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  CASSANDRA'S DECEPTION

  Gayle Buck

  About the Author

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  * * *

  Chapter 1

  Cassandra Weatherstone was a proper Bath miss. Considered beautiful, accomplished and well-bred, she was on the verge of her come-out, which her aunt had promised her would be in the spring. She had never really thought beyond the programme laid out for her, which was to make a successful debut in London and to marry well.

  All of which was why she was so extremely nervous about what she was doing. She had never done anything remotely scandalous in her life. Now here she was galloping away from the manor where she and her aunt and uncle were staying as guests, after deceiving her uncle into thinking she was simply going for a sedate ride. She had managed to give the accompanying groom the slip by sending him back for her deliberately forgotten whip. She had gone to such trouble so that she could make a rendezvous.

  Cassandra consoled herself that at least it was not a clandestine meeting with a disapproved suitor. Nevertheless, she knew that if her aunt and uncle had known about the person she intended to meet, they would have categorically forbidden her to keep the appointment.

  Cassandra urged her horse on faster, spurred by the fear that the groom would somehow stumble upon her direction and catch up with her. Cassandra wanted no witnesses about when she got to the deserted crofter’s cottage.

  It was a crisp autumn morning, the kind that omened an early winter. The leaves had turned and were falling, swirled to the ground by gusts of chilly wind. The rolling countryside was shadowed by trees and clouds. Cassandra scarcely took note of the beauty around her, except to look anxiously for landmarks.

  She had never been in this county before. She was relying totally on the carefully written directions in the last letter, which had set the time and place of the rendezvous. Cassandra hoped that the directions were correct, or otherwise she ran the risk of becoming helplessly lost.

  But as she urged her horse up a last rise, she saw below her a ruined cottage, just as it had been described to her. The wind was blowing briskly now and wailed low through the shallow valley as she approached. The place appeared to have been deserted for quite some time, its broken door swaying slightly to and fro on its hinges, the blackened timbers obviously rotted by wet and termites. “Oh, my, it doesn’t look at all safe. Not at all the sort of place that I would ordinarily wish to visit,” she murmured to herself, drawing the mare up outside the door.

  The door was pushed open. A slender figure in a dark green riding habit and netted hat stepped over the threshold. The netting was pulled firmly down over the young woman’s face and tied under her chin so that her features were completely obscured. “There you are! I’ve been watching for you through the shutters. I was beginning to think that you would never come. I thought you had changed your mind.”

  “Not I,” responded Cassandra. Her heart was pounding, but she made an effort to appear as calm as the other had sounded. “Will you hold my horse, please?”

  “Of course.” The young woman came out of the shadowed doorway and took hold of the mare’s bit. “We can put her in the stable with my own Rolly. No one will see her there.”

  Cassandra dismounted with some awkwardness, her long skirt wanting to snag as she unhooked her leg from the ladies’ saddle and slid free. She landed evenly on the tufted grass. Catching up her skirt hem and draping it over her arm, she remarked, “I hope I can remount again.”

  The other girl shrugged. “There’s an old log out in back of the cottage. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Come along.” Leading the way with the mare, she took Cassandra round the side of the crofter’s cottage. There was indeed an old stable, in somewhat better condition than the cottage itself. Hay had recently been scattered inside, and the sweet scent combined with the dank smell of damp earth. In one rough stall was a well-knit gelding that whickered at the sight of the other young woman. She murmured something to the gelding and patted his nose before she led the mare into the adjoining stall. “Help me to set the bar.”

  Cassandra did so, then dusted her gloved hands. She looked around her curiously. The stable was small, typical of what a crofter would have built for his sturdy draft animals. She wondered what had happened to the crofter and his family. It was a fleeting thought at best, for the other woman was already turning to face her.

  “You wore a veil, too,” said the woman with satisfaction. “I think it makes everything a bit more melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Indeed,” said Cassandra dryly, her sense of humor tickled by the other’s cheerful observation. “Shall we reveal ourselves to each other now?”

  “Oh, yes! I can scarce wait another instant!” said the other woman, laughing. She began to untie the netting.

  Cassandra untied her own veil and lifted it to lay its folds over the top of her riding hat. She looked then at her companion and sucked in her breath in amazement.

  The other woman was also staring, with widened brown-flecked hazel eyes. “It is like looking into a mirror that one did not know existed.”

  “Yes, isn’t that what being a twin means?” asked, Cassandra, trying to gather her shaken senses. “But it is truly amazing. I had no idea that—”

  “Nor I!” interrupted the other young woman. She gave a small laugh. “How odd. How very odd. I knew that you and I were twins, but until this very moment I did not realize how very alike we sound and appear.”

  “Belle.” Cassandra hugged her sister, overcome by several emotions too ambivalent to identify. Belle Weatherstone’s embrace was equally as strong around her. “It has been such a long time.”

  “Yes, since Mama and Papa were killed in that awful carriage accident.” Belle’s voice was muffled against Cassandra’s hat. She drew back, holding Cassandra at arm’s length. Her eyes searched her sister’s face. In a voice of discovery she said, “I think that I have missed you.”

  Cassandra gave a shaky laugh. Her sister’s words struck a chord of recognition in her. Her aunt and uncle had been good to her, treating and raising her as though she was their own daughter. Indeed, they had been childless when they had taken her in and had lavished on her the affection that should have been given to their own. Cassandra had never felt herself to be short of love. Despite her good fortune, however, she had always felt a certain restlessness, a feeling of incompleteness. She had once expressed her feelings to the vicar, a wise, learned man who had astonished her with his observation that no doubt she was missing her twin sister.

  Cassandra had never been encouraged to think about her sister, who had always lived with their paternal grandfather, nor to correspond except during holidays or other special occasions. After her conversation with the vicar, she had begun to write Belle more often. They had come to know each other quite well through their letters. They had even learned some of the most trivial things. Cassandra was allergic to chocolate, and Belle, at the age of nine, had exchanged promises to wed with their grandfather’s godson.

  “I know that I have missed you, terribly,” said Cassandra. “I am so glad that we were able to do this.”

  “I only wish that it had come about under other circumstances,” said Belle, nodding, and a slight frown on her face. “Grandfather is still not at all well. The physician seems to think that he will not last out the winter. Old nanny! I have told him a thousand times that Grandfather is tougher than a leather whip, but he will only shake his head and sigh. I could cheerfully strangle him.”

  “Then ... he is bad?” asked Cassandra, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  Belle looked at her swiftly. Her expression cleared.

  She squeezed Cassandra’s arm. “Pray do not be so anxious, Cassandra. You do no
t know Grandfather. He has always rallied before. When I wrote to you, I was very fearful that this illness would indeed be the end of him. But Grandfather is very stubborn. He told me himself that he does not intend to die just yet. He says that he has matters to set right before he will allow death to claim him, and I believe him.”

  Cassandra smiled, thinking privately that her sister was exhibiting just the kind of optimism that she had come to associate with Belle. “Nevertheless, it does not alter my desire to become acquainted with our grandfather.”

  “Of course it does not! It would be strange indeed if you should turn about now,” said Belle. She shook her head. “I still do not understand how Grandfather and my uncle could have built such enmity between them that they cannot bear to be in each other’s company. It has certainly been unfair to us, since they separated us when Mama and Papa died.”

  “My aunt says that no one felt able to take us both into the same house, especially since no one could tell us apart. So Grandfather took you, and my aunt and uncle took me.” Cassandra’s smile wavered a little. “I do not regret my life with my uncle and aunt. They have been very good to me. I do regret all of the years that we have been apart.”

  “My understanding is that there is still very little love lost between Grandfather and his son and daughter-in-law,” said Belle shortly. She sighed. “We have both lost a part of ourselves as a consequence. I should have liked visiting you and my uncle and aunt in Bath. I have never been to the shops or to the Pump Room or a Lending Library or done anything outside the environs of the Hall. I am naught but a country bumpkin, I fear.” There was mingled longing and regret in her voice.

  Cassandra was beginning to realize just how different her life had been from her sister’s. While she and her sister looked alike in face, figure and coloring, there were slight differences to be found between them. Belle’s skin was brushed to a rosy tan by country life, and though her riding habit was well made, it could not compare with Cassandra’s own, which had been made by a skilled modiste. Cassandra was used to the slow pace of the small city, while Belle knew little beyond her own small corner of the world.

  “Can you get me into the Hall to see Grandfather?” asked Cassandra.

  The possibility that she might see her grandfather was the reason she had come to this lonely spot. When she had received the letter from Belle detailing their grandfather’s illness, she had suddenly had the strongest desire to get to know the old gentleman in person. She had only dim recollections of him, but she had developed an affection for her grandfather through Belle’s letters. It had been obvious that Belle loved the old gentleman who had had the raising of her, and Cassandra had cherished the hope that some day, some way, she could meet him.

  She had known that her uncle and aunt would never consent to her visiting the country manor, despite her grandfather’s illness. There was too much bitterness between the two parties. However, her uncle and aunt had decided to join a house party at an old friend’s home that was within riding distance of her grandfather’s manor. After their visit, they intended to continue up to London to set things in train for Cassandra’s come-out.

  Cassandra had conceived the notion that if she could slip away from the house party for a few hours, perhaps Belle could smuggle her into the Hall to meet their grandfather. Belle had responded enthusiastically to the idea, and so this rendezvous had been planned. It had all gone off perfectly thus far. Now she only needed Belle’s reassurance that the rest of their plan could be put into effect.

  “Of course I can. There is nothing simpler,” said Belle. “In fact—” Her eyes began to gleam. “I have the most marvelous notion, Cassandra. You will adore it, I swear! Until we met, we neither of us knew how alike we are. But now we have, and I think it would be the easiest thing imaginable for us to switch identities for a little while. Don’t you think so? Then you could spend a few days with Grandfather, while I could get to know my uncle and aunt. Isn’t it a splendid notion?”

  “You mean ... trade places?” asked Cassandra, appalled.

  Belle made a face. “You make it sound so shocking.”

  “It is shocking!”

  “But is it really? Only consider, Cassandra! We have only to change clothes, and the deed is done. What could be simpler or more advantageous to us both?” said Belle urgently. “You will be with Grandfather, and I shall be at the house party. We each get a bit of what we want. And there is far less risk this way. What do you think Grandfather would say if I introduced you and he had to send word to my uncle that you were to be fetched away?”

  Cassandra could well imagine that circumstance. Her uncle and aunt would be furious. She considered everything Belle had said. Belle was right, up to a point. It would be so easy to exchange clothes. That Belle was a little rosier in the face was a bit daunting. She would have to expose her complexion to the sun for a short time, thought Cassandra, but that was a small sacrifice and certainly a minor abuse of her skin that could be rectified.

  “But what about Grandfather and the staff? I don’t know anything about the Hall,” said Cassandra aloud.

  “Oh, I can tell you all that you need to know. You won’t have the least difficulty. No one will expect you to be anyone else but me, of course, and I can describe to you where my bedroom is and the other rooms,” said Belle.

  “That’s all very well, Belle. But surely Grandfather, at least, will notice something different about me,” retorted Cassandra. She was feeling excitement and trepidation. Did she dare? Did she really dare to do this outrageous thing? Her breath shortened at the thought.

  “Grandfather sleeps most of the time. I suspect it is the nasty vile potion that the physician made up for him. Believe me, he will notice nothing amiss, and if he does, he will put it off to his own weakened faculties,” said Belle confidently. “Why shouldn’t he? He won’t be expecting you to be you!”

  “There’s my uncle and aunt, and the house party! What of Sir Thomas, who invited us? He might suspect you— me!—if you betrayed too much knowledge of his family or the surrounding neighborhood,” said Cassandra.

  “Surely I know my uncle and aunt well enough from your letters to pass as you! As for Sir Thomas—well, he has known me since I was small. He is the local physician, you see. But I cannot see how that will be a problem. He knows our family history as well as anyone, I suppose, and he will not embarrass my uncle and aunt by referring to the trouble between them and Grandfather. Quite frankly, I do not anticipate any difficulty,” said Belle. “Sir Thomas will not be expecting anyone but Cassandra Weatherstone at his house party. Has he said anything to you about me?”

  “No, he has not,” said Cassandra slowly.

  “You see!” Belle exclaimed as she threw out her hands.

  “I hope that I am not making a mistake,” said Cassandra, shaking her head.

  “Oh, Cassandra! Thank you!” Belle hugged her. “You shan’t regret it, I promise you. Nor shall I!”

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  Cassandra entered the rear door of the Hall with her heart pounding. She struggled to maintain a calm expression, but she could not help how her eyes darted anxiously here and there. Perspiring from nervousness, she grasped her sister’s riding whip with clenched fingers.

  She had made a misstep in the stables when she rode in. The elderly groom, whom Belle had told her was called Young John, had taken the gelding. He had stood looking at her while she had shaken out her skirt, and when she had looked up at him inquiringly, he had said, “Bain’t you going to feed him the carrot, Miss Belle?”

  Cassandra had felt her face flame. Belle had told her about the treat that she always carried for the gelding, but she had forgotten. Cassandra thrust her gloved hand into her pocket and pulled out the carrot. “Of course I am! Here, Rolly, that’s a good boy.”

  With a backward stare, the old groom had led the gelding away toward the stables while Cassandra turned toward the manor door. She had been profoundly shaken that she had made such
a simple and noticeable error at the first opportunity.

  Now as she traversed the dimly lit hallway toward the front of the manor, she had difficulty drawing a decent breath. She shrank from the thought of making another mistake and hoped that she would meet no one on the way up to Belle’s bedroom. At that moment she wanted nothing more ardently than a private corner in which to orient herself and gather her shattered nerve.

  “Miss Belle.”

  Her heart jumping, Cassandra turned quickly. Her eyes searched swiftly for the owner of the deep, wavering voice. Belle had described all of the household staff, but Cassandra was not at all certain that she could put names to any of them. Some of her anxiety must have shown in her expression, for the white-haired man coughed apologetically behind his hand.

  “It was not my intent to startle you, miss. I only wished to inform you that the post has come.”

  Cassandra realized at once, both from what the man had said and his attire, that he was the butler, Steeves. She did a swift survey—stooped, white-haired, long nose. Yes, it was Steeves. Belle’s description had been perfect.

  “Th-thank you, Steeves. I shall be glad to open it as soon as I have put off my habit,” stammered Cassandra. She wondered whether the faithful old retainer would notice anything different about her. Thank goodness that the hallway lighting was so gloomy, thought Cassandra, so that her pale complexion could not be as noticeable.

  “Very good, Miss Belle. I shall take it to the sitting room.” The butler hesitated, then said, “There is a letter from Sir Marcus’s man of business. Perhaps you will wish to open it as well.”

  “But my grandfather—

  The butler shook his head regretfully. “I fear not, miss. I have been informed by Weems that Sir Marcus is very restless and not himself this morning. Weems holds out very little encouragement that Sir Marcus will come out of his delirious state for some hours. As you will recall, that is the nature of the illness.”