Page 27 of The Raven’s Lady

“That is my hope.”

In the face of his happy besotted look, Cassie could say no more. She knew what it was to feel that sort of attachment to another. Sir Adrian seemed to suspect no danger, and perhaps there was none. He was strong. For him, love was not broken. He had business in the world. As Raven he had survived hardship. If Amabel failed to return his love, he would not give into melancholy. Cassie had no right to interfere in his affairs. Telling him that Hugh was Amabel’s brother would be impertinent, too much like the sort of warning a person in love always ignored. She was hardly the one to instruct another in the conduct of a love affair.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing.” Cassie would not interfere. However unpleasant Hugh’s disposition, he would see the value of a very rich suitor for his sister. Sir Adrian could handle Hugh.

He gave her an assessing look. “Your face is full of something,” he said. “You said you know your neighbors. Perhaps you know Lady Amabel.”

“She is six years my junior, so she was not out when I was in my dancing days.”

“Your dancing days?” One of his brows quirked up. “You can’t be more than four and twenty. Are you going to tell me that you never dance?”

As soon as he said it, he looked conscious of the awkwardness of the topic. It was the closest he’d come to a mention of her foot. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “That was impertinent of me.”

She laughed. Let him think her foot was to blame. “Go. Meet your neighbors, but be prepared to dine out for the next fortnight.”

He gave her a last questioning glance, made a quick bow, and strode off. At least three hopeful mamas waited with their offspring to meet him. Lady Brock got to him first.

When he stopped to talk with the Brock family, Cassie turned to find her grandmother’s carriage gone. Grandmama had not waited. To abandon her granddaughter was an odd start even for Grandmama, but Cassie could not think what she’d done to get into Grandmama’s black books this time.

Cassie stood for a moment under a dripping yew. She wasn’t far from Verwood. She could easily walk even with her bad foot. In the church yard, families waited for their moment with Sir Adrian. When she turned toward the gate, there was Jay Kydd.

“Bluebell, we meet again,” he said. “Where may I take you?”

“I can walk,” she said. She could think of nowhere he could take her without exposing her identity.

“In all this mud? What if we simply go for a drive,” he offered.

“Very well.” She would think of somewhere to have him set her down. And they would have to avoid being seen in the village. “Can we take the Ramsbury road?”

He raised a brow, but handed her up into the carriage and offered her a lap rug. A memory came to mind of driving in the rain with Torrington, but she refused to let it take hold. She was not that girl. She was Bluebell, at least for the next hour. Mr. Kydd sprang up beside her and gave the horses their command. He was a neat driver, and the horses were a perfect pair. Riding with him was nothing like being jolted along in the inn gig.

Where the road forked at the edge of the village, he asked her opinion, and she pointed toward Lord Ramsbury’s estate. It was the way most likely to be empty, passing for miles through property that had belonged to Verwood when Cassie was a child. Now those acres were devoted to Lord Ramsbury’s game and roamed mainly by Ramsbury’s shooting parties when the birds were in season, and by his gamekeepers, who had little to do with the village people.

She imagined Sir Adrian taking the same road soon, full of eagerness, and the knot in her stomach tightened. Cassie wished him no disappointment. She should perhaps have told him that Hugh was Amabel’s brother, but she reminded herself that Sir Adrian was a man who didn’t let much stand in his way. She raised her chin and let the rain-freshened air rush over her. She was Bluebell at the moment, enjoying a lark.

Before they reached Lord Ramsbury’s gates, Mr. Kydd turned them around and slowed his horses. “Feel better?”

“I was not aware of feeling unwell,” she said.

“You looked downright blue-deviled when we started.”

She laughed. “Do you always say what you’re thinking?”

“Mostly,” he said. “I looked for you this week, but you gave me the slip.”

“Weren’t you occupied helping Sir Adrian?”

“For you, Bluebell, I would have made time. Didn’t you miss me?”

“I was too busy.” In truth she had been thoroughly occupied with helping Honoria arrange the jumbled pages of a draft.

“Who keeps you busy, I wonder? Her Grace?”

Cassie looked away to hide a smile. “No lady so grand as that.”

“You know, Bluebell, with a little push I can learn your name. Wormley is a small village.”