Chapter Nineteen

Cassandra awakened to a sun-kissed room and languished against the soft pillow for a few moments. A sense of disappointment overcame her since it wasn’t the fairy-tale wedding night of her dreams. As a young woman, she’d expected so much more, a marriage of love and passion. Was the exhaustion she still experienced due to the tension and stress that surrounded them when they were alone? How to get him to love and want to keep her was a problem. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? She vowed to try her best to be all he bargained for but at the moment the task seemed Herculean.

A knock sounded on her door. “Who is it?” she asked sleepily, raised her arms to stretch.

“Anna, your Grace, shall I enter?”

“Of course, do come in. What time is it?” Cassandra couldn’t see a clock in the room.

“It is six in the morning. You left word you wished to be awakened.”

“There are many duties to perform. Can you tell me if the dowager has awakened yet? I am anxious to start her rehabilitation.” Why did she feel it necessary to explain why she awoke alone in her room?

“She rises at seven, your Grace, and takes meals in her room until she further refines her mobility. When she is ready, the dowager will then visit downstairs with her son, and with you, of course.”

“Please help me into a day dress and I will pull back my hair into a chignon. Tomorrow wake me an hour earlier as I do want to breakfast with the duke’s mother.”

The servant sped about the toilette and in twenty minutes time, Cassandra was prepared to enter the dowager’s room. She tapped on the door, waited a moment, and entered. The dowager was dressed in a muted light silk dress and looked regal.

“Lady Madelaine, good morning. Would you mind if I changed your routine somewhat? I would like to have breakfast and luncheon with you so we can perfect your etiquette in dining. I searched the library and found a treatise on rehabilitation and thought we could try some of the exercises. Are you agreeable?” Cassandra smiled bright and cheerful.

The dowager nodded.

“I have asked the servants to serve us both in your room. They will be here shortly and then we shall see how we fare. The children are with their nanny, so you and I have all the time we need to accomplish our tasks. Alfie wanted to stay the night with us. I do believe the puppies are an added enticement.”

She opened a box she’d brought with her. Inside were placards that depicted vowels and consonants as well as one-word pronunciations. They started with the vowels and she told the elder woman about the necessity to mouth each vowel.

“A E I O U—breathe each one.” She put her hand to the woman’s mouth and she gently pursed the lips to form a perfect Latin style “Ah.”

“That is good, Lady Madelaine. Let’s try again.” She kept her voice consistent and soft. They then tried the next vowel E. They practiced for quite some time. “I had a young student at school with a similar medical condition, and by repetitive exercises, we were able to help her speak. Please be patient with yourself. There is much to do.” Not that she was trained for such therapy, but her studies were intense and her exercises with the student caused her to keep a journal, which she’d brought with her.

When the servants entered to set down the food trays, Cassandra chatted about many subjects, but watched with care as to how the utensils were grasped. She noted that Lady Madelaine’s finger manipulation needed exercise. She excused herself, went into the nursery and got a small rubber ball.

She kissed the children and returned to the dowager. “Perhaps we should eat our breakfast while it’s hot? Afterwards, I will demonstrate how to manipulate the ball.

They partook of the tea, oats with maple syrup, and fresh fruit with gusto. When they were through, she removed the trays to a side table.

Cassandra asked the older woman to place the ball in the palm of her hand and open and close her fists and stretch her fingers as much as possible. “We shall do one hand at a time. Please do that for twenty counts. We will gradually increase the time. Of course, if there is any pain or you are tired, please stop. Just write down for me what reactions you have. Remember, my dear lady, we will conquer this challenge together. I promise I will do whatever is necessary to get your speech back. You and I are fierce warriors, aren’t we?” She laughed.

“Good Morning, Mother,” said the duke. “I see the two of you are busy at work. You were so engaged in your therapy you didn’t see me come in. Cassandra is right. We will do whatever is necessary to get you to speak again.”

His mother nodded with a cheery smile.

“Good morning, wife.” He kissed her on the head. She shrugged away. “Don’t you like how I address you?” he asked.

She preferred not to answer, because she knew he did it because he could, because he wanted to, and because it annoyed her. Sweet Heaven.

“I now go to the stables for my morning ride. The housekeeper will be here to see you, Cassandra, to acquaint you of the workings of the villa. Will you be done by eleven o’clock?”

She nodded. She considered him a tyrant exercising all his ducal authority over everything within his sight, his reach, and his domain. Cassandra might just have well been his indentured slave. The morning was still young and all the duties overwhelmed her, but she would show him what she was made of, even if it killed her.

“After your luncheon exercises, perhaps you’ll have time to meet with me so we can coordinate our schedules. There are invitations to review as well as the King’s Final Season Ball this coming week.”

“Balls are a useless vanity,” Cassandra spoke. “One’s time should be put to better use.”

“I thought you liked to dance.”

“I do, but all the fans a flutter and flirtatious actions seem pompous. Might as well be on an auction block.”

He laughed. The expression on his face changed. “Will you require new gowns?”

“I’ve not given it much thought, Althorn. There is so much to do. Will there be time for dances?”

“Of course.” A grin passed his mouth. “That is the best part. I see great progress in just the short time you’ve been here. I’d gladly buy you a dozens gowns if my mother progresses.”

“A dozen?” she asked. “That’s a figure of speech, I hope.” She looked to Lady Madelaine who also grinned.

“I’d like to see you in refined silks and satins as befits your position. If you show gratitude in return, so much the better.” He leered. “On second thought,” he said, “I will have the seamstress come to you with a selection of fabric bolts and you can show her some of your designs. Your penchant for Madame Lisande is commendable, but Brighton has modistes who may surprise you. Humor me, Cassandra. I’m in a generous mood.” You have no idea how much.

The dowager heard the repartee and extended her hand to cover Cassandra’s in a gentle caress.

“Your generosity knows no bounds.” Cassandra mouthed the words with a tinge of sarcasm. Or was it disguised amusement? The duke laughed, in good spirit. “Shall we meet at four in the afternoon in my study?”

“I will be in the lion’s den at the appointed time, Duke. Should I carry my own crop or will you use yours?”

He roared in laughter as he left the room.

His mother scribbled a note to her. You are good for him, and I love you for this.

“Men can try a woman’s soul, can they not, Lady Madelaine?”

The dowager wrote busily. Yes, but he is worth whatever the cost.

“I do sense a personal bias, my lady. I know you love him, too.” Then she realized her words and tried to retract them, but the dowager smiled.

“Please promise me you won’t tell him about my slip of tongue?”

The dowager nodded.

And that’s how the lessons went. For the day after their marriage, it was a long tedious instructive event fraught with every emotion imaginable.

She met with the housekeeper, was given the household keys, and settled the menu for the week. However, she didn’t know when the King’s ball was to take place, so matters were a bit of a hodgepodge. Was it this weekend? She dared not enter his study and search for the invitation.

Cassandra attended the four o’clock meeting and received the information she needed. He had no right to be so handsome, so ducal—so wonderful. Tyrant.

During their conversation in his study, where he partook of two fingers of brandy, he offered her none. This little irritant became a big one. “I would prefer, your Grace, that you offer your wife a glass of the same cordial you drink. You aren’t the only one who’s had a hard day. Did you ride a long distance?”

“It is not a cordial, but a man’s drink.” He seemed annoyed at her inference of his indolent lifestyle.

“I still would prefer you offer your wife in servitude the same as you deserve. Business partners perhaps, but you would never understand, you lout.”

“Of the highest water,” he answered with a laugh.

She looked around her and spoke in soft, needled words, “You are an impudent man.” Cassandra went to his bar table and poured herself three fingers of brandy and gulped some in front of him.

“Too much will go to your head and make you tipsy.” He stared at her and attempted not to roar in amusement.

“I know how much to drink and not to drink,” she snipped.

“I wasn’t aware you imbibed. Where does this vast experience come from? I’ve never seen you drink in my presence. Shall I guard my imported cognac from you?”

“There is much to learn about me. I have my secrets, too.”

“I am ready to listen to them when you are ready to speak.” His expression changed.

She wanted to wipe the leer from his face, smash it to pieces. Oh, how he gloated over her. No, she wanted to take his face, cup her hands around his chin, and kiss him, long. Hard. Until she was dizzy. Would he respond in kind? She’d never know, would she?

“You, duke, lack something.” Her words slurred a trifle.

“Those are harsh words and you haven’t yet finished your drink. In vino veritas?”

She felt lightheaded. “Latin? In wine there is truth. This is definitely not wine. I am no match for you,” she slowed her words. “Unaccustomed as I am to liquor on my lips, I beg to advise you that…I can’t remember what I wanted to say.”

“You beg to advise me what?” he coaxed, seemingly having a humorous moment at her expense.

“If you demand to know, I think you’re an ass.”

“Do you realize what you’ve said?” he asked, not even perturbed. “People have been hung for less. Since you informed me you can control your liquor like a man, please explain your last comment.”

“Yes, you are a wonderful ass. I stand by that affirmation. You look good in your breeches, too.” She started to stand, lost her balance, and fell back in the chair.

“I find you adorable,” he muttered.

“I can see two of you. Have you moved? Or did you multiply like a rabbit?” she quizzed.

Althorn roared in laughter. His wife was drunk on a few sips of cognac. There was still dinner preparation. He doubted she’d be in condition to instruct them. Fortunately, they’d know what to do. She held the glass with an affectation—of something he could not discern. It appeared to him she would lose it and let it fall to the floor. He went to her and clasped the antique Waterford snifter. “Do you require more?”

She looked at him askance, heavy lidded. “More of what? Your cravat is creased. Do you wish me to wash and iron it for you? Perhaps you’d like me to wear it also, so you can judge its, its, shoot, shoot, shootability?”

“Suitability? Cassandra, what bothers you? Have I done something to offend?” he asked, his humor pushed to limits.

“Yes. No. Maybe. Perhaps. Husband, I require assistance to my designated servant’s room. Would you summon someone to assist me?” She tried to arise, but couldn’t. “I will do better than that, Cassandra. I will take you myself.”

“It’s about time you got off your well-formed ass, but please be quick about it, I might cast up my accounts. You, shir…plied me with liquor.” She held her breath to repress regurgitation.

“I did not.” He spoke firmly to his wife, who was obviously not used to strong spirits.

“Listen, you wastrel”—her voice stressed the wa of the word, and dropped at the strel—“do not feel you can have your way with me. I will lift my knee to your groin, and you may not be able to use your testicles or any other appendage for three days.”

“Three days, you say. Shall I fear for my manhood?” He laughed, but didn’t doubt she could do as threatened.

“When we were young, my brothers showed me how to defend myself. If I were you…If I were you…If I were you…I would do something.” Cassandra collapsed into another momentary world.

Amusement turned into excitement as he cradled her in his arms and ascended the steps and walked to her room.

“I like your arms,” she slurred. They flew around his neck and her head rested against his shoulder.

“I like your arms, too.” He kissed her forehead.

“Your chest, too,” she giggled.

“I like yours, too. More than you know.” He sighed. The devil tested him.

The duke kicked open the door and closed it. He placed her on the bed. Toys, papers, notes, books…little things that reflected her thinking, her day-to-day events were scattered about. He’d cheated her of a life of worth. What kind of wretch was he?

He wanted to undress her and place her in the bed so she could rest.

Venus asleep.

All soft and willowy.

All supple and female.

Instead, he inhaled a deep breath, and rang for the maid who knocked on the door a few moments later.

“Anna, please assist my wife into her bedclothes. She needs to rest. Dress her in this chemise. She likes to wear it.” It was the outrageous creation. “I will return to see that she is well.” He admired Cassandra now more than ever.

After he supped alone, Althorn returned to her a few hours later. He sat at the head of the bed next to her pillow and with a quiet touch, lifted her head. His desire to touch her was unfathomable. Desire pooled within him. Her long blonde tresses splayed the pillow when he gently released her. His fingers roamed over her forehead, her nose, her lips, her neck, and the softness of her throat. He dared not go further and give in to his demons. She was lovely in her innocent slumber. He noticed a small smile curl. Could she be dreaming of him? He raised the soft down comforter to cover her discreetly, but first he surveyed her body in the risqué creation. It was torture.

Tomorrow promised to be a singular day. Her head would certainly pound. He prepared himself for war—with a remarkable woman.

Who was his wife.

Whom he neglected.

Whom he wanted more than any woman in the United Kingdom or its colonies.

Ready to leave the room, he stopped and returned to where she lay in peaceful repose…and waited so he could stare at her and enjoy the vision. I have tempted fate and it now tempts me in return.

The duke sat in a chair near the bed, Cassandra’s face lay in peaceful repose against the pillow. One arm wasn’t under the covers. He wondered if she could be cold. She looked angelic. No, he thought, she looks virginal. He would never forgive himself for the cruel things he said. Yes, she wanted to marry him because she lived in need—and would accept a philandering husband. It occurred to him many aristocratic women, and those of the middle class, had no legal rights. It was part of the culture, but perception didn’t make it correct.

Why couldn’t she understand what he also wanted was a grand passion with someone he loved so madly he would do anything to win her? She spoiled it for him because she became the hunter and he the hunted, not the other way round. Then he remembered he never told her of his dreams either. Would a time present itself to do so?

He stood, removed his jacket, and placed it over her desk chair. The steady sound of her breaths ebbed and flowed. She reminded him of a Madonna in sound sleep. If he kissed her on the forehead, would she wake? Or should he kiss her lips? He clasped her long-fingered delicate hand, went to her side and did so, but she did not awaken. Although she did sigh, and he questioned if he was in her dreams—or her nightmares. He moved to the bed and lay alongside her still fully clothed.

A change came over him. He didn’t want to leave. Instead, he wanted to wake with Cassandra by his side and kiss her awake. Her body was perfect in every way.

Soft sighs punctured the air as she placed her head on his chest and curled into him. He heard her whisper words and smiled. He didn’t understand them all, but it was enough for him to know their definition. Her body fitted him well so that her head, with a slight tilt upward aligned their lips in perfect symmetry—more torture.

She moved again this time, on her back, flailed her arms, and wailed unintelligibly. He assumed she experienced a bad dream because her face contorted in pain. “Shush.” He held her tight. “I am here. It will be all right.”

“Promise?” she moaned.

“Word of honor,” he whispered as his lips skimmed hers.

She lay back on the pillow and calmed. He ran the back of his knuckled hand down her cheek to the soft cleft at her throat. She giggled, still fast asleep.

Althorn dozed until the hall clock chimed four times and awoke him. He withdrew from her bed with a new sensation overwhelming him. He drew the comforter to her neck and tucked her in once again.

“You have bewitched me. What am I to do?” he whispered in her ear. He left her room and strode quickly to his own chambers.

Damn. It took absolute control to leave her.