The ghost of a swing, a frayed rope thrashed through the strong wind as if it were a snake with its tail caught in the branches above. Cassandra tested her weight before using the rope to leverage herself to the first row of branches. Her lungs heaved with the effort it took to climb. All the while, she lied to herself that she wasn’t that high up, that her knees knocked as she wobbled over thin branches because she was climbing a tree in a dress. It had absolutely nothing to do with her lifelong fear of heights.
Nothing at all!
“Have you lost your wits?!” Matthew shouted, rushing out into the yard.
Another set of branches up. The page was almost within reach. She brushed her fingertips over the edges, leaning forward on her toes. Almost… there….
“Get down!”
“I will!” She pursed her lips. If she went down a bit to the left, andthen one step up—yes, that might work. She slid across the branch, balanced on the arches of her feet, flinching as her stockings caught on bark.
“Now, Cassandra!” Matthew boomed from below.
Cassandra reached up and grasped the page in her hand.Got it!She gripped the parchment between her fingertips and tried to slide back to the path she used to ascend. Page in hand, she took a victorious step and—
Rrriiippp.
A shock of cool air bit her ankles as the lace trim of her petticoat tore and twisted around a small branch. An experimental tug only tangled the lace further. Teetering on the edge of the branch, Cassandra bent down to free herself and slipped on the moss below her feet. Her stomach dropped, and she grasped at the branch above her with scarcely enough time to prevent her from falling. Righting herself, she realized it would be impossible to free herself and maintain her balance.
“I’m stuck!” Cassandra hissed toward her brother.
Matthew threw his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable!”
“My lord,” a male voice called out from the back door. Henry Davis, a waif of a man in his sixties, had served as the Cooper’s butler for Cassandra’s entire life. He possessed a razor sharp attention to detail and a strict adhesion to rules and schedules. He kept up with the Coopers and their unconventional ways by speaking only when necessary, and always in short and succinct sentences. To her knowledge, he had dropped his guard only one time.
“Earl Bolderwood has arrived. I’ve shown him to the—” Davis looked up in alarm. “My lady?!”
Make that two times.
Davis quickly redirected his gaze toward the grass. “A tea service is being prepared. If all is in hand, perhaps I shall be about myduties…?” He stood straight and waited for Matthew’s order.
Matthew ground the bottom of his palms into his eyes and groaned loudly. “Yes, Davis.”
The butler nodded and disappeared from view. Matthew gripped his hands into fists at his sides, his shoulders tense. “I don’t have time for this,” he hissed through his teeth and stomped away.
Cassandra took a deep breath to steady herself. Now that she didn’t have an audience, she focused on her task. The moss felt slick and cold under her feet, sending a chill through her. The Earl was here. Already the interview had begun. Lord Bolderwood was a no-nonsense type of man who abhorred wasting time. If all went well, following tea, he would want a tour of Matthew’s workshop. Their path would go straight through the yard.
She had to get down. Now.
Still fighting with the fabric, she heard heavy steps on the grass below.
“I’m trying, Matthew.” Cassandra huffed. She coughed as a gust of wind pushed her hair across her face and into her mouth. Spluttering, she rubbed her face against her shoulder to dislodge the locks. Her eyes trailed to connect with the face of the man below, and sickening mortification settled into her gut.
“I’ll say.” He let out a whistling breath. “It has always been a dream of mine to save a damsel from a tower, but I suppose a tree will do.”
It took a moment for her to reconcile the man below her with the man she knew. He was soclean. Combed and styled, his black hair was as sleek and glossy as a raven’s feathers. He must have used Matthew’s pomade. A grin crossed his freshly shaved face. How long had it been since she had seen him without a beard? Months, surely.
A blue suit jacket and a silver cravat replaced his normal black-powder stained work shirts and rolled sleeves. The cut of the suit made his shoulders appear broader than usual. His blue eyes lingered up, andhe laughed at her.
Seth Reeves.
Of course,of course, it would be him. Cassandra groaned. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Clutching what she could of her skirts, she pulled valiantly at the fabric wrapped around the branch, but her hands shook.
How ridiculous she must look, and to him of all people.
“Do you need help getting down?” he asked conversationally.
“Go away.”
