Chasing Cassandra (The Ravenels, #6)

by Lisa Kleypas

“Sweetheart,” West murmured kindly, “listen to me. There’s no need to worry. You’ll either meet someone new, or you’ll reconsider someone you didn’t appreciate at first. Some men are an acquired taste. Like oysters, or Gorgonzola cheese.”

“I’m older than him on the inside, by decades. My soul is a raisin. Take my word for it, you don’t want to be my wife.”

‘Alone’ and ‘lonely’ are entirely different things.”

“I’ll be your oyster,” Tom broke in.

“I’ll marry you,” Tom told her. “Any time. Any terms.” West gently nudged Cassandra toward the door. “Go, darling, while I talk with the insane man.”

“You’re not too plump,” he said gruffly. “The more of you there is in the world, the better.”

West turned to face Tom, his expression puzzled and annoyed. Before his friend could say a word, Tom asked urgently, “Can I have her?” “No.” “I have to have her, let me have her—”

As Tom saw West’s expression, he said with a touch of defensiveness, “You know I’ve never been one of those sentimental fellows.” “You mean the ones with actual human emotions?” West asked acidly.

Her twin, her other half, had begun a new life with her husband, Lord St. Vincent. And Cassandra was alone.

☹️

“Sometimes intelligent people can make something simple into something very complicated.

“I’ve read novels—” Cassandra began earnestly, and was disgruntled to hear his quiet laugh. “Many of them. You don’t think a person can learn things from reading novels?”

“But life is what novels are about. A novel can contain more truth than a thousand newspaper articles or scientific papers. It can make you imagine, just for a little while, that you’re someone else—and then you understand more about people who are different from you.”

“I suppose that’s not very interesting. Pandora’s the exciting, amusing twin, the one people remember. I’ve always been . . . well, the one who’s not Pandora.”

“Haven’t you ever liked someone or something right away, without knowing exactly why, but feeling sure you would discover the reasons later?”

“There’s a wild streak in the Marsden brood,” Lady Berwick said with a hint of disapproval, “which undoubtedly comes from the mother. American, you know.

Cassandra decided to be blunt. “I’m certain I could never fall in love with Lord Foxhall or his brother.” “As I’ve told you before, that is irrelevant.” “Not to me.”

“You would eventually find her smothering—inconvenient—you’d grow cold to her, and then I’d have to kill you.

“How could a grown man sleep in the middle of the day? Why would you even want to?” “I wasn’t planning to sleep,” Devon said curtly. “Oh. Well, I would like to have my own wife to nap with. In fact, I’d like some good, hard napping on a regular basis.”

“There’s nothing wrong about not knowing something. The stupid people are the ones who think they know everything.”

“Wait,” Mr. Severin said, sitting up and wiping his hands with a rag. “Why can’t you look higher than a man’s collar button when you meet him?” “Because if I look at his face,” Cassandra said primly, “he’ll think I’m too bold.” “He may think you need an eye examination.”

“The way I proposed to you earlier . . . I’m sorry. It was . . . disrespectful. Stupid. Since then I’ve discovered at least a dozen reasons for proposing to you, and beauty is the least of them.”

“Would you like me better if I agreed with everything you said?” “No,” she said easily, “I like you just as you are.”

Justin looked up at the tall man beside him with a flicker of uncertainty. “I can call you Dad . . . can’t I? Do you like that name?” A change came over West’s face, his color deepening, small muscles contorting with some powerful emotion. He snatched Justin up, one of his large hands clasping the small head as he kissed his cheek. “I love that name,” West said unsteadily. “I love it.” The boy’s arms went around his neck.

CRYING

“You’re not as sweet as everyone thinks you are,” he said darkly. “I know.” Cassandra grinned

Turning to her husband, she asked, “Do men really talk about women that way?” “Men, no,” Gabriel said. “Arsewits, yes.”

With a sigh, she picked up the discarded shoe and scowled at it. The pearls and intricate beading glittered in a slant of moonlight. So beautiful, and yet so incompetent at being a shoe. “I had such high hopes for you,” she said dourly,

The world was nothing but moonlight and music as the two of them swept through the empty conservatory with the ease of mist carried on a sea breeze.

Cassandra smiled up at him. “I’ve changed my mind about uncomfortable shoes. Why limp when I could dance?”

His reply was halting and gruff. “Perfection is impossible. Most mathematical truths can’t be proved. The vast majority of mathematical relations can’t be known. But you . . . standing here in your bare feet in that dress . . . you’re perfect.”

“I’ll never be able to forget this,” she heard Tom say eventually. He sounded far from pleased by the fact. “I’ll have to go a lifetime with you lurking in my head.”

Unable to resolve the paradox on his own, Tom decided to consult the known authority on such matters: Jane Austen.

Sound logic

He returned home with Don Quixote, Les Misérables, and A Tale of Two Cities, although he wasn’t sure why he was compelled to read them. Maybe it was the sense they all contained clues to an elusive secret. Maybe if he read enough novels about the problems of fictional people, he might find some clue about how to solve his own.

Had Tom been capable of falling in love, he would have right there and then, as he watched Lady Cassandra Ravenel serenade a ragamuffin while cutting his hair. She was so capable and clever and adorable, it made his chest ache with a hot pressure that threatened to fracture something.

“She has a marvelous way with children,” Garrett murmured to him at one point, clearly delighted by the situation. She had a way with everyone. Especially him. He’d never been besotted like this. It was intolerable.

Exasperated, Tom called through the curtain, “Cassandra, do you know a washing song?” Instantly she began one called Some Ducks Don’t Like Puddles. To Tom’s relief, Bazzle subsided.

If she wanted love, therefore, she would have to be patient, calm, and kind. She would have to let it find her in its own way and time. Since Love is a greased pig wasn’t a particularly dignified motto, she decided the Latin translation was more elegant: Amor est uncta porcus.

“He’s stodgy and dull. It’s no fun talking to him—” “One has friends for conversations, not husbands.” “—and that chinstrap beard is dreadful. A man should either shave or grow a proper beard. Anything in between looks accidental.”

“Yes,” Cassandra replied with difficulty. “I want to leave early. Not early enough to cause gossip, but as soon as possible.” “I’ll come up with an excuse.” “And . . . don’t let him come near me.” Kathleen’s voice was excessively calm, while her hand came to press tightly over Cassandra’s. “He won’t.”

Kathleen serving the best big sister vibes

Now Kathleen was talking to Devon, asking him to send for the carriage. He didn’t bother with a pleasant social mask. His face went taut, his blue eyes narrowing. “Is there something I should know right now?” he asked softly, looking from his wife’s face to Cassandra’s.

Kill him, Devon

“Do you think I would let you go out wearing something inappropriate?” Kathleen asked curtly. “You happen to be well-endowed—which is a blessing, not a crime. I’d like to go back and horsewhip that bastard for suggesting this was somehow your fault.”

“Make no mistake,” Kathleen continued heatedly, “this is a taste of how he would treat you after the wedding. Except it would be a thousand times worse, because as his wife, you would be at his mercy. Men like that never take responsibility—they lash out, and then say someone else provoked them into doing it. ‘See what you made me do.’ But the choice is always theirs. They hurt and frighten others to make themselves feel powerful.”

Devon looked sardonic. “Powerful men don’t lose their tempers. They stay calm while others are shouting and blowing up.”

“. . . in my day, there would have been a duel,” Lady Berwick was saying. “Were I a man, I would have called him out already.” “Please don’t say that in my husband’s hearing,” Kathleen said dryly. “He needs no encouragement. His surface is civilized, but it only goes so deep.”

Winterborne spoke up then, having had longer acquaintance with Ethan than any of them. “When Ransom was a government agent,” he said quietly, “he was the one they sent to terrify the terrorists.” That made Cassandra feel a little better.

“You just bought the London Chronicle,” Devon said slowly, to make certain he hadn’t misheard. “Today.” “No one could do that in less than a day,” Ripon sneered. Winterborne smiled slightly. “He could,” he said, with a nod toward Tom.

ICONIC.

“You bought an entire newspaper business . . . for my sake?” Tom thought for a long moment before answering. Now his voice was different than she’d ever heard it, quiet and even a little shaken. “There are no limits to what I would do for you.”

“Marry me, Cassandra—and we’ll tell them all to go to hell.”

“When I lived alone. But I was obliged to stop after I moved to Eversby Priory, when Kathleen told me it was scaring the servants.” “It sounded nonhuman,” Kathleen said. “We all thought someone was performing an exorcism.”

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll be occupied with negotiations.” “More to do with the Chronicle?” Severin shook his head. “Another business entirely.” A brief, wondering laugh escaped him. “The merger of a lifetime.”

“You’re going to start a town?” Kathleen asked blankly. “For the love of God,” West said, “don’t name it after yourself.”