Page 54 of Impetuous

Cassandra closed herself in her bedroom until teatime, pulling the curtains closed and lying on her bed in the dark, trying to bring her rampant emotions back to some sort of rational order. It was absurd that he should have so much power over her. It frightened her. She had always been so completely in charge—of herself, her family, whatever situation she had to deal with. She prided herself on it; everyone looked to her. But Philip Neville had blown that pretty picture sky-high. She felt like the silliest rustic maiden, a vacant-headed ninny ruled by her desires.

But even as she reprimanded herself, something inside her cried that it was unfair. Her body thrummed with passion—and what was so wrong with that? Would it be so terrible to give in to her feelings for Philip? Men gave way to their passions all the time, and no one despised them. No harm came from it—except for those poor children like the ones at Silverwood.

She pointed out to herself that she didn’t know that Philip was interested in seducing, then dropping, her. She had only her aunt’s word for that, and Aunt Ardis had a vested interest in keeping Cassandra and Philip apart. But what about his children at Silverwood? Aunt Ardis had been right about that; the rumor mill had been right. Only a hardened libertine could have so many illegitimate children that they filled a home.

Cassandra groaned. It was so hard to believe that he was a roué, a rake. The truth was that she did not want to believe it. Her feelings for Philip were clouding her usually clear mind. But that notion was in itself absurd! She did not have feelings for Sir Philip. She could not.

It was a relief when she went down for tea and found that Philip was not there. He was at the table at supper, however, and she had to endure sitting beside him. His face was stony, and he spoke as little as possible to her. She was sure that he hated her, and even though she told herself that he had no reason to, she felt even more unhappy.

After supper, in the drawing room, Joanna flirted wildly with Philip, hanging on his arm, bending over strategically so he could get a full view of her swelling breasts above the low neckline of her dress, plying her fan coquettishly. She asked his opinion and hung breathless on his reply. She called him Philip, as if she had the right to address him familiarly and favored him with arch smiles.

The worst of it was, Cassandra thought, that Philip did not seem terribly annoyed at having to endure Joanna’s flirting. Cassandra wished that she had pleaded sickness and had a tray brought to her room instead of coming down for dinner. Or she could have eaten in the nursery with the twins, Olivia and Georgette. That would have been infinitely more enjoyable.

As soon as Philip’s grandmother decided to retire for the night, Cassandra jumped up and left for her bedroom, also. She simply could not bear any longer to sit and watch Joanna fawn over Philip.

Having little else to do, she changed clothes and went to bed early, but she quickly discovered that that was a mistake. She was wide-awake, and, lying there in the dark, all she could do was think about Philip and the many problems surrounding him. It was almost enough, she thought, to make her wish that she had never come to Haverly House.

* * *

THE PICNIC THE next day interfered with any work they might have done in the library. Cassandra chafed at the delay in their search, although she was also relieved that she was not going to have to spend the day in close quarters with Sir Philip.

The picnic was a huge production. Even the elder Lady Neville went. Miss Yorke walked over from Silverwood, and they set out: the older ladies and Miss Yorke in an open carriage, parasols up to ward off the sun, and Sir Philip, Georgette and the children on horseback. Joanna, upon learning that her quarry planned to ride, decided that she would ride, also, even though it meant being in the company of the twins and Olivia. Cassandra, thinking of having to watch Joanna flirt with Sir Philip the whole time, opted to ride with the older women in the carriage, even though it made it a rather tight squeeze. Several servants followed them in a wagon with the food and other necessities.

They made their way to a large, shallow pond, known locally as a “broad.” The broads, Lady Neville explained, were areas where the locals had once “mined” peat, leaving wide holes in the ground that soon filled with water. The ride along tree-dappled lanes, often bordered by masses of rhododendron, would have been pleasant had it not been for the fact that Aunt Ardis talked most of the time, usually about her daughter’s attributes and virtues. By the time Cassandra had heard four times how much Joanna valued her new fast friend, Georgette, and how admired Joanna was by her many suitors, not to mention how sweet she found Duchess, the elder Lady Neville’s foul-tempered Persian, and how utterly lovely she thought the furnishings of Haverly House were, Cassandra was almost ready to walk the rest of the way. Having to watch Joanna and Philip now seemed like a petty price to pay for being able to ride in the open air, far away from Aunt Ardis’s babble.

She glanced across the carriage and saw mirrored in Sarah Yorke’s eyes the same fervent wish. She smiled and looked hastily away for fear that she might burst out laughing. Miss Yorke, she thought, might be someone with whom she could be friends.

When they finally arrived at the wide-spreading oak tree where they would have their picnic, Cassandra climbed nimbly down, followed immediately by Miss Yorke. Both of them were several feet away before the other women began to move. Cassandra cut her eyes toward Miss Yorke and smiled conspiratorially. Miss Yorke returned her smile shyly.

The riders were dismounting and handing their horses over to the grooms who had accompanied the party. Cassandra saw Philip walking purposefully in their direction, so she turned quickly to Miss Yorke and suggested that they take a stroll beside the pleasant broad.

As they walked, Miss Yorke pointed out some of the local vegetation and birds, seemingly most comfortable in her governess role. “You see the swallowtails?” she asked, pointing toward several beautiful butterflies floating over a patch of green plants. “This is one of the few places where they visit. They feed on the milk parsley, you see.”

“Ah. Lovely. Have you lived in this area all your life?” Cassandra asked.

“No. But I find it very beautiful.” She flushed a little. “I am always intrigued by the flora and fauna of an area. My father, you see, was a naturalist, and I often accompanied him on his explorations of nature. It is one of the things I most enjoy about teaching the children. They still have a joy in learning about nature.”

“I am sure that you are an excellent teacher.”

“It was very kind of Sir Philip to hire me,” Miss Yorke continued, her voice warm. “He knew my father, and he realized in what position I must have been left when Father died. Father was a wonderful man, but his love of nature barely produced a living. I tried to write the same sort of articles he had for some of the books and magazines—I had helped him write many of the ones he sold—but they were reluctant to accept an article written by a woman.”

Cassandra made a noise of disgust. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“I didn’t know what I was going to do. My skills were deficient in a number of areas that people think are essential for being a governess to young ladies. I cannot paint or sing or even play the piano. My handwriting is no more than adequate. Father never thought such things were important. He trained me very well in mathematics and the sciences, which, I found, is not highly valued for a teacher of girls. The only thing left to me was to become a companion, but I had trouble finding a position even as that. I was at my wits’ end—then Sir Philip rescued me.” A smile lit her face. “I shall be forever grateful to him. He says that he thought of me because he knew that I would be perfect for the task, but I know that it was his kindness and compassion that made him write to me. There are many others he could have found who are equally qualified and just as good with children.”

“Yes, he can be kind.” Cassandra had to admit that he had been very good to her brothers and sister. He had talked to them, invited them here, even put them up on his carriage and let them ride his horses. Nothing could have pleased them more. Many men would not have been so considerate. It made her heart warm to him, as so many things about him did—yet she could not get around the fact that he also callously seduced women, leaving them pregnant and unmarried.

Hastily she changed the subject, pointing across to a clump of reeds at the edge of the broad. “What a lovely bird! What kind is that?”

Miss Yorke returned to the subject of flora and fauna, and they began to retrace their steps, returning to the group under the spreading oak.

By the time they got back, the servants had spread out blankets on the grass beneath the tree and set up stools for Philip’s mother and grandmother and Aunt Ardis. Georgette and Olivia were huddled together as far from the older women as they could get, talking and giggling. The boys were playing catch with Sir Philip, and Joanna stood watching them. She had taken off her riding jacket in the heat, and she made a pretty picture standing there in the velvet skirt and white shirtwaist, a parasol on her shoulder to protect her fair skin from the sun.

Cassandra and Miss Yorke sat down with the other women, but Miss Yorke soon left to get a glass of lemonade for Philip’s grandmother. Violet shook her head in exasperation. “That girl simply cannot sit still and enjoy herself. I told her that a servant would bring Mother’s drink soon.”

The elder Lady Neville, fanning herself desultorily, said, “It’s all right, Violet. It won’t do her any harm.”

“No, but she will find something else she thinks she must do in order to justify her being here. I intended for her to enjoy the party.”