Impetuous. Candace Camp
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Cassandra drew herself up as straight and tall as she could, glaring at the man sitting on the opposite end of the bench. “But he was also the Queen’s man, fighting the Queen’s enemy. It was a code of loyalty and honor he followed. The Verreres, at least, have never been powermongers, doing whatever it took to acquire land and money, with no regard for anyone else. They did not amass a fortune in land during the Middle Ages by waging war on everyone whose land they coveted. They did not dwell at court, currying every favor they could from the king.”
“You are implying that the Nevilles did?” Sir Philip sprang to his feet, his eyes suddenly flaming with a hot, gold light. “That they made their money off the sorrows of others, from dishonorable conflicts? From gifts from kings? The Nevilles have always been shrewd. But they did not act without honor, and it was more often they whom the king asked for money than the other way around. They were good warriors, that is true, and I am proud of that fact. But they did not fight without just cause. They invested their money where it would bring them more and did not fritter it away on dubious works of art or fantastic parties or architectural conceits.” He looked pointedly at Cassandra. “The Verreres are dreamers—feckless and generally incapable of making an intelligent business decision.”
“As if that were all that was important in life!” Cassandra retorted, her eyes flashing. “Yes, the Verreres were dreamers. Still are dreamers. There is nothing wrong with dreaming. It is dreamers who build empires and create masterpieces. Verreres are scholars, and they are interested in things of beauty more than in the price of tea or tobacco.”
“Ah, but the prices of tea and tobacco are useful things to know if one wants to continue to be able to spend one’s money on beautiful things.”
Cassandra’s cheeks colored. Obviously he knew about her family’s straitened financial circumstances. No doubt her father’s poor investments in various marvelous inventions and enterprises had been the gossip of the town. “No doubt you are right,” she said in a tight voice. “But scholarly enthusiasm and business acumen do not seem to run together.”
Neville sighed, his anger slipping away. His irritation with Cassandra had led him to say something far blunter than was polite. Of course he knew about poor old Chesilworth’s idiotic business schemes and their failures, but he would not normally have been so boorish as to shove that knowledge in the man’s daughter’s face.
“Forgive me,” he said quickly. “I did not mean—”
Cassandra sighed. “Of course you did.” She looked Philip in the eye. “I know my father was not good with money. Neither was my grandfather. It is obvious, after what has happened to the Verreres over the years. You are right. A love of beauty and scholarship do not bring in money. But still...” she squared her shoulders proudly “...I would never have wished for my father to be any other way. He was a fine man, and I loved him very much.”
“He was a fortunate man to have a daughter such as yourself.”
Cassandra smiled faintly. “I hope he thought so.”
“I am sure he did. Everyone knows that Chesilworth was a family man.”
“Yes. He did love us.” Cassandra swallowed, blinking away the sudden tears that threatened at the thought of her father. “I’m sorry. I am afraid that I still miss him very much.”
Sir Philip moved uncomfortably. “Forgive me. I—”
Cassandra shook her head, smiling. “No. It is I who must apologize, for straying from the subject. We were discussing the journals.”
“Ah, yes, the journals.” The faintly sardonic look returned to Sir Philip’s face, but he took his seat beside her on the bench again. “Of course.”
“They are the journals which Margaret Verrere kept all her life after she ran away to America. There were seven of them in all, and Mr. Simons sold them to my father not long before...before his death.” Cassandra did not see fit to add that her father had spent more money than they could afford in order to acquire the journals, leaving them in even worse financial shape when he died. Cassandra had perfectly understood his reasons for doing so. “Unfortunately, Papa did not get to read a great deal of the journals before he was taken ill. His lungs were always weak, I’m afraid. After—well, afterward, I read the journals.” She squared her shoulders, seeming to thrust sorrow behind her, and leaned forward eagerly. “In them, Margaret said that she left the dowry at the Neville estate. Not only that, she left instructions on how to get it. If we work together, you and I can find the Spanish dowry.”
Chapter Three
CASSANDRA GAVE A triumphant smile and leaned back, waiting expectantly.
Sir Philip gazed back at her shining eyes, and after a long moment, he said carefully, “Miss Verrere, don’t you find it a trifle...convenient, shall we say, that these lifelong journals of a woman who lived in the colonies should now turn up here in England?”
Cassandra sighed. “I was afraid that working with a Neville would be like this. Have you no adventurous spirit? No interest in a treasure hidden for generations?”
“I have no interest in fairy tales,” he retorted flatly. “Really, Miss Verrere...surely you can see that this is a hoax. The journals—after all these years—happen to turn up in England, even though they’ve been in the United States all this time. And they happen to fall into the hands of Mr. Simons, who happens to be your father’s favorite book dealer. I am sorry, but you are asking me to suspend disbelief a trifle too much.”
Cassandra took a firm grip on her temper, reminding herself that she had known what it would be like to try to convince a Neville of her plan. She had hoped that Sir Philip would be less stodgy than his father, Sir Thomas, had been reputed to be. Cassandra’s father had, by turn, characterized that man as a “dull dog” and a “cold fish.” Certainly Sir Philip’s entrance into her room last night had been anything but dull, and she had hoped that it had indicated a more adventurous character, but it was clear to her now that his was a typical Neville mind.
Pleasantly, she explained, “I don’t find it at all odd. Mr. Simons said that an American, a descendant of Margaret Verrere’s, had brought the journals to him. The man is a merchant who sometimes sails to England on business, and when he decided to sell the journals, which had been kept in his family all this time, he thought that since Margaret was from England, the books would fetch a better price here than in America. Americans, I believe, haven’t as much respect for old things.”
“Mmm. No doubt they haven’t the imagination or the adventurous spirit for treasure hunting, either.”
Cassandra frowned repressively and went on. “Mr. Simons was not the only book dealer this man went to. He tried several. But Simons, you see, was more interested than the others simply because he was Papa’s book dealer. He knew that Papa would want to buy the journals, given his interest in Margaret and the dowry. So Mr. Simons was willing to buy the journals when other dealers were not.”
“Miss Verrere, I think it is much more likely that this Simons fellow or some crony of his made the journals himself, knowing that he would be able to sell them to your father.”
“Sir Philip!” Cassandra looked shocked. “Perryman Simons is a reputable London book dealer. My father traded with him many times in the past. Mr. Simons would not have tried to sell him a forgery! And even if he had, why would he put in all those things about the dowry? That makes him no money.”
“No? Tales of a hidden treasure doubtless made the journals easier to sell. I’ll warrant that he charged your father a hefty sum.”
“It was rather large,” Cassandra admitted reluctantly. “But these are historical documents of great significance to my family. Papa would have bought the journals even if there had been no reference to the dowry.”
“The dealer could not be sure of that. Miss Verrere, I am afraid that your father and you were the victims of an unscrupulous hoax.”
Cassandra’s mouth twisted