The Conquest of Lady Cassandra by Madeline Hunter Page A

opened all the empty boxes. A few of them had notes too. She read each one. No names were mentioned, and all of them appeared to warn against wearing in various Continental capitals rather than in England. Three, however, merely said “Can be pawned or sold if necessary, but not to be worn.” At the time she first read them, Cassandra had assumed that was Aunt Sophie’s way of giving a lesson in taste and fashion.
    She tried to remember which box or sack had held the diamond-and-sapphire earrings. Had it been one with a note? Perhaps one of the three that could be sold but not worn?
    Her memory failed her. Nor could she recall the details of that day when she had spread all the jewels on the carpet and Sophie had pointed to this one and that and allowedtheir sale. Cassandra had requested the exercise because of the history of this jewelry, or much of it. She had not wanted to make a mistake.
    Now she wondered if she had, and if Aunt Sophie had as well. Maybe the jewels had lured Aunt Sophie into her memories, and her attention had been distracted from the task at hand.
    She put all the jewels away and closed all the boxes. She wished she could just burn those notes and not wonder what they meant. Worse, she worried that perhaps they did not refer to lovers and gifts after all.
    She suspected that if Ambury knew about them, he would think they did not too.
    Looking at those boxes made her miserable, because her thoughts were turning in directions that were disloyal to the only family member who had remained a friend.
    Merriweather returned to the chamber, carrying a card. “You’ve a visitor.”
    She took the card. Lydia had called.
    She went below and greeted her. “Emma said you had come up to town. It is good to see you. Are you here to shop?”
    “That and other things. I have decided to become accomplished at more than riding and sketching, Cassandra. And you get to help!”
    Y ates opened the door to his father’s apartment slowly. He stepped inside silently. That was how he always approached his father now, in careful movements and soft footfalls. There was no reason for it, yet everyone acted the same way.
    The earl sat in a chair by a closed window in the sitting room. The physicians feared summer fevers claiming his ailing body, and wanted him in the country. The earl had always preferred town, however, and now, with the news out of Ireland, he had found the perfect excuse to return.
    The prime minister had visited yesterday to discuss the matter. It had been a symbolic act to acknowledge the role of the Earls of Highburton down through the years. The current earl could no more effect politics now than he could rise from that chair alone, but Pitt had pretended matters could not be resolved without his sage advice.
    His father’s eyes opened. “What have you there?” He nodded to the papers in Yates’s hand.
    Yates sat in the chair. “More of the same. Questions that Prebles could not answer.”
    Yates waited for him to ask for the questions, or to sleep.
    “What do you think of this Irish mess?” the earl queried instead.
    They had not spoken of politics since winter. It had been an unspoken pact. They would take care of the estate together but avoid the topics that had caused so much rancor between them.
    “I have not thought about it much at all.”
    Something like a laugh choked out. “The hell you haven’t. You have an opinion on most everything, so this would be no different.”
    He should tell the earl what the earl wanted to hear and claim to agree with his father’s own opinion. It would be a kindness, perhaps. A gift.
    “Don’t be feeding me mush like the physicians do. My stomach is bad, but my head is still fine.”
    “I think the mess is the result of one very foolish man thinking he will be a hero. It would be an error to punish an entire people for his crime.”
    The earl shook his head. “What I expected you to say.”
    “I am who I am.”
    “That’s the truth, although soon