Chapter SIXTEEN
Despite the impropriety, Lucy hurried straight into Cass’s bedchamber the next morning. Lucy hadn’t even stopped to remove her gloves or her bonnet, just made her way directly up the staircase and into her friend’s room. She flew over to the bed and stroked Cass’s hair. “What is it, dear? What’s happened?”
Cass was lying prostrate on the bed, one arm flung over her eyes, tears streaming down the sides of her face, sobbing as if her heart were broken.
Lucy had no clue what was wrong. She’d only received a note from Cass’s mother an hour ago saying she must come immediately, that Cass was inconsolable.
Lucy sat next to her friend and rubbed Cass’s arms. “The duke, he didn’t say anything or do anything—?”
Cass turned toward her and blinked at her. Her pretty blue eyes were bloodshot and overflowing with tears. She blew intermittently into a handkerchief that was wadded up in her fist. She shook her head. “No, no. It’s nothing to do with the duke.”
Lucy expelled her breath. She should have known better. The duke wouldn’t be the one to make Cass cry like this. It made no sense. Lucy had been too preoccupied with the duke lately to remember the usual source of Cass’s distress.
She put a hand on Cass’s shoulder and searched her face. “It’s not … Oh, heavens, Cass.” Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. Pure terror streaked through her chest. “It’s Julian, isn’t it?”
Cass’s sad little nod and accompanying sob confirmed what Lucy already knew. It was Julian.
“Is he…?” Lucy swallowed the painful lump in her throat. She couldn’t force the word dead past her lips.
Cass shook her head rapidly this time. “No. He’s alive. For now. But he’s—” She sobbed again and pressed the handkerchief to her eyes. “Oh, Lucy, he’s dying.”
“No,” Lucy whispered.
Cass nodded, the handkerchief now pressed to her nose. “I received a letter from cousin Penelope today. Julian is in a makeshift Belgian hospital. He was gravely wounded in battle.”
Lucy closed her eyes, desperately searching for the words that would serve to comfort her friend. The news wasn’t quite as dire as she’d expected. Julian was still alive. That was something, but the fact that he was about to die was barely better. “Oh, Cass. I’m so sorry.”
Cass hung her head. “I just cannot stand to think about him dying all alone.”
Tears filled Lucy’s eyes. “He’s not alone. He’s got doctors and I’m certain there are women there, tending to him as if he were their own.”
“But he doesn’t have anyone who loves him,” Cass sobbed.
Lucy swallowed back her own tears. Crying would not help Cass a bit and might just make her more sad. No, Lucy had to be strong. “What about Penelope? Did she say she might try to get there before … the end?”
Cass shook her head rapidly. “No. Nothing like that. I do not think she means to go.”
“What exactly did she say?’
Cass looked a bit embarrassed. “She said, ‘Whom shall I marry now? I’ve been waiting for Julian for years. I’m on the shelf.’”
Lucy furrowed her brow. Now, that was poor form indeed. Though it was in keeping with what she knew of Penelope. Cass’s cousin did seem the sort who would be more interested in her own marital prospects or lack thereof than the death of her poor betrothed.
“Oh, Lucy, Julian is so brave and wonderful. He didn’t deserve this. And I … I never had a chance to tell him…” Her voice trailed off into a series of tiny sobs. Lucy put her arm around her.
“Cass.” Lucy squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “You must try. He may still be alive. Write to Julian immediately. Tell him how you feel about him. How much you love him. Let him go to his grave knowing how much he means to you.”
Cass dabbed at her dripping eyes. “I want to, Lucy. Heavens knows I do. I cannot tell you how much. But I…” She sucked in her breath and shook her head again. “I don’t know.”
Lucy kept her tight grip on her friend’s shoulder. “Why not, Cass? What harm will it do now? You cannot want him to die without knowing how you feel.”
Cass blew daintily into the kerchief. Lucy smiled slightly. Even in the depths of her sorrow, her friend was demure and lovely. Lucy would look like a drowned cat if she cried that hard and would be blowing her nose with a Christmas goose’s honk.
Cass drew a deep breath. “For one thing I’ve no idea how bad he is. Apparently, he told Pen that he doesn’t expect to live, but the doctors have no way of knowing how long it will be. Oh, Lucy, what if he’s already dead?”
Lucy pulled her arm away and turned to face Cass, sitting up on her knees and facing her imploringly. “You don’t know that. Not yet. He may be dead but he may well be alive and live for some time, long enough to receive your letter. Don’t you see? You must try.”
Cass trembled. Her face fell. She appeared to consider it for a moment. “Do you truly think he would want to hear this on his deathbed?”
Lucy pulled her hands back and rubbed them distractedly up and down her arms, trying to think of some way to convince Cass of the importance of this decision. “He may, Cass. He may love you as much as you love him. He’s written to you for years, has he not?”
Cass plucked at the handkerchief that now rested in her lap. “There never has been any talk of love in our letters. And I haven’t received a letter from him myself in some time, not since before the battle. He wrote to Pen, not me. That says something.”
Lucy searched her friend’s face. “There may not have been talk of love between you, yet. But what if he’s thinking the same thing you are, Cass? You must tell him. Take it from me. I never got to say good-bye to the one person who meant the most to me before he died.”
Cass bit her lip. She was obviously considering it. Lucy seized the moment to spring from the bed and rush over to the writing table, where she plucked up two sheets of parchment and a quill. She hurried back over to Cass, but not before scooping up a large book to use as a writing surface. “Here, use this. Write to him. Tell him.”
Cass opened her mouth, obviously to protest.
Lucy pressed the quill into her friend’s hand. “No, Cass. No excuses. Do it. You must.”