“Of course not.” Quentin strolled into the library. “I daresay the furniture has had the worst of the battle. Aynsley will be in quite a bother when he sees the carpet.”
The very absurdity of Quentin’s chatter worked as a restorative to Braden’s shaken self-control. He was himself again.
“Sit down, Quentin,” he said. “And you, Cassidy.” He faced his brother. “I shall be brief. Cassidy had just informed me that she has never Changed.”
“Indeed?”
Braden was in no mood for Quentin’s games of airy indifference. “In spite of all precedents to the contrary, it is possible that she may be able to learn. And you shall be the one to teach her.”
Quentin’s chair creaked as he sat up. “I? But—”
“It’s time you assumed your responsibilities, Quentin. I expect you to work with Cassidy until you have exhausted every possibility. The first delegates to the Convocation arrive within the week. She must learn to Change before that week is out.”
For once Quentin was genuinely ruffled. He stood up, paced half the length of the room, and strode back again. “Why can’t you teach her?”
” I have my reasons.”
Quentin laughed. “I wonder if you know what they really are.”
“I warn you, Quentin. Don’t question me.”
“For God’s sake, Braden—”
“You know what this means to all of us.”
“To your Cause—”
“Enough.” Braden turned to Cassidy. “If you are one of us, you’ll find what you need within yourself. You must.”
Just a few hours ago he’d intended to explain her future role in the Cause in such a way that there would be no chance for misunderstanding. Now any explanations were pointless. Unless she could learn to Change.
But with Quentin as her teacher, it would be only natural that she should develop the proper bond with him, gain more… intimate knowledge that would ease the transition if—when—she proved that she had inherited her mother’s ability.
Cassidy’s skirts whooshed with the determination of her stride as she came to stand before Braden. “I will,” she said. “I will find the way.”
Braden turned his face aside. “You’ll begin tomorrow. Return to your room and rest.”
“I won’t disappoint you,” Cassidy said. “No matter what—”
“Come along, Cousin,” Quentin said. “As Braden said, you do require at least a little sleep. Tomorrow morning I shall show you the stables. I think I’ve the perfect mount for you. You do ride? How foolish of me—of course you do…” His voice, and their footsteps, faded as Quentin closed the door behind them.
Braden was alone for no more than a minute before Aynsley put in an appearance. The butler’s silence telegraphed his dismay at the state of the carpet, the furniture, and his master.
“I’m all right,” Braden said. “The maids can deal with this in the morning. Find Telford…”
“I am here, my lord.” The valet could not possibly miss the state of Braden’s hand, but he made no comment.
“Read to me, Telford.”
“What do you wish to hear, my lord?”
“Whatever you choose.” Braden sat down in his favorite chair and shut his eyes. Telford walked to the bookcase, paused, took another few steps, and opened a door. One book slid free from among the others.
Telford moved to the chair opposite Braden’s and began to speak.
“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.”
Braden stiffened and forced himself to relax again. The valet finished the poem:
“… yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits.”
“Keats,” Braden said. “Do you believe he was right, Telford?”
“I do, my lord.”
“And do you still find Miss Holt so unhandsome?”
The valet cleared his throat, “Her unique qualities appear to improve upon acquaintance, my lord.
“Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair.”
“Surely too great a praise for such a ragamuffin,” Braden said softly.
“If you’ll forgive me, my lord,” Telford said, “I must admit that Miss Holt is far more beautiful than I had at first surmised.”