Any Groom Will Do Page 23

  “Lady Cassin!” the boy exclaimed, shouting back in the direction he had come.

  Cassin signaled for the coachman to stop. Before the tiger could help them out, Cassin pushed the carriage door open and clipped down. The boy froze, and Cassin smiled at him. He turned and lifted Willow to the ground.

  The boy shouted again. “But it is him, my lady! His lordship is home! Lord Cassin has come home!”

  A moment later, one side of the keep’s giant door made a loud clang and then creaked open, revealing a thin, middle-aged woman in a black crepe dress.

  She paused, leaning against the door and shading her eyes with her hand, peering out. When she identified the shape of Cassin, she let out a sob and ran to him, her skirts flying behind her.

  Cassin took two steps toward her and caught her in his arms.

  “Mother,” he said, his voice cautious.

  “Brent,” she sobbed, “thank God. You’re home. It’s Felix . . . ” She dissolved in a fit of sobbing.

  “Yes, the cows, I heard, Mother. No, please, no hysterics. We will send for the best—”

  “No, no, it’s too late, Brent. My son . . . my poor son Felix. He’s dead, Brent. Felix is dead.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Nothing could have prepared Willow for the agony of meeting Cassin’s family in the midst of a devastating family tragedy.

  The pleasantries she’d gone over in her mind, the leather gloves she’d carefully packed as gifts for Cassin’s sisters—these amounted to nothing. Now she stood mutely in the sunny castle garden and watched her husband try to console his mother while he absorbed his own shock and grief. He staggered a little, and the dowager countess literally hung from his body. Pain was etched on his face as he struggled to draw breath.

  Willow was inconsequential to the scene, she knew, but she felt breathless herself. She was overcome with the desire to go to Cassin but restricted by her position as newcomer and outsider. She idled between the door and their embrace, like a new and unknown guest to a terrible, terrible party.

  All the while, the selfish truth resounded in her head: Felix was dead, and Caldera’s only opportunity for an heir had died with him. The earldom would require offspring, a male if possible, and Willow could provide nothing.

  Her knees almost buckled as she thought through the ramifications. Only pride and her love for Cassin bolstered her. There was no time or care for her collapse, mental or physical. A young man was dead. A family was mourning.

  Three young women now swarmed the castle door—Cassin’s sisters, obviously—and they sprinted to their brother, escalating the scene with a crying, clinging onslaught of tears and sobbing. A fourth woman appeared, Felix’s young widow, Ruth, and with considerable effort, she corralled them inside.

  It was unexpected to see the grieving widow contain the hysterics and accommodate the surprise guests, but obviously young Ruth Caulder was the most capable woman among the group, widow or not. Gentle nudging and quiet leadership was, clearly, a preexisting role for Ruth, even in non-hysterical times.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Willow whispered to Ruth when they settled on a threadbare couch before the fire. There was so much to say, but this, Willow knew, must be first.

  “Yes, I appreciate it, my lady,” Ruth said calmly, pouring tea. “It has been a terrible, terrible shock. We are . . . overcome. All of us. The dowager countess and Felix’s sisters have a more vocal and colorful way of dealing with their grief, obviously. I am not prone to displays of emotion, but my heart has been broken.” Here, her voice betrayed the tiniest rasp of a crack.

  “I can only imagine,” said Willow. She glanced across the room. Cassin leaned closely to his middle sister, Violet, and spoke in low, even tones. His mother clung to his arm, her head against his shoulder. The other sisters, Juliana and Marietta, clasping tightly to each other, stood behind Louisa, Lady Cassin.

  “But I only wish we had known,” Willow whispered. “I had no idea that your husband’s condition had grown so grave.”

  Ruth nodded. “Felix was very bad off after the accident; then he rallied these last two weeks. We all felt sure he would recover. Just when we believed him to be better, he lost consciousness. Before we could call for doctors from Leeds, he was gone. It happened very quickly in the end.” She passed a cup of tea to Willow and her hand shook.

  Willow smiled sadly. “Will you allow me to pour tea for the others?”

  Ruth waved her away. “You are kind, but it is my preference to keep busy. My grief is different from the girls’ and the dowager countess’s. They feel relief in a torrent of tears and carrying on. I feel as if I am on a long, slow walk from hopelessness to . . . Well, I cannot say where. But I know that I must not stop.”

  Willow gave another gentle smile and watched the young woman pour tea into five cups. Not only was Felix’s wife capable and controlled, but she was articulate and honest. Valued qualities all; qualities Willow would do well to remember.

  “I’m not sure why I’m bothering with tea for the girls,” Ruth said, staring across the room at the huddle of tears, with Cassin at its center. “They’ve scarcely taken food or drink since the funeral. Lady Cassin might do, if Brent implores her. She has always been blindly adherent to any word from her boys.”

  Willow nodded and took another sip and then another. Moments passed. Ruth settled back into the sofa and slowly nursed her tea. Periodically, one of the girls would let out an anguished sob. The longer Willow waited, the more difficult it was to control the doubts and fears welling in her mind.

  It’s up to Cassin now, she thought.

  There is no other way the inheritance of Caldera can be resolved.

  He will be compelled to annul our marriage and remarry.

  Or he will invoke a surrogate woman to bear him a child.

  He will . . .

  Suddenly, she felt physically ill. She shook her head and swallowed hard, gulping the last of her tea. It solved nothing, of course, to indulge in a wild spiral of defeat. Cassin had lost his brother. The household was veritably drowning in grief. She was being selfish and outrageous.

  Eventually, in time, she and Cassin would address the deficit left by Felix’s death. Perhaps the lack of an heir could be somehow overlooked. Not likely, but perhaps. Perhaps one of his sisters would marry and the law could be manipulated to bequeath Caldera to one of Cassin’s nephews. In addition to Willow’s substantial dowry, she had inherited significant income from spare properties among her father’s far-reaching holdings. It was the money on which she lived in London, and she received it regardless of her brother Phillip’s progeny.

  The situation was bleak, no doubt. But Willow must not dwell. She must support Cassin until . . . until the deficiencies of her body forced the issue.

  Now she heard the sound of her name and looked up. Cassin was guiding his mother and sisters to her, watching her with sad, tired eyes.

  “But I know you will want to properly meet,” he was saying, “the woman behind your London correspondence these many months. She was planning to travel here from London without me; did you know it? I caught her in London with just twelve hours to spare.”

  Willow rose immediately, fixing a look of compassion on her face. She prepared to give a slight curtsy and take the woman by the hand, but Cassin’s mother rushed to her with arms outstretched.

  “Oh, my darling girl.” The dowager countess breathed deeply, squeezing Willow tightly against her. “What a comfort and a joy your letters have been. And to finally make your acquaintance? You are the only bright spot in this horrible time. I’m sorry we are all in such a state.”

  Lady Louisa’s voice broke, and Willow felt her throat grow tight. Her eyes filled with tears. She was unaccustomed to motherly embraces. Willow could not remember ever once being drawn into her mother’s arms. She froze at first, holding her breath, but when the dowager did not release her, Willow felt herself slowly relax, to take real comfort from the closeness and the raw, honest affection. />
  “I’m so sorry for your loss, my lady,” Willow whispered against Lady Cassin’s shoulder. “So very sorry.”

  “Yes, well, at least Felix has left us doing the work he loved so. From the earliest age, we could not keep him out of the dales and crags, digging up old relics.” She pulled back.

  “I am so very sorry, my lady,” Willow said, squeezing her hands. “But will you take some tea to refresh yourself?”

  “Aren’t you dear,” sighed Lady Cassin, sniffling. “And so beautiful. I knew from your letters that you would be beautiful. Only a very clever, very beautiful girl of good sense would suit my Brent. I am so delighted to finally know you. But you must meet my daughters. Girls?” she called. “But come and meet lovely Willow.”

  Cassin’s sisters crowded around her then, and she found herself staring into the sad-but-curious green eyes of Marietta, Juliana, and Violet. They, too, forewent formalities and leapt at Willow, flinging their arms around her neck and holding fast to her. Cassin stood behind them, his face tight and grim, more agonized than ever she had seen. He looked to have aged ten years since they arrived. He stepped away to speak softly to Ruth, and Willow saw him nod and run a hand through his hair. How she longed to go to him, to hold him and urge him to cry if he wished, to rail or to curse, and to look no further into the future than one hour at a time.

  More good advice for herself, Willow knew, but so difficult to accept.

  She would tell Cassin this, she thought. She would tell him so many things when, eventually, they were alone. And when this happened, she would not add to his agony by pressing him about his legacy to Caldera or reminding him that he had married a woman who was as barren as a stone—not yet. Not until he could properly consider the new circumstance. Which she prayed God would not be tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or ever.

  Just a little more time, she thought. We’ve only been married in earnest, a real marriage, for a matter of days. Just a little longer.

  Cassin’s sisters had taken a step back, and she could feel them admiring her, whispering about her dress and her hair. They asked to see her wedding ring. She held out her hand, and they drew her to the couch, sighing over the stone. She was just about to tell them how Cassin had bought it in Barbadoes when they heard the loud creak and scrape of the castle’s front door.

  All heads turned as Archibald Caulder strode inside, his gloves and riding crop tucked beneath one arm and hat in hand. A butler rushed to relieve him of these items, and he flung them at the servant.

  “Inform my valet,” he said. “These should look like new before nightfall.” He turned to the group near the fire. He squinted the length of the corridor.

  “Who’s there?” he called, striding to them.

  Cassin’s sister Violet shot from the couch and raised her chin. “My brother has returned home, Uncle.”

  “Cassin?” boomed the older man. “Returned from the great wilds of God-knows-where, has he?”

  Willow saw Cassin go stiff.

  “Yes,” Cassin said, stepping to greet the older man. His stiffness gave way to a slow, relaxed stride. He exuded confidence. “I have come home. Just as you will now be off to your own home, far away from here. As soon as humanly possible.”

  ***

  Cassin watched his uncle stamp across the great corridor, the familiar manufactured smile on his brandy-pinked face. The older man walked slowly; he would not wish to give the impression that he took orders from his nephew.

  He was overdressed for the country, and his bright riding clothes were a marked contrast to the black-clad women’s mourning crepe.

  Felix, he’d learned, had been buried just two days before. By the time his mother received the letter Cassin had dashed off in Falmouth, his brother was already in the grave.

  His sisters had struggled to bear the shock and loss but they were enduring. His mother was on the verge of collapse. The very last thing the household wanted was a shouting match between earl and uncle, but God help them all, they were about to have one. He would mourn the loss of his brother soon enough; at the moment he felt only the desire to beat someone to a bloody pulp. His uncle was not only proximate, but he deserved it. It was all Cassin could do not to take a swing at the man’s smug, double-jowled chin.

  “How goes your bird-dropping project in paradise?” his uncle asked breezily. “Barbadoes is a might pleasanter, one might guess, than the icy, grey spring of Yorkshire, while one’s brother lay dying.”

  Behind him, he heard his mother muffle a sob. Cassin squeezed his hands into tight fists. “Barbadoes has far exceeded my expectations, in fact,” he said calmly. “We intend to clear £300,000 with our first shipment, due in summer.”

  Archibald missed a step at this pronouncement, his smug expression going a little off. He chortled. “The devil you say. But surely you do not mean to speak of business in front of the ladies. Let us retir—”

  “Surely, I do,” Cassin cut in slowly. “ ’Tis for their future this money will provide. Theirs and that of every family at Caldera. I am happy for my mother and sisters to learn how well they will be looked after. And I want them to know that the dangerous legacy of coal mining will not return to Caldera.” Cassin paused and then added, “Most of all, they should hear that your opportunistic presence will no longer be a burden or a threat.”

  Archibald laughed. “Opportunistic? A threat? But what drama you employ. Such a fuss over a visit to my brother’s family. You are mistaken, my lord, if you believe this house to have known any unpleasant behavior from me.” Another laugh. “Caldera is my boyhood home, as you know. I’ve begun to feel some nostalgia for the castle, as I age. It does me good to remember days gone by. A simpler life in God’s country.”

  “I’m well aware of what you miss,” gritted out Cassin. “I’ve been three days in London, undoing the mockery of a joint-stock company that you spun out of thin air with my forged signature.”

  His uncle stood very still, blinking at him, and then some barely contained flow of rage inside him seemed to rupture.

  “You’ve done what?” Archibald hissed.

  “Oh yes, you’ve heard correctly. The joint-stock has been dissolved, Uncle. The Parliamentary hearing will not happen. It is illegal to take up residence on an estate that is not in your possession and begin digging mines and selling shares. I marvel that you even considered such a plot.”

  “With whom have you spoken?” Archibald bellowed, advancing with his finger raised. “I’ve every right to return to this castle whenever I please, and I have an obligation to deliver it when you’ve abandoned it to penury and neglect.

  “Why, you weren’t even here to bury your own brother. Meanwhile, my sons, Simon and Nigel, traveled to Yorkshire in the spitting rain to properly mourn at Felix’s sad little service. You might as well know that my boys so admired Caldera that they plan to return with their families.”

  “No,” Cassin spat out, “they will not.” His voice held loosely controlled fury. He was barely holding on. His uncle’s family would not colonize his castle.

  “But what can you mean, no?” Archibald laughed. “And just how do you intend to keep us out? You’ve no intention of remaining here; if you did, you would have said as much.” Archibald rounded on him, still wagging his finger. “It’s back to the islands for you, isn’t it? Deuced hard to regulate who comes and goes from one’s castle when one finds himself an ocean away.” More laughter. “Especially a remote castle like this one, populated with little more than unprotected females.

  “And,” Archibald went on, pointing suddenly at Willow, “you’ve brought a new one to add to the pile, I see. Someone else to starve on your bloody principles.”

  To her credit, Willow did not blanch. She crossed her hands over her chest and tilted her head calmly to the side. She looked arrogant and bored.

  Nicely done, Cassin thought, feeding off her coolness. Archibald craned and shuffled, trying to better scowl at her, but Cassin stepped between them and crossed his arms over his chest
. “My wife may be referred to as the Countess of Cassin, sir, or not at all.”

  “Better get to breeding on that one,” Archibald scoffed, now totally unhinged. “Difficult to get an heir when you reside on a deserted island and your lady wife lives in Yorkshire. And now with Felix gone . . . ”

  Cassin glanced at Willow again. Her face had gone white. He would’ve struck his uncle, but the older man was trying to provoke him, and violence would prove his bloody point.

  “And now with Felix gone,” Archibald repeated, his pink face brightening, “I feel even less beholden to edicts from you and evictions from my own boyhood home.”

  “Careful, Uncle,” Cassin said tightly. “Do you threaten me?”

  “Hardly. Where’s the need? You spend most of your time on ships prone to sink, among island savages, and jungles crawling with disease. What need have I to threaten? You’ll meet your own demise before long.”

  Cassin heard his mother’s resumed sobbing, and he gritted his teeth. His uncle had it all wrong, but he knew explaining would cause him to sound like he made excuses.

  “Let it be known,” shouted Archibald, spinning in a half circle, “that all of us are well aware”—he pointed to everyone in the room—“of the very simple arithmetic. I am but one lone man away from full ownership of Caldera. Next in line to inherit. And after me, my boys. You are that lone man, my lord. So decree and mandate all you like. Meddle with my affairs in London. Order the magistrate to pass a bloody law that I shall not visit the very castle into which I was born. Ban the tenants from mining the coal that their families have mined for generations. And then take yourself off to the wilds of godforsaken wherever-it-is, and we’ll all watch and see if you don’t . . . come . . . back.”

  He finished the speech with a dull tap, tap, tap on Cassin’s chest, and then he turned on his high-heeled boots and stumped away, clomping through the great hall and up a staircase to the guest tower. He did not look back.

  Cassin drew a deep, calming breath. He ran a hand over his brow, through his hair, and down his neck.