Page 22 of The Damsel
“Lord Fairchild sold Easton Park?” the baroness asked, one hand coming up over her bosom. “I had no idea.”
“Well, he’s been beggared and disgraced by the scandal, and of course the property wasn’t entailed, so it could be sold. Well, Penrose himself decided to purchase it and have it renovated. The tenants are in dire straits, so I suppose he means to set things right. The estate will turn a tidy profit once he gets it up and running again.”
Robert had it on good authority that the vast majority of Easton Park’s tenants had abandoned their homes, many of them seeking work and a better living situation at Briarwell. But, he did not mention that, far more interested in Penrose moving into the neighboring home. The man seemed to prefer dwelling in London, at his massive townhome in Grosvenor Square along with the dowager and her youngest, unwed daughter. Still a bachelor himself, he must be thinking of settling down if he were purchasing another large country estate so close to Town.
“Does he intend to take up residence there?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.
Meanwhile, his heart had begun to hammer at the thought of Cassandra living so near he could walk through the woods separating Briarwell from Easton Park and reach her within minutes.
Martin shrugged. “Rumor has it, he intends to continue residing mostly in London, though renovations have begun on the property as well as the tenants’ cottages. I’ve heard he’s allowing a relative to take up in the dower house. The former duchess has no use for it, as everyone knows she prefers living in Town. So one of the sisters will be living there alone … the unwed one … the spinster.”
Cassandra.
His pulse leaped, his blood racing in his veins and leaving a warm tingle in its wake. Cassandra was coming to Suffolk. She would live close enough that he might see her often, could talk to her, perhaps come to know her … submit to being tied to a bed again and ravished within an inch of his life.
A slow smile spread across his face, which he had to wipe away before his mother noticed. It wouldn’t do for her to know he had any interest in Cassandra, who she’d likely find to be even more unsuitable than Daphne. Never mind that she was the daughter of a duke. She was tainted by a horrible scandal and had been shunned by the vast majority of theton.
As if on cue, his mother made an inarticulate sound of scorn. “I cannot say I am keen on the idea of having such a neighbor. It is … unsavory.”
Robert’s hand clenched around his glass, and he bit back a scathing retort, trying instead to be his usual diplomatic self. “Mother, it is hardly her fault. She’s been the victim of a terrible crime.”
“Yes, but did she have to air it all out so publicly? It is vulgar.”
Yes, it is so horribly vulgar for a woman to want her rapist to be held accountable.
“I understand what you mean, Lady Stanley,” Lady Fletcher chimed in. “Of course no one blames her for what that despicable man has done. But then … one does wonder why she’d allow herself to be led off alone. A proper young lady knows not to go sneaking about with a gentleman. There are consequences for such actions.” “Precisely,” the baroness said with a curt nod.
“Whatever her own mistakes, she has been through enough,” Robert argued, trying to keep from throwing his glass across the room and asking his mother and her friend what the devil was the matter with them. “The scorn of thetonhas surely been bad enough, so we ought to endeavor to be kind to her.”
“Oh, but I have heard she is such a surly creature,” Lucy said with a shake of her head, as if she couldn’t understand a woman who wasn’t constantly smiling or being biddable. Of course she wouldn’t. “I don’t think I could ever get along with such a woman.”
Robert’s face went hot, and he realized his agitation had begun to show when his mother reached out to pat his hand with a little laugh.
“Oh, very well, Robert. Of course we will try to be kind to the girl. Really, my Robert is such a gentleman. So kind and always thinking of others. I adore him for it.”
“A wonderful trait in a young man, to be sure,” Lady Fletcher agreed.
Across the room, Martin merely rolled his eyes and went back to his port.
Robert followed suit, refusing to be baited into an argument concerning Cassandra. The others could treat her how they pleased, but he could not wait to see her again.
He’d been unable to get her out of his head, anyway, so being able to see her, to find some way to sate this craving she’d created in him … well, it had to be better than the way he’d suffered thus far.
Chapter 4
LONDON
Darkness shrouded Cassandra as she walked, the hem of her cloak flapping in the soft evening breeze. The chill of the night air required the covering, but she clung to the garment for a reason that had nothing to do with the cold—the way it helped her become one with the night, shadows clinging to its edges and obscuring her to an unrecognizable degree. With her height and the voluminous fabric veiling her, she might even be mistaken as a man. The breeches and boots she wore underneath helped the illusion, so she brushed past members of thetoncoming and going from various soirees in Grosvenor Square without drawing much notice. They were as self-involved as ever, their laughter and insipid conversations about the night’s events and juiciest bits of gossip of no interest to her.
There was a particular gentleman she’d come here to find, whom she had raced to intercept after spotting him at a musicale hosted in the home of the Marquis of Ashton. Invitations hardly ever came to her anymore—not since she had removed herself from the residence of her uncle, mother, and sister, thereby marking herself as even more of a social outcast. Ashton, however, was a friend of Millicent, and his wife was one of the few souls in this accursed city who did not turn their noses up at her.
She hadn’t planned to attend the musicale; not until she’d learned of the attendance of a certain man. The Honourable Mr. Curtis Barlow, son of a viscount, had attended the event in the typical black and white evening kit, though his waistcoat had been a garish jonquil shade—the bright splash of color making it easy to follow his progress about the room as he’d sipped champagne and mingled with other guests between musical performances. Now, it would help her identify him in the dark.
Barlow disgusted her the way most of his kind did—the bright, charming smile masking his true nature, the underlying malice hidden under a thin veil of courtly manners. A viper slithering through a room filled with hapless victims who had no notion of the danger lurking amongst them.
I wasn’t Lord or Lady Ashton’s fault. They did not know what she knew—that Barlow was a man of low morals, a predator looking for his next kill. How could they know when he was so good at hiding it with a handsome face and amiable personality? Even she had not been entirely certain, not until she’d overheard a tearful conversation between two ladies in the retiring room during the interval of an opera performance. It never ceased to amaze her what people would discuss in such a place when they thought no one else could hear. She'd become adept at making herself invisible until she wanted to be seen, and had remained behind a privacy screen while listening to one lady’s account.
She had invited Barlow into her country home for a house party, only to find him attempting to get beneath the skirts of a chambermaid. The servant had been in hysterics by the time the lady came upon them, tears wetting her face as she clawed and scratched and tried to free herself from his hold.
