, but someone had placed before the empty grate a
large Chinese vase containing early summer flowers. They sat there as
comfortably as though they had been married for years before Jack spoke.
"You have not been too lonely, I trust. I am sorry to seem to neglect you,
but Herriot has forwarded the accounts from Coverham and I started to look at
them before I realised what a task I had set myself. Sadly, my sisters
appear to be correct in their condemnation of the agent there. He has been
robbing the estate blind. It looks as though I shall need to appoint a new
agent for Coverham as well as a new secretary for myself. My father's
secretary, Sedgeby, has grown too old and careless, but he can stay on for a
little time to break his successor in."
Cass sighed. She agreed with him over Sedgeby, but she had rather liked the
courteous old man who had grown grey in the service of the Devereux family.
"And Sedgeby? What will happen to him?"
"A pension and a cottage at Coverham, if he wishes it. He can use the
library there. I understand that he has in mind a great work on Anglo-Saxon
Yorkshire. He will now have time to write it before he grows too old."
He saw Cass's relieved expression and frowned.

"You surely did not expect me to turn the old man out into the world?"
Everyone had said how heartless Jack was, but it seemed that they were
wrong. She remembered some years ago that his brother Philip had urged his
father to turn Sedgeby away because he was growing incompetent, and the late
Earl had said,
"I have a mind for us to grow old together."

Jack was watching her, his face dour. Cass thought that she might have hurt
him by appearing to believe that he would throw Sedgeby out into the world.
To change the topic completely she exclaimed as artlessly as she could,
"Now that I am Countess, may I have lessons from someone who can teach me the
harp?"
"The harp!" This diverting suggestion certainly took Jack's mind away from
the revelation of the low opinion which his relatives had of him.
"Why the harp?" Cass had attended several concerts where a mistress of the
instrument had played some hauntingly lovely tunes. But it was not only that
which had entranced her. The sight of her long elegant arms and hands
plucking at the strings had also attracted. Fred had once told Cass that she
had beautiful arms--perhaps, she had thought sadly at the time, because she
didn't possess a beautiful anything else. If they were beautiful, then
playing the harp would be the best way to display them.
Page 58
"Yes, the harp. There are harps at both Coverham and Devereux House, I
believe."
There was silence for a moment and then Jack said, his voice colourless,
"Yes, they were my mother's."
It occurred to Cass that he had spoken several times of his father, but never
of his mother. She had been a beautiful woman, if the Ronmey portrait was
anything to go by, but none of her children had resembled her-- except
Philip, a little.
"Do you play any other instrument?" he asked her.
"I believe that to do so would be helpful to you if you wish to master the
harp. When we return to Devereux House I shall make a point of finding you a
teacher."
Being Countess had its pleasant side, then. There were other things which
she wished to do, but she had no intention of telling Jack of them. She
thought that he deserved to be surprised a little. So far he had been the
scene-setter in all their encounters and she had, so to speak, always run
behind him. It would not hurt for him to run a little after her.
Apparently inconsequentially, after informing him that she could play the
pianoforte, Cass asked him if he had enjoyed his ride.
"Ah, you did see me, then," he said, and Cass wondered, a little annoyed, if
there was anything that he missed.
"I thought that I caught a glimpse of you at the window.
Yes, I did. My father's horses have been well-schooled. You must come
riding with me tomorrow. No reason why we should not go out together each
day. You do ride, I trust? If not, I will teach you. "
Why, when he was being so perfectly correct and serious with her, did Cass
regret that he was no longer teasing and quizzing her as he had done in their
earlier encounters?
Perhaps it was Dickie's absence, or was it because she was now Countess, and
he must be punctilious with her?
Whatever the reason, she preferred the former Jack to the present more sober
one. They chattered about nothing whilst they drank their tea, until Jack
excused himself and went back to his papers. He studied them with the same
fierce concentration with Which she had seen him control his horse-and Dicki
--and herself! It occurred to her that she still knew little of him, and
hoped that his brief interlude which they were spending alone might bring
them together.
But at the end of it he remained as much of a mystery as ever.
He was perfectly courteous to her. After the first night, he came to her
room for a short time before retiring to his own, which, she had discovered
on her first day up, was joined to hers by a connecting door.
He was always scrupulous about not surprising her; came to her after her maid
had put her to bed, always knocked on her door, and talked to her gently on a
variety of subjects. They spoke of everything and nothing. He was
well-informed, she found, and surprisingly well-read.
She quizzed him a little more penetratingly than usual over this.
Page 59
"I can see," he told her, lying back in his armchair, and watching her as she
sat up in bed, the candlelight painting shadows on her face, as it did on
his, 'that I must satisfy your curiosity. There were 1ongueurs in my life,
and I soon found that boredom was relieved if I read. I had liked to read as
a child, neglected it as a very young man, and found it again when I grew
older--and lonely.
"I had a friend--not Dickie--who possessed a small library, and we used to
talk of what we read, until--' He shrugged, his face growing sombre.
"But no more of that. I am self-educated--I had only one year at Oxford
before the world fell in--and after that I had to organise my own course of
reading."
He fell silent again, the candlelight telling her how he would look when he
was old, with his face all severe planes, angles and hollows.
"Hunt told me that you liked reading, and were an apt scholar," he said
abruptly.
"It was kind of him to say so."
Jack was suddenly the blunt man she had first met. "Not kind," he rasped,
'if he was tellAg the truth.
Kindness would be if he lied about you. He wasn't lying, was he? "
"No, and I would like to go on studying when we return to Devereux House, if

being Countess will allow me to do so."
"Time will be found for you. I promise you that." He stood up. His eyes
were hooded. He always had the power to surprise her, for on this last night
of her honeymoon, after having refrained from touching her at all since his
kiss on the first night had sent them up in flames, he came over to the bed,
dropped his hands on either side of her as she sat looking at him wide- eyed,
and kissed her again.
Cass shuddered under it. She saw that the pupils of his eyes were dilated,
and that he was controlling himself with difficulty.
He stood up, towering over her. His face as inscrutable as one of the
Central American masks which a Devereux ancestor had brought back from a
visit there. "If you are ever unhappy, you must tell me so. I do not intend
to make you unhappy. Within reason, whatever you want you may have. Only if
what you want seems excessive to you need you come to me for permission. You
understand me?"
Cass nodded. She could not speak. She wondered if the emotion she was
feeling was affecting him too.
Surely not! For was he not older, experienced, and could he not have any
woman he wanted--so why should he want his undistinguished wife? Some demon
which ruled her occasionally, and which had got her into trouble with Stroody
on more than one occasion, made her ask, her own voice slightly mocking,
"Am I legally your wife, Jack?"
Now, as she must have intended, she had shocked him.
Jack tensed. His big body became quite still. His hands clenched into
fists. She had, after some fashion she could not understand, touched a
nerve. "Why are you asking me this--at this late date?"
Page 60
"Why should I not, Jack? For all I--and the world knows--you already have a
wife and child somewhere.
Have you? "
His eyes were suddenly cruel. He took a step towards her. His hands
clenched and unclenched. His voice was as harsh as he could make it.
"No wife, or child. I had a whore once, for several years. And a child.
They are both dead. Cruelly so.
They are no concern of yours. "

The demon had driven Cass to do something that she had not intended and that
she now regretted. She had hurt him, and now, for all his promises, if she
were not careful, he would hurt her. What to say to him: I had to know
something of you, for you tell me so little? No, that would not do.
Instead, keeping her own voice steady, which was difficult for his
passionless mask was frightening her, she said,
"Everything that concerns you concerns me, Jack. I am sorry if I hurt you."
The tension leaked out of him. His young wife had neither cringed, cajoled
nor been cravenly apologetic in reply to his own brutal plain speaking.
"Yes, I think you are. I am sorry to be so secretive, but that has been my
way for so long I cannot gainsay it. I can only say that you must accept
that I am a blank page so far as you are concerned, but that I shall always
deal fairly with you."
That had to be enough. The demon sank back into the cave from which he
occasionally emerged. Fortunately only occasionally, for Cass usually had
herself, and him, under as much control as Jack was wont to display in
keeping his own demons in order. But Cass knew that to live with someone as
strong and as dominant as Jack was would take all her strength and all her
resolution if she were not to be overwhelmed.
When they returned to Devereux House, Stroody came to meet them in the
entrance hall. She held Cass off for a moment and exclaimed,
"You look well, child!" As though, Cass thought amusedly, she had been for a
cure at a spa, instead of on her honeymoon. Jack looked around him,
presumably for Dickie, who was not there to greet him. Cass removed her new
bonnet, and allowed Stroody to lead her into the drawing room where tea
awaited her. Now Stroody was behaving as though she had been to the North
Pole and back.
Jack said when they reached the door,
"You will forgive me for a moment--I shall be back immediately,"
and strode away in the direction, Cass thought, of the stables. Ever since
their conversation last night he, too, had been treating her as though she
were some sort of invalid.
Stroody, looking significant, rather like a Papal Nuncio about to pass on
some bad news, leaned forward confidentially once Cass had sat down and been
handed a cup of tea.
"He will not find him, I fear.
That man of his left Devereux House the day after you were married and has
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not been seen since. "
It was not like Stroody to gossip, but this was perhaps too big a tit-bit not
to pass on. Cass said nothing, merely raised her eyebrows, a trick of Lady
Constantia's to signify that she had heard what had been said but would not
comment on it; it was a trick which she was beginning to find useful, and one
which nonplussed Stroody a little. She was used to Cass making forthright
answers, not playing the fine lady.
Jack returned. He took the tea which Miss Strood offered, made polite noises
about the weather, the state of the gardens at Devereux House as compared
with those at the Roehampton villa, and was altogether as politely null as
Cass was being. Stroody was probably privately wondering what their
honeymoon had done to them both to quieten them down so much, but if so she
wasn't speaking of it.
Later, when Cass had gone upstairs to her room to be manoeuvred out of her
travelling clothes by Betty and into a modish semi-evening gown, and was
seated on a sofa before the window which looked out across the lawns where
the peacocks were displaying themselves, Jack came in, already wearing his
loose informal clothes. He had driven her from Roehampton in his curricle,
behind four of the greys which she had seen him with on the morning after
their wedding.
"Dickie has gone," he said abruptly. There was something forlorn in his
manner.
"Yes, I know. Miss Strood told me."
Jack walked to the window to stare out of it at one particular peacock whose
splendour was greater than that of his fellows.
"He had no need to," he exclaimed. "There is a place for him here; he knows
that."
Cass contemplated a painting by Wright of Derby, showing a woman and a child
admiring a sickle moon through a window.
"Perhaps he did not think that there was."
If they had been soldiers, what relationship had there been between them?
She had thought long and hard on the matter and had decided that Jack could
not have been an officer, and neither could Dickie. They had been comrades,
that was plain, and each trusted the other.
Equally plainly Jack was used to command, far more than Dickie was, and
consequently she thought that he had possessed some rank which Dickie had
not, but which still allowed them to be friends. Jack broke into her
thoughts.
"Oh, no! He must be aware that wherever I am, whatever I am, I should never
desert him."
Cass was logical.
"But you have not--other than by becoming Earl, which he may see as a form of
desertion."
She did not say, You have not deserted him, he has deserted you, for it did
not need saying, and it was that which was troubling Jack.
He came over, sat beside her, took the book she was reading from her hands
and said, almost with violence, "Where did you acquire such wisdom, Cass?
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Doesn't it trouble you, to be so young and so composed? When I was your age
I was an impulsive savage, and most of the young ladies I have met have been
frivolous fools. Why are you different?"
She met his hard stare with a serenity which shamed him.
"I don't know. The only thing I can say is that I have never, until you
married me, possessed any kind of stability, any real assurance that tomorrow
I might have a home, or even another meal. I have been a dependant with no
claims on anyone, and that has served to make me think carefully about myself
and those about me."
She hesitated, gave a small smile.
"I
don't think that I'm wise. On the contrary, I'm aware of my ignorance. "
He took up her hand and kissed it.

"And that," he told her, 'makes you wise. Be wise about our marriage, Cass,
and you will survive it and me. You know that I shall have to find Dickie.
I owe him my life, and to some extent my sanity. I know I ought to let him
go free--except that I also know that he has nowhere to go--and I need him
here. If that makes me selfish where he is concerned, then so be it. But at
the least I can offer him a home and something to do worthy of his talents.
If I cannot, what is the worth of my being Earl? "
Later, when he had gone, after telling her that he would try to trace Dickie
in the morning, Cass thought of what he had said to her about being wise.
Wise? Was she wise? She thought not, for had she not already decided to
play the Countess to the utmost, to make him know that he possessed a wife
whose spirit matched his own? Was that wise? For she had no idea of what
the outcome would be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"THERE is a person arrived who says that she had come to teach you the harp,"
Stroody announced agitatedly.
Cass, who had discovered that Jack had been correct in saying that his
mother's harp was at Devereux House, had now to discover that he had arranged
for Signora Corelli to come to teach her to play it.
"I never knew that you wished to learn to play the harp," Stroody twittered
at her as they walked into the music room, where the harp had been taken out
of its bag and Signora Corelli and her tall male acolyte were examining it.
Or rather the signora was examining the harp and the acolyte--Silvio, Cass
was to discover-was examining the pianoforte.
Nor did I, thought Cass, until I became Countess. There were a lot of other
things which I did not know about myself, and which I am determined to
discover! "A secret passion," Cass lied coolly.
"Oh, and Stroody, dear, tomorrow afternoon Madame Rosina the dressmaker is
calling. I am determined to show the world that Lady Devereux's taste in
dress is worth a second look. I am tired of sweetly pretty gowns which make
me look like little Miss Muffet wondering where her tufter has disappeared
to!"
Whether it was Jack's influence, or whether she had always possessed such a
talent but had never before found it wise to use it she wasn't sure, but Cass
was also discovering in herself a bent towards the lively in A BIDDABLE OraL?
Page 63
conversation, which had poor Stroody exclaiming,
"Oh dear, Cass,"

every few minutes or so.
She suppressed it whilst the signora, with Silvio performing on the
pianoforte, gave her her first lesson.
"It appears," Cass remarked irrepressibly at the end of it, 'that mastering
the harp is rather more than the ability to wave one's arms gracefully around
it! " " M'lady is pleased to jest," smiled the signora.
"You have a talent for ze 'arp, no doubt of that." Cass, who thought that the
signora probably hailed from somewhere within the sound of Bow Bells rather
than from Milan or Rome, also thought that she was not above flattering great
ladies, even if they were not yet twenty.
In this she wronged her teacher and herself, as the following weeks were soon
to show, and she began to master the instrument. But the hardheadedness
that poverty and neglect had bred in her did not disappear with her changed
circumstances.
But certain of her other attributes were already beginning to change.
That afternoon she sat in the drawing room with Stroody, looking at the
fashion plates in The Ladies Magazine and shaking her head over them, when
Fred Maxwell called. if he had hoped to see Jack he was to be disappointed,
for as Cass told him, he had an engagement elsewhere. She did not tell Fred
that he had gone once more in search of Dickie--for that was Jack's business,
not Fred's.
Fred was carrying a small posy of carnations which he handed over to Cass
before sitting down and saying to her in his frank and eager fashion, so
different from Jack's cool self-control,
"I say, Cass, you look prettier than ever.
Being' married must suit you, ehl' He had no sooner come out with this than
he blushed scarlet, for surely this was not quite the thing to be saying to a
young girl, even if she had recently been introduced to the delights of the
marriage bed.
"I'm sure you know what I mean," he added, a little glumly.

"No harm intended, I assure you."
Cass pretended not to have heard him by the simple expedient of exclaiming
excessively over the flowers he had brought and asking Stroody to arrange for
them to be put in water immediately.
No sooner had Stroody gone than Fred leaned forward to say earnestly, "You
are happy, Cass, I hope.
Jack's treatin' you properly, and all that? " And what a double entendre
that was!
"Oh, yes," responded Cass. To her own secret amusement she found herself
fluttering her eyelashes at him-and where had that trick come from?
"I'm as happy as could possibly be expected."
Page 64
She also secretly wondered what Fred's response would be if he were to
discover that Jack had not touched his bride other than in friendship. Would
Fred think that that came under the heading of 'treatin" Cass properly?
This interesting conundrum occupied the back of Cass's mind whilst Fred
continued his interest in her welfare.
"Mama thought you might be bored when you became Countess,"
he finally offered.
"Are you bored, Cass?"
"Oh, not at all, Fred. Nothing could be more delightful, I assure you.
Why, I am at present engaged in planning a whole new wardrobe, and I spent
this morning learning the harp. " Her descent into brainless frivolity was
amusing Cass as much as it was exciting Fred.
"The harp, Cass!" Fred was enchanted by this news. "I say, Cass, you will
play us some tunes when you're ready?" And then he added doubtfully--he must
have been talking to Stroody"--I never knew that you were interested in
playing the harp?
"It is, of all things, the one thing I have always wanted to do,"
carolled Cass untruthfully.
"And, Fred, there/s something you can do for me. I know that you are most
knowledgeable about dogs--are quite famous for it, in fact--and I am
determined to have a dog of my own. I have always wanted one--' another lie,
but no matter '--and I thought of you when I made up my mind that I could
wait no longer?
A dog! This was even better than discovering that Cass was learning to play
the harp.
"But shouldn't you speak to Jack about buying one?"
Cass shook her head.

"He said that I was to do exactly what I wished, now that I am Countess, and
only ask him for advice if what I wanted to do was enormously extravagant.
Buying a dog doesn't come under that heading, I'm sure. No, Fred, you must
advise me."
"A poodle," offered Fred, 'or one of those dear little creatures you can put
in your lap. "
"Oh, no." Cass was at her most incisive.

"Not at all. I don't want a little dog. I rather fancied a wolfhound. A
really big one. Just imagine walking in the Park with such a noble animal by
my side!"
Fred threw caution to the winds. He had been about to ask, Would Jack
approve? when the notion of walking or driving Cass in the Park, with a
wolfhound of all beasts with them, became suddenly entrancing.
"Right, a wolfhound it shall be, if that's what you wish. I say, Cass, I can
see you intend to go the pace a bit. Wolfhounds and harps! Is there
anything else you fancy that I could help you with?"
Page 65
Cass considered. This was going to be more fun than she had thought.
Fred obviously wished to be treated as some kind of cavaliere serv ente as
the Italians called a young man who existed simply to escort a respectable
married woman.
"Not at the moment, Fred. As I said I do intend to improve my wardrobe by
ordering some unusual toilettes, but it's hardly the thing for me to ask you
for advice on that."
Fred was in complete agreement.

"Mama wants to give a dinner party for you and Jack. She says that we must
not appear to be at outs with him now that he has inherited--even if we
didn't expect him to. I shall look forward to it no end, now I know that you
intend to let the world know that the Devereux have a Countess at last. You
won't be able to bring the dog along to dinner, though. Not quite the thing."
Cass contemplated with wicked delight strolling into the Maxwells'
drawing-room with her new pet and seeing how they coped with having to
respect the whims of the poor relation whom they had so constantly snubbed.
But she feared that Fred was right. Wolfhounds and little dinners to
celebrate the inheritance of the new heir did not really go together.
"You're sure Jack won't object to all this?" he enquired a little anxiously.
"Of course not," Cass told him, not having the slight130 est idea of what
Jack might object to.
"After all, he was most enthusiastic about me learning the harp."

"Then that's settled." Fred smiled, and Miss Strood's return had them all
talking most decorously on a number of topics, none of them concerned with
wolfhounds, harps or daring toilettes.
"Sorry to have missed Jack," he told them as he left, and spoke no less than
the truth. The slightly feather headed Fred found Jack's forcefulness
something to admire, he possessing so little of it himself.
Jack arrived at Louis Fromac's rooms. He had finally driven to their old
lodgings at Shoreditch to be told that Dickie was working for Louis. He
waited patiently while Dickie instructed a young sprig of nobility in the art
of using the sabre. Dickie was concentrating so hard that he did not see Dev
until the lesson had ended. He tucked his sabre under his arm, pulled off
his mask, and walked over to where Jack was leaning against the wall.
"Thought you might track me here," he offered quietly.
Dev was equally quiet. A dangerous sign. "Then why the devil did you make
me follow you?
You know that there is always a place for you, wherever I choose to live. "
Dickie shook his head.
"No, Dev. We're not equals any more. You're Earl now."
"Damn that," snorted Jack, raising his voice a little. "We've been equals
since we met. Dev and Dickie."
"Were," said Dickie equably.
"Were? " Didde. " Jack's voice was almost desperate.
Page 66
"I
haven't a friend in the world apart from you. None of my damned relatives
gives tuppence for me. All of the friends I made as a boy are long gone. I
doubt if they'd know me or I them if we met. Except for you the friends I
made in the past twelve years are lost to me.
There will always be work for you--I'm not asking you to live off me for
nothing. You're one of the best men with horses and carriages I've ever
known. Come and be my best man. "
"You have your wife," was Dickie's answer to that. "Cass? She's a child."
"She could be your friend. If you treat her right, that is."
"Treat her right? Of course I'll treat her right."
"You could hurt her--easily."

How did they come to be talking about Cass, for God's sake? Was Dickie in
love with her?
"I won't hurt her. She's so young. Good God, I've not so much as touched
her." Which was not quite true, but would serve.
"I know," remarked Dickie cryptically. "So, come back."
For an agonising space of time Dickie considered. He had pulled his sabre
from under his arm and was gazing at it.
"Remember that Frenchman who nearly did for me at Salamanca, Dev?"
Jack nodded, wondering what was coming next. "You did for him, instead.
I'll come back--for a time anyway. I pay my dues."
Exasperated, Jack suddenly roared,
"Damn you, Dickie, that was in return for what you did for me.
We're quits--equals. That's why I want you back. "

"I have my pride, Jack. Acknowledge it. As you must acknowledge your
wife's."
Cass again.
"Very well, Dickie."
"But I'll have to keep my word to Louis, as you did. I'll work mornings for
you until then."
"And live at Devereux House. A bargain, Dickie."
"A bargain, Dev. But remember, at Devereux House I'll speak to you as Earl
in public. Better so." Thus is was arranged.
And all the way home Jack pondered on what Dickie had said to him of Cass.
He walked into the drawing-room shortly after Fred had left, to find Miss
Strood moaning gently,
"Oh, dear, Cass, no," over Cass, who was drawing little fashion plates of her
Page 67
own-- The Ladies Magazine cast aside. He flung himself down in an armchair,
booted legs stretched in front of him, the very picture of masculine ease.
Cass knew at once, without being told, that he had found Dickie and that all
was well.
"What is it, Stroody?" he asked.
"What naughtiness is my bride committing now? Is my strong husbandly hand

needed to bring her into line?"
Jack was laughing gently at them both. Imitating Cass, he had taken to
calling Miss Strood
"Stroody', and far from resenting this she loved him the more for it. Her
delight showed itself in one vast blush.
"Cass wishes to dress herself in the most outr~ fashion," she wailed,
'instead of wearing the pretty toilettes we chose for her before she was
married. " Jack looked at Cass, who was trying not to look pleadingly at
him. He must not side with Stroody, he must not! Not only did she wish to
make her mark on the world in her own way, but she wanted to be independent
at last of the restraints which she had endured for so long. But he was her
husband; what he might decree concerning her actions was law. He was
laughing openly now.
"Oh, no, Stroody. You have inspired in me the most intense curiosity to find
out what my wife considers outre. Let her have her head, even if it means
that she rejects the pretty toilettes." The greeny-yellow eyes were testing
them both. He was happy, and was trying to share his happiness with them.
The strangest thing happened to Cass. On their honeymoon she had experienced
the most intense physical desire for him that first night, when he had kissed
her. But what she was feeling for him now was quite different. Her pleasure
at his pleasure was mixed with the tender est sensation, which demanded that
his feelings, his desires, must be satisfied or she would feel miserable
herself.
It was as though she were part of him and felt his pleasure over regaining
Dickie, his happiness at coming home to find Stroody and herself bickering
gently and each turning to him for support. Here was a side of him which she
had never seen before, and she wanted to hold him, to stroke his warm cheek
and his smiling mouth . in friendship, as well as in love. Love! That was
it! She loved him. Not only that, but she was in love with him--and when in
the world had that happened?
Cass was so shocked by this discovery that she fell silent, the world about
her disappearing. She surfaced to hear Jack saying, his tone kind but
mocking,
"Silent, Cass? Here is a turn-up to be celebrated."
"Wha ... what..." she stammered at him, her senses whirling, for how was
she going to live with this knowledge?
"I was asking you when you proposed to launch your refitted self upon the
world?"
"Soon, soon," she mouthed idiotically at him. He must never know, never--for
had he not married her so that he should not have to take a wife for love and
children, as well as to acquire his father's estates? And he could not love
Miss Skin and Bones. But why should she not make him come to love her? And
now her campaign for him to take notice of her took on a different and deeper
meaning.
Page 68
Jack stood up energetically.
"Soon? Good. Now I must change. Oh, by the by, how did your lesson with
the signora go?"
"Famously," Cass told him, having discovered her composure.
"She assured me that I shall be giving recitals soon, but I think she says
that to all the Countesses she teaches! Oh, and Fred called. He says that
his mama will be giving a small dinner party for us. To launch us into
society."
"Will she, indeed? So I am to be forgiven for inheriting. May I enquire

when we shall be so signally honoured?"
"Fred said before he left that your sister will be calling tomorrow to hand
us a formal invitation. She will be asking the Duke of Wellington to be one
of the guests. She met him when she was in Paris with her husband last year,
after Waterloo, and Fred says she got on fatuously with him."
"Wellington!" Jack gave a snort of laughter.
"He gets on famously with all women--particularly married ones who are still
pretty, like Constantia. Do you get on fatuously with Fred?" he asked her a
trifle abruptly.
"He was always kind to me," parried Cass.
"He likes talking to me."

Seeing that Jack had no interest in her other than as a convenience to him,
then why should he not be aware that other men found her attractive, even if
not for the usual reasons for which men chased women? She had not told him
of Fred's proposal to her, for she knew instinctively that he would not like
to hear of it.
The invitation was duly made, and Cass attended the little dinner party and
met the Duke. Unfortunately, her outre gowns were not yet ready for her to
wear, but the Duke seemed to like the little Countess, despite her
schoolgirl's turnout.
The Duke frowned when he was introduced to Jack, who was himself turned out
in the splendid rig that he had worn for their wedding and was wearing a
semi- military cravat, called the Napoleon, and an expression of ineffable
goodwill quite unlike his usually stern one. "Devereux,"
he acknowledged formally as Jack bowed to him.

"I knew your father." And then,
"I seem to fancy that we have met before--though I can't think where. Have
we?"
This came out in a commander-in-chief's bark, but Jack, nothing daunted,
bowed again, replying smoothly and lying as he did so.
"I think not, Duke, for I am sure that I should have remembered such an
occasion."
The lie was because he had met the Duke before, for the briefest of moments,
one man among many, and had said wryly to Dickie just before he had left for
the Maxwells' dinner party,
Page 69
"His memory is said to be remarkable. Will it be remarkable enough to
remember me? I hope not."
Dickie had shrugged.
"Well, you didn't look then how you look now.
You're clean, to begin with. "
They had both laughed at that, but all the same it worried Jack a little to
catch the Duke staring thoughtfully at him, and for him to say before they
left,
"I do have the oddest feeling of familiarity, Devereux.
You're sure? "
Jack didn't care to have to lie again, particularly with Cass's shrewd eye
upon him, and when they were riding home in their carriage, to divert her
from the topic of Wellington's curiosity, he asked her,
"What was all that about a dog? Fred was quite excited when he was talking
to you, but I couldn't catch why."
"Oh, he's choosing a dog for me. I asked him to advise me on buying one.
What with all your work on the Devereux estates taking up so much of your
time, I thought you might prefer me to give Fred something to do."
"What sort of dog? A poodle?"

Now it was Cass's turn to lie.
"Oh, I'm not sure. I haven't quite made up my mind." And then she went hot
all over, for she was sure that he must know that she wasn't telling him the
truth. But Jack was too busy with his own worries to detect that Cass had
hers. The devil was in it if the Duke should remember him. He had no wish
for his past to surface. Not that he was ashamed of it, but it was dead and
gone, as he and Dickie were agreed.
Dickie was waiting to see to the putting away of the horses and the carriage
when they arrived home. If it wasn't quite like the Dev and Dickie of old,
it was still better than nothing, as they were both coming to acknowledge.
Society was agreed after the Maxwells' small dinner- party, which was really
a very grand occasion, and not small at all, that the new Lady Devereux was a
taking little thing, quiet and modest, and that Jack was something of a
shock. No one had expected him to be such an impressive figure of a man.
The Duke had added to the interest in him, with his patent obsession with
having met Jack before.
"Memory going at last," he remarked irritably to his crony--some thought his
mistr~s--Mrs Arbuthnot, when he next met her.
"Bit early on, surely. Ain't as old as that yet."
Consequently, invitations showered in on them. The mirror on the
drawing-room mantelpiece was stuck full of visiting and invitation cards,
and, if Cass had valued such a thing, her mirror took the pas in such matters
by being by far the most crowded in the whole of society.
Which meant, as she wailed at Stroody, that she and Jack would be having to
give dinner parties and thrashes of their own. But the wail was a pretence,
Page 70
for Cass was coming to find that she enjoyed the brouhaha which surrounded
her being Countess.
Fred delivered her new dog, a giant wolfhound already trained for her, during
a week when Jack was away on business at Roehampton, having taken his new
secretary, Mr Peters, with him. Fred had found for her quite the most
impressive animal that Cass had ever seen. She had named him Caesar because
he had such a proud and haughty look.
The following afternoon she asked Dickie, who was now in charge of the
stables--the old man who had served the late Earl having been pensioned
off--to take her, Stroody and Caesar to Hyde Park in the Devereux landaulet.
This impressive carriage had painted on its side an Earl's coronet above a
shield with the Wild man of the Woods holding a bough on it. One of Jack's
jokes was that he was the only true descendant of the original of the Wild
Man, who dated back to the fourteenth century and was supposed to be the
first Baron whose reputation was, to say the least, notorious for its
violence.
Cass and Dickie had struck up an odd friendship, in which Cass talked to
Dickie, and Dickie listened. She often tried to pump him about Jack and
their joint past, but at this point, in Cass's opinion, Dickie's silences
turned from golden to lead.
He looked doubtfully at Caesar, and even more doubtfully at Cass, who was
wearing a female version of the uniform of an officer in the Rifle Brigade,
even her hat and boots being exact replicas of the originals.
Thus accoutred, she was sure to draw all eyes, and so poor Stroody was
moaning, not hesitating to call on Dickie to agree that it was most improper
for Cass to venture out, so dressed--'and with this giant of a dog, tOO'.
"Caesar needs a walk, and I shall take him for one when we reach the Park,"
announced Cass firmly.
"Does Dev, I mean, m'lord, know about Caesar, and...?" Dickie waved a
helpless hand at Cass's military finery.
"Of course," retorted Cass.
"He said that I was to use my own judgement about what I wore, and he knew
that I was buying a dog." Which was an answer calculated to deceive, as Cass
was well aware.
There was nothing to be said after that. Dev's word was law, and so they set
off for the Park. Cass had already arranged to meet Fred there, and Dickie
had hardly drawn up the landaulet beneath some trees before Fred arrived on
horseback, and behind him a bevy of sodety ladies and gentlemen whose
acquaintances Cass had made in the previous week.
"I say, Cass," said Fred eagerly, leaning over the side of the landaulet,
'you look quite famous. I do declare you grow prettier by the day. " He
heard Stroody's quiet moan, but took no note of it.
"I have brought along some of the fellows to meet you."
He proceeded to introduce her to a group of young men as idle as himself, all
of whom were entranced by Cass, her daring outfit and Caesar. They were even
more entranced when Fred dismounted and, holding his horse, helped her and
Caesar out of the landaulet, poor Stroody declining to come, so that they
might process along one of the walks.
It was a glorious day. The sun shone; all society was present, including the
Page 71
Duke of Wellington, and all society was exclaiming over the little Countess,
whose outfit was so exactly designed to flatter her, enrage all other women
and enchant the men.
Fred was as delighted by the sensation which they caused as Cass was.
Let Jack think of her as a quiet appendage who was helping him to cheat his
late papa whilst he enjoyed himself with bits of muslin, barques of frailty
and ladies of the town! He would soon discover how wrong he was.
The Duke drove towards the crowd around Fred and Cass in his curricle, an
elegant equipage, bright yellow, with a silver curricle bar and
silver-mounted harness.
On reaching them, he swept off his black bicorne--as much as part of his
mystique as his hooked nose, his distinctive carriage and his splendid
well-matched horses.
He dismounted, threw the reins to his tiger and bent to pat Caesar, who
growled at him but, being well trained, did no more, and then, in passing, he
offered Fred a
"Hello, there, Maxwell. Devereux not with you, hey?"

Next it was Cass's turn.
"So you have joined the Rifle Brigade, my dear Lady Devereux! When may I
expect you to present me with your first despatch?" And his shrewd eyes were
admiring her for, of all things, the Duke loved pretty women, and after that
women, even if not so pretty.
"My first despatch shall be presented, Duke, when you win your next battle,"
was Cass's piece of impudence in reply to his question, which had him
laughing. "And my husband is on estate business at Roehampton," She added,
'so my nephew Fred kindly offered to arrange a walk for me in the Park with
my new dog, Caesar. "
The Duke liked the impudence of 'my nephew Fred', whilst Fred mournfully and
privately deplored it.
"Devereux's nephew, she means, sir," he explained. The Duke continued his
conversation with Cass by saying, a frown on his handsome face,
"I shall remember where I met your husband, you may be sure, for I am also
sure that my memory is better than his. Remember me to him."
Cass's place in society was thus assured. The Duke approved of her and the
Maxwells approved of both her and Jack, when many had thought that they might
reject Jack.
One haughty blonde beauty in her late twenties, on the arm of her husband and
also leading a dog--a black poodle--walked over to the group now dominated by
the Duke. She did the pretty to them all before speaking to Cass.
"My dear Lady Devereux, you will forgive me for speaking to you when we have
not been introduced, but Fred here may do the honours. I used to know your
husband well, when we were children together."
Her mouth was smiling but her eyes told Cass that she thought her an upstart
who had managed to net Jack by some remarkable piece of luck. "Lady Luxcombe
and Sir Chaires," intoned Fred obediently. He was enjoying the sensation
Cass was creating, and felt that he was partly responsible for it, having
supplied Cass with Caesar. "Delighted," responded Cuss with a low bow.
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"I am sure that Jack will be sorry to have missed meeting you." She was not
sure of any such thing, but thought she ought to say so.
"Oh, I am sure he will," drawled the beauty.
"We were bosom bows once. Childish bosom bows," she amended, lest anyone
misunderstood her.
"You have known him long?"
"Long enough--' Cass's drawl matched her interlocutor's in insolence '--but
not so long as you, I collect-those bosom-bow days of yours being long gone,
of course."
The beauty wasn't sure whether she was being quizzed or not, and Fred
grinned at this elegant put142 A SlDDABLE GIRL?
down of a woman who had put down so many others. Unlike Lady Luxcombe, he
was aware that Cass's barb regarding her age had been a deliberate one. "But
he is not with you?
Most surprising, seeing that your marriage was so recent. Doubtless he has
affairs of great moment which take him from you. "
"Doubtless." Cass was easy, put up a hand to stifle a yawn.
"Walking in the Park being an affair of such little moment he may be thought
to have overlooked it, but no," she added, looking beyond the beauty,
"I do believe that he has arrived, after all. His affairs of great moment
must be over."
Cass was right. Jack's business at Roehampton had finished earlier than he
had expected, and he had driven Mr Peters and himself in his new curricle,
also an elegant equipage picked out in blue and scarlet, to Devereux House
after a light luncheon. At the back of his mind had been the rather pleasant
notion that he would surprise his wife by walking in on her unexpectedly.
Unfortunately, when he walked into the drawing- room he found it was empty,
and was informed that re' lady and Miss Strood had gone for an outing in the
Park.
"I
believe that Dickson was driving them, m'lord. "
"Then I shall go to join them there." And Jack strode into the stables,
calling for his first four--a quartet of elegant chestnuts--to be harnessed
to the curricle to replace the greys which had done their duty by him by
pulling him home.
As he had expected, the Park was full. He saw the Duke of Wellington--a
small crowd around him, as usual--before he saw Dickie and the landaulet
containing Miss Strood beneath a tree. Miss Strood was talking to the
inhabitants of another landaulet drawn up beside them, his sister Thaxted
aboard, behaving in her most bullying dominant manner.
"What are you doin' here, Strood? Where's the Scrap? Surely she is with
you? You cannot be taking the air on your own. Oh, gone for a walk, has
she?"
"She is with the Duke, over there." Miss Strood was less accomodating to
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the great lady than she usually was, being the attendant of an ever greater
lady so far as status was concerned.
Lady Amelia swivelled to see Cass in her newfound glory, walking towards them
surrounded by an interested crowd, the Duke of Wellington prominent among
them.
She put up her lorgnettes, displayed for effect--her sight was excellent
without them.
"That's the Scrap?

Whatever have you been doin' to her, Strood? " She was obviously nonplussed.
'/? I have done nothing to her," bridled Miss Strood, belligerent for once.
"She is Countess now, and Jack lets her do as she pleases."
The incriminatingly familiar

"Jack' did not escape Lady Thaxted. So the poor attendant was allowed to
call him
"Jack' was she? It was plain that Devereux was still as loose a fish as he
had been before Papa had had him thrown out of Devereux House.
"Lord Devereux," she announced, awe fully 'should have the good sense to
consider his wife's reputation before allowing her to gad about London
dressed like a man. Ah, there you are, Devereux. I was just advising Strood
here as to how your wife should conduct herself now that she has the good
fortune to be surnamed Devereux. It seems that she is badly in need of
guidance as to her conduct. "
Jack pulled gently on the reins before dismounting and telling his tiger to
hold them. The tiger, known to the Devereux stables simply as the Imp, since
he was even smaller than usual for a tiger, was unconventionally dressed--not
in black and yellow stripes, but in red and blue ones.
Jack walked over to take off his hat to Miss Strood and to address his
sister, now purple in the face with disapproval and the effort of bellowing
at him at a distance.
"Cass misbehaving herself, Amelia? Surely not. Where is she, Stroody?"
"Over there, m'lord, with the Duke."

"Jack, Stroody. No " m'lords"." He swung round to look more closely at the
crowd around the Duke, his sister's baleful stare searing his back.
The crowd had thinned off a little, so that now he saw Cass in her green
uniform leading something which looked like an aggressive black and white
calf. She was talking animatedly to Wellington whilst a respectful and
amused Fred followed her. That was Cass? By the stares and bows directed
towards her, she had been creating something of a minor sensation.
The Duke bowed to Jack, a slightly puzzled look on his hawk like face as he
tried again to remember where he had encountered him before. Jack bowed
back. "Your wife is well informed on the war in the Peninsula, Devereux. It
seems that she had the duty of reading my despatches to your later father. I
congratulate you."
Jack, for once, murmured all the correct platitudes which society demanded of
him. He tried not to look too hard at his wife, who was the picture of
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youthful innocence. He hoped that the Duke was respecting it, but which of
the two was manipulating the other he was not sure: he was too busy staring
at Caesar, who had begun to strain at the leash. Jack knew the feeling-it
was one which Cass was beginning to induce in him, too.
Nevertheless, he acquitted himself well before the Duke dismissed him and he
began to walk her--after a curt nod to Fred, who thought that it might be
discreet to disappear--towards the landaulet, where Dickie was also enjoying
the fun at a suitable distance. "I thought," he told her as they walked
along, 'that you might like to drive home with me. "
"Oh, famous," replied Cass eagerly. It was the first time that Jack had made
such an offer.
"You finished your business early, I collect."
"Indeed, and arrived in time to find that my wife is the sensation of the
Park. And what, may I ask, is that cross between a calf and a wolf?." And
he pointed at Caesar, whose long pink tongue was now lolling out in the heat.
"That? Oh, that is Caesar--the dog I told you that I was buying."
"That? You bought that monster? Why, I distinctly remember you saying that
you were buying a poodleV " It was you, Jack, who said I was buying a
poodle," retorted Cass truthfully.
"I said nothing on the subject."
"Most unlike you--to say nothing on that subject, or any other," said Jack
wickedly.
"You were barn ming me, were you not?"
This rapid and shrewd assessment of the mild haughtiness she had been engaged
in had Cass giggling. She stopped dead, primmed her face and remarked
severely,
"You were barn ming yourself, Jack."
She was delighted to see that he was not really cross with her, that he was
teasing her--and under the nose of Lady Thaxted, who was glaring down at her
from the landaulet where she was doubtless engaged in annoying poor Stroody.
Jack's oddly coloured eyes were dancing.

"Yes, I see that I shall have to listen a little more closely to what my wife
is saying to me. I do believe that I had the right of it when I said that
you would have made an excellent lawyer. Now, Lady Devereux, be ready to be
driven about the Park and then home by the husband whom you have successfully
barn reed But you must hand the hound to Stroody to look after; I'm not
having him in the curricle. Only a poodle would suffice in such a confined
space. Up with you."
Caesar disposed of in the landaulet--to Stroody's dismay--and his sister
coolly informed that he was taking his wife off to ensure that she did not
disgrace the noble name of Devereux, Jack manoeuvred his curricle through the
Park. Cass bowed graciously from her high seat to the many new friends whom
she had made during the past few weeks.
She took off her tall rifleman's shako and allowed her curls to swing free.
Another surprise for Jack! His eyes horned in on the curls.
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"You have had your hair cut, Cass," he announced accusingly.
"Yes," said Cass, giving her curls, which had appeared when her hair had been
shorn, another complacent shake--she liked the feel of them about her ears.
"Stroody says I look just like Lady Caroline Lamb with my hair off."
"Not exactly the best person to imitate, one might think!" Jack's tone was
glacial.
Oh, dear, this time she had really annoyed him. Cass decided that innocence
was the best ploy.
"You don't like my new curls, then?"

Jack looked harder at her, a trifle nonplussed by his wife's cheerful
goodwill in the face of his disapproval.
He had not really looked at her properly since their honeymoon. It had to be
admitted that she did look rather charming. Her complexion was losing its
sallow tinge, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining.
"It's not that I don't like it, but..." And he stopped, having nowhere to go.
"But it was a bit of a shock," offered Cass helpfully. "Yes... No... I'm
never shocked--you should know that." To his astonishment, Jack found
himself forced on the defensive--a position he usually forced on others.
"You did say that I didn't need to ask your permission over the unimportant
things I wished to do. I didn't think that having my hair cut short was
important." But it was, for, stealing a glance at her as he turned out of
the Park and made for home, Jack saw that a new Cass was slowly emerging from
the chrysalis which had been unkindly nicknamed the Scrap and Miss Skin and
Bones.
CHAPTER NINE
THE SCRAP to be the rage of the Season! What a turn- up. The only person
not in a tizzy about her unwonted success was Cass herself--she took it all in
her stride. And as if this were not enough, Cass's campaign to make Jack
take notice of her continued apace. She had persuaded him to allow Dickie to
teach her to drive a lady's perch-phaeton after she had cajoled Jack into
buying one for her. Jack had argued with her, before Dickie, that she was
biting off more than she could chew by wanting to become a lady driver, but
Dickie had taken Cass's side.
He had been improving her riding skills--Cass had been taught to ride as a
child, but since arriving at Devereux House she had rarely had the
opportunity to sit on a horse--and Dickie had told Jack what a good and
willing pupil she was, how eager she was to learn. He even had the nerve to
tell Jack that she would have made a good jockey if she had been a boy.
"She's a natural,.
Dev," he said one evening, when they were pretending that nothing between
them had changed and that they were still the Dev and Dickie of old.
They were sitting at the far end of the garden behind Devereux House, on the
veranda of a small wooden summerhouse, and Dickie was enjoying a pipe and
Jack was smoking a cigar--something he rarely did.
"A real natural. She's brave and skilful. Too brave, if anything--even
though she does look as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. She'll make a
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good driver, I'm sure."
He fell silent. He couldn't tell Dev how he really felt about Dev's innocent
young wife. It wouldn't be proper. He could only watch out for her and make
sure that Dev did the right thing by her. Dev had always done the right
thing by women before, but those women had been quite different from Cass.
Beneath her bravery and her fun she was a sensitive little thing. Unaware
that she had a watchdog-cum-guardian, Cass went her merry way. She even had
a scarlet and blue dragoon's outfit made for her to wear when Jack took her
driving--to match his tiger, she said. The one she wore when she was on her
own was a variant of her green rifleman's uniform.
Jack and Dickie took one look at her scarlet and blue outfit the first time
that she wore it, and they both laughed together. Even the Imp's solemn face
cracked a little.
"You don't like it?" she asked sadly.
"We're not laughing at you, it's just..." And Jack began to laugh again.
It was a pity that they couldn't tell her how charming she looked as a parody
of a cavalryman from the Heavy Division.
Tn change it," she said, still sad.
- "No," said Jack, and impulsively he did something which he had never done
before, other than on the first night of their so-called honeymoon. He
kissed her on the cheek--a friendly kiss, even though they were both a little
shocked by what it did to them.
In search of lost treasures suitable for a countess to deck herself in, Cass
went up to the attics one day. She found there chests of old silks, and a
covered basket which was stuffed with fans. Some the moths had eaten,
others, wrapped in silk, were still as beautiful as they had been on the day
when they had arrived at Devereux House.
After his wife's untimely death, the late Earl had ordered all her personal
belongings to be consigned to the attics--he could not bear to see them, he
had said. They had been stacked in one corner. Cass looked doubtfully at
them. She hardly liked to ask Jack if she could examine them--it seemed a
sort of sacrilege, so she left them untouched. He never spoke of his mother
at all--and his references to his father were brief and unflattering.
Hidden away from his mother's possessions, Cass unearthed a portable writing
desk: an elegant thing with a green leather top. Opening it, she found a
place for a small inkwell and some pens, their quill feathers moth-eaten and
yellow. There was a locked drawer beneath the top. The key was missing so
she could not open it, but it was such a dear little piece that Cass fell in
love with it and ordered Bailey, her personal footman, to carry it downstairs
for her, together with the superb portrait of Jack with the falcon.
That evening, Jack walked into the drawing-room to find that his portrait
hung over the hearth, replacing a perfunctory and rather banal view of Rome.
He was so surprised that he forgot to be tactful.
"Good God, Scrap! Where was that resurrected from?"
Cass, seated by Stroody, engaged in sorting and identifying the contents of a
sola rider box of prints for Mr Hunt, went bright pink at the sound of her
old nickname and stammered at him,
"It was in the attic. I like it, and it's a really beautiful painting, do
admit. It ought to be downstairs now that you are Earl."
Page 77
"Beautiful!" snorted Jack.
"If I ever looked like that, which I doubt, I certainly don't resemble it any
more. I think that it should have been left in the attic, not hung in here
like a ghost at the feast to reproach me..." He fell silent.
Cass said gently, seeing that the portrait seemed to distress him, and she
had not anticipated it,
"If you really dislike it, Jack, then I shall ask Bailey to return it to the
attic where I found it."
She did not say that the handsome boy in the painting had been the imaginary
companion who had lightened her loneliness when she had first arrived at
Devereux House, for he might think her maudlin, but something in her tone
struck him, for he replied, gently for him, "If you really like it, then it
may stay downstairs. But not here. I don't want to stare at it all day."
"Then it may hang in my room," Cass returned briskly.
"And now I have a favour to ask you. I found this dear little desk in the
attic. I should like to use it myself, but if it was your mama's, and you
find it painful to see me with it, then, of course, I shall respect your
wishes and return it into store."
Jack walked over to gaze at the pretty thing. He shook his head.
"I
cannot remember my mama using that," he said doubtfully, 'although it is

possible that it may have been hers. But use it by all means. It were a
pity to hide it away."
"Like the portrait," remarked Cass irrepressibly, looking at him from

beneath her lashes, at which he shook his head at her impudence and
registered again that the Scrap was growing up. He wished that he had not
used his sister's demeaning nickname to her, and made a metal resolve to try
not to do so again.
Two nights later they both attended Lady Leominster's great ball, one of the
season's main events. She was busy throwing herself at the Prince Regent,
being built very much in the style of the large and matronly ladies he
favoured in these, his middle years.
"A massive four-decker," Jack called her rudely after meeting her for the
first time since ~he had left home.
He had remembered her as youngish and slim. She was a great power in the
ton, and fortunately she soon made it plain that she approved of both Jack
and Cass, so there was another social hurdle cleared.
It was inevitable that whispers followed Jack everywhere.
"Is it true," it was hissed behind his back, 'that he was involved in the
disappearance of the Star of Rizapore, and he barely twenty-one? " Everyone
knew that his father had disowned him, but no one knew exactly why. Nor why
his father had re-inherited him, as it were, after so many years.
Cass carried out her wish to have a Chinese turnout, and decided that the
world should see it at the Leominsters' ball. She and the dressmaker spent
many happy hours designing it, and Jack was given the benefit of her new
toilette shortly before they set out for the Leominster's palace in
Westminster.
Page 78
"My God," he exclaimed simply, when Cass walked into the big entrance hall
where he was waiting for her.
He made her the most splendid leg, as though she were the Tsarina of All the
Russias, the late great Catherine herself, or perhaps the Chinese Empress
whom no foreigner was allowed to see.
Her dress was magnificent in its originality: the main body of it was of pale
blue silk, and embroidered and appliqued on the skirt were the Chinese men
and women copied from the wallpaper in the big salon at Devereux House. It
was low-necked, showing her pretty shoulders, and was clasped just above her
small breasts with an ivory medallion that had the head of the Chinese
Emperor painted on it. Her sash was of the palest pink silk.
On her head she wore a bandeau of twisted silks dyed in the delicate pinks,
blues and greens of the clothing of the miniature Chinese, and thrust into it
at one side was a cluster of tall feathers dyed in the same colours. Her
train was decorated with irises, paeonies and bambo and, rampaging through
them, a stylised tiger.
Her fan was originality itself, being composed of small silk flags, each with
a different flower appliqued on them, all of them mounted in an exquisitely
carved ivory clasp, decorated with silver. On her small feet were the tiny
brocade slippers with turned-up toes which she had dreamed of wearing ever
since she had decided to be a Chinese lady.
Cass was quite overcome by the impression which she was obviously making on
Jack. He was meant to notice her, but not to stare at her like that!
"You don't think that it's too much?" she asked him anxiously.
"Of course it's too much," Jack told her.
"Much too much, Lady Devereux. You will knock everyone's eye out, that's for
sure. Caroline Lamb and Emily Cowper won't be in it. Nor that new
heiress--the plain one, Miss What's-her-name. You'll stun the lot. Did you
think it up yourself?."
He wasn't cross, and he was taking note of her! " " Yes," she told him,
suddenly shy.
"I have always wanted to be a Chinese lady, so when you said that I could do
what I wanted within reason, I thought I would make myself one."
"You have been a rifleman, a cavalryman, and now an Eastern princess, Cass.
What next? Amelia will have a fit of the yap ours every time she looks at
you, whilst I think that Constantia may approve."
"Fred certainly will," Cass offered, watching him as she teased him with
Fred's interest in her.
"He visited me the other day when the milliner delivered the ornament for my
hair, and told me that he could hardly wait to see the whole creation."
"Did he, indeed?" Jack was dry.
"So, you favoured the nephew with your plans whilst keeping the uncle in the
dark." He wondered why it was that he was so annoyed every time Cass spoke
affectionately of that ass Fred Maxwell.
"Well, it wasn't meant to be a surprise for Fred, and it was meant to be one
for you. You always look so splendid that I thought that it was time I kept
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up with you."
"Kept up with me{ I think that Lady Devereux has run several miles ahead of
me. The only way in which I imagine that I could create as great a sensation
tonight as you will would be if I were to dress up as the Devereux Wild Man
of the Woods and arrive at Lady Leominster's waving a tree branch and clad
only in a loincloth made of leaves like our Grandfather Adam."
Cass gave a great peal of laughter at this outrageous picture. She wiped her
eyes with her Chinese-style handkerchief, embroidered with a miniature
mandarin, and looked altogether so enchanting that Jack forgot himself.
A surge of desire ran over him so strongly that he caught her in his arms to
kiss the tears of laughter away for her, but that, of course, was not all
that he wished to do--or did.
His mouth came down hard on that of his unconsidered wife's, one hand found
itself in the curls at the back of her head and the other was on her small
breast, where it fitted so sweetly and neatly that Jack, continent these many
months, found himself in a sweat of desire and cursing his tight breeches
against which his treacherous body ached and strained.
As before, Cass kissed him enthusiastically back, putting her own hands into
the thickly clustered russet waves of his hair and making them even more
windswept than the style which his valet had created for him. And all of
this in the entrance hall, where Miss Strood, coming in to accompany Cass to
the Leominsters' as her attendant lady, discovered her late charge being
passionately embraced by her husband.
Her hands flew to her mouth.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and Cass, opening her eyes, for she had descended into
a dream of sensation under Jack's attentions, found herself looking at poor
Stroody, who was standing there in an agony of embarrassment.
Cass stepped back. Both she and Jack--who was a little slow to recover, but
then he was further overcome--were almost relieved by Stroody's arrival--for
who knew where this unexpected passion might have inconveniently led them?
"Oh, Stroody, there you are!" Did her voice sound as strained and silly to
Miss Strood as it did to herself?
Husbands and wives of great station were not supposed to take their pleasure
in public, nor be so woefully overcome as to forget themselves quite so
enthusiastically as she and Jack had just done.
Cass now had no doubts at all about her true feelings for him. Not only did
she lust after him so much that for him to touch her only slightly was to
overset her to a degree where she had difficulty in not throwing herself at
him, but she also loved him, and everything about him--even his brusque ties
and sudden savage ties when he forgot that he was Lord Devereux and reverted
back to being plain-spoken Jack Devlin. She thought that she perhaps liked
Jack Devlin best of all the man he was when he was talking simply to Dickie
and herself.
What she was not sure of was the nature of Jack's feelings for her.
Something that Dickie had hinted at recently seemed to suggest that Jack had
lived 'a monk's life' recently. And, if so, perhaps that explained why,
whenever he gave her an idle kiss, he seemed to be so overcome.
She was the available woman, that was all. And his wife, of course--whatever
that meant to him. He seemed to like talking to her, so she ought to be
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satisfied with that.
And all this was running through her head whilst she sat by him on the way to
the Leominsters' ball, Stroody opposite them. Miss Strood was busy thinking
that if Cass would draw all eyes as a consequence of her inventive toilette,
then Jack would also attract attention by the splendour of his physique, so
perfectly set off by his fashionably tight clothing.
She was not wrong. Eyes followed the two Devereux everywhere. Lady
Leominster gave a slight scream when she greeted them at the top of the grand
staircase, one of the glories of Leominster House.
"Chinoiserie, my dear Lady Devereux, used to enhance dress and not our walls
and furniture! How clever of you--you are setting a fashion that all will
follow, I have no doubt."
Her approval of Jack was internal rather than external. What a splendid
specimen of manhood--and where had he been these last dozen years, to turn
himself into such a nonpareil? Not handsome, of course, but better.
However, even Lady Leominster, that plain-spoken and blunt grande dame, who
rivalled Lady Holland in insolence to her guests, could not quite come out
with anything as frank as what she was thinking when she greeted him.
Instead she said,

"Welcome, Devereux. You have been too long absent from our society. Mind
that you don't go off a-wandering again--but not likely with a new wife, eh?"
And she could hardly refrain from digging the grinning Jack in his 'ribs.
"So," said his sister Amelia, coming up to them, 'you are the sensation of
the season, Jack. What a turn-up.
Surprising how short people's memories are! " Jack agreed with her. A
little of the friendship and goodwill being so lavishly displayed on his
return, had it been offered to him twelve years ago, might have rendered his
exile unnecessary. But Lady Thaxted gave him no time to answer. He
attention was now turned on to Cass, who was quail hag a little at the
thought of what might be coming her way.
But the great guns which Lady Thaxted had been so eager to fire at her when
she was plain and penniless Cassandra Merton were not to be so readily
trained on Lady Devereux.
"Original," she barked, raising her lorgnettes to inspect the mandarins, 'if
nothing else. " A comment which was almost a friendly one compared with
those with which she had been wont to favour Cass.
"Who did you find to make it for you? And was it her notion, or yours?"
"Madame Rosina, and it was my notion. The wallpaper in the salon in Devereux
House ha spired me."
"Hmm. You are young enough to carry it off." Which was a form of grudging
accolade, rather different from the many other admiring ones which Cass
received that evening.
But every rose had its thorns. Just as Cass was beginning to believe that
Jack's return to the ton, his new wife by his side, was a triumphant success,
something occurred to spoil it.
They were walking out of the great ballroom among many others who were
looking for-refreshment, when a man, a late arrival, came towards them, his
Page 81
eyes fixed on Jack, whom he had just seen from across the room.
He was wearing the flattering dress uniform of a colonel in that crack
cavalry regiment the First Royal Dragoons. A magnificent order was pinned on
his breast. He was as tall and broad as Jack but was rtmning to seed. His
blond locks were thinning, his face was purple rather than ruddy, and he had
the beginnings of a paunch. Nevertheless, from a distance if not near to, he
was a fine figure of a man.
Approaching Jack, the purple in his face increased. Cass felt Jack's grip on
her arm tighten, heard him mutter softly,
"Oh, dear God, no." It was immediately plain to Casa not only that they knew
one another, but that they disliked each other exceedingly--something
confirmed by the officer's first words.
"By God, I never thought that I'd come to the Leominsters' to be confronted
by scum from the gutter!
What in thunder are you doing here, Sergeant Devlin? And by what name are
you passing in order to weasel your way into decent society? "
His sneer hag glance taking in Cass, he added, his voice high, so that
everyone around them could hear what was said,
"You can either leave quickly of your own free will, Devlin, or I'll have the
footmen called to remove you forthwith--and your latest whore with you."
Jack had said and done nothing in response to the angry tirade loosed upon
him until the sneer at Casa.
Afterwards, Cass was to marvel at the speed of what happened next.
Jack launched himself at the officer like an avenging angel and, before
anyone could stop him, had pinned him against the wall, one hand on the man's
throat, the other on his shoulder. "Damn you, Spence. Sneer at my wife
again and I'll kill you. This time you have no rank to pull over me to
protect you from wrongdoing."
Almost before Jack had finished speaking he was pulled away from his prey.
His brother-in-law Thaxted, energetic for once, put a hand on Jack's shoulder
as he tried to work himself free to attack Spence again. What Spence had
said of him was nothing: it was the insult to Cass which had him frothing.
As enraged as Jack, Spence was being held back by his friends. He was
roaring that 'that low cur, Devlin, who is fit only for the whipping post,
should be thrown out of Leominster House forthwith'.
Into this maelstrom of baffled rage and fury, which had all the guests at the
Leominsters' ball entranced, the Duke of Wellington sauntered, with the
portly Lord Leominster, who had pleaded for his assistance in settling this
untoward turn of events, at his shoulder. He stared first at Jack, who had
recovered his usual sangfroid and remarked coolly,
"Devlin, eh? I thought that I knew you, but it wasn't as Devereux. I
remember you now. You were at Salamanca in the charge. Your captain and
lieutenant went down and you took over-saved your corporal by a piece of
horsemanship I've never seen equalled."
He turned his searching gaze on Spence, who had begun to gibber at him that
'this piece of filth must have passed himself off as a gentleman to be
flaunting his doxy and himself here'.
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'"Passed himself off as a gentleman" , eh? " remarked the Duke, eyebrows
raised.
"I agree, Spence, that he ain't that. A nobleman, now, that's different.
I'd better introduce you to the Colonel, Devereux--missed Salamanca, didn't
you, Spence? Something about an illness, as I recall. It seems that
Sergeant Devlin here chose to serve in the ranks under that name when he was
plain Jack Devereux, the late Earl's younger son. He's been Earl Devereux
for the last six months, his elder brother dying before him. The lady whom
you have just insulted is his wife. Apologies called for, I think."
"Devereux? That's Earl Devereux? I beg leave to doubt it. He was the most
insubordinate swine I ever..."
"Enough!" The Duke's voice was that of unthinking command.
"This unseemly squabble must cease. It is, after all, based on a
misunderstanding. Leominster, I propose that you and I, together with Spence
and Devereux, adjourn to a private room to settle this matter one way or
another, whilst we leave your wife to comfort Lady Devereux." And he smiled
kindly at Cass who needed no comforting at all.
"No!" Jack's voice was stern, also the voice of command.

"I will go nowhere until Colonel Spence apologises publicly to my wife for
the insult which he put upon her."
"Indeed, Devereux, most correct." The Duke turned to Spence.
"As your Commander in Chief, Spence, I insist that you tender your regrets to
Lady Devereux for your insult--which I am sure was unintended."
So Jack had been in the Army, which did not surprise Cass even if it
surprised everyone else. And Didde was probably the corporal he had saved in
the famous cavalry charge at Salamanca about which she had read to Jack's
father. The room, which had been in a buzz at the revelation of what Jack
Devereux had been doing for the last twelve years, fell silent as the Duke
led his small party from the room after Colonel Spence had stuttered his
apologies to her.
That embarrassing event over, she was compelled to endure the attentions of
Lady Leominster who, obeying the Duke's command to her, flung a fat arm
around Cass's shoulders and fluted,
"Oh, my poor dear child, what an evening you are having--and what a defender
you have in Devereux. I am sure that Colonel Spence did not insult you
intentionally. He quite mistook who you were."
This was hardly comforting, since to take what Colonal Spence had said at
face value would be to agree with him that Cass resembled a whore! What
worried her more than the insult, intended or not, was that Jack might be
pushed into fighting a duel. She hoped that the Duke would make both men see
sense, but feared that he might feel it necessary to pay lip service to what
men called honour and women thought was no such thing.
Lady Leominster insisted that Cass sit down with her on an elegant berg ire
in a small recess just off the ballroom from where they could still see the
rest of her guests. A footman was sent to fetch Cass a glass of sherry wine.
"To restore you, my dear. Oh, and, Francis, be sure that you bring one for
me as well. Such excitement is not good for the nerves. I declare that I am
beginning to feel quite faint myself!"
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She certainly didn't look it, was Cass's unkind reaction, but she said
nothing and allowed herself to be mothered. Miss Strood, who had found an
old friend in the supper room, another attendant lady whose mistress was
occupied with her own affairs, also came rushing along to assist Cass on
hearing the news. As was the way with gossip, the story of Jack's encounter
with Colonel Spence had flown around the company, the tale growing with the
telling--Spence had been lucky to escape with his life being one version.
Speculation was also LIFE about what would be the outcome of the meeting
which the Duke and Leominster had arranged. One excited version had the Duke
arranging a private on-the-spot duel--something which had not happened since
Lord Byron's grandfather had fought a similar duel with a neighbour. Not
only Stroody came up to comfort Cass. Fred arrived, full of fizz and
excitement.
"I say, Cass, is it true? The fellows are saying that Jack joined the Royal
Dragoons as a ranker, rose to be sergeant, and that he was in the cavalry
charge at Salamanca! Famous, ain't it? And why should Jack keep mum about
it? Odd fellow, ain't he?"
Cass, knowing Jack, could understand why he had said nothing. To Fred she
merely said,
"Oh, he's a very private man, Fred. He never talks about himself' " Explains
that fellow he runs around with--Dickie-don't it? The one who calls Jack
"Dev" Depend upon it, they were in the Army together. "
This was shrewd for Fred--a sign that he was growing up at last, perhaps.
Before he had time to say more, the Duke's party emerged from their
'cordabulation', as Lady Leominster called it, and Jack came over to Cass,
Colonel Spence going in the opposite direction to rejoin his friends.
Before Jack could say a word, Fred exclaimed eagerly,

"I was just sayin' to Cass what a fellow you are, Jack, to keep quiet about
being in the Army. In the Peninsula with the Duke, were you? At
Salamanca-and were you at Waterloo? I've always wished to speak to someone
who'd been there. I thought once of joinin' the Army myself."
Jack said shortly- Cass thought that he looked weary"--You wouldn't like it,
Fred, and Waterloo was such a bloody business, saving your presence, ladies,
that it's not the kind of thing I care to gossip about. I must apologise to
you, Lady Leominster, for creating such a scene at your ball."
Whatever other talent Jack possessed, thought the fascinated Cass, he had the
talent to charm women-and of all ages too.
Lady Leominster rose and tapped him with her fan. "Oh, no, my dear Devereux,
no apologies, if you please.
You have quite made the evening. My little party will always be remembered
as the one where you defended your wife's good name so nobly--and your own,
of course. And now I must leave you, for I am sure that dear Lady Devereux
is longing to hear what the Duke has decided. "
She seized Fred by the arm and firmly led him away before he could continue
his campaign to persuade Jack to give him a detailed account of all the
forced marches, guerilla actions, cavalry charges and battles in which he had
been engaged during his long exile in the British Army.
Cass patted the berggre cushions and persuaded her husband to sit beside her.
She thought that while they were talking no one would interrupt them. "Was
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your conference with the Duke as distressing as Waterloo, Jack?"
To Cass's great relief his grim face lightened at last. "I might have
trusted you, my dear, to behave with your usual common sense. A lesser woman
would have treated me to an attack of the vapour,a! I suppose the correct
answer is
"Not quite" He read the Riot Act to both of us. To Spence for jumping on me
without taking the trouble to find out who I was and what I was doing at
Leominster House, and to me for jumping on Spence.
"Trouble was, I'd always wanted the chance to knock Spence down, or more
preferably to kill him for his cruelty to the poor wretches whom he
commanded. I was never able to because I'd have been shot for mutiny if I'd
as much as laid a finger on him. When he badmouthed you, the temptation to
try to do for the swine was too great."
He was speaking to her in the plain language of the private soldier he had
once been.
"The worst thing was that he was a coward who liked inflicting pain.
Whenever a battle came along Spence invariably managed never to take part in
it--there was always some reason for his absence. I'd never have made
corporal or sergeant if he'd been about, but fortunately for me, and for the
rest of us, he was on leave for some imaginary complaint for months on end,
and the officer who took his place gave me my chance to shine.
"I even turned down a commission after Salamanca-- I think that was why the
Duke remembered me. I hoped never to meet Spence or any of the officers I
served under again, but luck was not with me tonight."
He paused, and Cass took the opportunity to ask what the Duke had decided
about his quarrel with Spence.
"Oh-' Jack laughed '--it was Wellington at his best. He said that he wasn't
having us fight over what was past and done. That I was out of the Army now,
and not subject to Spence's discipline any more.
That I should not have lost my temper, and we were to shake hands, not meet
on Putney Heath.
"And that, he told Spence, was an order, and, although he could no longer
order me, he hoped that my good sense would see that there was nothing to be
gained by pursuing a vendetta against Spence. So, there is to be no duel
with him, now or in the future, which I suppose is a great disappointment to
everyone here-as well as to me."
"Oh, no, Jack." Some of the common sense, which Jack had praised her for
evaporated.
"Never say so.
Promise me that you'll never fight a duel. Please! " The look Jack gave her
was an odd one.
"Well, if I can keep my temper, I will. But I should have liked to kill
Spence.
He marked Dickie and me for life, and out of spite, too. Neither of us
deserved what he did to us. " Cass remembered Spence's shriek about the
whipping post and thought that she knew what Jack was referring to. She
shivered.
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Jack was all attention to her when he saw the shiver. "Would you like to go
home, Cass? It's been a trying evening for you--and to find out that I was a
private soldier in the Army must have been a bit of a shock as well."
Cass did not tell him that she had already suspected that he had been a
soldier. She wanted to ask him how he had met Dickie, and why he had joined
the Army, but that could wait. Instead she rose, saying to him earnestly,
"Oh, no, Jack, we can't go home. We can't flee the world, can we? Most
cowardly. If we stay people can talk to us, as well as behind our backs.
For, of course, they are going to talk."
"Well, as long as they don't drag up all that old business about my leaving
home, then I don't mind."
Jack had stood up, and was offering his arm.
"You're a brave little thing, as I should have known when you accepted my
offer of marriage, and you're right. Come, let us rejoin the ball. Having
given everyone something to gossip about, the least that we can do is to show
that we are above being hurt by it."
"And were you truly at Waterloo?" Cass asked him as they walked towards the
refreshment room, all eyes upon them.
"Indeed, I was-and wounded there. After that, they invalided me out with a
small pension. The wound wasn't severe, but once the war was over Dickie and
I weren't wanted--which is always the fate of the soldier in peacetime."
A remark which, like many of Jack's, set Cass thinking, and which remained
with her after the evening was over and she was in her lonely bed. But
before that she had to endure the two hours which Jack thought that they
ought to spend at Leominster House before they could go home. They were
never alone, for a horde of people, either through vulgar curiosity or
through genuine sympathy, came up to speak to them, carefully avoiding as a
topic Jack's earlier encounter with Colonel Spence.
"Dear Jack," cooed Lady Luxcombe, who inevitably, Cass thought with
unaccustomed sourness, came up to address her conversation entirely to him,
offering Cass only a most perfunctory nod.
"Too many years have flown by since we last met. How much I regret the loss
of those happy days we spent together before you disappeared from society."
Jack was cool, at his most dour, his wife was relieved to note.
"Forgive me if I doubt your memory a little, Caro dear. I seem to remember

that when last we met you expressed a desire never to see me again, and
handed back to me the ring I gave you to convince me that all was over
between us. But then, a penniless younger son, turned out of his home, was
a somewhat different proposition from the Earl Devereux I now am, so perhaps
I ought to forgive you."
The beauty before him turned scarlet. Her husband, far from being annoyed,
gave a sardonic laugh.
"You rather walked into that, my dear. Hardly gallant of you, Devereux, but
truthful. May I compliment you on acceding to the title and on acquiring a
wife whose youthful charm will, I trust, not be dimmed by overmuch attention
to what she thinks the world demands of her?"
He bowed to the startled Cass, then took his wife by the arm, saying, "Come,
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my love, there are others to whom you wish to pay equally untruthful
compliments, I am sure."
"You were bosom bows, then, Jack?" asked Cass, watching Sir Charles
manoeuvre his startled wife through the crowd.
"She told me so in the Park, but I was not sure that she wasn't saying so
simply in order to put me down."
"Now, that," said Jack, his mouth twitching as it was wont to when talking to
the 'biddabl girl' whom he had made his wife,
"I don't believe. That she might be able to put you down, I mean. That
would have been a notable first! But, yes. We were childhood sweethearts
and betrothed into the bargain. She couldn't break with me quickly enough
after I was disgraced."
And that probably explained Jack's cavalier attitude to women. It was a
trifle dispiriting, though, to discover that his first love had been such an
outstanding beauty. And twelve years ago she had probably been more
outstanding still. It made C. ass even more unhappily aware that, however
much she might improve her appearance, she was never going to be able to
rival Cato Luxcombe in looks. Was that the sort of creature Jack had a
tend re for?
"I suppose..." Cass was judicious in the extreme, trying to disguise how
disturbing the discovery of Jack's one-time involvement with such a beauty
was.
"I suppose that I ought to say how sorry I am that she treated you so viiely.
Although in the long run it was all for the best.
Imagine if you had married her?
"From the perspective of twelve years later," replied Jack, equally judicious,
"I quite agree with you, " oh, wise young judge", but it hurt damnably at the
time, all the same!"
Of course it had. Jack had once used the phrase 'when the world fell in on
me' to describe what had happened to him twelve years ago. It was hardly for
Cass to be light-minded about his downfall. Undoubtedly, its reverberations
were still echoing around society, as the expressions and conversation of
their fellow guests bore witness. It was too bad. Cass was as sure as
anything that he was innocent of wrongdoing.
Jack was not perfect, no man was, but she thought that he possessed a sense
of honour and integrity best shown when he had insisted on keeping his word
to Louis Fronsac when no one, not even Louis, would have expected him to do
so. More, she could not imagine Dickie Dickson respecting anyone, as he
undoubtedly respected Jack, if they were in any way false. Besides, his
courage was undoubted, and this evening the Duke had borne witness to it.
If he were a pot, to be touched and tested, Cass thought that he would ring
true. So, how had he come to be judged so harshly? What had happened? Had
he been in some sense betrayed, and if so, how? And could she, his young
wife, even at this late date, discover the truth of the matter and put right
the wrong which had been undoubtedly done him?
And what a fanciful notion that was, fit only or the heroine of a Minerva
Press novel! Cass shook her head, but he had called her his 'wise young
judge' more than once, and if she were to resemble Portia in The Merchant of
Venice, of whom the judgement had been made, then she must try to earn his
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description of her.
No one, least of all Jack, could have guessed what she was thinking as she
smiled until her face ached, accepted the compliments her toilette had
created and talked ainu singly to the Duke, who after a short time had come
over to her, to marvel privately at the composure of so young a woman--a
child, almost--in the face of the night's events.
Between Jack's notoriety and her own determination to make her mark on the
world, Cass was rapidly turning into the sensation of the season, as Harriet
Ashburn had been the sensation of the year before-and both of them because of
their character rather than their looks.
CHAPTER TEN
CASS was watching Jack shave himself. His so-called valet, who might have
been expected to perform such a menial task for him, existed merely to look
after his wardrobe. He was not even allowed to dress his master--except,
perhaps, to assist him in the tying of his cravat.
Jack still behaved in private as though he were humble Sergeant Devlin,
however much he played the lord in public.
She had first wandered through the connecting door into Jack's bedroom one
morning a week earlier, to ask that he allow her to take the perch-phaeton
out for the first time on her own. Dickie had told her that he thought that
she was ready to do so. She had taken the precaution of knocking on the
door, and had entered on his muffled summons to find him shaving. After he
had given her his reluctant assent, she had continued talking to him, and had
enjoyed this free and easy intercourse with him so much that it had become a
habit for her to join him once she was dressed and to go down to breakfast
with him.
Shaving fascinated Cass. She had never seen a man so relatively unbuttoned
before, never seen one before he removed the previous day's growth from his
cheek and jaw. Until this morning she had made no comment, but today could
not restrain herself from saying, voice neutral, Tm glad I don't have to do
that every day. It must quite take the gloss off being a man. " 171 Jack's
razor halted in mid-stroke.
"And pray what gloss is that?" he enquired politely.

"Oh, being in charge of one's self. Doing as one pleases. Never having to
consider what a young lady of quality ought or ought not to do."
"Really? Well, I must confess that I have never observed that such
considerations have ever put you off your stroke, my dear wife. What was
this Dickie was telling me last night? That that monster of yours, egged on
by yourself, struck down some wretched pickpocket in Piccadilly last week,
and sat on him until a constable was summoned, you reading him the Riot Act
the while.
Were you not in charge of yourself at the time? "
Cass turned pink.
"It was not quite as exciting as you make it sound.
Besides, I had to do something. It was poor Stroody's purse that he
snatched, and I could hardly let him get away when Caesar was there ready to
pull him down when I gave the order. " " Yes, I quite see your point. "
Jack was grave, rubbing his right hand up and down his newly smooth cheek. "
And, by the by, who taught you how to handle Caesar in such a fashion? "
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"Oh, that was Fred. He said that Caesar would make an excellent guard dog
who would be able to protect me if I were attacked. I persuaded Fred to show
me how to control him. You must agree that I couldn't stand by and allow
poor Stroody to be pillaged."
"No, indeed. Except that Dickie thought that there was rather more to the
story than that. Your footman, who, I gather, ably assisted Caesar, told
Dickie that when the constable came and the boy blubbered at him that neither
he nor his mother had eaten properly for a fortnight--hence the botched
robbery--you insisted to the constable that he, Stroody, the footman and
yourself should go to the boy's home to verify the truth of what he said.
Tell me, my wise young judge, did you do
SO? "
"I thought that it was only right. I wondered what I would have done if I
had been starving, and committed a robbery so that my mother and I might eat
and then had Caesar sit on me."
Cass faltered. She was uncertain how Jack would respond to the news that the
Countess Devereux and her cohorts had been driven in a couple of hackney cabs
to Vetch Street in London's slums to visit a young thief's mother, even if
they had all been chaperoned by a constable.
"I must say, Stroody made the most awful fuss, but even she was nonplussed
when we arrived at Vetch Street to find that the poor boy had been telling us
no less than the truth. There was a little baby there too, his brother, who
was almost a skeleton. Their poor father had been killed when he was run
over by a dray soon after the baby was born ... and so I had to do something."
Cass ran down. She was not sure how Jack would feel about the something, but
since Dickie had told him so much he probably knew the end of the story
anyway. "Something?"
Jack was shrugging himself into a beautiful black and white striped
waistcoat--later in the day he was going to the House of Lords to take his
seat there--something which he had never visualised himself doing.
"And what did the something consist of--if I may be told, that is?"
"Well, I thought that the boy could be a boot boy at Devereux House, and his
mother a sempstress. She hasn't been able to get work, but the housekeeper
told me the other day that she was short of staff, so the constable said that
he would let the boy go if we stood surety for him and he and his mother were
employed by us. Jasper, his name is, and the butler says that he is a hard
worker, and his mother too. The baby is looking much better, you will be
happy to hear."
"I will?" Jack was busy trying to tie his cravat and failing to achieve
anything wearable.
"D'you think that, as well as rearranging the lives of everyone with whom you
come into contact, you could find the time to help me to tie my cravat? I
don't want to fetch re' valet in just for that.
I can only hope that. Jasper, is it? As as honest as you believe him to be.
I am grateful in the extreme that you relieve me of so much of the task of
running this household. "
Cass had picked up his cravat, was holding it in her hands and gazing
dubiously at it.
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"Oh, now I know that you are running me, Jack, but I did think that the whole
episode came under the heading of those acts of mine about which I don't need
to trouble you. There, how does that suit?"
And she stood back to admire her handiwork, for, whilst Jack's cravat bore no
resemblance to a Napoleon, or a Waterfall, or any of the other styles which
men wore, it had a certain artless charm of its own, as she earnestly assured
him.
"My dear--' Jack took her hand and kissed it '--everything that you do has a
certain artless charm, including the sophistry with which you justify all
your more outre actions. I shall regret the day when society is not
gossiping about your latest exploit. I can also see that I must be
exceedingly careful what I say to you in the future about what you may or may
not do, or I shall arrive home to find that you have taken over from Lord
Liverpool the task of running the country." And he kissed her hand again,
deciding that he liked the sensation.
Later, when they had eaten a late breakfast, almost a luncheon, and he had
spoken to Greene, the butler, about Jasper and his family, and learned that
they appeared to be willing workers as well as respectable people down on
their luck, Jack returned to his room to make ready to go to the Lords.
Whilst doing so he could not prevent himself from thinking about his young
wife. She was coming to occupy more and more of this thoughts.
He had taken her in marriage as a convenience, believing that Cass would be
so grateful to him for saving her from penury that she would make no demands
on him. When he had first seen her he had deemed her to be a little creep
mouse who would be overawed both by him and by becoming a Countess--a
biddable girl, in short. What amused him was how wrong he had been to make
any such judgement!
He had been reading Mary Shelley's newly published novel, Frankenstein, which
incidentally, Cass had recommended to him, and he thought that, like Count
Frankenstein, he had unwittingly created a monster--a nice one, perhaps, who
would, he hoped, not land them both in a grand finale among the Polar wastes.
What intrigued him--no, puzzled him--was that more and more he was looking
forward to coming home to her, to being with her. And she only just
nineteen! And at the Leominsters' ball Cato Luxcombe, for all her beauty,
had looked common place beside her. In planning a white marriage, he had
seen himself acquiring a mistress, or mistresses, as soon as the problems of
taking over as Earl Devereux had been overcome, but more and more to do so
would have seemed to be a betrayal of Cass. Which was odd, because he had
promised her nothing and she had agreed, without any other coercion than the
knowledge that she would not starve if she married him.
Jack frowned. He had promised Dickie that he would not hurt her, but now he
no longer knew what would or would not hurt her. She was no longer a pawn on
a chessboard to him, but someone who had claims on him. Was she slowly
advancing up the board in order to promote herself to be Queen?
And would he mind if she did?
Cass wasn't exercised about being betrayed by anyone. She was too busy
trying to discover the truth about a betrayal which might have taken place in
the past to worry overmuch about the present.
That morning at breakfast she had casually asked Jack if she might continue
her exploration of the attics.
"Now, why," he had asked her, in the middle of buttering himself a roll, 'do
you ask me for permission to do such a trivial thing, when ever since we were
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married you have been taking it upon yourself never to ask me permission to
do anything important? " " Such as asking you for permission to play the
harp? "
Cass had commented naughtily.
Jack had fixed her with a has' disk eye.
"You know perfectly well what I am talking about, and it is not harps. Of
course you may rummage in the attic, so long as you promise to tell me if you
discover an artistic masterpiece among the dust and cobwebs. A lost
Leonardo, perhaps?"
So that had been that. She had solemnly promised to let him know of any
treasure which she found there, and, not for the first time as he left her,
he had dropped a light kiss on the top of her head.
At this rate, Cass had thought acidly, the servants will be thinking all the
wrong things about our marriage.
And why did he kiss me? Because I took his funning about the attics without
making a fuss? One would think I spent my time thinking up things to provoke
him.
And that had made Cass laugh to herself, for was not that exactly what she
had been doing? --Although rummaging in the attics was not something she was
doing to provoke Jack--no, indeed!
Not that Cass proposed to rummage in the attics straight away. First, she
needed to find out exactly what had happened twelve years ago. She could
make a prompt start by talking to Amelia Thaxted, who was due to visit her
that afternoon and, by some means which did not look like mere vulgar
curiosity, winkle out of her as tactfully as possible what Jack was supposed
to have done, and whether it was connected with the Star of Rizapore.
Except that when Amelia arrived, graciously prepared to be as pleasant to
Cass as though she had never described her as a millstone around the family's
neck, tact was not needed, because not only did Constantia arrive with her,
but Fred lounged in behind his mother and his aunt.
Cass knew quite well that tactful questions would simply have Fred making
such innocent remarks as, Come on, Cass, what was all that about, hey? --as
though she had been speaking in Greek or Aramaic, at least. Instead of using
a rapier, a mace would doubtless do.
It was odd to have Jack's sisters trying to please her instead of the other
way round! She ordered the tea board to be brought in on hearing that, like
herself, they would be dining late. Fred was off to Watier's, he informed
her.
"Jack doin' the pretty at the Lords, is he?" This was not a question, but
what Cass thought of as a typical Fred statement--that was a statement which
was phrased like a question to avoid committing oneself and earning reprimand
or correction!
"Wonder you didn't go to watch him," he ended. "He particularly didn't want
spectators," Cass said firmly.
"It's not as though he were going to make a speech, you know.
He's simply taking his seat. "
"How odd to think of Jack in the Lords," sniffed Amelia.
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"One would not have thought it..." She paused. She had been about to say .
twelve years ago, when Papa had the footmen throw him out of Devereux House,
but stopped. Perhaps it was not quite the thing to say to his wife.
This was the opening Cass had been waiting for. "You know, my dear Lady
Thaxted--' she began, only to be interrupted.
"I wish you may call me Amelia," her sister-in-law said.
"Lady Thaxted sounds so formal."
Cass bowed her head as graciously as she could.

"My dear Amelia, I have often wondered exactly what it was which provoked
Jack's father to such an extreme course of action. I think it wrong that I,
whom am his wife, should be the only person ignorant of what occurred. It
may result in me saying something unfortunate, and that would be too bad."
She saw Stroody turn a disbelieving eye on her, astounded by the unlikely
notion that Cass would ever be troubled by what anyone might think of her.
"Oh, that had not occured to me, I do admit," Amelia conceded graciously.
"But you must understand that none of us knew exactly what Jack had done, for
Papa always refused to speak of it, but there seems to be little doubt that
he stole the Star of Rizapore in order to pay his debts. In any event, the
Star disappeared and has never been seen since. Was not that so, Constantia?"
Constantia, her sister's echo, thus appealed to, nodded her head eagerly.
"Indeed, sister dear, but recollect, the whole wretched business began when
Papa wished Mama to wear the Star when they went to Court for some grand
occasion. Mama rarely wore it-- she disliked it, said it was too large and
vulgar--but this time Papa insisted. I distinctly remember the excitement
which followed Papa's discovery that it was missing from the chest where her
jewels were kept." Amelia nodded.
"So there you have it, my dear." She seemed to think that enough had been
said on the matter.
Cass was not so sure.

"But why was it assumed that Jack stole it?"
An impatient sigh from Amelia was followed by, "We were never told the
details of the matter. I suppose that Papa had investigations made from
which it appeared that Jack was the guilty party--hence his disgrace.
Certainly he had paid off the debts he had acquired at Oxford--not that they
were anything like as large as the value of the Star."
"And did Jack admit that he had stolen the Star?" Constantia took up the
tale.
"Oh, no. He protested his innocence most vigorously. One supposes that it
was that which annoyed Papa. He never liked liars, and, for some reason
which I don't understand, he never liked Jack--did he, Amelia?"
"Indeed not. And he never mentioned Jack's name again. Which makes it all
the more surprising that he left Jack everything--provided he married, that
is." Fred, who had been following all this with his mouth open, exclaimed
suddenly,
"Bit thin, all this--what was Jack supposed to have done with the rest of the
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money?
Even if he handed the Star over to a moneylender or a fence, what did he do
with what was left over after he had paid his debts? And if he didn't spend
it, where is it now? "
Cass nodded thoughtfully. Even Fred, not the greatest of intellects, had
worked out that Jack would hardly have joined the Army as a penniless ranker
if he had had thousands to his name as a result of the theft. Or had he not
dared to spend it? Particularly if he claimed to be innocent.
"But where did Jack get the money from to pay his debts?" continued Fred
doggedly.
"Couldn't have counterfeited it, could he? Did my Grandmama have any idea
exactly when the Star disappeared?"
"No, indeed." Amelia's answer was quite definite. "But one has to remember
how broken Mama was by the whole wretched brouhaha. Jack was her favourite,
you must understand, and to discover that he had stolen from her was
altogether too much. Although Jack always claimed that he had paid off his
debts with what he had won on the gaming tables, no one believed him! Poor
Mama died almost immediately after Jack was turned out. She had a weak
heart, and Papa always believed that it was the discovery of Jack's
wickedness which killed her."
His aunt's reply did not appear to satisfy Fred. More questions were in the
offing. He opened his mouth again, only to have his mother remark irritably,
"Oh, really, Fred, no more, if you please. You are like a dog with a bone,
and we must not distress dear Cass by hashing over the unhappy past."
Dear Cass was not in the least distressed, and Fred was about to say so. It
was plain that neither sister knew the whole of the story, nor any details of
it. Jack had stolen the Star, their father had said so, and so far as they
were concerned that was that. Like Fred, she thought that it was thin, but
undoubtedly both sisters believed in Jack's guilt.
There was one more question which she had to ask, even if it upset Amelia.
"What about Philip, the heir?" she asked.

"Was he involved?"
"Philip?" both sisters exclaimed at once, and Amelia added,

"Oh, Philip had nothing to do with it. He was away at the time. In any
case, you may depend upon it that stealing diamonds was not Philip's way at
all--no, indeed."
Remembering Philip, Cass was inclined to agree with them. On the other hand,
despite what Amelia had said, it had to be admitted that the Star might have
disappeared long before its loss had been discovered.
She decided not to say so, and listened instead to Fred, who was still
doggedly defending Jack, saying in a grumbling voice,
"Well, I can't see Jack stealing diamonds and lying about it. More likely to
have boasted that he had done it, if you ask me, hey, Cass? Only it's not
his sort of thing at all, I'd lay odds."
Cass thought so too, but did not say so aloud. What did surprise her was
Fred's newly discovered vein of shrewdness and his defence of his uncle.
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"Sterling feller, Jack," he finally offered, as though he were doing an
inspired bit of mind-reading, and then, to everyone's satisfaction, including
Cass's, he let the matter drop. There was no point in hashing over the
Star's disappearance further when there was apparently nothing more to be
learned.
Her manner did not show it, but the whole con vet sat ion had left Cass
feeling dispirited. It seemed to her that it would be almost impossible at
this late date to clear Jack, when two and possibly three of the principals
were dead. To make matters worse, she was quite sure that Jack would refuse
to discuss the theft of the Star with her. But, like Fred, she was now sure
that he had not stolen it. It certainly didn't fit.
Later, when Fred left for Watier's, he said to her in a low voice as he bowed
his farewells,
"Don't want to distress you, Cass, but you ought to know that Colonel Spence
has got hold of the wretched business we were discussing this afternoon and
is going round London black guarding Jack over it.
"He can't challenge Jack to a duel, nor can Jack challenge him, because of
the Duke's edict. Depend upon it, though, Spence is going to do as much
damage to Jack as possible.
But what will happen when Jack finds out, hey? Best you keep an eye on him,
Cass," he ended anxiously.
Two things struck Cass, one of them being that Fred must think that she had
some influence over Jack, and the other that she had been right to suppose
that Fred was growing up. Was it associating with Dev and Dickie which was
doing the trick? Cass knew that they had been teaching Fred, not only to use
the small sword and the sabre, but the finer points of horsemanship and the
correct driving of a carriage. His father had never been interested in such
athletic pastimes and had always shown little interest in Fred, leaving his
upbringing to servants and his mother.
It was almost as though Fred, who thought and spoke off him as Jack and not
as uncle, was finding in him the father he had never had, and that Dickie was
taking the place of all the men who should have trained him in manly pursuits.
She took this thought back with her to the drawing- room, and after Amelia
and Constantia's departure made her way to the library, where Mr Hunt was
engaged in examining a rare copy of a herbal, which he had found hidden at
the back of an armoire in a rarely used bedroom.
"Lady Devereux, how may I assist you?" He was pleased to see her, but did
not show it. As he had supposed, she had not found much time to visit him
now that she was Countess.
"I don't exactly know," Cass confessed. She had once thought that she ought
not to discuss Jack's downfall with him, but needs must when the devil drives
had become her motto.
"You said once, before I married Lord Devereux, that you would help me if you
could; A BIDDABLE GIRL.9 now I would like you to try to do so. I gained the
impression when I asked you about the Star of Rizapore that you knew more
than you were telling me about its disappearance. I should be most obliged
to you if you were to tell me all that you know."
This was daring of Cass, for she had nothing but a vague intuition that Mr
Hunt knew more than he told about practically everything which had passed in
Devereux House since he had arrived there.
Page 94
Mr Hunt was looking dubious. Cass was Countess, but she had not bludgeoned
him with her rank and ordered him to obey her, but had spoken to him as
though she were the simple Miss Cassandra Merton she had once been. He
decided that he would honour her with the truth.
"If I were to say that I never believed that the present Earl stole the Star
of Rizapore, it would not be because I am trying to please you now that he is
your husband, but because, at the time, I thought that it went against the
grain of what I knew about his present lordship. You will allow me to speak
plainly, re' lady
"As plainly as possible, Mr Hunt. It is always my wish, whoever speaks to
me."
"Yes, I know that that was true when you were Miss Merton, but..."
"But you did not know whether that still held good now that I am Countess?"
He nodded.
"Whatever you say to me, Mr Hunt, will remain between the two of us.
You may speak freely and frankly to me. "
"Very well, m'lady."
"And you may be seated whilst you do so." And Cass sat down on the other
side of the large map table where she had been used to work before she had
married Jack.
"First, you must understand that when your husband was plain Jack Devereux he
was quite a different man from the stern one he is now. He was somewhat of.
a wild boy, but not in any way vicious. He was always cheerful and
considerate to the staff, which was more than I could say of his elder
brother--you asked me to speak plainly, so I do."
Cass nodded for him to go on.
"His father~ for some reason, did not care for him, and made his partiality
for his heir plain. Not that that worried Mr Jack, you understand. He was
very fond of his mother, and she of him. As I remember, he came down from-
Oxford that year about a month before it was discovered that the Star was
missing. I remember distinctly that he came into the library to borrow a
book shortly after he arrived home--he was always an avid reader, even though
his greatest love was everything to do with horses and field sports.
"He told me that he proposed to spend the vacation reading, that he had
wasted his first year at Oxford and had run up a lot of debts, but had been
able to pay them off because he had had a run of good luck at the gaming
tables. He Mso said that he had made up his mind never to gamble again, that
it was a foolish thing for a younger son to do. You see, he was basically
steady behind the natural exuberance of youth, though I wondered whether he
would keep to his resolution. It was an easy one for a man to make, but a
difficult one to adhere to."
Cass interrupted.
"Dickie Dickson said once when he was teaching me to drive that Jack never
gambled-he was twitted about 'it, he said, when he was in the Royal Dragoons."
Mr Hunt nodded in his turn.
"As I thought. He was always strong-minded--as he is now--only much more so
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now than when he was a boy. I think that hardship may have changed and
strengthened him, if you will forgive me for passing judgement on him."
Cass thought so too, but said nothing to Mr Hunt, who continued his tale.
"I remember when the jewel was found to be lost--it was supposed a thief had
got in, or a servant was the culprit. And then m'lord discovered that Mr
Jack had suddenly paid off his debts, and at the same time the Runner he had
employed to find out who had stolen it must have told him that Mr Jack was
involved somehow.
"M'lord sent for Mr Jack, accused him of the theft, which Mr Jack denied, and
then sent for the footmen to throw him out, after telling him that he was
never to come home again, that his allowance was to be stopped.
He did not need it, m'lord said, for he had what was left over from the theft
of the Star, and must live on that. He said that Mr Jack was fortunate not
to be handed over to be tried as a common criminal and hanged. "
So far Cass had heard nothing which Amelia and Constantia had not already
hinted at to her. But she wondered how it was that Mr Hunt knew so much more
of the details of the scandal than they did.
Her expression must have given her away, for Mr Hunt said drily, "Servants
always know more than their masters think they do, re' lady--as you should be
well aware. But that was not the end.
"After Mr Jack had gone--never to be seen here again until the day of the
will-reading when he reappeared, a changed man--re' lady went in to m'lord in
his study, and it was impossible for us not to know what was said; they cared
little who heard them. She was hysterical, cried out that she knew that Jack
was innocent, and that re' lord must change his mind. He had always been
very tender to his Countess, but over this he was adamant. He said that Jack
was no son of his, deserved to be hanged, and that his name was not to be
mentioned again.
"But she would not give way. They argued and shouted so violently that the
staff were frightened, and ran to find out what was happening. M'lord walked
out of the door with re' lady on her knees, clinging to his legs. He swore
at her--which was a thing he never did--raised her up and threw her against
the wall. He said that it was her fault that Jack had disgraced him. " By
now the noise they made was so great and m'lord's anger was so strong that a
crowd of us had gathered, fearful of what might happen, and at this point re'
lady screamed suddenly that she could prove that Jack was innocent. When re'
lord told her that she was beside herself, and he would send for a mad doctor
to have her confined in an asylum, re' lady began to answer him, but never
finished what she began. She had a fit, fell to the ground, and never spoke
or moved again. They said afterwards that her heart had always been weak,
and that shock had stopped it.
"The shock nearly killed re' lord too. He was never the same man again. He
had been of a high temper, but his temper had killed his wife, whom he had
always loved and been careful of in his distant manner until that day--and
he hated Mr Jack more than ever, for it was easier for him to blame his
Countess's death on his son than on himself.
"And that is all I know."
"And Lady Thaxted and Lady Constantia--did they know of this?"
"No, nothing. M'lord told them that Mr Jack's wickedness had killed their
mother and that was that."
Page 96
"And do you think that my husband stole the Star?"
"To be honest, I do not know what I think. The simplest explanation, which
philosophers frequently say is what we must believe, is that Mr Jack stole
it, and that his mother refused to believe the truth--but, as I said earlier,
that goes against all I know--and knew--of the present Earl."
"And the Star has never been seen or heard of again?"

"Never. It disappeared. M'lord thought that it might have been re cut
after Mr Jack stole it and handed it to a fence or a receiver, and that it no
longer existed in its original form. He had the Runners search for it, but
they never even traced the fence, let alone the Star."
He fell silent.
"I fear that I have told you little more than I imagine you already know."
Cass rose, which had Mr Hunt rising too.

"Well, at least I now know rather more than everyone else thinks they know,
when I previously knew nothing. What surprises me is that I never heard
anything about the disappearance of the Star of Rizapore during all the years
I lived here--years in which I came to know Jack's father quite well. He was
a most unhappy man."
"That you heard nothing is not surprising, for if re' lord ever found out
that anyone spoke of Mr Jack, or the Star, they were dismissed on the spot
without a character."
"Thank you, Mr Hunt. You may be sure that I will not pass on anything of
what you have told me. I am also sure, although I have no grounds for saying
so, that the Earl does not know exactly how his mother came to die, and I
would prefer that he did not. I think that the knowledge would trouble him
greatly."
"Indeed, m'lady. And may I say, although you may think it impertinent of me,
that you are making a most gracious Countess--although it is no more than I
expected. M'lord is a lucky man--in you and in his friend, Mr Dickson."
All the way back to her room Cass thought of what she had been told.
Mr Hunt's account of the theft had not been quite the same as Amelia's and
Constantia's. In his, Jack's mother had not died of shock at Jack's
wickedness, but because she believed him to be innocent and his father would
not listen to her.
Slowly a shadowy possibility began to take shape in her mind. But until she
could find some evidence to support that shadow, there was nothing she could
do. An early visit to the attics was imperative.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"WI~AT next?" Jack had come home after a session at Louis Fronsac's.
He believed in keeping himself in trim by exercising every day. As he drove
home he made up his mind to propose a ride in the Park to Cass. Dickie had
told him that she had already mastered the perch- phaeton and he would ask
her to let him be her passenger.
He entered the drawing-room to find that Cass was at the big table in front
of the window with a man whom he had never seen before instructing her in the
art of water colour painting. Miss Strood, acting as chaperon, sat before
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the empty hearth engaged in her canvas work
"Oh, Jack!" Cass rose with a swirl of skirts.
"I am so pleased that you have arrived early, before Mr Swallow has finished
teaching me. I am sure that you would wish to hear from him that I am making
excellent progress at a skill which I have always wanted to perfect but have
never been able to do so before."
"Like playing the harp?" enquired Jack smoothly as he walked over to inspect
the water colour on which Cass had been working. It was pinned to a sloping
board and was a view of the gardens at the back of Devereux House as seen
through the drawing-room window.
"Exactly!" Cass was all artless charm. She watched his face twitch as he
examined her painting. It was with no surprise that he found that it was
excellent, and that Mr Swallow's eager praise of m'lady's undoubted talent
and her willingness to be instructed was not simply due to his desire to
flatter a Countess. It came to him with the force of a revelation that Cass
excelled in everything she did, and that had she not married him all these
talents would have died aborning
This aroused in him a fierce protectiveness towards her which he had not
suspected he possessed. He had become aware that she was testing and teasing
him by engaging in a series of activities designed to challenge any
preconceived notions he might have had that she was a 'biddable girl'
resigned to carry out only his wishes. He thought that Dickie might have
been better employed in worrying whether he was the one who was going to be
hurt, and not his young bride. "Excellent," he offered at last.
"A tribute to both student and teacher, if I may say so, sir." He was, Cass
noted, as polite to Mr Swallow as he was to all those who might be considered
to be beneath him in station.
"You come pat, sir," Cass said.

"My lesson has just ended." And she walked over to where Jack was holding
out his hand to Mr Swallow, who was shaking it with an expression of complete
disbelief at such enormous and unaffected condescension.
"You look full of something, my dear, what is it?"

She was reading his mind again--was he really so transparent?
"If you have finished your lesson, then I propose that you drive me to the
Park. Dickie tells me that you are ready to drive the phaeton in public, and
who better to accompany you on your first excursion than your husband?"
Not only Mr Swallow's eyes widened at this public declaration of affection,
but so also did Miss Strood's and Cass's.
She made him a deep bow.
"If you say so, sir. Your wish is my command."
"Now that I do not believe! But I do say so, and I also ask that, if
possible, you surprise me a little with your toilette. I should not like to
think that you had lost an opportunity to demonstrate your powers of
invention!"
Cass could not help giggling. It was almost impossible for her to wrong-foot
him. Just as she thought that she had disconcerted him a little he turned
her guns against herself, or, in terms of the cavalryman he had once been, he
Page 98
charged her defensive positions and overran them.
"I will try not to disappoint you," she shot back, before thanking Mr
Swallow. Jack compounded his earlier graciousness to his subordinates by
saying to Miss Strood as Cass wailed to the door,
"Stroody, my dear, you look a little pea ky Would you like Dickie to follow
us in the landaulet, with you as a passenger?"
And then he spoiled her treat a little by adding,
"You may take Caesar with you so that Cass may give him his daily walk in the
Park."
Even the prospect of chaperoning Caesar could not ruin Miss Strood's pleasure
at being given the opportunity to play the lady in Hyde Park.
"Most kind of you, m'lord," she twittered at him, her face flushing and
softening so much that Jack thought, not for the first time, that she must
have been quite a pretty girl when younger. Not that she was so very
elderly. He judged her to be in her late thirties, and therefore not many
years older than himself. But, as women's years were counted, she was well
past her last prayers whilst he was still a most eligible parti-- eligibility
and age having little to do with one another where men were concerned: money
and position counting for everything.
So it was quite a little procession which entered the Park, particularly as

Fred Maxwell arrived at the mews on horseback just as Cass walked in. She
was not wearing one of her military rigs, but a naval one. Her deep blue
riding dress with its silver buttons and high snowy cravat was surmounted by
an admiral's hat ~ la late Lord Nelson, correct even down to its white
cockade.
Even the Imp, who had rushed to be m'lord's tiger and had been disappointed
to learn that he would not be needed, looked impressed when she appeared in
the yard. He and Cass were much of a size, and in some odd way the Imp
thought that this rebounded to his credit, and, like Dickie, worshipped
m'lady from afar-and sometimes from an ear
She had admired his skill in playing the horn, and had asked him if she could
try to blow it. One of the pleasures of being Countess was that she could
enjoy herself by doing all those things which had been forbidden to lowly
Miss Merton. The Imp had responded enthusiastically and, amidst a great deal
of merriment from the watching grooms caused by Cass's initial failures, had
taught her the correct signals used to warn tollgate keepers that they were
coming through, and those which demanded that the slow coaches in front allow
them easy passage.
All this was known to amused Dickie, but not to Jack. Cass was not quite
sure how he would respond to the notion that his Countess was playing at
being a tiger!
As for Dev and Dickie, when they saw her new outfit they reacted as one.
Both of them began to clap and cheer, Jack shouting,
"Three times three for m'lady! Huzzah! Huzzah!
Huzzah' Miss Strood, who had not seen Cass's admiral's uniform before, looked
her surprise, and Fred leaned down from his splendid chestnut to remark,
"Admiral Devereux to the mainmast, hey," straightening up with a naval salute.
Cass blushed her pleasure before Jack, waving the groom to one side, helped
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her up into her phaeton, which, picked out in blue and silver as it was,
complemented her toilette--or was it the other way round?
Curious eyes followed them everywhere. Colonel Spence's black guarding of

Jack, plus the knowledge that he had spent twelve years in the ranks,
intrigued society no less than his speedy marriage to Cass, a nobody whom no
one knew.
Cass was relieved to see that they were not being cut--if anything, people
seemed to be going out of their way to speak to them. Which, of course,
proved nothing. Their main interest, doubtless, was in seeing how she and
Jack reacted to the reviving of the scandal about the Star. What they were
not aware of was that Jack had no notion that the scandal had been publicly
revived, and by a man whom he thought of as an enemy. The later he learned
the news, the better, so far as Cass was concerned.
She concentrated on her driving, earning a quiet bravo from Jack when, at his
suggestion, she finally drew to a stop and handed over the phaeton to one of
the grooms who had accompanied them. Her toilette, as well as the elegant
figure she cut walking along with Caesar, Jack on one side of her and Fred on
the other, leading his horse, was the sensation of the afternoon.
"It's not her looks, voyez vous, which makes her remarkable,"
explained the French military attache, 'because she is piquant rather than
pretty, but the whole tout ensemble. One admires not only her air of
charming self-control, but the manner in which she wears her original clothes
as though she is not aware that they are original. Her husband is a lucky
man, one would dare say, because, depend on it, she is an original in every
way! " His knowing smile said everything which he could not utter aloud.
Both Jack and Cass would have enjoyed the joke on them if they had heard what
he was saying, seeing that their relationship was quite otherwise from what
he was undoubtedly thinking. Amelia Thaxted, angry at the commotion which
her brother and his wife were provoking, beckoned them over to her carriage.
Her eyes said what her tongue did not dare utter. That Cass's admiral's
uniform was outrageous and that Caesar, by reason of his size and beauty was
even more so, and that Jack really ought to inform his wife that she owed it
to her new station to be as modestly correct in her attire as possible.
"So," she exclaimed, a trifle shrilly, 'you have arrived to satisfy

everyone's curiosity, I suppose. "
"On the contrary, my dear sister. I make a point of never satisfying

anyone's curiosity. M'lady and myself are here merely to take the air and
allow Caesar a longer walk than the grounds of Devereux House can afford him."
Jack was as smooth as he sometimes could be. His likeness to a chameleon
had never been stronger. What Cass would have liked to see, but would never
now have the opportunity to do so, was how he had behaved when he was a
simple trooper. Not, she was beginning to think, that Jack was a simple
anything. On the contrary--as he had just said to his sister. "Hmml' was
her only answer to that.
"I am to suppose that you do not care that the old scandal about the missing
Star has been revived, and that Colonel Spence is tattling your guilt about
London again?" Jack went quite still.
Cass felt his hand on her arm tighten. His voice, though, when he answered
his sister, was as controlled as ever.
"Indeed, one would have supposed--' and he leaned on the word which his
sister had used '--that society-and Colonel Spence--would have more
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interesting and up-to-date matters to discuss than something which was dead
and buried long ago."
Amelia threw caution and common sense to the winds. She had long dominated
all those about her, and could scarcely believe that she could not dominate
Jack.
"Oh, fie on you, Jack!" she trumpeted.

"How can you say such a thing when you have so melodramatically returned from
the dead and taken a wife who chooses to flaunt herself as though she were a
light comedy actress on leave from Drury Lane! Of course everyone is
tattling about you. You would have done better to have stayed at home and
persuaded Cassandra to adopt a more modest garb."
At that, Jack's hand left Cass's arm. She felt quite giddy with anxiety
about what he might say and do in response to his sister's strictures. She
heard Fred's indrawn breath, and then his indignant,
"I say, Aunt, steady on." He had felt the edge of his aunt's tongue many
times in the past, and had always bent before it. Like Cass, he was a trifle
fearful of what Jack might say.
Jack put up a hand to silence Fred. He stood back. Bowed. And, his voice
so cold and neutral that even on a day as warm as this one could well believe
that it would freeze ice, said,
"So happy to be given the benefit of your advice, sister. You will, of
course, permit me to ignore it--and the unkind remarks that you have made
about my wife. I think that you have forgotten that she is no longer a
penniless dependant whom you may insult at will. You will also forgive me if
I inform you that I find the company of Miss Strood and Dickie, my friend,
infinitely perletable to yours."
He turned his back on the startled Amelia, to whom no one had ever before
spoken in such a cold and controlled fashion, and walked Cass, Caesar and
Fred to where Dickie and Miss Strood, who were talking together, were
stationed under a tree.
"I think," he announced to Dickie, 'it is time that we returned to Devereux

House. I have some thinking to do. "
He was strangely quiet on the drive home, resembling more the grim man who
had mocked the Devereux family the first time Cass had seen him rather than
the more easy one he had become since she had married him.
They were in the house before he asked her, his voice distant,
"Did you know, Cass, that Spence was spreading gossip about me? I think that
you did." Cass was tempted to say Know what? but the set of his mouth
discouraged her, as in the past it had discouraged more than one man who
might have tried to tempo rise with him.
"Yes," she told him, as quietly as she could, rather like, she thought
afterwards, an animal trainer gentling a particularly angry lion.
"Fred told me the other aRe moon
She did not say, I would have told you at a suitable moment, because that
would not have been the truth.
Jack's expression lightened a little on hearing that she had heard the gossip
so recently.
Page 101
"I shall have to do something about Colonel Spence, you know," he told her.
Cass was aghast.

"Oh, no, Jack, you promised the Duke--and me--that you would not fight a duel
with Colonel Spence."
"Nor shall I. But I shall find some means to humiliate him, make him pay for
what he is doing now--and what he did six years ago."
His tone was so quietly savage that Cass wondered at her own temerity in so
frequently bearding and teasing him. She wondered what it was that Colonel
Spence had done which was so dreadful. Curiosity got the better of her.
"Is it because--because he had you flogged?" Jack's feral eyes were hard on
her.
"Who told you that?"

"No one--or rather, something Colonel Spence said to you at the Leominsters'
ball... I thought..."
His whole posture eased a little.
"Yes, I remember. But you are quick to have understood that. I see that I
must never underrate you. Yes, he had me flogged-- and that was because
I.knew something to his discredit, and an officer can always find a reason to
send a ranker to the whipping post if he is so minded. But it was the reason
I ended there which was important, rather than the punishment itself."
"And what exactly did Colonel Spence do which was so dreadful?"
Jack's face closed as though he had drawn a shutter over it.

"Oh, Cass, I can't tell you that. Not only would it not be right or proper,
but it is not my secret to give away. It is someone else's, long dead,
Somehow or other I intend to make Spence pay for what he did--as well as for
his continual insults to you."
"Yes, but Jack, when he says that there is something strange about our
marriage--that is the truth, is it not?"
"It is not a truth which concerns him, and when I have it out with him I
shall take good care that your name is not mentioned."
"But," persisted Cass, worry in her voice, 'if you are not going to fight
him, Jack, what will you do? "
For the first time he was easy, the hint of laughter plain in his voice--a
hint that always gave her pleasure.
"Oh, I am a most inventive man, Cass. Depend upon it, I shall think of
something. And if I don't, then Dickie will."
Cass asked him a question which she had long wanted to pose to him.
"How long have you known Dickie, Jack?"
"Since the first day I joined the cavalry. I was the arrogant raw recruit
who thought that I was God's gift to horsemanship and who had never known
what discipline meant from the day I was born. Without him I think that I
would have gone under. He took pity on me, God knows why, and eased my way
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into the life which I had chosen without the remotest notion of what it
would really be like. I had been used to giving orders ... not taking them
... and hardship was unknown to me. And now you know the debt I owe to
Dickie. He saved my life."
"Dickie says that you saved his."
"At Salamanca, yes. But that was in return for saving mine by making a man
out of me when I was only a silly spoiled boy. One thing that I learned was
that it is as necessary to be able to take orders as it is to give them if
one is going to be able to command one's self, let alone other men."
And that is why Jack is different from any other man I have ever known, Cass
thought when she was alone in her room. He has walked through what the poets
call the fire, and has come out at the other end strengthened, not consumed.
All of the other men whom I have ever met have only known a life of ease.
She thought of Fred, and wondered what sort of man he might become if he were
made to suffer and endure as Jack had done.
And by what means did Jack intend to make Colonel Spence pay?
Jack was apparently about to pursue Spence without delay. He came into the
drawing-room where she was waiting for the tea-board to be brought in after a
rather late dinner, which he had eaten in the most distracted fashion, almost
as if she were not there. At the end of it he had informed her abruptly that
he intended to spend the rest of the evening at Watier's. He was dressed to
kill, and Cass wondered for the hundredth time why a man who was in no way
eonvenPAULA tionally handsome should look so impressive that wherever he went
every eye followed him. She had been introduced to Lord Granville, reputed
to be the most handsome man of his generation, and that judgement was still
true of him, even though he was in early middle-age. He was also very
charming, after a gentle fashion, which was quite remote from Jack's brusque
down rightness
And yet . and yet. Jack charmed too--not only herself, but any woman who
met him. Men, as well, were happy to meet him and to call him friend. Even
Spence's repeated slandering of him had not yet possessed the power to damage
him.
Miss Strood raised her head curiously when Cass said,

"You hope to find Colonel Spence at Watier's?"
"Rumour says that he spends most nights there--but I don't intend to break
him at the gaming tables, Cass."
"I know. You don't gamble. Dickie said so. So what will you do there?"
Jack's grin was a shark's.
"Pretend to." "Oh-h-h." Cass's sigh was one of exasperation.
"I wish that I might come with you. I know fine ladies gamble. But not at
Watier's.
Now this statement of Cass's was not an innocent one. She had a reason for
wishing to know what Jack's reaction might be to women gambling. She watched
his whole body stiffen. He said, curtly for him,
"Women gambling are worse than men doing it, and that is bad enough. But
women, being ignorant of much of the world, have no notion of the kind of
tricks to which professional gamesters are prone--particularly when such
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swindlers have made sure that their victims have drunk heavily before they
play.
"The late Duchess of Devonshire is a prime example. The sharks destroyed

her ruthlessly. She lost thousands upon thousands at play to professional
swindlers like Henry Martindale, at both Almack's Ladies Club and elsewhere.
Her debts were so great that it is said that she could not calculate how
large they were, and Courts the banker, who lent her money to help her to pay
them, lost a great deal of his by doing so.
"I trust, Cass, that you have no intention of emulating her. It can only
bring distress and ruin on you, if you do. Do not compel me to make you
swear that you will never engage in it."
There was such passion in his voice that Cass hastened to assure him, quite
truthfully, that gambling had always seemed to her the oddest of addictions.
It held no attraction for her.
"To play whist for counters is as far as I am inclined to go--is not that so,
Stroody?" Jack left for Watier's with Stroody's fervent assurances as to
Cass's lack of interest in play ringing in his ears. He might have been
surprised at the conclusions which his young wife drew from his fervent
attack on play--and particularly on women gambling.
His intended prey was already at Wafter's, as Jack had expected.
Spence was half-cut although the evening, in gambling terms, was yet young.
So much the better for Jack's purposes if he were in drink. Jack despised
heavy drinking because it destroyed a man's judgement, something he had
frequently witnessed during his time in the cavalry.
Jack was well aware that the man that the Army had made of him was very'
different from the man he would have become if he had remained a idle and
indulged younger son. That man might well have been an effete young
aristocrat, incapable of the kind of sustained effort and self-control which
had become his hallmark when he was half of Dev and Dickie. That man would
have passed over or despised Dickie, not recognised the sterling worth of him.
Spence stared at Jack from the table where he was sitting, surrounded by his
toadies. He whispered something offensive about Jack to them, loud enough
for Jack to catch what he was saying. He heard his name, and what Spence
said was venomous enough for his companions to break into loud and drunken
laughter.
"You were saying, Spence?" Jack observed pleasantly. His voice was as
urbane as he could make it.
"Lost your manners did you, Devlin, serving among the scum? Oh, I do beg
your pardon, Devereux. Now, why do I always forget who are you are, I ask
myself?. The stench of the gutter clinging to you still, I suppose."
This came out as unpleasantly in manner as it was in speech, and all his
sycophants laughed again.
"I tell you this for your own good, Devlin, I mean Devereux, as I frequently
tell those who may not know that you enjoyed yourself among the dregs for
twelve years. Every dog to his vomit--and you certainly clung to yours--as
well as to the whipping post!" There was more laughter as Jack remained
impassive.
He despised Spence so thoroughly that nothing the man could say had the power
to hurt or to annoy him.
Page 104
"And do you also tell them why you had me strapped to the whipping post,
Spence?" Jack's voice held only mild interest in it, so that the crowd which
had gathered around them, hoping to see some fun, felt a little
disappointment. Devereux was plainly no going to be provoked.
"For insubordination, Devlin. For insubordination to your superior officer,
as you well know."
"No, I don't know." Jack's voice was still low and level.
"Would you care for me to tell them the real reason, Spence?"
"Hold your lying tongue, Devlin. I've no need to explain why I inflicted
condign punishment on a piece of filth who was on the point of mutiny."
"Not good enough, Spence, especially when it comes from a man who managed to
avoid fighting in most of the battles of the campaign in which he was
supposed to be taking part. Was it your other interests which incapacitated
you--or was it simple cowardice which kept you permanently behind the lines?
Of course, that made it easier for you to indulge your fancy for--' Spence
saw the accusation coming. He could not allow it to be said aloud that Jack
Devereux knew what few did: that his taste was for handsome young men or boys
rather than for pretty women. Such things might be hinted at, and the
person hinted of might remain in society, but for it to be publicly stated
meant social death.
He stood up, leaned forward, pushing the table before him, so that cards and
counters, glasses and bottles were flung about, and struck Jack across the
mouth. Jack had been expecting the blow, but made no attempt to avoid
it--indeed, he had taunted Spence in order to provoke such a reaction.
"Damn you, Devereux, take that back."
"Not I," responded Jack, gingerly feeling his bruised lips, 'and I shall want
immediate satisfaction for the blow, Spence, be sure of that. My choice of
weapons, you must agree. "
Heads nodded in all directions. Yes, indeed! Here was a fine to-do, a
splendid piece of gossip to travel around the drawing-rooms of the great and
mighty, the cousinry who ruled England and its growing Empire.
Spence's face whitened for a moment, and then he gave a relieved little laugh.
"Damme, Devlin, you cannot demand satisfaction from me. The Duke expressly
forbade it. He is my Commander-in Chief--I cannot disobey him."
"Oh, dam me Spence, you may forget that. I don't intend to come after you
with swords or Pistols, or even my fists. No, indeed. What I have in mind
is something quite different. They. tell me that you are a great whip, and
I fancy myself a little in that line, so my proposal is that we race our
curricles and four from London to Brighton, tigers up, on a day to be named."
He looked lazily around the room.
"I will send my seconds to you tomorrow morning to make formal arrangements
for the race. My principal you already know, he being the lately Corporal
Dickson of the Royal Dragoons, and Fred, my boy," he added, turning to Fred
Maxwell, who had been an interested spectator to the proceedings, 'you will
do me the honour of backing Dickie, I trust? " " Delighted," exclaimed Fred.
To be a second in a bloodless duel would be something to boast about when
this evening was long past.
"But what penalty do you propose for the loser, Jack? if I may be so bold as
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to ask."
"You may, indeed. I propose that the loser forfeits his horses, curricle and
tiger, and writes a humble letter A BIDDABLE GIRL.9 of apology to the
winner, withdrawing all slanders and accusations previously made. The letter
to be posted up on the front door of this Club, if the proprietors so agree.
How about that, Spence?"
The hum which went round the room was one of admiration for Jack's ingenuity
in circumventing the Duke's ban on a duel between himself and Spence. More
than one man wondered what the Duke's reaction would be to Jack's impudence.
Greatly relieved that he was not being asked to commit himself to a duel to
the death which he was sure that he could not win, Jack's prowess with small
sword, pistols or fists being public knowledge, Spence snarled,
"Send your seconds to me and mine in formal fashion tomorrow,
Devereux--though I would rather you spared me having to deal with that oaf
Dickson again."
Part of his relief came from his conviction that his own ability as a driver
must be better than Jack's-Jack's recent involvement with horses having been
that of riding them, rather than driving them.
"My choice of weapons and my choice of the seconds who represent me, Spence."
Jack turned on his heel. One of the few men ever to enter Watier's and not
to gamble there.
Fred Maxwell caught him by the arm.

"Hey, Jack you do intend to make up a table while you're here, I hope."
His uncle shook his head.

"Not I, Fred, and if you've any sense you'll not linger long either. The
sharks are out for blood, and the wolves lurk in the undergrowth! Beware."
He left, having achieved what he had set out to do. And now there remained
only the race--which he must win, not only for his own sake but for that of
the poor boy who had shot himself after Spence, his superior officer, had
used his rank to assault him. The only pity was that the Duke's veto meant
that he could not use a pistol to dispose of the cur once and for all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
OF COURSe, there was no way in which Jack could keep what he had done from
Cass, seeing that the whole world knew of the challenge and the race. He
worried less about what the Duke might think, although he hoped that his
actions would not lose him the great man's goodwill.
Later in the week, he met Wellington in Hyde Park, walking a dog nearly as
large and formidable as Cass's Caesar.
"Oh, Devereux, I trust I see you well," was his amiable offering to Jack.
"Ingenious devil, ain't you?
Might have known that you'd find some way of wriggling around my veto.
Bound and determined to meet him in one way or another, are you? Wouldn't do
for you to lose, but you do know that the fellow is a splendid whip, however
worthless all his other accomplishments are? "
Page 106
"Dickie's a better," was Jack's reply, volunteered with his most impudent
grin.
"Corporal Dickson--the man you saved at Salamanca," returned the Duke, who
was reputed never to forget any soldier, private or officer whom he had
personally encountered.
"But Dickson ain't racing him, Devereux. More's the pity."
"Dickie taught me." Jack was brief.
"Well, it's to be hoped that you know the road to Brighton, and show Spence a
clean pair of wheels..."
With which riposte the Duke took off his hat, bowed and saying,
"Remember me to your lady wife, Devereux--whichever of our country's
regiments she is representing today," he was off down one of Hyde Park's
paths.
Bowing heads and doffed hats followed him on his triumphal procession.
Well, it was a better reception to the news than Cass had given him, that was
for sure! He had been shaving, or rather had just finished and had been
wiping his razor on a towel, and she had been reclining on his bed, lea ting
through yesterday's Morning Post when he had said, as offhandedly as he could,
"There's something you ought to know, Cass."

Cass had put down the paper. She had just been thinking what a cosily
domestic scene she was part of, the only drawback being that she was still
Jack's wife in name only.
She had spent the previous evening wondering how she could delicately hint to
him that she rather fancied the notion of being the Countess Devereux in
every sense of the word, but tact in such a matter had seemed hard to come
by. "Oh, what ought I to know?"
"I challenged Colonel Spence at Watier's last night..."

He had purposely been ambiguous, in order to see her reaction. She had
jumped to her feet, her face ashen, flung down the Morning Post, and
exclaimed in a stricken voice,
"Oh, no, Jack, how could you? You know that you promised the Duke that you
would not duel with him. I should never have thought that you, of all
people, would go back on your word." Jack liked that, 'you, of all people'.
It showed that his wife had a proper appreciation of his true value. It
almost made him regret having teased her. Almost. It had been worth it if
only to break the steadfast calm to which she usually treated him.
"I deceived you, Cass. Forgive me. What I challenged Spence to was not a
duel d l'outrance, but instead to a race from London to Brighton, tigers up,
with the loser to forfeit horses, curricle and tiger, and to write a letter
of apology to the winner withdrawing all slanders, now and for ever.
The letter to be posted up on Watier's front door. "
Cass had never thought that anything which Jack could propose would make her
feel so frantic.
"Oh, Jack, how could you? You must know that if you lose it will mean social
Page 107
ruin. I don't care about that for my sake, but for you... You have been
accepted again after all these years--and to lose that in such a fashion..."
She was so different from his usually calm, well- controlled, sardonically
amused wife that Jack was entranted. Why, I do believe that she must care
for me a little, he thought, and then, more soberly, Or does she care for
losing her own position as Countess? Yes, that must be it.
"First of all," he told her earnestly,
"I don't intend to lose the race. With Dickie's help I could win the chariot
race at Byzantium if we could go back in time! And, secondly, I don't give a
brass damn about whether I am a social pariah or not. Oh, I don't object to
coming to London once a year and playing at being Earl Devereux for a few
short months, but what I really want to do is to go back to Coverham and try
to put things straight there. I hope you don't mind, Cass, if we live there
most of the year. London's a fine place for a short time, but I want the
open country again, and my 211 dogs and horses. The only things that I shall
miss are the mountains of Spain, but they are gone for ever, and the jolly
days with them."
"Jolly days? Cass was sidetracked, as he had perhaps intended that she
should be.
"What was jolly about being a ranker in a campaign and in a country notorious
for its danger?"
He was near to her now, his feral eyes hard on her. He put down his razor,
took both her small soft hands in his callused large ones.
"Oh, Cass, one never enjoys life more than when one might lose it at any
moment!
Especially when one is with comrades whom one loves and trusts. I can't
explain it. "
Cass's analytical mind was at work again.
"But weren't you afraid, Jack?"
"Of course I was. I would have been a fool else." They were eye to eye now,
and he had pulled her so close to him that they were breast to breast. They
were breathing as one, and Cass was conscious of his body as she had not been
since the night of their marriage. She could see again the faint shadow of
his beard, where he had shaved it close to 'his skin. She could feel the
strong beat of his heart and was aware that her body was responding to his,
wanted to push itself even closer to him, wanted his to take her over. She
muttered hoarsely,
"I think that I do understand you a little, Jack, but my knowledge of life is
so limited..." She paused. For some reason she was having difficulty
breathing as well as thinking and speaking.
She pulled one hand away from his and stroked his warm cheek, astonished to
find how soft it was compared with the rough lines of his strong jaw. Jack
bent his head and muttered as hoarsely as she had done,
"You must see that I have to bring matters to a head with Spence, Cass. Not
only did he betray the men he led, but he has the impudence to carry on his
vendetta against me, and I cannot rest until I have silenced him. For both
things, and more besides, he deserves to be punished."
"So long as you don't suffer, Jack." The words trickled out of her like
Page 108
thick honey slowly poured from a jar.
Cass's lips parted, and her small pink tongue came out to lick them
feverishly.
"Yes!" Jack's voice was suddenly commanding, and after the one explosive
word left his lips they came down on Cass's, and his tongue emerged to lick
Cass's so that she gave a small shudder of ecstatic delight, closed her eyes
and abandoned herself to sensation. but not for long.
The busy intrusive worm was with them again. It was Dickie knocking on the
door, come to discuss with Der how best to win the race, and how best to
organise everything connected with it.
For a moment they remained locked together, until Jack stood back with
another explosive monosyllable jerked from him. This time it was
"Damn!" He shook his head as though to clear it as he spoke, adding
apologetically--and unfortunately"--Sorry, Cass. I shouldn't have jumped on
you like that."
Sorry! So, he was sorry, was he? Well, so he should be! It was a penance
to begin to make love to his wife, was it? And leave her aching all over for
she knew not what! Well, he knew what was what, and she hoped that he was
aching too.
Jack was. All the time that he was talking to Dickie. He decided that he
would make it up to Cass for jumping on her by being tenderly considerate to
her in future, and not forcing his rough self on her. He was quite unaware
that what Cass desired most of all was to have his rough self forced on her!
But--as he might have guessed, he thought ruefully--when he was finally
alone with Cass again, she was even cooler than she usually was with
him--quite in the boughs, in fact.
She immediately precipitated a bad-tempered argument with him by remarking in
a lofty voice,
"Of course, I shall expect to be installed at Brighton for a few days before
the race, so that I may cheer you on Marine Parade when you arrive there
before Colonel Spence. I shall take Stroody, and I expect that Dickie will
add respectability to our household--he having to be there as your principal
second to receive you and check that all is in order."
This all came out so grandly that Jack stared at her in amazement before
saying regretfully,
"No, Cass, I don't want you to be involved in this in any way. It is between
Spence and myself, and the matter is not one with which women ought to be
concerned... Stroody may keep you company in London."
Cass sprang to her feet again. It seemed to be an action which she was
doomed to repeat that day. It was all Jack's fault, of course. He was being
even more provoking than usual, when by rights she ought to be provoking him.
"Oh, no, Jack, please. Do allow me to go to Brighton. I am your wife, and I
ought to be there to support you."
But for once he was adamant, so that finally Cass announced, as cut tingly as
possible,
"I suppose that I am being a fool to ask you to allow me to share the more
important parts of your life. I understand now that I may do as I please so
Page 109
long as I confine myself to trivialities. After all, you made the terms of
our marriage quite clear to me before our wedding, so I cannot complain."
She knew that she was being unreasonable--childish, even, but she couldn't
stop herself. The knowledge that she loved and desired him was strong in
her, and equally strong was the bitter conviction that he did not really want
her. He could scarcely have signalled his rejection of her more strongly
than by refusing to allow her to support him when it would have been most
natural for her to be allowed to do so. She was simply a toy which he
occasionally allowed to amuse him, and she must never forget that.
"Now look here, Cass--' Jack began, exasperated, but she would not allow him
to continue. Head high, she waved a dismissive hand at him and sailed from
the room.
"Jumped on you like that." What a thing to say! All the way to her room the
words echoed in Cass's head, whilst Jack, frustrated, made for the tantalus
and drank down a bumper. He would never understand women-never. Here was
Cass, usually such a wise and sensible little thing--barring a few odd quirks
about uniforms, dogs, painting, shorn hair and harps--behaving like a
termagant. All my fault, he told himself savagely, forgetting myself because
she felt so sweet and soft, and jumping on her, so that I frightened the poor
little thing away.
He spent the next half an hour trying to think of something he might buy
which would please or amuse her and restore her to her usual equable serf.
Failing to do so, he flung off to the stables again to tell Dickie what had
happened between himself and Cass and ask for advice on how to handle her.
Only Dickie began laughing like a madman, finally clapping Dev on the back,
exclaiming weakly, the tears running down his face,
"Go and put your head in a bucket of water, Dev, before I do it for you!"
All these excitements had not prevented Cass from pursuing her search for
clues as to the true fate of the Star of Rizapore among the discarded objects
in the attic.
To no avail. On the morning after her quarrel with Jack, she did not go to
his room as she was wont, and instead, after breakfast, made one last and
fruitless search among the dust wearing a stout brown holland apron over one
of the prim dresses from her previous incarnation as Miss Cassandra Merton.
Later, she was to think that what followed showed how useless it was to
expect life either to conform to one's expectations or to behave in the
rational way which the great philosophers on the one hand, or novelists on
the other, seemed to assume that it did. As so often happened, accident
rather than reason was to show Cass the way forward.
Hot and tired--for the summer sun beat hard on the attic roof--and still
wearing her apron, she made for the library to try to winkle some more
information out of Mr Hunt.
She found him shaking his head and pondering over a pile of books set out on
a side-table-- books which to Cass's certain knowledge had been there for at
least six months, and for some reason had never been moved.
Something in her expression, however, moved Mr Hunt. He picked up the top
volume, a splendid thing, quarto in size and bound in royal blue leather with
an elaborate gilt trim, and announced distractedly,
"These were the books which the late Lord Devereux was reading when he was
taken with his apoplexy. I have never liked to reshelve them: it seemed too
Page 110
much like burying him all over again. When I see them I half expect him to
come through the library door, knowing that they will be there, on that
table, waiting for him."
He put the large volume down sadly. He had always respected m'lord, and in
turn he had been one of the few people to whom Jack's father had spoken as a
friend.
"Later this morning--' his tone was a trifle dramatic '--I shall return them
to where they belong. There is a new Lord Devereux now, and it is him I must
consider." Cass nodded.
She thought that it was hardly the moment to begin badgering Mr Hunt about
the past. Instead--and why, she never knew--when he moved off after she had
assured him that she had no purpose in her visit but to pass some time among
the treasures which he guarded so diligently, she picked up the beautiful
book to discover that it was an early edition in the original Latin of
Caesar's De Bello Gallico. It reminded her also of Jack's father, and she
riffled through it, admiring the elegance of the type and its lay-out, until
she came to a page where two sheets of writing paper had been
inserted--presumably by the late Earl, since it was his writing on them.
Curious to discover what notes and comments he had been making on the text he
had been studying so shortly before his death, Cass picked them up and began
to read.
To discover that, instead of learned analysis, the first sheet was headed
"Memorandum--to be acted on immediately' -- the last five words being heavily

underlined.
Curiosity held her rapt. Perhaps there might be something here which would
throw light on the missing Star and Jack's disgrace. But to her astonishment
the first item on the sheet was headed by her own name! It might have been
wrong of her, but she could not resist the temptation to read on. In his
small precise handwriting the late Earl had written: Item: Miss Merton is a
good little thing and has lightened my recent lonely days. My will must be
revised as soon as possible so that she may feature in it--I will send for
Herriot this afternoon.
So he had not forgotten her, after all. Only his sudden death had prevented
her from figuring among the beneficiaries of his will. Until this moment she
had not admitted to herself how much her passing over by the man whom she had
come to know and pity for his loneliness during the last months of his life
had hurt her.
He had not forgotten her; he had remembered her only moments before death had
claimed him so suddenly.
Then there was a gap in which the Earl had written the same name over and
over again, in a hand which betrayed much agitation. The name was that of
his dead wife-Clarissa.
On the next line his writing had assumed its normal pattern, but what he had
written served only to mystify Cass even further.
Item: It has been borne upon me during the past year, during which time has
lain heavy on my hands, that I may have done my son John an injustice. I
must give further orders that he is to be sought and found as soon as
possible. For all I know he might already be dead.
Pray God that it may not to be too late for me to right the wrong which I
have done him. Herriot must be told to alter that part of the will dealing
with his inheritance. The last words were barely legible, as though the
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writer had been losing control of his pen. He must have begun writing them
even as the apoplexy had struck him. Mr Hunt had reported that, on hearing a
cry, he had gone at once to the Earl, to find him slumped forward over his
books, dying. In the confusion which had doubtless followed he must have
thought that the papers in the book merely recorded the notes which m'lord
had been used to make when reading. Cass thought that it was a great pity
that Jack's father, usually so precise and sure in his reasons for any
judgements which he made, had given no hint in his memorandum as to why he
had changed his mind about his son's guilt. It made her even more determined
to try to discover the truth.
And had the discovery of that truth served to kill the Earl? And was it not
sadly possible that now that he was dead the proof of Jack's innocence might
never be found?
Meantime, as soon as possible, she must show Jack what his father had written
of him. For surely he would be consoled by the fact that his father had died
aware that he had misjudged him.
But Jack wasn't consoled. He had been having a lesson from Dickie designed
to improve his driving skills, although Cass wondered what there remained for
him to learn. He came in full of the race, and the plans which he and Dickie
had for winning it, and the arrangements for fresh horses, with their
attendant grooms, to be ready for him at the three staging posts on the
Brighton Road.
When he had finished his large nuncheon he quizzed the obviously impatient
Cass. He told her between mouthfuls that driving and physical exercise
always made him hungry, and that after his driving lesson he had been
sparring, not with Dickie, but with a large footman who had once been a boxer
of sorts.
"I must be in splendid fettle for the race," he explained. And then,
teasingly, his eyes dancing, he asked her,
"Now what news are you big with, re' lady wife? I can tell you are full of
something." But his manner changed when he grasped that for some reason Cass
was not responding to his mild provocation.
"Oh, Jack," she said simply.

"By accident I found some papers of your father's in the library this morning.
I think that you will want to read them straight away. " And she handed him
his father's memorandum.
"They were in the copy of Caesar's De Bello Gallico, which he was studying
when he died."
Jack read them, his face stony as he did so. Cass had no means of knowing
what he was thinking. She had thought that he would be pleased, but he
handed them back to her remarking, curtly,
"So? Why the excitement, Cass?" For it had been plain to him that the
discovery had moved her--even though it had not moved him.
"I. thought that you might be pleased to know that your father had changed
his mind about your involvement with the Star and that he was thinking of you
shortly before he died."
"He was thinking of his son John who no longer existed. You know, Cass, that
time is past and gone, and I would prefer that it remained dead."
Page 112
"Your father was so lonely, Jack." Cass was remembering him in that last
year. It had been almost as though he were lost in the magnificent palaces
in which he'd lived, all purpose in his life gone with the deaths of his wife
and his elder son. As for his younger son, he had been lost to him as the
result of his own actions. If she had thought to move Jack she was much
mistaken. 'if he was lonely, he knew whom to thank. In the end he drove
everyone away from him, as well as myself. My mother was frightened of him
and Philip was quenched by him and his demands. As for roy selL He shrugged.
"You cannot offer me a single reason why I should feel pity for him."
Cass picked up the papers. The forlorn words written on them had touched
her, but she was honest enough to see why they had not touched Jack. Perhaps
he might feel better if his innocence could be demonstrated to the world, but
she was not sure of that either. In any case, Jack's mind was fully occupied
with the coming race, and he began to speak of it again; he was expecting
Fred Maxwell that afternoon, to assist with the final preparations.
"Young Fred is beginning to grow up," he remarked, his father dismissed.
"I have the impression that he has never been given any real responsibility
before. It is quite wrong of my brother-in-law not to have had him schooled
in the management of the vast estates which he will one day inherit. It
never ceases to astonish me that great landowners leave their heirs to live a
life of loose ease instead of training them for the future. Small wonder
that so many inheritances are gambled away!"
This was typical Jack. Beneath the outwardly hard and careless manner of the
ex-soldier was, Cass was beginning to discover, a deep-thinking man
thoroughly aware of his own responsibilities.
She drew a bow at venture, wondering whether she might hurt him by what she
was about to say, but say it she must.
"It might be an odd thing to suggest, Jack, and I know you suffered greatly
as a consequence of it, but might not your father have done you a favour by
throwing you into a world where you had to learn that men have duties as well
as privileges, or have only duties and no privileges? Indeed," she added
hastily, 'you said something like that to me some time ago. " Jack nodded
and bent down to kiss the top of her newly shorn head, to let her know that
she had not angered him.
"Wise child that you are, I have sometimes thought that myself. But, Cass,
you were right' about one thing. I learned my lesson in the most damnable
fashion, and I would not like to think that Fred or any other young man I
know would have to go through such a hell to learn wisdom--if I have learned
wisdom, that is, which I sometimes doubt."
He rose and walked to the door, turning to say kindly to her,

"Leave it, Cass. I know that that old business of the Star grieves you, but
it doesn't grieve me. I'm a pretty imperfect fellow, and the best way I know
to continue to defy my father is not to allow his opinion of me to matter to
me either way--whether he thought or innocent."
^ Bmr~AaLE C~RL?
But, whatever he said, he could not persuade Cass that the truth need not be
known. Perversely she was more determined than ever to continue her search--
although how, she could not think. The official papers of the late Earl and
his Countess were closed to her, and she knew no way of gaining access to
them. Mr Hunt had said, in response to an apparently idle question, that
they were locked away in boxes in Jack's study, and only Jack possessed the
Page 113
key which would unlock them. To question Mr Hunt further might not be wise;
to begin to interrogate old servants might cause the sort of gossip which she
particularly wished to avoid. Perhaps what she ought to do was write out a
list of further possibilities to explore--but what they might he was
difficult to imagine, since all roads now seemed to be closed to her.
Instead, Cass retired to her own little drawing-room, away from Jack, Stroody
and the world, to read a Minerva Press novel where the heroine appeared to be
able to do everything during the late wars to win freedom for the country in
which she lived except actually lead troops into battle! If only her own
problems could be solved so easily.
There were times when she wished that she had never heard of the Star of
Rizapore, and this was one of them. On the other hand, she would not wish to
exchange Jack for the wilting hero of The Maid of Freedom for all the Crown
jewels lodged in the Tower of London!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"STROODY! Al'e you listening to me?" It was bad enough that Jack was
rejecting her by refusing to allow her to go to Brighton, but now Stroody was
beginning to behave in the most peculiar manner.
She would stop speaking to Cass in mid-sentence, to look out of the window at
nothing with a rapt expression on her face. Worse, she was given to not
hearing Cass at all. Worse still--or was it better? --she had given up
wearing her drab toilettes in favour of those which, if not exactly girlish,
were much younger looking than anything which Cass had ever seen her wear
during the six years they had been together. She had redressed her hair too,
which had softened her face by relieving the austere sternness of her
expression.
She had also taken to reading from Cass's growing collection of novels, and,
although she laughed at much of the Minerva Press's output, she also told
Cass how much she had enjoyed Miss Jane Austen's novel Persuasion, that story
of autumnal love. Vagueness, love of dress and the reading of novels were
not things which Cass had come to associate with Stroody. Why, if novels
were to be believed, one might almost have thought that she was in love! She
certainly mooned after Jack, but surely that was not why she had improved her
appearance so dramatically.
"So sorry, my dear." Stroody was apologising for her 223 A toDD ABLE ~UL?
distraction.
"I'm afraid I d,~dn't catch what you were saying."
"That it is the outside of enough that Jack will not allow me to go to

Brighton. He has said so with the force of a papal interdict! I cannot see
why not--you could accompany me, so everything would be proper."
"Mr Dickson quite agrees with Jack that you should not go. Colonel Spence is
an exceedingly unpleasant man, and the less you have to do with him the
better."
"Oh,"
exclaimed Cass, 'what a stupid reason that is, because I shall have nothing
to do with him at all! I shall sit in the rooms Jack is hiring in Brighton.
I believe that they overlook Marine Parade, so that I should be able to watch
him drive to victory. "
Cass had not the slightest doubt that Jack would win, even though Dev and
Page 114
Dickie were not quite so certain of the outcome. Through bitter experience
both of them agreed with the old adage that
"The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley'. " Nevertheless,"
said Stroody commandingly, with the kind of shrug and intonation which she
had employed when Cass had been her charge and was expected to obey her, and
which she had not used since Cass's marriage.
It struck Cass as 'more than a trifle odd that Miss Strood should call Lord
Devereux
"Jack', and Dickie Dickson
"Mr Dickson'. But everything connected with Dev and Dickie was odd, and
perhaps Miss Strood was making a kind of third in the coalition, or perhaps a
fourth, if Cass was to be counted as a member of it-which she sometimes
doubted!
She was about to say so when Lady Thaxted and Lady Constantia were announced,
and was compelled instead to endure the delights of the company of Jack's
sisters, who had come to complain about Fred's involvement with the race to
Brighton, which now appeared to be society's only topic of conversation.
After Amelia Thaxted had at length drawn breath, Cass remarked quietly that
Jack had said that he thought that Fred's involvement, far from being a bad
thing, was having a steadying influence on him.
This brought loud cries of disbelief from both ladies. "As though Jack, of
all people, knows anything about steadying influences," scoffed Constantia.
"We had thought," offered Amelia Thaxted magisterially, 'that you might be
prepared to ask Jack to relieve Fred of his duties. But one sees that you
are thoroughly under his thumb, and are consequently not to be relied on. "
"Is not that where all wives ought to be?" sighed Cass wickedly.
Neither of the sisters had any answer to this piece of wisdom, until
Constantia said thoughtfully,
"Mama was never under Papa's thumb, I do know--although the whole world
thought that she was. He was so involved in his political life that she
behaved more or less as she pleased.
Not that she ever did anything wrong, you understand," she hastened to add.
Amelia Thaxted, usually silent about her parents, chose for once to speak of
them.
"Mama was part of the set around the late Duchess of Devonshire. But, of
course, Mama always behaved with the utmost disoration. Quite unlike the
Duchess, who plunged heavily and whose morals left much to be desired."
This Cass knew to be true. But what interested her more than Jack's mother's
morality--or lack of it--was A BIDDABL GIRL? that, judging by what
Constantia had just said, he might have been referring to his mother when he
had railed against those gamesters who tricked and exploited gullible women.
Was it possible that she had, like the Duchess, gambled and gambled
heavily--and lost?
"Did you know," she asked Stroody, after the sisters had left, 'that Jack's
mother was part of the Devonshire set? "
"You must remember that I was not employed at Devereux House until years
after the Countess's death," Stroody replied, a trifle cautiously.
Page 115
"But Mrs James, our former housekeeper, once hinted something to that effect.
It was not widely known, she said, because Lady Devereux was most
discreet--she never took lovers, and no one ever suggested that she gambled,
let alone that she wagered more than she ought."
But suppose everyone was wrong? Cass was suddenly in a fever of speculation.
Why had Jack spoken so fervently against women gambling and virtually made
her promise that she would never do so? And what had Lord Devereux
discovered that had made him change his mind about Jack? And why had he
scrawled the oft-repeated name of his dead wife on his memorandum?
She left Stroody, who had gone into another of her odd trances, her canvas
work unattended on her knee and her eyes focused on something in the
distance, and wandered off to her room to think. It was time that she
compiled her list of possibilities. To do so, she sat down at the portable
writing desk she had rescued from the attic, pulled up a sheet of paper,
dipped her quill into its little inkstand, and began to write.
Item: I have already explored the attic, examined everything in it, and it
contained nothing which would throw light on the mystery of the Star.
The moment she re-read the words, something struck her with the force of a
blow.
Of course she had not examined everything which was or had been in the attic!
For had not her desk come from the attic? Although she had meant to open
and examine its little drawer, she had forgotten to do so. Jack had said
that he did not think that the desk had been his mother's, but he might be
wrong. It was stupid of her not to have searched it before--but somehow she
had come to take it for granted as hers, and had forgotten its history.
But she possessed no key to the tiny lock of the drawer beneath the desk's
top. She would be compelled to force it open. Cass picked up her brass
paperknife, inserted its point into the lock and began to turn it gently.
She had no wish to mar the perfection of such an elegantly crafted piece of
furniture, so her progress was slow. A locksmith would doubtless have had it
open in a trice, but she could not ask anyone to help her. The secret, if
the drawer did contain a secret, must be hers alone--and then Jack's.
One final twist and she felt the tumblers move: her delicate task was over.
Trembling a little, Cass pulled open the drawer--to find that it contained a
number of letters and receipts. Thrust to the back of the drawer were
several small objects wrapped in paper, and one which was not: an elegant
little miniature which portrayed Jack's mother as a young girl. Her name was
scratched on the back. Yes, the writing desk had been his mother's.
She slowly read the letters and receipts, and what she found there had her
heart pounding and her face turning white as their import slowly sank in. If
she had ever had occasion to doubt Jack's innocence, she doun ted it no
longer.
Next she unwrapped and examined the small objects. These, too, she put on
one side, after carefully restoring them to their protective paper, before
dropping her head and covering her face with her hands whilst her thoughts
turned and twisted inside her brain like a newly trapped animal, frantic in
its cage.
What to do? Before Jack's repeatedly stated objections to her desire to
clear his name she would have run downstairs and confronted him with what she
had found, but the memory of what he had said, coupled with the surprising
nature of what she had discovered, made her reluctant to do any such thing.
Besides, he was fully occupied with planning for the race which was to take
Page 116
place in two days' time, and she wished to do nothing to disturb his fierce
concentration on it. The papers and little parcels had lain there,
forgotten, for more than twelve years, and could surely wait a little
longer--until the race was over. Then Jack must be informed of their
existence and' it would be for him to decide what to do with them. Cass
thought that she knew what his decision would be, but she could not pre-empt
it.
At last, she took her hands from her face and straightened up in her chair.
For the time being she must carry the burden of her knowledge alone. The
maturity which she was rapidly gaining and which Jack mocked--tenderly, she
had come to recognise--told her that she was doing the right thing. Had he
not repeatedly said that she was his 'wise young judge'? Slowly, she
gathered together the papers and the other small treasures which she had
found, for she could not leave them in an unlocked drawer, and fetched out
her new dressing-case, which was among the many presents which Jack had given
her on their marriage.
It had a lock--not a strong one, it was true--but, being personal to her, no
one in the household was likely to try to open it without her permission.
She unlocked it, placed the papers and little parcels carefully inside,
locked it, thought a moment and then left the case in plain sight. To hide
it might occasion comment, which she did not want.
And then, big with her new knowledge, Cass went downstairs, being as
charmingly bland as she could in order to give nothing away to Jack when she
greeted him on his return from yet another lesson from Dickie.
It was true, as Amelia had said, that all society was agog over the race
between Jack and Spence. It had been arranged to start at Westminster
Bridge, and beside the two principals and their supporters there were bound
to be a great many spectators. Enormous sums of money had been wagered, much
of it by Spence himself, who could not believe that Jack Devereux, who had
been in the ranks for so long, could truly challenge a gentleman who had been
driving all his life. Virtually the only persons not betting on the race
were Dev and Dickie. Dickie had already left for after seeing that Jack's
change of horses, A BIDDABLE GIRL. 9 with attendant grooms from the
Devereux stables, were in place at the three stops they were making on the
London to Brighton Road. Devereux servants had also been despatched to
Brighton to staff the house which Jack had rented on Marine Parade.
"I have arranged for you and Stroody to come down to Brighton a few days
after the race, when all the excitement will have died down," he told her at
dinner on the afternoon before the race in an attempt to mollify her.
Unknown to Jack, Cass did not need mollifying. She had decided, after
finding his mother's letters, that her anger at being left behind was
childish. She had half a mind to tell him so, but did not. It might be
offering him too much of an advantage over her d she admitted that he had
been in the right.
Instead, she inclined her head with a gracious smile and offered him an olive
branch.
"Thank you for your consideration, Jack. It is most kind of you." Jack
looked sharply at her. He was not used to a Cass who agreed with him so
easily, and was inclined to wonder what was in the wind. But her smile was
so sweetly innocent-- he had no idea of what a work of art it was--that he
was quite deceived, and decided that she had had a change of heart.
"Young Fred has been a brick," he went on, 'but I do wish that he had not
wagered so much on my winning the race. Anything might happen. The Brighton
Road is always crowded, what with over twenty stagecoaches leaving daily, as
Page 117
well as the world and his wife tooling alongside them in every kind of
ca~iage you can imagine. Depend upon it, few of their drivers are reliable
whips, and both Spence and I will be in danger 231 of un unintended
collision. I would not wager a farthing on the outcome, even though Dickie
and I feel that we have the beating of Spence. "
He yawned, his large capable hand before his mouth, his wicked eyes laughing
at Cass over it.
"To speak of more pleasant things, the Imp is delighted with his new clothes,
especially made for him, and actually spoke to me today! He has been
practising on the yard of tin-- beg pardon, Cass, the horn--ever since he
knew that the race was on, ready to sound it at every stage and every
tollgate."
"I know." Cass's expression was demure, she was making her confession about
her sessions with the Imp on the horn, at last.
"He let me have a go on it one afternoon, when you were at the lawyers. It
takes a deal of blowing, I can tell you, but by the end I managed a proper
tantivy!"
Jack laughed his pleasure at this unlikely news. One of the things about him
which pleased Cass was that he did not expect her to be missish.
"Now, that I am sorry not to have heard. What a girl you are, Cass!
Do you have to try everything which comes your way? Harps, horns--why, I am
in a constant pother as to what you may be doing next. "
But his voice was kind, and when they retired to bed he gave her a friendly
kiss as they parted, saying,
"I'm sorry to have had to disappoint you over going to Brighton to see the
end of the race, but pleased that in the end you took it so well."
The look Cass gave him for that was a glowing one. $o glowing that only the
knowledge that he was to race in the Jack from further overtures to her of a
more passionate kind, which he hoped that Cass might welcome.
Devil take it that he had ever suggested the bargain to her! But she had
seemed such a poor little thing when he had first met her, and he had been
fearful that the mere notion of having him as her true husband would scare
the wits out of her. Besides, if he were truthful, the idea of getting into
bed with such a timid mouse had held no attraction for him at all. It would
have seemed like an assault on a child.
But, whatever she had been then, Cass was no child now; she had grown and
changed in every way from the day that he had married her. It would not be
true to say that she was quite transformed--Cass would never be a beauty--but
she had something better, and something which, Jack knew, would last longer:
a charm in which character and spirit met, to attract not only him, but other
men.
He had seen them looking at her and he admitted wryly that the knowledge that
other men desired her had him desiring her the more. He told himself sternly
that there was nothing of love in what he felt for her, for love was an
illusion which, persisted in, might bring pain and sorrow. More, the kiss
which he had just given her had burned his lips, but had, apaprently, left
her unmoved.
He was not to know that it had burned Cass's cheek, for she had given him no
indication that it had affected her. What she felt for him was unknown to
Page 118
him, what he was beginning to feel for her was. He refused to admit the
truth.
So both of them went lonely to their separate beds, but the balance of power
between them was changing, and as it changed so did they, and Jack's biddable
girl was beginning to assume an importance in his life which he could never
have imagined when he had first seen her, wide-eyed and pale-faced in the
library at Devereux House.
Cass woke early the next morning. She put her head through the connecting
door to find Jack's bed empty.
He was already up, but not downstairs. She could hear him singing, and then
cursing as he bathed in the little room which opened off his bedroom. She
laughed to herself a little, for she knew that he always cursed when he
poured cold water over himself. She invariably had to restrain her own
unruly imagination when she imagined what Jack might look like naked, and
this morning, excited as she already was, was no exception.
Her erratic musings were halted when she heard footsteps outside in the
corridor. For once Jack was allowing himself to be shaved and dressed by his
valet, in order to reserve his strength for the race. Cass drew back into
her own room and hastily washed and dressed herself. She knew that it would
be some time before Jack was ready for the day. She would be in the dining-
room to eat breakfast with him, trying not to say anything which would
disturb or annoy him. She had promised Dickie that.
The day was so young that even Miss Strood was not yet up, and Cass made for
the stairs in a mixture of excitement and trepidation. As she reached the
top step she could hear a loud noise and agitated voices downstairs, and then
the sound of running feet as someone rushed urgently up the winding stairway.
It was Fred Maxwell, his usually carefree face drawn, his easy composure
gone.
"Cass! Is Jack up yet? They seemed to think not downstairs."
"He's having a bath and should be with his valet soon. Why, Fred, what is
it? Why all the tohu bohu?"
"I haven't time to gossip, Cass. I must speak to Jack. At once!"

"Only tell me what is wrong before you do. He won't thank you for disturbing
him while he's dressing."
Fred always gave in to Cass, and he did so now with a long-suffering sigh.
"It's the Imp. He slipped out of quarters last night, when he was expressly
told not to, and he was nob bled
Sim, the head groom, thinks that whoever did it used a woman to lure him. It
was probably done on Spence's orders, or by someone who had bet heavily on
him. Whoever it was had him thrown down in the stable yard some time last
night. He was found early this morning, unconscious and bleeding, one leg
broken, quite unable to be Jack's tiger today. "
"Oh, dear." Which was really an inadequate way to greeet such dreadful news,
Cass thought.
"But surely, Fred, Wattle can take his place. They're much the same size,
and he's nearly as skilful as the Imp."
"The devil take it, he went down badly with the pox--saving your presence,
Page 119
Cass--two days ago, and is fit for nothing, and Sim says that there's no one
else anywhere near the same size and weight to act as tiger instead. Jack's
virtually lost the race before it even starts: Spenc~ will have a great
advantage over him!"
Cass's mind reeled. The Imp nob bled And Jack's race lost before it was even
begun. It could not be. It should not be if she could help it. Inspiration
struck, either from on high in heaven or from low in the other place. Cass
never knew which. She caught Fred by the sleeve as he tried to pass her on
the way to tell Jack the dreadful news.
"Fred! Don't go. There is a way out, but Jack mustn't know."
Fred stopped in mid-stride and turned an astonished face on her.

"There is? What the devil is it?--saving your presence, Cass."
"Oh, damn my face and my presence," shot back Cass through her teeth.
"Do you think that I don't know what language men use on their own? I am not
a fine lady, Fred. I spent most of the first twelve years of my life living
in the stables at my stepfather's home! Just listen and don't interrupt.
"I am the same size and nearly the same weight as the Imp, so the curricle's
balance won't be spoiled. I can use the yard of tin, and have enough common
sense to do for Jack on the journey what the Imp would have done. Only Jack
mustn't know. He'd never let me do it. Smuggle me down to the stables and
I'll persuade Sim that for Jack to have me as his tiger will be better than
him having to renege or lose."
"Good God, Cass. Of course not! What a thing to suggest? And Fred turned
and made for Jack's room again.
Cass tried to pull him back by the arm.

"Can you think of anything better?" she cried fiercely.
There was such passion in her voice that Fred stopped dead in his tracks.
~ "He'll never forgive me if he finds out that I helped to do such a thing."

Cass stamped her foot.
"Oh, damn that, Fred! Are you going to stand by and allow Jack to be a
laughing stock who has to go on his knees to apologise to Spence without even
having the chance to race him properly?
Did Sire think that the balance had been tipped against Jack winning? "
Fred nodded miserably.
"Then let me do it. Please, Fred, please."
"You might fall out and be injured."
"I could catch my foot in my skirts and fall downstairs and be injured now,
Fred."
They stared at one another. Time was passing. Fred gave a great sigh, then
said in a melancholy voice,
"I
Page 120
must be mad, and Sim will probably stop you anyway, but yes, you've made your
point. You can be the Imp. "
"Sim won't stop me doing anything," announced Cass grandly, 'because I am

Countess. " She pulled at him again.
"Quickly, take me to the stables at once, in case Jack decides to forgo his
breakfast and go straight to the stables."
"Oh, he won't do that," stated Fred confidently.
"He said that a good meal before battle is advisable, and that although most
couldn't choke it down, he always could. He only felt sick afterwards."
As I shall, thought Cass. But I haven't time to worry about what I propose
to do now.
Sim moaned and groaned, said he would have to ask m'lord permission for
m'lady to dress up as the Imp and take his place, and what would everyone
think? "Less than if Jack loses the race," Cass fired at him.
"Now, bring me the Imp's livery and I'll change into it at once."
Sim gave way at last, mournfully agreeing that re' lord was not to know what
m'lady proposed to do, and if m'lady and Mr Fred had chosen to run mad it was
no affair of his.
"I
shall tell him that I was only following orders," were his last words as he
let Cass into the Imp's room, which he shared with two of the grooms at
present working in the yard, and showed her where his splendid uniform was
kept.
Cass was greatly relieved that Jack had decided to exchange the Imp's top hat
for a jockey cap for the race. Crammed down on her brows, it hid her face as
the top hat would not have done.
She practised walking with the Imp's slouch, and had mastered it by the time
she trotted into the yard where the curricle was already standing, burnished
and polished until it was fit for the Tsar of all the Russias to ride in.
The horses were being rubbed down, and every groom knew what re' lady was
about to do without m'lord's knowledge and permission, so every interested
eye was upon her.
Fred's expression was a wonder, as was Sim's.
"Good God, Cass, you look exactly like the Imp in that." Sire nodded in
unhappy agreement.
"If I didn't know it was you, I would have sworn you were the Imp."
Cass wasn't sure whether this was a compliment or not. She pulled the jockey
cap even further down on her forehead, and turned her mouth sideways into the
Imp's characteristic lop-sided scowl. He didn't like anybody. Except
possibly ladybirds, who lured him to his doom.
Tm not concerned with whether you think that I look like the Imp, but with
whether Jack will recognise me," she retorted, and she looked anxiously at
Fred and Sim.
"Not he," announced Fred, with more confidence than he felt.
Page 121
"He'll only see the Imp because that's who he'll be expecting to see, and in
any case he'll be thinking too hard about the race to take much notice of
you."
"But what will happen when I have to talk to him?"
"Now look here, Cass," advised Fred, kindly but tactlessly, 'you do talk a
lot, you know, but the Imp, he don't say much. Just grunts, nods his head,
and touches his hat. Wouldn't know he'd got a tongue. You do that, Cass,
and you'll be A1 at Lloyds. "
Cass nodded agreement, registering that Fred was growing up before her very
eyes. Jack was right. Fred still had his helter-skelter mode of speech, but
he was beginning to examine and order his world much as Jack did. He would
never have noticed the Imp's little ways in the past.
Associating with Jack was resulting in Jack's shrewdness rubbing off on him.
Had Jack changed her as well?
No time to think of such things, for Fred, one eye on the gate into the yard
through which Jack would shortly be coming, was continuing to advise her, in
the voice of an elderly uncle.
"You will be a good girl, Cass, and button your mouth, won't you? And if
Jack does find out that you're not the Imp, the later in the race the better.
He'll be less inclined to stop."
Yes, Fred was rapidly turning into a Machiavellian schemer! What next?
Cass grunted her assent in the Imp's best surly manner, and pulled at the
peak of her cap in lieu of a forelock.
"Splendid, Cass. The Imp to the very life. That's the ticket, ain't it,
Sim?" Fred was full of optimistic enthusiasm.
But then he added anxiously,
"You won't fall out of your seat if Jack has to turn suddenly if some ass
cuts across him, will you?"
Cass nodded again, her face still screwed up like the Imp's.
Fred couldn't help himself. Before Sim and all the grooms--some of whom
would have liked to cheer m'lady, who was not only showing herself to be a
good plucked 'un, but who was also busy putting one across re' lord--he
kissed Cass on the cheek.
"What a girl you are, Cass. Jack don't know how lucky he is to have you,"
Fred exclaimed, unwittingly echoing what Jack had said to her earlier. He
gave a hearty laugh.
"I'd admire greatly for Stroody to see you. Depend upon it, she would never
recognise you in that rig!"
And all that Cass could think of when Jack finally arrived, ready for the
race, and his eyes flickered unconsidefingly over her, seeing only the Imp in
his new livery, was that she was going to be present at the end of the race
at Brighton after all--and with Jack! What larks!
Cass was soon to discover that she had let herself in for a great deal of
hard work as well as a great deal of excitement. She was told to hold the
wheelers with Sim considerately holding the lead horses for her whilst Jack
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climbed into the driving seat. He was feeling a little disgruntled because
Cass had not turned up to have breakfast with him or to see him off; it was
plain that she had not forgiven him for not allowing her to go to Brighton
to see the end of the race.
He had no notion that it was Cass who handed him his whip; and then, while
she clung onto the yard of tin, Sire hoisted her into her little seat behind
Jack. She pulled her cap even further down over her eyes, and nodded and
grunted in the Imp's most disobliging fashion when Jack called,
"Ready?" to her and to Sire, who was still holding the leaders. He
immediately set off for Westminster Bridge, well in time to be there for the
scheduled start.
Fred had already gone ahead in his curricle and two, having told the startled
Miss Strood that he had ordered the Devereux chaise to take her and Cass's
maid to Brighton and that she would make sure that her own clothes and Cass's
were stowed away in the boot.
Miss Strood had cried out in agitation,

"But where/s Cass? And does Jack know of this change of plan?"
Fred had roared at her,
"Never mind that. That's taken care of. Just make sure that you are on the
way once Jack has left the yard. You're not to go troubling him about
this--he needs all his energies for the race, not for worrying about you and
Cass. And now I must be off if I am to be at Westminster Bridge before Jack."
There had been something so masterful about the usually easygoing Fred that
Miss Strood did as she was bid, grumbling to herself the while. Was Cass
trying to circumvent Jack by travelling in Fred's curricle to Brighton in
defiance of all that she had promised her husband? She sincerely hoped not,
but who knew what the dominant creature which Cass had become would do?
Cass herself, remembering to sway and turn with the curricle as Jack drove
towards Westminster Bridge, could only be pleased that Dickie had let her
take the Imp's place once when Jack had been absent one day.
She had begged Dickie to allow her to see what life was like in the tiger's
seat.
He had driven her carefully out of the yard, down the short avenue and almost
to Piccadilly, where he had turned before driving her back. It had not been
exactly like being behind a first-class whip racing to Brighton, but at least
it was better than never having been there before. Dickie had made her
promise not to tell Jack about her ride, but the sight of her eager, pleading
face had undone him--like many of the staff at Devereux House, he could deny
Cass nothing. She wondered what Dickie's reaction would be when he found out
that she had taken the Imp's place--and what society would say if it ever
disco verd what a hoyden she was being. Wearing the Lmp's livery and taking
his place!
Excommunication would almost certainly be her doom! Well, pooh to that, if,
by taking the Imp's place, she was giving Jack a chance to win his race.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
D v and Dickie had planned the race with some care. The road to Brighton was
a turnpike in good condition and there were a large number of post houses
along it. They were almost sure that Spence would only make three stops on
the way, and commonsense dictated that they should do the same.
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The principal causes of lost time which might lose them the race were if the
change-over of horses at any or all of the three stages was slow, if any of
the many unskilled drivers or coachmen were to cut across them without
warning, thus causing an accident, or if they were held up by other traffic
taking the centre of the none-too-wide road and refusing to allow them to
pass, rather than allowing them to pass whenever the tiger blew his horn
hard, signalling that they wished to do SO.
The compensating factor here, they agreed, was that Spence would have the
same problems to face. Dickie had made the grooms practise the change-over
before they were despatched to the post houses but he couldn't duplicate the
real problems they might face in an inn yard crowded with in going and
outgoing stagecoaches, mail coaches chaises, barouches, cabriolets and
curricles as well as slow gigs and lumbering farm carts, all wanting to
change horses rapidly at the same time.
Fortunately, Cass knew the route which Jack was taking, and the names of the
inns at which they would change horses, as well as the names and situation of
the many tolls on the road. She had sat entranced on one of the mounting
blocks in the yard at Devereux House, watching Dev, Dickie, Sim and the
grooms at work, despite all Stroody's moans to Jack.
"Whatever are you thinking of, Jack, to allow your wife to spend her time
among grooms in a stable yard?
Whatever would your sisters think if they found out? "
" Whatever. "

was her constant cry.
"Who's to tell them?" he had retorted briskly.
"Better for Cass to pass her time with Dickie and me than to sit in someone's
drawing-room exchanging gossip all afternoon."
"But such rough fellows..." she had wailed at him. Jack had been brisker
than ever.
"Oh, come on, Stroody. I'm a rough fellow, as well you know. None rougher.
And I don't seem to have done her much harm, do admit."
"You've changed her, Jack." Stroody's tone had become a trifle tragic.
"But for the better, Stroody, you must admit. No, if Cass wishes to watch
Dickie and me get ready for the race, who am I to stop her? I have had to
disappoint her by not allowing her go to Brighton for the finish; it would be
cruelty itself to spoil her pleasure in the preparations."
And, fortunately, that had been that. Stroody had not ceased to moan, but
had continued to wail at Cass behind Jack's back, until Cass had forbidden
her to mention the words 'race', 'grooms' or stable yard to her again.
No time to think of that now--though, indeed, afterwards Cass found it
difficult to remember much of the race at all.
She remembered Westminster Bridge and the cheering crowd, and the sight of
Colonel Spence standing by his curricle, watch in hand, hoping perhaps that
Jack might be late instead of early.
Fred had just arrived with Lord Worcester, who had been deputed to start the
race. Cass had privately wondered whether he would be steady enough to do it
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correctly, but, like Fred, he seemed to have assumed some of the gravitas of
his uncle, Lord Granville, who had once had to rescue him from the clutches
of the notorious Cyprian, Harriet Wilson, to whom he had unwisely promised
marriage.
Cass sometimes thought how unfair it was that conduct which would ruin a
woman could actually add to a man's reputation rather than detract from it!
But musing on Lord Worcester took second place to musing on what her
responsibilities were during the race, and how she could manage to deceive
Jack for as long as possible, as Fred had advised. Much of her concentration
cent red on knowing when to sound the yard of tin and worrying how she would
manage to cope during the change-over at the first post house the Crown in
Croydon.
Jack, on Dickie's advice, had allowed Spence to draw away from him at the
start.
"If he goes too hard too early, you should easily overtake him at the end of
the stage, when his cattle are tired and yours aren't. He's a bit of a
hothead on the box, so rumour says." Sure enough, Spence began by driving at
a spanking pace, and soon disappeared from view. Cass, her heart in her
mouth, and worried that Dickie's judgement might be wrong, had to sound the
yard of tin twice in the first mile.
First to pass a mail coach which was driving a hard pace of its own, and
secondly to warn a post chaise that they wished to overtake.
The mail coach allowed Jack an easy passage, but the post chaise was not so
obliging, and Cass was amused to hear Jack give vent to a string of colourful
invective, which only ended when he finally swept by, one wheel almost in the
ditch at the side of the road. Cass gave an exhausted and valedictory toot
as they drove dear, and then--unseen by Jack--a triumphant grin. One thing,
her vocabulary was certainly being enlarged--but she was sure that most of
Jack's curses were fit for nowhere but the taproom and would certainly not be
acceptable in a lady's drawing-room!
One of the steeper parts of the course was Brixton Hill on the way to
Croydon, and Dickie had assured Jack that if he did not press his own horses
too hard he would be certain to catch Spence soon after that, for Spence's
horses would be blown after climbing the hill as a result of his pushing them
too hard too early.
"But don't overtake," Dickie had warned.
"Follow him home to Croydon.

Gammon him by persuading him that you are a slow coach fearful of a hard
drive. Make him over-confident as early as you can, and then you can take
him later in the race.
"The word is that he'll be stopping at the King's Head in Croydon--it's a
stage the gentry always use, and consequently there's likely to be a crowd
there, slowing the change down. Best that you change at the Crown--its only
drawback is that there's a chance that you might be held up by farmers' gigs,
but it's a risk worth taking.
"Don't push too hard when you do leave Croydon. If you're ahead, let him
pass you at the halfway mark, and then follow him as though you are fearful
of passing him. He'll push his horses all the harder, and you'll be tooling
along nice and easy in his wake, not sweating yourself or the cattle."
"How does Dickie know all that?" Cass had wondered to Jack one afternoon.
Page 125
"Before he became a cavalryman he was a groom, and also had a spell as a
coachman for a silly young gentleman who lost all his money. He's driven the
Brighton road more than once," had been Jack's answer.
What Cass did remember more than the drive itself was the odd incident or
two, and the change-overs at the three stages. At CroYdon neither she nor
Jack needed to get down, their grooms rushed at them, led their first four
away and harnessed their second at top speed and they were on the road again,
narrowly avoiding massacring a flock of geese which a boy was desultorily
herding out of a side road as they swept by.
"Goose for supper tonight, Imp," Jack yelled, turning his head a little, so
that he could be heard over the sound of the wheels and above the slight
breeze of their passing.
"If we win today, I'll buy you enough bumpers to put you to sleep for a week.
Sound your horn, boy, we're coming up to another stagecoach."
So they were, and this one was not so obliging as the first, but Jack was not
troubled by that, for it allowed Spence to catch him up again. After Jack
had finally swept by the coach, with Cars hanging on for dear life as they
took a stiff corner immediately afterwards, there was the Colonel, coming up
behind them at speed.
He passed them once they had negotiated the corner, and waved a derisory whip
at Jack as he did so. Jack, following his and Dickie's plans, obliged him by
letting him go ahead without trying to race him at all, and then fell in
behind him, nursing his horses, and himself, as they made for Horley and The
Chequers--the only good post house Dickie had said.
Horley Cass would always remember, because not only was it the halfway point
of their fifty-odd-mile journey, but it was also the scene of her downfall.
Spence, arriving first, had been held up there, his men being unable to pass
a post chaise waiting in the yard until it left. As a consequence, Jack was
obliged to wait, once the chaise had gone, whilst Spence's cattle were
changed. Both men remained on the box, and Jack, to pass the time, ordered
ale for himself 'and my tiger'.
Cass gave a faint groan on hearing this. She had never drunk ale in her
life, and more than once had seen the Imp down his pint at one go, swiping
the back of his hand across his mouth at the end to mop up the foam. She was
sure that she would ruin everything by choking over it.
But what gave her away was not that, but Jack's climbing down from the box
whilst waiting for his horses to be changed in order to give the supposed Imp
his pint pot of ale. An act which had condescending eyebrows raised by
various watching gentry at the sight of a dandified whipster waiting on his
tiger.
Cass was compelled to lean forward to take the ale, so that for a moment she
and Jack were face to face.
There was no help for it. For the first time Jack looked the Imp directly
in the eye, and saw--Cass!
Desperate dark eyes met feral yellowy-green ones. Jack immediately gave off
the reek of danger like a panther. He swore, colour fully adding more
unwanted words to Cass's vocabulary, and then, like the Imp, back handling it
at the end, he drank down the pot of ale in one go instead of handing it to
Cass. His eyes never left hers. They were wicked, and she knew immediately
what Dickie had meant when he had once hinted that Jack in a rage was a
frightening sight. "The devil? he roared.
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"What in hell's name are you doing here, Cass? What bloody stupid game are
you playing with me?
Were you so determined to defy me over coming to Brighton for the end of the
race that you stooped to this piece of folly? "
His aspect was so fierce that Cass, usually courageous, almost gibbered with
fright. She clutched the yard of tin to her for comfort.
"No game," she finally managed, her voice shaking. "No folly, and no time to
tell you much, Jack. The horses are almost ready for you to start. The Imp
was nob bled last night, his leg broken, and there was no one else to be your
tiger--so I volunteered." Jack's language grew more colourful still.
'"Volunteered"
What the devil was Fred about, and Sim too, to allow you to do such a mad
thing? Get down at once. I'm damned if I'll have you risking life, limb and
reputation just for me to win a stupid race! The race is over. I give up.
Think of the scandal if I let you go on and it came out that you'd been my
tiger, dressed as a boy. Lady Caroline Lamb never did anything half so
hair-raising! "
"And I'll be damned if I'll let you throw it away when you can win it, even
with me as your tiger! Oh, Jack, please, you can't let Spence beat you. Who
knows? He probably arranged the nobbling. Fred and Sim are sure that he
did. And think of the poor young boy for whom you want revenge. After all,
you didn't even know it was me up at the back, did you? You thought I was
the Imp. Didn't I blow the yard of tin beautifully for you?
Except for losing my breath a bit when that nod cock in the post chaise
wouldn't let us pass! "
She gave Jack her best smile, not as a piece of artful persuasion, but
because the excitement of the race had gripped her too, and she did not want
it to end in failure.
Jack's heartstrings were tugged by the smile. He gave her an unwilling grin,
impressed, despite himself, by her gallantry.
"So you did, you monstrous child. What the devil shall I do with you, Cass?
Beat you, or...?"
He had to check himself from saying 'bed you' to the eager face beneath the
jockey's cap, which was looking down at him so pleadingly.
"Dammit, Cass, if you promise not to get yourself killed, we'll go on. But
if at any time you find it too much for you, tell me, and I'll withdraw."
"Huzzah," shouted Cass, and blew a merry blast on the horn to scatter the
by-standers crowding the archway, aware that there was some drama going on,
but also unaware of what it consisted of. Jack resumed his seat on the box,
and the groom holding the leaders for him released them.
They were out of the inn yard and on the open road again, now well behind
Spence, but safely en route for Cuckfield, the last stage. Fred had been
right. Jack would have stopped her at the beginning, had he known who she
was, but well into the race, with determination written all over him, he was
ready to beat Spence to Brighton with his un biddable girl in the tiger's
seat behind him. After that, for Cass, the race was a blur. Excitement
gripped her even further as they followed the distant Spence, slowly drawing
nearer and nearer to him. Jack was careful not to overtire his cattle in a
reckless attempt to be up with his rival too soon. He was not driving his
best matched four; they were waiting for him at the Talbot in Cuckfield, the
next and final stage before Brighton itself, ready to give him the turn of
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speed which would--he hoped--take him past Spence just before they reached
the winning post.
He contented himself with tooling along a powerful set of greys, dependable

if not over-speedy, which pulled together in the most matchless fashion.
Strictly speaking, in a curricle the horses did not actually pull, for it was
so arranged that they pushed against their collars to draw the carriage
along. This, like many other matters, Dickie had carefully explained to the
entranced Cass.
But she was not thinking of Dickie, or of anything but holding on as they
passed through more tollgates, Jack waving his ticket and Cass tooting the
horn ~ warn the keeper to allow them through smartly. They were nearly up
with Spence now, Jack's steady driving being a better strategy than Spence's
of driving like the wind at the beginning of the stage only to lose speed
increasingly as his horses tired.
As before, they arrived at the stage almost together. Jack fetched Cass a
glass of lemonade, seeing that she had lost her refreshment at Horley, again
creating amused and condescending comment on a man who waited on his servant.
Jack ignored them, as he ignored Spence's jeering words to him before he
drove out of the yard.
"Get ready to write that letter of apology, Sergeant, and find someone to
teach you to drive before you race anyone else down the Brighton Road!"
To Jack's amusement Cass turned, and, raising the yard of tin to her lips,
brayed loud and discordant defiance at him, and then they were off
themselves, and the horn became a warning signal again as they charged after
Spence. Jack drove his cattle a little harder than he had done before,
dodging traffic to stay nearer to Spence on this stage, only allowing Spence
to draw away when he began to push his horses too hard, too soon, in an
effort to shake Jack off.
They sped through Crawley, little between them; the people in the main street
were waving their hats at them and cheering, for it was plain by the speed
and nearness of the two carriages that their drivers were racing, and shouts
of
"Brighton be that way!" followed in their wake.

It was now early afternoon and the weather was glorious, so that Cass's hair
and brow were damp with perspiration and she wondered how Jack was faring in
his heavier coat, breeches and boots. She began to worry a little that he
would not pass Spence after all as they crossed the beautiful Vale of Sussex,
glowing in the sun, and Jack still remained obstinately in the rear, although
Cass knew enough about horses and driving to be aware that he was far from
pushing them to the utmost.
It was plain that Spence thought that he had the race won. Once he half
turned and shook his whip at them, and his tiger blew derisory toots on the
horn in their direction.
Brighton drew nearer and nearer, and still they lagged behind until Jack,
turning his head, shouted at Cass in his best Sergeant Devlin's voice,
"Now, Cass!
Now! Hold onto your hat! "
His whip, sparingly used so far, was tickling his horses' flanks, and they
were speeding at last, rapidly catching Spence, for Jack's horses were still
fresh, having been driven well within their limits, whilst Spence had flogged
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his hard in an effort to put a winning margin between them.
Brighton was before them and they were almost up with Spence, who was vainly
whipping at his labour lAg team, the horses puffing and blowing despite all
his desperate urgings. For a moment Cass thought that a post chaise which
Spence had just passed, would delay them, but it remained to one side on
hearing her horn, and they were by it and on Spence's tail. Cass was
clinging on for dear life, and Jack was shouting to his team,
"On, on, my beauties, one more push and we're th ore And now they were
racing level, and Cass could see Spence's tiger glaring at her.
And then--oh joy! --it was Spence himself she was level with, leaning
forward and desperately flogging his cattle, as Jack later said, as though
they were four Sergeant Devlins he was trying to kill--and then they had beat
him and were by him, and leaving him behind. Brighton was theirs, the race
was theirs--they had won it in the nick of time when it was nearly over. The
Imp was avenged, and the boy Jack had told her of, and Jack's unmerited
flogging was finally paid for.
Jack's whip was above his head, off his splendid horses' backs as they drove
down Marine Parade, the sea below them. They had left Spence furiously
labour lAg in their rear, falling further and further behind them, he having
led Jack all the way, almost until Brighton itself.
A large crowd lined Marine Parade, cheering as Jack's curricle came into
view. Dickie was among them, and half the fellows Fred and Jack knew in
London. Only Jack knew that the diminutive tiger on the groom's seat was
Cass, who had blown him home after the nobbling of the Imp. She was
defiantly sounding her horn as the race ended. Never mind that few of her
toots had been strictly orthodox, and that the Imp would have winced at them;
they had served Jack's purpose, and that was enough.
Jack drew to a stop where Dickie and Spence's discomfited second were
standing. He swivelled round to face Cass, his own face one grin, its
harshness relieved by his pleasure and his gratitude.
"Oh, Cass,"
he almost choked.
"We did it, and I can never thank you enough."
Only the presence of the watching crowd of people holding out their hands to
shake his prevented him from jumping down and taking her into his arms. For
a moment Cass thought that he was about to do so, and wondered what in the
world the spectators would make of Jack Devereux passionately embracing his
tiger!
She willed herself to sit still until the curricle finally stopped, and then
she was down and standing between Jack and Dickie, the jockey cap pulled
firmly over her eyes to disguise her as much as possible. She was trembling,
as much from excitement as weariness after n BIDDABLE GIRL?
the four-and:a-half-hour journey. Dickie was exclaiming that Jack's time was
very nearly a record.
Spence's arrival went almost unnoticed. He refused to dismount and sat,
grim-faced, watching the furore round his victorious rival. He had lost not
only a race which he had felt sure that he would win, but his position in
society. Like Cass, he watched Dev and Dickie embracing in what Cass thought
of as a manly fashion, but brought a sneer to Spence's lips. Neither of the
two principals took any notice of the other, although the two seconds present
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at the finish shook hands, and agreed that Jack had won fair and square.
Jack was too busy thanking Dickie to take much notice of anything else before
the excited spectators separated them, shouting and cheering. Remembering
Cass, whom he had temporarily forgotten in his exultant celebrations with
Dickie, Jack detached himself from the crowd, which was slowly beginning to
disperse, and started to cross the road to where she stood, Dickie following
some little way behind him.
Whether it was the sight of the pair of them rejoicing over Jack's hard-won
victory which pushed Spence over the edge of sanity, no one was ever to know.
He was still seated in his curricle, the reins dangling loosely from his
hands, his horses blowing hard and one of his grooms lightly holding the
right leader, when he suddenly raised his whip. He caught his wheelers hard
across their flanks and drove straight at Jack, who was now in the middle of
the road with his back to him. He was howling something incomprehensible as
he did so.
Cass let out a shriek of warning which would have been too late even if Jack
heard her. She was shouting his name even as Dickie leaped forward, pushed
Jack out of Spence's way with one lunging thrust--and took the sideways
impact of Spence's leader, having thwarted Spence's last murderous throw at
the man who had finally ruined him.
Both Jack and Dickie lay in the road. Jack rose slowly to his feet in time
to see the crowd scattering before Spence, who had patently lost control of
his horses which were rearing and plunging as they careered down the road.
His mad gallop only ended when he was finally thrown over their heads, to lie
on the ground as still and unconscious as poor Dickie. Cass ran forward and
fell on her knees beside Jack.
Dickie's eyes slowly opened. He was moving, trying to sit up, and Jack was
saying feverishly,
"Lie still, man, lie still! What the devil possessed you to do that?" He
looked up to meet Cass's anxious stare, exclaiming with rough authority,
"Cass, my love, you can't stay here. As soon as I know that Dickie is in
safe hands, I'll smuggle you into our lodgings."
"No, let me stay, Jack, please. I might be able to help."

Jack shook his head.
"No, Cass. You've been an absolute trump already. You've done quite enough
for one day. I don't think Dickie's seriously hurt, thank God, and you need
to rest."
No sooner had he spoken than they were surrounded by the curious and the
caring. An apothecary had appeared from nowhere and began to minister to
Dickie, who was now sitting up and saying weakly that there was nothing wrong
with him. Spence's second had arrived, apologising for his principal's
behaviour.
Cass thought afterwards that it was good thing that she'd appeared to be only
an unconsidered tiger, for no one took any notice of her. Presently she
pushed her way through the noisy throng to sit on one of the benches which
overlooked the sea and waited patiently for Jack to come to collect her. The
euphoria of winning the race had disappeared in the shock of what Spence had
tried to do to Jack and had done to Dickie. Jack came to her after a little
while, his face no longer strained and haggard with worry. "Dickie's not too
badly hurt.
The sawbones says he's shaken and his left arm is broken. He's taken him to
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his surgery nearby for treatment and rest, which allows me to see you home.
You look all in, and no wonder. " " I am a little tired," she admitted at
last--excitement and effort were taking their revenge on her.
"Oh, Jack, I'm so happy that Dickie isn't badly hurt. What a brave thing to
do, to save you from Spence's wicked attempt to kill you."
"I know. I don't deserve him. That's twice he's saved my life, Cass."
They walked to the house which Jack had taken just off Marine Parade, where
he managed to smuggle Cass in, without anyone remarking on them, and up to
her room. She refused to allow him to help her to undress, telling him to go
to Dickie and carry her love and best wishes with him.
"And you may tell him, and no one else--although I suspect the story may get
around--that I was your tiger and blew you to victory."
Jack's reply was to kiss her cheek gently and advise her to try to rest a
little before doing her bidding.
And after that Cass shrugged herself out of the Imp's coat, pulled off his
constricting stock--why did men wear such stupid things? -- and lay down on
top of the bed.
Perhaps it might not be a bad thing, after all, to try to rest. And,
thinking so, she fell asleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SH was in the curricle again, and they were approaching the tollgate on
Kennington Common; she tooted the horn, Jack waved a ticket at the keeper and
they were through, but instead of careering along the road they were rising
into the heavens! Cass let out a little shriek which disturbed Jack. He
turned to look at her and they instantly began to fall. Someone was shaking
her gently.
Cass opened her eyes; she had been dreaming, and it was Jack who was bending
over her and shaking her awake. She was lying on top of a bed in a strange
room. Memory flooded back. Cass sat up and swung her legs over the side of
the bed.
"Jack! How's poor Dickie?" The words flew out of her. Jack, still in the
clothes he had worn for the race, was pulling off his coat and his stock, so
that like her he was left in his shirt and breeches. He answered her even as
he sat down in a big armchair by the empty fireplace and began to tug off his
boots.
"Dickie's as well as can be expected with a broken arm--it's a mercy that
that murdering swine didn't kill him. But he'll mend as good as new, if I
know Dickie." While he was speaking, and quite as though she were actually
the Imp, Cass moved over to assist him to pull off his boots. For a moment
Jack began to demur, but then he accepted her help, looking down at her bent
dark head with an expression which would have surprised Cass had she seen it,
it was so tender and loving.
"And Colonel Spence?" she asked, both hands around his left boot as she
eased it off.
"What about him?"
"Dam' bad luck," said Jack with a callous grin, 'that he didn't kill himself.
But he came pretty near, I'm told. It'll be some time before he walks
again, if ever. " " Oh, Jack, it may be wicked of me, but I cannot feel
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sorry for him after what he tried to do to you. " " No need to feel sorry,
my wise young judge. He brought it on himself Feel sorry for poor Dickie. "
His boots now off, Jack stood up and stretched himself, his arms high above
his head, relief on his face, " And you, my mad but gallant wife, to whom I
owe the race, how are you feeling? "
The joy of winning, which had disappeared when Spence had made his murderous
attack on Jack and had hurt poor Dickie, was with Cass again.
Her face alight, she put down his boots and looked fully at him for the first
time that day. Mostly she had seen his back, and when she should have been
rejoicing with him she had not even been with him.
And now he was in her bedroom, looking tired but triumphant, with Dickie not
dangerously hurt and his enemy vanquished. Her Jack, and no one else's.
Jack of the strong face and body and forthright nature.
Something sweet and powerful, which Cass had never felt before and which she
hardly recognised, shot through her.
"Oh, Jack," she cried, her face alight, 'we did it, we did it! Oh, Jack. "
The words flew from her, unbidden.
She had not meant to say them, but somehow they said themselves.
"Oh, Jack, I love you so." And she hurled A toDD ABLe amL? herself at him,
to throw her arms around him and hide her face against his broad chest.
"I nearly died when I thought that Spence was about to kill you..."
His arms were about her, his lips were in her hair, and then his big hand was
under her chin and he was tipping her face towards him, so that his filled
her world as hers filled his.
"You mean that, Cass, you truly mean it?"

She nodded her head, and then, suddenly shy, hid it, to murmur into his chest,
"Yes, but if you don't feel the same way about me, I shall quite understand."
This brave declaration moved Jack nearly as much as his wife's courage
during the long day.
The arms around her tightened as his mouth bent towards hers, but before he
claimed it he said hoarsely, "Oh, God, Cass, I don't deserve you. You saved
me today by taking the Imp's place, and, God forgive me, I only married you
in jest, to anger my relatives-- particularly my sisters."
His kiss was fierce and passionate, and now his hands had left her back and
were undoing the Imp's little shirt. Cass drank him in, letting her tongue
tangle with his, savouring the feel and taste of it, and when he at last
lifted his mouth from hers, for his very breathing's sake, she told him,
still shy,
"It doesn't matter, Jack. I always knew why you married me." And then she
moaned as Jack's hand at last slipped inside her opened shirt to stroke her
breast, creating another new sensation which, oddly, was both sweet and sharp
at the same time.
"Ah, but I didn't know why I married you, Cass, I only thought I did.
But I do now. Let me prove it to you. " And slipping the shirt from her
shoulders he let his mouth move on her breast, sucking and pulling at it as
though he were her child, and she, slight young Cass, was his mother. His
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hands were cradling her buttocks, which fitted as sweetly into them as her
breasts had done.
Again, the sensation Jack was provoking in her was a mixture of pain and
pleasure, but the curious thing was that near to him though she was, nearer
than she had ever been, Cass wanted to be nearer still. So much so that
when, with a little groan, Jack lifted her onto the bed, to follow her there,
she obligingly slipped off her shirt for him, so that even that should not
lie between them.
He hung over her, his face softer than she had ever seen it, stroking her and
kissing her all over. He admired most of all the delicate perfection of her
small, pink-tipped breasts, and then, when he had slipped off her breeches,
his hands stroked the black curls which covered her most secret parts. But
even that was not enough for them, for if he was drinking his fill for her
she needed to see him, to stroke the strong body which had driven them to
Brighton, and which so far she had felt only through his clothing.
Her hands were pulling away his shirt, and when she undid his breeches flap
he helped her to remove his breeches completely, so that at last Cass saw
him, stark and plain.
And, oh, what a sight he was. For if he was worshipping the delicate
perfection of her perfectly proportioned body, then Cass was entranced by the
sheer brute masculinity of him, of his muscled shoulders and chest--the chest
covered with curling hair of a darker hue than that on his head and rougher,
the curls spiralling up to the base of his neck, and then arrowing down to
his narrow waist to fan out again and cover, but not completely, the secrets
of his sex. Roused, fully erect, and looking down at Cass, his eyes almost
blind now, Jack was consumed by the first true and selfless love of his life.
"Oh, my darling love,"
he muttered huskily, his harsh cheek against her soft one, his hands stroking
what the curls hid.
"I fear for you. I am so big and you are so small, but, oh, Cass, let me
love you, and forgive ... forgive ... if I hurt you."
Cass put her arms around him and pulled his head down to hers. She could
feel the ridges on his back, the stigmata of the flogging which Spence had
ordered, as well as his rippling muscles. All that registered with her was
that he had called her his darling love. She could forgive him anything,
even though their first mating might mean pain for her. He had taken her
small hand and had placed himself in it, so that she could feel the throbbing
energy of him.
"Make me complete, Cass, as I make you," he whispered urgently, his body

already thrusting against her hand, seeking the fulfilment which only she
could give him.
In answer she whispered,

"Oh, please, Jack, please, and soon." For, pain or no, all that her body was
crying for was union with him, something which she had come to need in the
long weeks of their unconsummated marriage.
"Slowly, my love, slowly," was Jack's reply to that, for, although he burned
to take her with all speed, he must try to make her pleasure equal to his,
for without that his own would be spoiled.
And, thinking that, again he marvelled at himself, for although he had never
been selfish in his loving, he had rarely before considered his partner as he
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was now considering Cass. But then he loved Cass, and he had not loved those
who had preceded her in the same all consuming fashion.
So, slowly, slowly, although his body fought against delay, he sought to
ready her for the final act, so that when at last they were united she gave
only one great gasp of pain, but after that the joy of being one with him
subsumed and transcended everything else, pain included.
To reach the heights of loving, Cass was discovering, meant to lose the self.
Paradoxically, through the most supreme enjoyment the flesh could experience
that same flesh disappeared, the mind disappeared, and the sensations which
took over were beyond the understanding of either mind or body. Afterwards,
she was sensible enough to know that not everyone scaled such heights, but
only those who were united with their other half, their second self, and, in
seeking the pleasure of that other, achieved what selfishness alone could
never ensure.
The supreme joys of love were sometimes called the little death for that
reason, and even Jack, no stranger to the act of love, was surprised by the
strength and rome of what he and Cass had unleashed between them.
Afterwards, panting, they lay side by side, their breathing slowly returning
to normal. Jack had his right arm around Cass, so that she lay against his
heart, her head cradled on his shoulder. Her left leg was tucked between his
two powerful ones, so that when, to tease him a she bent it and ran her foot
upwards towards his groin, she could feel his muscles pull and ~ex at the
sensation created by her passing.
He encircled her small ankle with his left hand and said thickly, "Provoke me
once more like that, madam, and you will be beneath me again."
Cass said sweetly,
"Is that a threat or a promise, sir?" One thing that had surprised her was
the sheer physicality of lovemaking. There was nothing decorous or graceful
about it, and she thought that Jack's powerful body had helped to make her
pleasure as great as it had been.
There was no doubt that she complemented him in every way. Her slight grace
met his Mars-like physique; the delicate flower of her face lay on the pillow
beside Jack's harsh and craggy one: Cass could not decide whether he more
resembled Vulcan or Mars in the many portrayals of the Greek gods which
filled Devereux House. She put up her hand to brush back the reddy-brown
locks of his hair which had fallen forward across his forehead.
"What happened to our bargain, Jack," she whispered in his ear, 'and your
determination not to have an heir as a revenge on your father? "
"What bargain, Cass?" His voice was teasing her and, before she could
answer, he kissed her on the lips, a butterfly kiss.
"Oh, that bargain. I must have been mad to suggest it." Then he said, a
trifle anxiously,
"You don't regret what we have just done, I hope? And if we have a child, as
well we might, you won't regret it?"
"Regret it--' Cass was so shocked by this suggestion that she sat up '--oh,
Jack, no never. The only thing I regret is that we didn't break the bargain
before."
Jack gave a great shout of laughter, and pulled her down beside him again.
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"You minx, Cass! You deserve a kiss for that!" And he gave her one.
"And there I was, holding off from making love to you, because I was sure
that you were frightened of me. Now I know why Dickie laughed at me and told
me to put my head in a bucket when I told him I was fearful of distressing
you by forcing myself on you!"
Cass let him pet her--she was beginning to feel drowsy. She wondered whether
Stroody had arrived in Brighton yet, and what she would think when she
discovered that she and Jack had gone to bed in the middle of the
afternoon--for there was no keeping that a secret.
Let them think! They were husband and wife, were they not? And truly so
now. A small contented sigh escaped her, and, sighing, she slept. Jack felt
her breathing change, and knew the reason for it. Satisfactory lovemaking
was so often followed by sleep, or so he had found in the past.
He remembered the Spanish woman, Luisa, who had followed the Army and him
during the campaign in the Peninsula, only to die so cruelly before it was
over in a massacre by the French of the camp-followers who had been trapped
behind the French lines. Their child had died with her.
He had married her, or rather had been hand fasted with her over a campfire,
and doubtless if she had lived he would have brought her back to England with
him when the war was over.
But he had married her out of loneliness, for companionship, not for love.
That had been given to Caroline Luxcombe, and she had repaid him by throwing
him off when he had most needed her support.
But Cass . she was a different thing altogether. The girl, who was now a
woman, who had twined herself round his heart from the moment he had seen her
scared white face in the library on the day of the will reading Who would
have thought it, that he would have found his true wife in the very last
place where' he might have looked for one?
And such a wife, who loved him fiercely and would defend him fiercely, whose
sheer courage was such that it almost awed him--and whom he had married
without intending to bed her, and look where that had got him!
He dropped a kiss on her rosy cheek. She roe wed a little as he did so, and
burrowed against him, and, thinking of her, and the future, which suddenly
seemed bright and clear before him, he, too, fell asleep.
It was dark when they awoke--to make love again. A servant had come to the
door while they slept, had knocked, heard no answer and had gone away again
to report to his comrades in the kitchen that,
"M'lord and re' lady apparently need no one else but each other today," and
to hand a censored version of this to Miss Strood, who had now arrived and
dined alone. Fred had gone off into the night to find some boon companions
to celebrate Jack's victory in Jack's absence. After lovemaking came more
talk. Cass had picked up the Imp's shirt to wear as a nightgown, she having
none of her own.
"You won't dismiss the Imp, will you, Jack?" she asked anxiously,
"He's only a lad, and he can't have known that he was being most cruelly
bammed in order to handicap you, if what Fred and Sim thought was true."
"He deserves dismissal," returned Jack lazily, but, having achieved happiness
himself in such an unlikely fashion, he was in no mood to be harsh with
anyone-- other than Colonel Spence, that was.
Page 135
"I shall ring a fine peal over him when we return to London, you may be sure
of that?
"And when do we go back, Jack?" Cass sat up, the shirt round her shoulders,
looking, Jack thought, like the most gallant boy he had ever seen--although
it had been no boy who had joined so lustily in their lovemaking a moment ago.
"Soon," was Jack's sleepy answer.
"I have a mind to be off to Coverham as soon as possible, when all the
business in L9ndon is done with." He gave a great yawn.
"It's been a long day, Cass. You will let me stay in your bed, won't you, my
darling?" It was not the habit of the aristocracy to sleep all night with
their wives, but before Luisa had been killed Jack had come to enjoy sharing
a bed with her nightly.
"You called me " my darling" again, Jack." Cass found that, despite having
been as close and intimate with Jack as a human being could be, so that she
felt that the strength and masculine scent of him would be with her for ever,
she was oddly shy in speaking to him about such important matters as whether
he loved her or not.
"Did you mean it?"
Jack sat up vigorously, pulling Cass with him. Then he slipped off the bed,
his face alight with joy, and fell on one knee before her.
"Of course I meant it. Oh, Cass, all these weeks that we've lived together
I've been trying to tell myself that you were nothing but the outward sign.
of my revenge on all the Devereux, and that my final revenge on my father was
the bargain I made with you that we should have a white marriage. How stupid
can a man be?
"Of course I love you. I think that I began to love you on our wedding day,
and all your little naughtinesses committed to attract my attention only
served to make me love you the more. Will that do, my darling? Or must I
make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and carry out some knightly task to convince
you?"
"Coming back to bed would be best of all," volunteered Cass.
"It feels empty without you."
So he did--to their mutual pleasure.

On their return to London Cass was met in the hall at Devereux House by an
enthusiastic Caesar, who carried on, Jack said, as though she had been all
the way to St Petersburg and back again at the very least, instead of to
Brighton a mere fifty miles away! They had been f~ted at Brighton, and it
was just as well, Jack thought, that no one was privy to the fact that Cass
had been his tiger, for she would surely have had her head turned. She was
undoubtedly one of the season's greatest successes without that piece of
scandal adding a lurid lustre to her name.
Dickie, as Jack had foretold, was healing rapidly, and so was Spence's tiger
who, although he had been thrown onto his head, had not been seriously hurt.
But his master was still confined to his bed, and the rumour that he might
never walk properly again turned out to be the truth.
Not that this news worried Cass. She was too happy to trouble much about
anything now that she was truly Jack's wife, and only her doubts about the
Page 136
best course for her to follow after her discovery of Jack's mother's papers
and trinkets cast a small shadow on her happiness.
She had not believed that Brighton was the proper place to tell Jack of what
she had discovered about the mystery of the disappearance of the Star of
Rizapore. It would wait their return to Devereux House. This was
particularly so since Jack's winning of the race against Spence seemed to
have silenced most of those who had reservations about him because of what he
was supposed to have done twelve years ago.
It was odd to be back in London with everything changed between Jack and
herself. Other things seemed to have changed too.
Stroody was no longer distraite, but there was an odd glow about her which
even Fred had noticed. And Fred had changed as well. He was growing
steadier than 'ever, and one sign of it was that he had ceased to moon over
Cass and was chasing one of the pretty daughters of the Londonderry family.
He was still friendly with Cass, but in a brotherly fashion, jokingly calling
her 'aunt', and it was plain that he had at last accepted that Jack could be
trusted to make her happy.
Cass was in the small drawing-room, a week after her return, and Jack had
left her to go to the stables to enquire after the condition of both the Imp
and Dickie. The Imp, at first repentant and remorseful after his a~zident,
had returned to being his usual surly self once had realised that Jack was
prepared to forgive him disobeying orders, thus allowing himself to be was
engaged in writing an acceptance to an invitation toa ball at Lady
Jersey's when Stroody came in. She was not carrying her embroidery, which
was rather like saying that the King had left off his crown when engaged in a
State occasion.
"Dear Cass," Stroody began, without any kind of elaborate preamble, "forgive
me for interrupting you when I can see that you are busy, but it is essential
that I speak to you immediately about a most important matter which concerns
us both."
Whatever could be causing Stroody to sound so urgent? Cass registered that
Stroody's face was paler than usual, and that she was twisting her hands
nervously together.
"Of course, Stroody dear. I am, at present, engaged in little of

consequence."
"It cannot have escaped your notice, I am sure, that recently I have spent a
great deal of time in the company of Mr Dickson, by virtue of your own
increasing involvement with Jack."
This sentence did not serve to enlighten Cass as to what was distressing
Stroody. Rather, it served only to bewilder her.
"Yes, I had noticed that, and that since he has broken his arm you have been
keeping company with him whilst Jack and I are. otherwise engaged. I
thought that it was most kind of you, seeing that he must be lonely now that
Jack and he are no longer fellow soldiers and companions in arms, and must,
of necessity, spend much time apart."
"Exactly, my dear. Most perceptive of you." Stroody stopped for a moment
and changed colour. She was flushing now.
"It may not, then, come as a complete surprise to you that George--Mr
Dickson, that is--has asked me to marry him and that I have accepted him."
Not come as a complete surprise! Cass felt as though all the breath in her
Page 137
body had been knocked out of it!
First the use of the name George, not Dickie--with all that that implied of
familiarity--and then the thought of Stroody marrying, and being lost to her.
She was struck dumb. So much so that Stroody hurried on, to save them both
embarrassment.
"You see, Cass dear, we are both lonely people, and both much of an age.
George is forty-five and I am thirty-seven, still young enough to have a
child. He does not want to marry a flighty young thing, and you must see,
now that you are growing older and Lord Devereux has become your friend as
well as your husband, that you do not need me any more."
"Oh, Stroody!" Cass had recovered herself, and had taken her companion by
both hands and pulled her down to sit by her on the sofa.
"If this is what you want.
But will you not find it difficult to be here and to be She could not call
him George; that was for Stroody.
Stroody shook her head.
"Oh, no, my dear. We shall not stay with the Devereux household. George's
father is a saddler in Islington in comfortable circumstances. O. eorge's
older brother has died, leaving no family, and his father, a widower, wishes
him to return to learn the business before he grows too old to teach him. I
shall have a cook and a little maidservant, George says, and 'run his money
matters for him as well."
here was a turn-up, indeed! Cass felt that tears not far away. But she must
not cry; she must not.
be selfish of her to wish Stroody to stay with her for ever, a useful and
willing companion. For here was a chance for Stroody to be no longer a
dependant, but to be Mrs Dickson, someone in her own right.
As though she could read Cass's mind, Stroody said hurriedly,
"Oh, Cass, I know that I am a gentlewoman, and that George is not a

gentleman, but consider--I face a lonely old age, no gentleman will ever
propose marriage to me, and I like him and he likes me, and we can make one
another happy. You do understand--say you do!"
Cass kissed her on the cheek.

"Of course I understand, and I hope that you and George will be very happy.
But I can no longer call you Stroody, and in all the years that we have been
together I have never used your Christian name. Dear Emma, now that we are
to be married women together, pray allow me to do so."
Emma Strood kissed Cass back.

"You are a good girl, Cass, and a credit to my teaching. I am so happy to
see that you and Jack have come to an accommodation at last. He may be rough
and ready in many ways, like George, but, like George, he is a good man. And
if I am to leave you, it is in the knowledge that you do not really need me
any more."
"Oh, but I shall't lose you," announced Cass gaily, 'for I shall insist on
visiting Mrs George Dickson frequently, and taking tea with her and her
husband, and with any luck we may discuss babies together, instead of
embroidery and French verbs! Think of thaw And then she said, in a changed
Page 138
voice,
"Does Jack know? For I believe that it may be more of a shock for him than
for me."
Emma consulted her little fob watch, pinned to her 273 lace-bordered fichu.
"I calculate that George is telling Jack about our wish to marry at almost
exactly this very moment. We were agreed that you should be told at the same
time."
Cass kissed her again.
"What a scheming pair you are!" And included in that comment was Cass's
sudden understanding that Dickie and Stroody--as she now thought of them for
the last time--were both well aware that she and Jack had not lived together
as husband and wife until after the race to Brighton, and that their coming
together had been a joyous one. And had they decided on marriage because
they had both lost their roles in life--as only friends and protectors of
much loved charges--and now needed to assume new ones? Emma Strood already
looked younger and happier than Cass had ever seen her in all the years which
they had spent together. Cass hoped that Dickie would be as kind to her as
he had been to Jack and to herself.
"So You see, Dev, Emma and I are to be married as soon as it can be
arranged. I thought ... a special licence..."
"Of course. Let me help you with that, Dickie. And Dickie, are you sure
that you will not stay with me? I can find you a place here--or one at
Coverham, should you so wish..."
And then he added, a little ruefully as he saw the expression on his friend's
face,
"No, I can see that you think it will not answer. You wish to be
independent, most right and proper. But, oh, I hate to lose you... I thought
that we should remain Dev and Dickie to the end."
Dickie shook his head.
"No, Dev, you know better than that. Not only are you Earl now, but you also
have Cass. You don't need me and Emma does, as Cass doesn't need Emma--she
has you."
Jack thought of all the long days and nights, and the pains and the pleasures
which he had shared with Dickie--and of how much he owed him for turning him
from a boy to a man, and a man who knew how to suffer and to endure.
No, he must let Dev go. They must become George Dickson and John Augustus
Devereux, to meet occasionally as old friends, to smoke a pipe together and
to reminisce about the past before a roaring fire in a comfortable house,
remembering times spent over a flickering campfire in the open. "You have
your duty as Lord Devereux--to your lands, to your household and to your
tenants," said Dickie quietly, 'and I have my duty to the father I left
behind when I first became a groom and then joined the Army, not wanting to
work for him, but to be my own man. My own man! In the Army! Now I must do
for him what I would not do all those years ago, as you must take up your
burden--only we have two good women to help us, for Emma trained Cass well,
as you must admit. "
And so Jack said later to Cass, after they had dined and were alone together.
Emma and George had been excused all duties, and Lord and Lady Devereux were
both trying to come to terms with the loss of their friends.
Page 139
"We have to grow up, I suppose, Cass," Jack said, drinking his burgundy.
"Although I am rather elderly to learn new tricks. I shall miss Dickie."

"Stroody--I mean Emma--calls him George,"
' remarked Cass.
"I find it as hard to think of him as George as it is to think of Stroody as
Emma."
"I find it almost impossible," sighed Jack.
"He called me John Augustus--I preferred being Dev. He had so few

responsibilities--and all of them clear-cut, whereas none of John Augustus's
are."
They wandered out of the dining-room and into the drawing-room which
overlooked the garden, Jack leaving the half-empty bottle of burgundy and his
glass on the table. Once he might have drunk heavily after such a blow as
losing Dickie, but now he had Cass, and himself stupid would not help her.
Dickie had that he trusted Jack to look after her, and he not fail him.
He could tell that something was troubling Cass. She had carried her little
reticule into dinner with her, swinging from a clasp at her high waist. She
was looking particularly charming in apricot organza and was wearing a small
pearl necklace and a circlet of seed pearls threaded through her dark curls.
It came to him that these days what she wore was in some sense immaterial;
what mattered to him was essential Cass, and the Cass whom he loved most of
all wore no clothes at all. "What is it, Cass?"
he finally asked her after they had discussed Lady Jersey's coming ball and
the latest gossip about who was in and who was out in the small world of the
cousinry in which they lived.
"What is troubling you?"
"Oh, you read me so well," sighed Cass.
"Did you read me that first day, in the library?"

"Not correctly at first, I do admit. I thought you meek and mild--a biddable
girl whom I could marry and forget in a marriage of pure expedience..." Jack
was being honest with her, so she would be honest with him. She said swiftly,
"Do not reproach yourself for that, Jack," for she had seen the shadow on his
face, and wished to remove it. She put out a hand to touch his.
"For I married you for the same reason.
Expediency governed my decision as well. I only married you because you

offered me and Stroody a home and a future. I could not then guess how much
you would come to mean to me. "
His answer was a loving kiss.
"And, that being so, Cass, you will tell me what troubles you, will you not?"
Cass nodded. She took from her retieule the small pile of letters and papers
which she had found in her desk. She held them out to him.
"The little writing desk I found in the attic did belong to your mother. I
broke open its locked drawer and fbund these papers inside. I think that
Page 140
anyone reading them would soon work out the truth about the disappearance of
the Star of Rizapore. They clear you, Jack, of any complicity in the theft.
More, they seem to show that in the strictest sense the Star was not stolen
at all. They also explain what your mother was trying to tell your father
when she died."
She had Jack's full attention now. He was holding the papers, making no
attempt to look at them--and why should he? He undoubtedly knew the gist of
what they contained.
"Why have you given them to me, Cass? And what you are trying to tell me
about my mother's death?"
Cass was compelled to reply, even though his whole aspect had changed. He
was stern, unsmiling, looking at her as though she were indeed the 'wise
young judge' he had so often called her.
"Oh, Jack, you must see that you could use the papers to clear yourself.
And, as for your mother, Mr Hunt told me something that is not generally
known-- indeed, your sisters are not aware of it. Immediately before your
mother suffered her fit she was trying to t~11 your father that you were
innocent, and she could prove it. He refused to listen to her. The papers
show that she was telling the truth at last."
lack bent his head and crumpled the papers in his hand. When he straightened
up there were tears in his ~ "I'm glad you told me that, Cass. But, if you
have re~d the letters, then you must understand that I cannot ~' them to dear
my name. To do so would mean that I must implicate someone whom I loved
dearly, and who, I think, after what you have just told me, loved me."
"But, Jack--' she began. She must argue this case even though she knew that
he would surely reject it.
"Only think, to be able to dear your name. To prove that you were not a
thief and a liar..."
He leaned forward and placed his hand over her lips. "Not at the expense of
someone long doad--and you must know to whom I refer. My mother asked for my
help, and I freely gave it. I acknowledge that when I did so I could not
have guessed the price I was about to pay: the loss of all I loved, what
remained to me of my father's love, and the world's esteem as well as my
translation to another, harsher world.
"But it doesn't matter any more, Cass. And you must forgive me if I refuse
to tell you the details of what these letters only hint at... Let the past
stay dead, Cass. It happened; it's over. Let my sister Amelia and others
twit me about it as they will. What happened to me in consequence may have
been for the best.
"I never knew what friendship truly meant until I joined the Army as a
private and met Dickie. I never knew what duty meant until then. I never
knew what love meant until I met you, and if I had remained Jack Devereux I
would have married Caroline Luxcombe, and think what that would have done to
me! And if I am still a selfish brute, I am less of one than I might have
been if the Star had never disappeared and I had never been ruined. My one
and only wish, and it is a foolish one, I know, is that the Star had never
existed."
Her took his hand from her lips, and she murmured hesitantly, although she
knew that it was useless,
"But your honour, Jack?"
Page 141
"If you had never read the letters, Cass, and I had told you that I did
nothing wrong, and that I have nothing to reproach myself with, and had asked
you to trust me, would you have honoured me by doing so?"
They were face to face, eye to eye, but it was neither love nor lust which
was moving them.
"I have always honoured you, Jack, from the moment I met you. And once I
truly knew you I had but one wish--and that was to prove to all the world
that you could never have stolen the Star. Of course I would have believed
you--as I believe you now."
He stood up, the papers in his hand. There was a small fire burning in the
grate, although the evening was warm.
"And that is enough for me, Cass. In return I honour you, because you refuse
to drag from me every last detail of what happened twelve years ago. Your
love and trust is all I need. I want no public recognition."
He waved the papers at the fire, his purpose plain. "You will allow, Cass?"
Cass nodded. She had started on her odyssey to prove Jack's innocence to all
the world. Against all the odds, she had discovered the evidence which would
exculpate him--but neither he nor she wished to use it.
"Burn them," she told him, 'so that none of those who come after us may use
them after a fashion with which we would not agree. "
Jack nodded, and pitched the papers into the heart of the fire, where they
blazed up brilliantly for a moment before falling into ash. The past was
dying before them. He put his arm around Cass's shoulders and hugged her to
him.
"I little knew the treasure I was acquiring when I asked you to marry me,
Lady Devereux. You are a far greater star than that of Rizapore, and no
blood and shame of conquest taints you."
He kissed her cheek tenderly There was no hint of sexual passion in his
caress. They had, for the moment, gone beyond it. Later they would find
their love again, and celebrate it, but for the moment they were honouring
Jack's sacrifice. Perhaps it was as well that as they stood there, saying
farewell at last to the sad past, they were interrupted by the arrival of the
Devereux lawyer, Mr Herriot, demanding that Jack attend instantly to the
present and the future.
Cass wondered what the solemn man of law would have made of what had just
happened, but her demure bow to him, and her renunciation of Jack's company
so that he might attend to the business of the Devereux inheritance, betrayed
nothing of what had so recently occupied the new Earl and his wife.
Later, much later, when it had begun to grow dark, and Jack was still
closeted with Mr Herriot, whom he had invited to stay the night at Devereux
House, Cass walked out of the glass doors of the Chinese drawing room and into
the night.
Emma was on the sofa, seated by her George. They were busy planning their
future, ~and Emma only looked up briefly to say to Cass,
"The evening is chilly, my dear.
Should you not take a shawl with you if you wish to stroll in the grounds? "
She made no demur when Cass refused, returning to the delightful task of
Page 142
arranging her move to Islington and her new life there. Devereux House and
her onetime duties were taking second place to her future. The world was
turning rapidly, and what had been urgent in the past was tending to become
meaningless in Emma Strood's new present.
Cass wandered down a gravel led path to the small ornamental stretch of water
known as the lake, even though it was little more than a pond. Before it was
a wooden summerhouse on whose veranda Der and Dialde had been wont to smoke
and chat in the warm summer evenings.
~ Never again. That, too, had passed, but new vistas were opening before
them, as they were opening before Cass. There remained but one thing for her
to do, and if it were to be done, it must, as Shakespeare had once said in a
vastly different context, be done quickly.
'. : On her way to the lake she had passed the windows ~ of the room where Jack
and Mr Herriot had now reached the end of their business for the day; Jack
had just handed his visitor a glass of port, and Mr Herriot ' it to him. He
and Jack had begun to get on after some early mistrust on both sides had
milestone passed. water lay before her, calm and still. The rails ducks
which sailed on it during the day were stared across it, sat down on the
wooden b~fore the summerhouse and opened her reft he took something from it,
and held the some- the palm of her hand.
The rising moon caught from it.
Lost and found again. in the last packet which Cass had taken desk. She had
opened it with little thought of what she was about to find. She had stared
at it in disbelief, as she stared at it now. Nothing in the letters and
papers in the desk had explained why she had found it there.
And now she held it in her hand, having intended to give it to Jack.
But to do so after what he had said to her--that he wanted the past to be

dead--would have meant that he would have had to revive it after all. To
restore it to its original position as the greatest of the Devereux heirlooms
would simply have meant that its reappearance and its disappearance would
have had to be accounted for, and the scandal would inevitably have been
revived again.
Cass shivered. Its reappearance meant that she could still not be quite sure
of what exactly had happened twelve years ago. She had no doubt that Jack's
mother, desperate because she could not pay her debts of honour incurred
whilst gambling, had taken it and pawned or sold it.
The letters and the receipts plainly showed that to be true. And then, when
she had become fearful that its loss might be discovered, she had involved
Jack after such a fashion that he had been suspected of stealing it, and in
consequence had been exiled by his father.
But how had it returned to Devereux House? Had Jack recovered it too late to
save its disappearance from becoming known?
Jack knew.
But Jack was not telling, would never tell. He had asked for her trust, so
she could not question him. For, of all the people in the world, Cass
trusted Jack the most. And was not that right and proper, seeing that she
was his wife?
And if Jack wished to protect the memory of his mother, who had died in the
act of defending him to his father, about to confess her guilt, who was Cass
to try to tell him that he was wrong? She must respect his wishes.
Page 143
]'he past was the past, and though its acts might re~;erberate through time
they could not be recalled or iia. nged. And life, real life, was not like
a novel, where all loose ends were neatly tidied away at the grand finale.
In real life, some puzzles remained puzzles, and fliere'were some problems
which would admit of no :so1Utiou, and true maturity consisted in recognising
Cass held the lovely thing in her hand, thinking of all the misery it had
seen, both before and after it had been captured in blood in India, to become
the stone ~which had led a lonely woman to her doom. How many other deaths
had its bright beauty unwittingly caused, . ~des that of Clarissa Devereux?
The stone itself not be evil, but it created evil in others, and, as
Clarissa, Jack, his father and Perhaps even had all been damaged by it. And
she, Cass, had not found it.
had asked that she trust him even if he did not everything he knew.
Only in the act of love lone soul--and that only briefly--meld and merge Away
from it, each individual had to I his or her own decisions and hold to them.
As Jack, who had kept part of the truth from must trust her to use her
judgement and do thing. He had called her his 'wise young and for his peace
of mind she must be one. He A B1DDABLE GIRL. 9 had said, most
passionately, that he wished that the Star had never existed.
And so thinking, Cass stood up and tossed the Star of Rizapore high into the
air, where it seemed to hang for a moment, a small sun, shooting out its rays
before it fell into the waters of the miniature lake. For a moment the
ripples created by its fall disturbed the lake's surface until, once again,
it was as calm and still as though the Star had never existed. The Star of
Rizapore had disappeared for ever.
Its passing lifted a burden from Cass's back which had lain heavily on her
from the moment she had found it. She made her way lightly and easily along
the path to the house, and there, walking towards her, was Jack, come to find
her.
"My dear," he said,
"Herriot has retired to his room, and I missed your company."
His simple words were enough to set Cass's feet on the level plains of
acceptance, understanding and renunciation, from whence sprang a love more
lasting and more true than that expressed only in inflated terms, dealing
with flames and hearts afire. The words told of need, and of the desire for
companionship, which was the other face of love. She would have passion
enough with Jack, she knew, but his words told her that she would have more
than that. He was her friend as well as her lover; she was truly blessed.
"I needed air for a moment," Cass said--which was true, no lie, but it was
not all the truth.
"And so did I." Jack took her arm and began to lead her back towards the
house.
"You are cold, my love.
You will let me warm you, I trust? "
Cass nodded her agreement.
"Good. I thought that you might like to come to bed with me, Lady Devereux.
It grows late."
Cass turned her face into his broad chest. "I am always ready to go to bed
Page 144
with you, Lord Devereux."
Laughter was in his harsh voice again. They were easy with one another.
"I know, Cass, I know. Long may it be so." They walked out of the dark of
the garden into the of the house, twin souls who had known both and
suffering, and had found a love which and sustain them through the long
years.
Page 145

Marshall Paula A Biddable Girl

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Marshall, Paula - A Biddable Girl

a biddable girl [070-4.2]

"No need to worry, I am surge. My dear Edward says it is highly unlikely

Lady Amelia preened herself a little as she listened to these reassuring

"The Scrap, of course."

He never took the slightest notice of her, and no wonder. "

"The first thing I shall do when we take over,"

Miss Strood said coolly,

"Mr Hunt told me about that."

She said as much to Miss Strood, who replied in a shocked tone,

He wore a pair of elderly bottle-green trousers, not pantaloons, above

"Who the devil are all of you?" he demanded in a parade-ground voice.

"And that is all?" he asked.

"We are to learn no more?"

"Oh, but I am determined to do so," he announced pleasantly, his grin as

Amelia began angrily,

"I shall be nineteen in a month, re' lord

"Have you nothing to say, Miss Merton, to my kind offer?"

"He's truthful, at least," he remarked to Cass, his face one grin. He

"You're an instructor! In a fencing academy! You can't be! Besides,

"Well, you needn't work now," remarked Fred incontrovertibly.

Missis, indeed! As though she were the cook or the housekeeper!

"No," said Cass simply,

"For that very reason," drawled Jack carelessly.

"Oh, no," Cass said.

Silence was rapidly taken as consent.

To watch them was as good as watching a play, or a ballet danced without

Rendered uncomfortable by Jack's professionalism and servant-like

"You are only suggesting it because I am Earl Devereux. If I were still

He was so indifferent, so dismissive, that Cass's toes curled. Well at least

"This one's to be your wife, and she's so young... almost a child."

Cass tried to make sense of what she had overheard.

"Miss Menon, may I assist you in any way?"

"You doubtless have much to say to one another."

"You needn't leave if you don't want to, Dickde," he drawled.

She shook her head, said, still prim,

The fetal eyes lit up.

"You mean besides your companion?"

"But it would be pleasant if you spoke to me occasionally. Even my faithful

"You owe a debt to me as well as to Louis Fronsac," she announced sturdily.

"Bedtime for little girls," he murmured.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"Getting to know you," he had told her.

"No, my lord," he replied, and then added,

"And quite enough," Cass returned briskly.

"That concludes this afternoon's business, my lord. Unless you or Miss

This had Miss Strood all of a-twitter.

"And I am setting you both a good example by visiting my tailor, so that I

"Yes, I must." He put on the most mournful expression.

"Where is he this afternoon?"

"Yes," she informed him gravely, 'sobriety would be better. "

A sleepless night didn't help matters--especially since it was Jack

"Oh, no," said Cass, and then apologetically,

Mr Hunt inclined his head deferentially. Best to do so when he was talking

"Remiss of me to hide," sighed Cass. Astonishingly she realised that tears

She said gravely, rewarding him with her hand to shake,

"But only under a kind of duress, surely," exclaimed Fred.

Something seemed to have improved Fred's powers of logic, thought Cass

"I knew that you would say that.