Blessed saints!
How had she ever believed this woman was her friend?
How had she been so blind?
“I thought Rosamund said the music room,” the lord informed them as he found the strength to clamber to his feet. “I waited there for thirty minutes.”
“So, you were waiting in the library for Murray to show,” Benedict prompted in a tone that would make most men fear for their lives.
Rosamund hung her head. “I always hide behind the curtain while waiting, in case my aunt should come looking. When the door opened and closed, I peered through the gap to check it was Timothy, but it was Lady Murray who entered.”
“My mother!” The lord’s confused tone suggested he was oblivious to the matron’s involvement.
“Lady Murray started pacing the floor, wringing her hands and muttering to herself. She hurried to the decanters, poured something potent into a glass and swallowed it quickly.” Rosamund paled. “Someone else slipped into the room. Someone Lady Murray had agreed to meet.”
“Who?” Cassandra held her breath.
“Your father.”
“Lord Worthen?” Benedict clearly needed clarification.
“Yes.”
“What the devil?” Lord Murray seemed as interested as they were upon hearing this sudden revelation. “What was the purpose of their meeting?”
Tears trickled down Rosamund’s cheeks. “It seems they were tired of waiting for you to set a wedding date. They both wanted you to marry and so had set a plan in motion that would see you forced to wed.”
Confusion clouded Cassandra’s mind.
Was there no one she could trust?
“Lady Murray added a tincture to your drink. She managed to get you into a hired carriage where her lady’s maid was waiting to escort you to a meeting point near Green Park.” A convenient location as it was a stone’s throw from Hyde Park. “The earl confirmed that he would meet the carriage after leaving the ball and continue with his part of the plan.”
The truth proved excruciating. Proved too much to bear.
Clutching her chest in a bid to stop the savage stabbing in her heart, Cassandra crumpled to the floor. A wracking sob took command of her body, and she cried so hard she struggled to catch her breath. A title did not give someone the right to play God with people’s lives. A parent should be loving and supportive, not spiteful and vindictive.
Benedict crouched beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “It is better to release your pain. No one will ever hurt you like this again. I give you my word.”
“Did you not think to inform someone of the plot?” Lord Murray asked as if he were fighting their corner, too. “Good God, Rosamund, we could have prevented this whole fiasco. No doubt my mother was coerced into behaving so abominably.”
“I’m sorry,” Rosamund cried. “But don’t you see, it gave us all an opportunity to live as we wanted. Had I not intervened, you would be married to Cassandra, and like me, Mr Cavanagh would be nursing a broken heart.”
Cassandra wiped away her tears. She clutched Benedict’s arm and came to her feet. “What do you mean you intervened?”
Rosamund gulped, and it took her a moment to gather her wits. “Lady Murray paid a boy to deliver anonymous letters to prominent people. Timothy was to arrive in Hyde Park first. The others were to follow shortly afterwards. Lady Murray was to encourage Timothy to go to the park at the appointed time.”
“But I didn’t receive a letter,” the lord replied.
“No, because you were here with me. When they left the library, I used Lord Craven’s desk and wrote a letter to Mr Cavanagh.” Rosamund turned her attention to Cassandra. “You pointed out his house once if you remember, and so I had a boy deliver my letter to Mr Cavanagh and made sure Timothy wasn’t at home to receive his.”
“I was three parts foxed and didn’t leave the inn until nine the next morning,” Lord Murray said, and then recognition dawned. “My mother was pacing the floor, frantic when I eventually arrived home.”
A tense silence descended.
With her mind chaotic, Cassandra didn’t know how to feel, how to react. Regardless of her friendly protestations, Rosamund’s motive stemmed from selfish desires. Lord Murray was a decadent pleasure-seeker. In playing a devious game, he had been manipulated, too. The couple deserved each other, deserved to live a life filled with doubt and mistrust.
“Don’t expect my gratitude, Rosamund. You made so many assumptions, took so many chances with my life. What if Benedict hadn’t married me? What if I’d been forced to marry a man old enough to be my grandfather?”