the answer he had given to her questions. All he had admitted to, after all, was liking Cassandra. Or /liking/ her, rather. Was there a difference in the meaning of the word, depending upon whether one spoke it with emphasis or not?
He shook his head with exasperation.
Enough of this. /Enough/!
Sir Wesley Young had been inclined to scold his sister when he learned that she had put up no fight whatsoever to retain her valuables or to claim what was rightfully hers when the present Paget turned her out of his home. With a little effort she could have been a wealthy woman now instead of being destitute.
He did /not/ scold, however. He had been almost twenty-two years old when Paget died, and he had gone down to Carmel for the funeral. He had felt the rumblings of unpleasantness brewing while he was still there, but he had left before any open accusations had started to fly, assuring Cassie before he went that he loved her and always would, that she could come to him at any time for support and protection.
And then, as rumors of just how nasty the situation had become reached him in London, he had developed very cold feet. He had feared being caught up in his sister's ruin. He had stopped writing to her.
He could not make the excuse that he had been only a boy, for the love of God. He had been a /man/.
And then, the final act of cruelty and cowardice, which would give him sleepless nights and troubled days for a long time to come, he believed, he had tried to prevent her from coming to London. He had lied about that walking tour of the Scottish Highlands. And when she had come anyway, and when he had come face-to-face with her in the park, he had /turned his head away and ordered the hired coachman to drive on/.
Oh, yes, there would be well-deserved nightmares over that one.
All he could do now, though, since the past could not be changed, was make amends as best he could and hope that at some time within the next fifty years or so he would be able to forgive himself. So he had asked around yesterday and this morning to discover the very best lawyer for Cassie's type of case, and he had made an appointment and taken her there this afternoon.
It all seemed very promising. Indeed, the lawyer was astonished that Lady Paget had even thought it might be difficult to recover her jewels, which were her own personal property, and to be granted what was her due according to her marriage contract and her husband's will. He was quite happy to take a modest retainer – which Wesley insisted upon paying – in the firm conviction that the matter would be settled within a couple of weeks or a month at the longest.
They had been walking home along Oxford Street when they had come face-to-face with Merton. Wesley was not pleased about it. Merton had been his conscience yesterday, or at least the prompter of his conscience, and Wesley did not feel particularly kindly disposed toward him. His conscience ought not to have needed prompting from any outside source.
However, the meeting did not last long, and Wesley returned his sister to the house on Portman Street, where Miss Haytor was eager to talk to her about the visit to some museum she had made with an old friend of hers – Mr. Golding, actually, who had been the only private tutor Wesley had ever had, though he had not stayed long and Wesley scarcely remembered him.
He went home to relax for a while before dining and getting ready for the evening's ball. But his man informed him that yet again there was someone downstairs in the visitors' parlor, wanting a word with him.
Wesley did not recognize the visitor, though the man got to his feet when he entered the room and came toward him, one hand extended. He was a strong, athletic-looking man with light brown hair and a deeply bronzed face.
'Young?' he said. 'William Belmont.'
Ah, yes, of course. He was the present Paget's brother, one of Cassie's stepsons. Wesley had met him at Cassie's wedding and again during one of his visits to Carmel a number of years ago. He had gone to America after that, had he not?
'I am pleased to see you again,' Wesley said, shaking his hand.
'My ship from Canada docked a couple of weeks ago,' Belmont told him,
'and I went immediately to Carmel to find everything much changed. Where is your sister, Young? She is here in London somewhere, is she not?'
Wesley was instantly wary.
'It would be best to leave her alone,' he said. 'She did /not/ kill your father. No conclusive evidence could ever be found against her and she was never charged with anything because there was nothing to charge her /with/. She is trying to make a new life, and I am here to see to it that she has a chance to do just that and that no one bothers her.'
It ought to have been true too, from the moment of her arrival in town.
It was true now, however. Anyone who wanted to get to Cassie was going to have to go through /him/. And even though he was not particularly happy at the breadth of Belmont's shoulders, he was not going to be deterred.
But Belmont merely made a dismissive gesture with one hand.
'Of course she did not kill my father,' he said. 'I was /there/, for the love of God. I have not come to stir up any trouble for her, Young. I have come to find Mary. Is she still with Cassandra?'
'Mary?' Wesley looked blankly at him.
'She left Carmel with Cassandra,' Belmont said. 'I assume she is still with her. And Belinda. I /hope/ they are.'
Wesley still looked blank. Miss Haytor's name was Alice, not Mary.
'Mary,' Belmont said impatiently. 'My /wife/.'
Cassandra felt very different dressing for this evening's ball than she had felt last week dressing for Lady Sheringford's. She had received an invitation to this one, and she had an escort – in addition to an engagement to dance the opening set and one other.
She looked forward to dancing with Stephen tonight with far more eagerness than she ought to be feeling.
She checked her hair in the mirror to make sure it was firmly enough pinned up that it would not fall down as soon as she started to dance. /That/ would be something of a disaster! She had become far too dependent during the past ten years upon the services of a lady's maid.
She drew on her long gloves and smoothed them out until they were no longer even slightly twisted.
The lawyer had thought she had an excellent case. He thought he could get her all that was owed her in a fortnight, though Cassandra would be perfectly happy with a month. She would be able to pay Stephen back and forget that she had ever done anything as sordid as offer herself to him as a mistress.
Though she did not regret the two nights she had spent with him. Or the picnic.
The picnic, she knew, would always be one of her most treasured memories.
He was going to be hard to forget.
But he had restored some of her faith in men. Not all were unreliable and untrustworthy and downright nasty.
She would remember him as her golden angel. She took up her ivory fan and opened it to make sure it was in perfect working condition.
During his outing with Alice this afternoon, Mr. Golding had invited her to join him in Kent for a couple of days at the end of the week to celebrate his father's seventieth birthday with the rest of his family.
It was surely a significant invitation.
Alice had not said yes – or no. She had waited to see if Cassandra could spare her. But she had been almost vibrating with suppressed excitement and anxiety. Ten minutes after Cassandra had arrived home, five after Wesley had left, she had been seated at the escritoire in the sitting room, writing Mr. Golding a letter of acceptance.
She was in her own room upstairs now, trying to decide what clothes she would take with her.
Cassandra slipped her feet into her dancing slippers and went downstairs to wait for Wesley. Her timing was perfect. He rapped on the door as she was descending the stairs, and she was able to wave Mary back to the kitchen and open the door herself.
'Oh, Cassie,' he said, looking her over admiringly. 'You will cast every other lady into the shade.'
'Thank you, sir.' She laughed and twirled before him, suddenly lighthearted. 'You look very handsome
