Becket's Last Stand. Кейси Майклс

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      “Is that so? My, and Morgan suggested this course of action?”

      “Well, no…not directly. She just said—they all said—that Court has to stop seeing me as a child. So I…I just…”

      “Ambushed him?” Eleanor suggested, handing Cassandra the empty teacup. “What did you do, jump out from behind a statue and hang yourself around his shoulders like a limpet?”

      “It wasn’t that bad,” Cassandra said quietly. “Almost, but not quite. We were sitting on the steps below the terrace and I just…I just turned to him and, well, launched myself at him, I suppose you’d say. It was very impulsive, not well thought out at all. But the entire thing seemed perfectly logical at the time.”

      “Oh, I’m sure it did, after Morgan filled your head with nonsense. Cassandra, that probably wasn’t a good idea. You know what a stickler for propriety Courtland can be. You’ll have to be less obvious. Launching yourself is not being less obvious. Next time, you might want to find a way to make him think the kiss was his idea.”

      Cassandra’s eyes went wide for a moment. “You’re giving me advice?”

      “Why shouldn’t I? It would seem everyone else has, yes? And this is a baby I’m carrying, and we all know how babies are made. You and Fanny may have called me Saint Eleanor a time or two behind my back when I tried to school you in proper deportment, but I am a woman, you know. And, speaking of Fanny, please tell me she didn’t give you advice.”

      “Well, Fanny didn’t say too much, as she and Valentine were in a hurry to get back to their estate. Something about a small fire in the kitchens, or something. A messenger arrived yesterday evening with the news, and they left this morning soon after Chance and Julia. But you know that, too, don’t you? Nobody hid that from you?”

      “Yes, I’m allowed that sort of information, since Brede Manor didn’t burn to the ground, thank goodness. It’s probably better to have Fanny and Valentine gone, in any case, if things become, well, complicated. No one will know Fanny is a Becket, and Valentine shouldn’t be involved in anything that could end in violence. He has his place in Society to consider, his Earldom.”

      “Not to hear him talk about how much he’d like to be the one who personally puts a ball between Beales’s eyes,” Cassandra said, sighing. “All of them, all the men. It’s all they talk about. Like little boys. They really want to see it come to a fight, Beales sailing into the harbor, his cannon run out, ready to deliver a broadside, or riding across the Marsh with one hundred well-armed men behind him, set to attack us. Do men never tire of war?”

      “Are you including Court in this group of bloodthirsty avengers, Cassandra? I would have counted on him to be more subdued.”

      “I suppose he is. He seems more interested in protecting us than in destroying Beales. He and Papa closet themselves together every morning, going over their plans as if something changed during the previous night.”

      “And what are their plans? To defend Becket Hall, that is?”

      Cassandra shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m not going to be tricked into telling you things Jack says you’re not to know.”

      “But I feel so helpless, lying here. I’ve rolled enough bandages to wrap every other man here from head-to-toe if the occasion arises, and I’ve been over and over our list of supplies, until I could tell you precisely how many sacks of flour we have stored away, how many dozens of candles. Anyone would think we were Troy, about to come under siege. And all with me stuck here, unable to help. It’s so frustrating!”

      “How should I be less obvious, Elly?” Cassandra asked, seeing that her sister was becoming agitated. If Odette were to enter the bedchamber now, Cassandra knew she’d be shooed out, probably with a flea in her ear and an admonition that she never return.

      “Very well, I’ll stop complaining.” Eleanor took Cassandra’s hand in hers. “I doubt you should listen to me, sweetheart, when it comes to attracting a man. After all, I watched Jack from afar for over two years,

      hiding my feelings like some silly ninny, before I finally got up the courage to…well, that’s neither here nor there. Was Courtland really angry when you kissed him?”

      “I’m not sure. I think he was surprised. Oh, I know he was surprised. But then, just for an instant, you know, he seemed to…he seemed to soften toward me, as if he didn’t really mind all that much. That’s when he got angry!”

      “Angry with himself,” Eleanor concluded, nodding her head as if this made perfect sense to her. “Poor, poor Courtland. He loves you so much, and has always loved you. What a surprise it must be to him that this love has been slowly shifting from the avuncular to the…ah…never mind. Do you know what I think? I think you should ignore him, Cassandra, just for a few days. Let him think you’re upset at his reaction to your kiss.”

      “Well, I most certainly am not happy about his reaction. But what good will that do?”

      “I can’t be sure, but I think it might make him begin to reconsider your association. The baby he helped care for hasn’t been a baby for a long time. He may need, however, to be introduced to the adult Cassandra. Because they’re two different people, aren’t they?”

      “Sometimes,” Cassandra admitted, sighing, for if nothing else, she knew her own faults. “Sometimes I still act like an idiot child. Chasing after him, teasing him, driving him to distraction—all the things he’s always told me I do.”

      “Then don’t do them anymore. It’s that simple. He is accustomed to reacting to the way you act— behave, that is. But, if you no longer behave as he has come to expect, then he will also have to change his own behavior and conclusions as they concern you. That only makes sense, doesn’t it? It could, actually, be rather delicious to watch. While I’m stuck up here, drat it all.”

      Poor Eleanor. Cassandra decided she’d suffered enough. “Let me comb your hair. It’s all tangled in the back, from lying against those pillows.”

      “Oh, I suppose so,” Eleanor said, sitting up. “Jack must think I’ve got birds nesting in my hair at times. But aren’t I keeping you from something?”

      “Not a bit of it,” Cassandra said, grabbing the brush from the dressing table and climbing back up on the bed, kneeling behind her sister. “I can’t think of anything more enjoyable than spending time here with you.”

      “Which explains why you’re pulling my hair out of my head—ouch!”

      “Sorry,” Cassandra mumbled, trying not to giggle. But she’d talked so long with Eleanor that she’d lost track of time, and Jack would be coming into the bedchamber at any moment, while Mariah kept Odette occupied checking on young William Henry’s supposed putrid throat. “Oh, see how pretty you look now? Let me get you that bed jacket over there, and put it around your shoulders. I think I feel a chill.”

      “Cassandra,” Eleanor said sternly as her sister dashed away, running back with the lace-edged bed jacket, “what are you doing? And don’t tell me you invited everyone in here to my prison to entertain me, because I’m in no mood to be cheered by a gaggle of people who can come and go as they please while I’m stuck here like some—Jack? I thought you were all meeting over at The Last Voyage to decide who next goes out on maneuvers with the Respite.”

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