Cassie scarcely comprehended the rest of the letter, filled with solicitous questions about her and her adjustment to her new life. Her eyes locked upon Becky’s terse closing. “You will not forget your promise, Anthony. Once Cassie is your wife, you will return her to England. Your loving cousin, B. Petersham.”
The letter floated unnoticed from her fingers to the floor. So many questions now had answers. Becky’s blatant disapproval of Edward. And Becky’s family, something of a mystery to Cassie and Eliott. The letters she received, foreign letters from someone whose name she had never mentioned. And Becky had even encouraged her to take her sailboat out one last time, the day before Cassie’s wedding. She had known of the earl’s intention, and between them, they had plotted her abduction.
Cassie forced her feet to move to a sofa on the far side of the library. She sank down into the soft velvet cushions and buried her face in her hands. Becky, the earl’s cousin, came to live with her when she was but five years old. Becky, whom she had loved like a mother, the earl’s agent. Cassie suddenly remembered something that had puzzled her, but so trivial that she had not thought of it again. When they were aboard The Cassandra, it had come as no surprise to him that she spoke Italian. She shivered. Had he even directed her education through Becky Petersham? What else that was part of her, which of her likes and dislikes, had he molded to his pleasure?
She looked out toward the blooming magnolia trees, the potted oleanders. Had he nurtured her, as would a gardener, raised her in the image that he himself had created for her? She felt silent tears sting her eyes. Her mother had died birthing her and he had wanted another Lady Constance. He had chosen her to take her mother’s place.
She felt crushed with betrayal, made all the worse by her realization that he had succeeded in molding her according to his wishes. She had come to love him. She began to tremble with self-loathing. He had done just as he pleased, and she, without causing him too much concern, had responded to him. Had she not lost the child, she would at this moment be his wife, and likely quite content with her fate.
“I will not love you!”
She thought of the contessa, and her claim that the earl was her lover. She knew that she did not believe Giovanna. But somehow, it no longer mattered. She had changed, she knew it now, but at the same time the earl had not. He still would not let her go. He would still give her no choices. She rushed over to the large globe and spun it about until she found the North American continent. Edward was in the American colonies—New York. She quickly found the port city. He was on General Howe’s staff. She did not imagine it would be difficult for her to find him. She straightened and looked grimly about the dark-paneled library. Everything about her was his. It was his library, his home, his country. Even she was his creation. She walked with a determined stride from the library, not looking back.
At first light the next morning, armed with all the money the earl kept in a strong box, and a sturdy portmanteau, Cassie stole quietly to the stable. She knew the men the earl had left to protect her were still abed, no thought in their heads that they needed to guard against her leaving the villa.
Her fingers froze suddenly on the saddle girth. She heard Paolo’s shuffling footsteps. She clenched her jaw in determination and grabbed a haying fork. When Paolo walked into the stables, she struck him upon the head. He fell where he stood. She quickly bent down and felt for his pulse. “I am sorry, my friend,” she said softly to his figure, “but you will have a great headache.”
She dragged him into an empty stall, quickly finished saddling her mare, and walked her to the great gates of the Villa Parese. She did not look back when she reached the dusty road.