Impetuous

When they reached Chesilworth, Mr. Miller exclaimed aloud, impressed by its size and age, “Why, it’s a castle!”

“Hardly.” Cassandra laughed. “The Verreres were not great land barons during the Middle Ages, but the Elizabethan who built this tried his best to make it look like one.”

“You won’t find anything like this in the United States,” he told her, still in awe. “It’s a grand place. You must have hated to leave it.”

Cassandra nodded, though it wasn’t its grandeur that made her miss Chesilworth. It was its dear familiarity and its memories, the sense of family history that lived throughout it. They showed Mr. Miller through Chesilworth, even the damp and deteriorating west wing, and the next afternoon he returned to help them search the attics. In the end, he wound up stretching his visit to yet a third day, and it was with visible reluctance that he left them then.

After his departure, the days at Moulton House settled into their usual routine. Cassandra oversaw most of her aunt’s housekeeping, and whenever she could, she sneaked away to Chesilworth, sometimes with her siblings and sometimes without.

One afternoon, about a week after Mr. Miller departed, all four of the Verreres were in the attic at Chesilworth, though only Cassandra was still looking through the trunks. The heat of the day and boredom had prompted the twins to engage in a pretend sword fight with two canes they had found against the attic wall, and Olivia stood by an open window, trying to find any stray bit of breeze.

Cassandra finished loading all the objects back into a trunk that she had just emptied and closed the lid, sending another shower of dust all over her. She coughed and sat back on her heels, drawing her hand across her forehead and sighing. Her back hurt, and she badly wanted a drink of water. She coughed again and thought about quitting the search for the day.

To her amazement, there was a sound in the hall below the attic stairs. Then her cousin’s voice rang out cheerily, “Cassandra! Oh, Cassandra!”

Joanna? Whatever had possessed Joanna to come all the way over to Chesilworth? It was not like her cousin to move an inch out of her way, let alone visit their dilapidated house. There were footsteps on the stairs, and a man’s head and shoulders appeared through the hole in the floor. Cassandra understood now why Joanna had gone to the trouble of coming to Chesilworth. She rose to her feet, staring in silence as the rest of the man came into view.

“Good day, Miss Verrere,” said Sir Philip Neville cheerfully.

Chapter Five

“SIR PHILIP!” CASSANDRA gaped at the man.

“Miss Verrere. It is a pleasure to see you again.” A twinkle danced in Neville’s brown eyes.

Cassandra was intensely, humiliatingly aware of the way she looked—sweating in a most unlady-like manner, covered with dust, wearing one of her oldest and most ragtag dresses, and her hair no doubt sticking out every which way. She looked past Sir Philip to the attic opening, where Joanna now stood, a smug smile playing on her lips. Cassandra felt as if she could cheerfully have murdered her. No wonder Joanna had gone to the trouble of coming over to Chesilworth. She had known the state in which she and Sir Philip would find Cassandra.

Cassandra rose to her feet with all the dignity she could muster, trying vainly to brush the dust off her hands onto her skirts. “I—this is indeed a surprise, Sir Philip. I had not expected to see you again, least of all here.”

“My visit to Lady Arrabeck’s was over, and I was returning home, when it occurred to me that Dunsleigh would be a pleasant place at which to make a stop.”

“How fortuitous that we lay on your way home,” Cassandra replied, bringing up a mental map in her head and placing Lady Arrabeck’s, Dunsleigh and Neville’s Haverly House on it. It seemed to her that no one in his right mind would go through Dunsleigh to travel from Arrabeck Hall to Haverly House.

“Yes, isn’t it?” Neville returned blandly.

He had to be here about the treasure. Cassandra was certain that his story about dropping in on his way home was utter folderol, even if Joanna was too poor at geography to realize it. She was grateful, though, that he had been smart enough not to tell her aunt or cousin the real reason for his visit.

He crossed the attic to where she stood, winding his way among the boxes and trunks, and bowed elegantly over her embarrassingly dusty hand.

“Please forgive my appearance,” Cassandra murmured. “’Tis dusty work in the attics.”

“I see.” A flash of amusement crossed his face. “But there is no need to apologize. You look, as always, enchanting.”

Cassandra felt a betraying heat rise in her cheeks and she glanced quickly away. “Uh—I—allow me to introduce you to my sister and brothers.”

The twins had stopped their mock battle as soon as Neville had arrived, and they edged closer now, staring at him in fascination.

“My brother Crispin, Lord Chesilworth, and his twin Hart. And this is my sister, Olivia Verrere. Children, this is Sir Philip Neville.”

Neville exchanged polite greetings with the other three, adding as he bowed over Olivia’s hand, “Ah, another beauty in the family, I see.”

Olivia’s eyes grew even wider, and Cassandra knew that he had won her sister over. Behind them, still standing beside the attic stairway, Joanna shifted and sighed noisily. She unfurled her fan and made a production of waving it in front of her.

“It is so dreadfully hot in here,” she opined. “Cassandra, I don’t see how you can stand it. I swear, I think I should faint.”

“Oh, you know I am never subject to the vapors,” Cassandra answered her pragmatically. “But perhaps you should go back downstairs, where it is less stifling.”

“Yes, of course.” Joanna gave her a cat-in-the-cream smile and went on in dulcet tones, “We ought to return to the house, Sir Philip. Cassandra and the other children could join us when they get through here.”

“Thank you for your concern, Miss Moulton.” Sir Philip sent her a brief, disinterested glance. “No doubt you should return to the house if you are feeling unwell. However, I shall remain here. Miss Verrere looks as if she could use some help.”

Joanna stared at him. “You are going to help them clean the attic?”

“If that is what they are doing, yes.” He gave her a perfunctory smile and turned back to Cassandra.

“But I—I can hardly go back to the house by myself,” Joanna protested.

“Your groom was with us.”

“Yes, of course, but that isn’t the same. I mean, he is not a gentleman.”

“You do not trust your servants to behave in a proper manner?” Neville asked, lifting his eyebrows in surprise.

“Of course—I didn’t mean—that is—”

“If you are scared to go back with Jessup,” Olivia suggested with great innocence, “then perhaps you had best wait downstairs. I am sure we will be through in a few hours. Won’t we, Cassie?”

Cassandra had to bite her lip to keep from giggling at Joanna’s outraged expression. “Yes. Joanna, that sounds like an excellent idea.”

Joanna cast a fulminating glance at Cassandra, then at the others, and finally stalked ungraciously to the nearest trunk, lifting her skirts from the dusty floor. She put on a show of dusting off the top of the trunk with her handkerchief, but it was lost on Sir Philip, who was once again looking down at Cassandra.

“Where shall I start, Miss Verrere?”

“Ah...” Cassandra glanced around vaguely, trying to pull her thoughts together. “Well, I had just finished this trunk, and I was going to move on to the one beside it. Perhaps you would like to go through that one.” She pointed to the flat-topped, brass-bound trunk on the other side.

“Of course.” He moved to the next trunk and opened it, sending dust cascading from its top.

Cassandra knelt in front of the trunk beside him and opened it. She glanced over at Sir Philip, still scarcely able to believe that he was there. Her initial embarassment over her appearance was subsiding. It didn’t really matter how she looked; what was important was that he had come.

Quietly she asked, “You have decided that you believe me, sir?”

“I never disbelieved you, Miss Verrere. I was simply of the opinion that you had been duped.”

“A vast improvement. You merely thought me a fool.”

He looked at her, his eyes dancing. “Never that, dear lady.”

“What made you change your mind?”