Page 31 of My Duke, The Stranger
Surely, that is proof of everything? I might not know much, but I know what that means.
Following their goodbye, Cassian had retired to his office for a glass of brandy before bed. He had run into Mr. Pemberton on the way and invited the steward to join him.
It was a friendly request, and one that he assumed Mr. Pemberton would expect. Only, the steward had seemed surprised, even concerned. It was almost as if such an invitation was not a normal thing…
“You do like Isolde, don’t you, Mr. Pemberton?” he asked across the table.
There was a glass of brandy in front of the steward, but he did not touch it. Nor did it look as if he meant to. “Does it matter what I think? You like her, Your Grace, and that is what matters.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is,” Mr. Pemberton said. “Albeit a cryptic one.”
“Very clever,” Cassian chuckled and had another sip of his drink. “I do like her, though. No… I love her. She is the only thing in the place that feels familiar. No offense,” he added with a grin.
“None taken.”
“I suspect that we will marry soon,” he continued, more to himself than to Mr. Pemberton. “She has not mentioned anything to that effect, but no doubt she expects it.” He eyed Mr. Pemberton, who started to look uncomfortable.
“I would not rush into these things,” Mr. Pemberton said vaguely. “Best to focus on your health first. And I am sure Miss Isolde would say the same.”
Mr. Pemberton was a perfect servant, or so Cassian assumed. He never argued with Cassian. He never told him no. And there was an air of familiarity between the two that was not dissimilar to how he felt when talking to Isolde.
However, Cassian was constantly taken by the sense that Mr. Pemberton, while always honest, was also holding things back from him.
But to what effect? And why? If he truly wants me to remember, should he not tell me everything he knows?
It was just so frustrating! Cassian sat in his office, a room in which he had no doubt spent hundreds of hours. It was dark and cramped, stacked with books and papers and other trinkets that held no meaning. Behind his desk hung a portrait of himself as a teenager, as well as a younger boy whom he knew to be his brother, Julian.
They smiled in that portrait, looking as happy as two men could be. But when Cassian asked where Julian was, Mr. Pemberton became awkward, even afraid, as if the answer might undo Cassian completely. He told Cassian that his brother had died when he had been nineteen, a horse-riding accident, and nobody’s fault at all. But other than that, he refused to elaborate.
Secrets on secrets, the reasons for which I cannot fathom.
He looked around the office as he sipped his brandy. He tried to remember… anything at all… a fragment of a memory that proved he had been there before.
That was when he smelled it… or he thought that he did.
It was subtle, almost as if he imagined it, but Cassian could have sworn that he smelled cigar smoke in the air. He sniffed further, realizing that he had imagined the smell, even if it lingered in the air.
“What is it?” Mr. Pemberton asked him.
“That smell…” He sniffed again.
“What smell?”
“It is… I think I am imagining things. Only, I could have sworn I could smell cigars. Or rather, it is as if I should be able to.”
Mr. Pemberton’s eyes widened and he sat up. “Your Grace, that is wonderful!”
“I don’t see why it is. It seems to me that I am losing my mind.”
“No, that is not…” Mr. Pemberton shook his head. “You would often retire after supper to this office to have a cigar. Always around this time. And always with a glass of brandy.” He looked pointedly at the glass of brandy on the table.
“Oh.” For some reason, Cassian felt embarrassed. “That hardly means anything.”
“What else?” Mr. Pemberton pressed. “Is there anything else that you remember?”
Cassian clicked his tongue as he looked around the office. And for reasons he could not explain, his gaze drifted to the desk, and then the second draw. He stared at it, another niggling memory touching his mind.
