Chapter Five
“When you were four years old,” began Mrs. Reid, Cassandra’s hand still nestled in her own, “the Prescott family were once again at Chadwick Hall. It was a favorite home when they wanted a break from London.”
Cassie considered this. “I don’t remember ever having visited there before now.”
“That’s because something happened that even the Prescott money and influence could not easily overcome.”
“Did someone find out I was Thibault Prescott’s daughter?”
“Oh, there were many who knew. But none spoke of it. At least, not to those who mattered in society. It was partly out of fear of what the Prescott family might do. No one wanted to risk losing employment because they had offended a so-called gentleman. But they also felt your mother had suffered enough. So, the knowledge hung in the air, unspoken yet understood. You seemed happy, possibly oblivious to it all. Even Martin had grown used to you. When he helped his father at the market, he always brought home a small bag of lemon drops, which he shared with both his sister and you.”
“I wish I could remember your kindness,” replied Cassie.
“Ah, you were such a little thing,” said Mr. Reid. “And I wasn’t always kind.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Oh, pish,” said his mother. “You fought like siblings do. But you would have knocked any boy onto his back if he had even looked askew at little Cassie.”
A fire lit within Mr. Reid’s eyes. “As I would do now, and make no mistake.”
Cassie’s toes curled with pleasure at his protectiveness.
It was assertive but lacked the aggressive streak present in the men of her household.
Instead, it was like being wrapped inside the tight curve of huge wings, snug and safe, a place from which she could step whenever she was ready to stand on her own again.
His arms would surely be exactly the same. If only she could have them encircle her, drawing her closer. Not to possess, but to cherish.
“Sadly,” said Mrs. Reid, “Mary had no brother to look out for her. Nor would she have listened to him if she had. For she was as hardheaded as she was naive. And when she heard the Prescotts were back, she got it into her head that her little girl”—she patted Cassie’s hand—“should meet her father.”
Cassie could only imagine what an unmitigated disaster that would have been.
“She had enough sense not to try and meet him at the house. Instead, she waited along the path where she knew he loved to ride. And when he approached, she stepped in front of him, upsetting the horse and bringing Prescott at once into a filthy mood.”
“Oh, dear,” murmured Cassie.
“Oh, dear, indeed! I don’t know what she had hoped for, but he would hear none of it.
What he hadn’t expected, though, was that she had grown braver in those intervening years.
She was no longer dependent on his family and therefore did not fear their reaction.
She threatened to tell anyone and everyone who would listen that she had borne him a child.
She demanded that he acknowledge his daughter.
And, when that failed, she demanded money for her silence. ”
Cassie’s chest tightened. Her parents had been quite the pair. Neither one had had any good sense. She had always known she was likely to have been a gentleman’s illegitimate child, but she had hoped that at least her mother had been a character worthy of emulating.
“What did he say?” Her words were almost a whisper.
“He laughed at her. Then shouted. Then began to walk back to his horse. That is when your mother grabbed at him, raining her fists upon his back and, as he turned, upon his chest. He grabbed her wrists and, wild with rage, she bit his hand. Which was when he shoved her away. Hard. She stumbled. Fell. Her head hit a stone. And your mother was dead.”
A stunned hush descended upon the room.
Then… a little voice. Cassie’s. Surfacing through the horror of what she had just heard. “He killed her?”
“It was an accident. But you were the only witness. And so, to avoid being a suspect at the inquest, he told people he had discovered your mother’s body while he was out riding.
And though you told the truth, your tears and your shock and the confused speech of a four-year-old were discarded as hysteria at your mother’s death.
But we knew. And the people of the village knew.
And suddenly, no one wanted to work at Chadwick Hall any longer.
Not, I am sorry to say, out of loyalty to Mary Cushio, but out of fear of the temper Thibault Prescott was known to have. ”
“So that’s why the family stopped coming to Chadwick Hall?” Cassie pondered aloud. “But why was I taken away to live with Lady Webb?”
“I don’t know. Some might say it was their penance for the way your mother had died.
Possibly your father wanted to remove the reminder of what had happened here.
Which is why they gave you a new surname, to break all connection with your life here.
As if the community would ever forget. Or forgive. ”
“I suppose I should be thankful for the privileged life I have known.” Cassie did not even sound convincing to her own ears.
“Perhaps. If you had been given a choice. Instead, they whisked you away from the only family you had known, the only connection to your mother, and brought you up to believe you were less than.”
“Which you are not,” said Mr. Reid suddenly.
In the midst of all she had heard, all that must be digested and accepted, these words were a torch to lead Cassie forward, onward, stepping out of her burdensome past.
Mr. Reid, with his honest heart and simple words, thought she was enough. That was all Cassie needed to know.
“You are very kind.”
“It is not kindness, Miss Richards, to speak true. You are a woman of integrity. You could not choose the circumstances of your birth or how others treated you. But you have chosen to cultivate a sweetness where bitterness could have seeded. You have chosen laughter, friendship, humility. I admire you, Miss Richards.”
At this unexpected declaration, Cassie grew shy. He admired her. The blush bloomed into a deep thrill. He admired her! Boldness inserted itself. How much did he admire her?
“I wish…” She hesitated. Exactly how bold was she willing to be? “I wish I could have remained with this family.”
Mrs. Reid looked at her son, her mouth twitching into something between mischief and smug satisfaction.
“It’s just…” Cassie huffed a sigh. “You are everything I love in this world.” She lowered her eyes quickly, realizing how much she had actually said. “I mean, your basic goodness. Your selflessness. I think I would have been very happy if I could have stayed.”
“And yet,” said Mrs. Reid, drawing Cassie’s hands closer and planting a maternal kiss on them before releasing her, “you have done yourself proud. You have blossomed into a good woman, my dear. I say it as if you were my own daughter.”
Tears of gratitude welled up within Cassie. She raised her eyes to Mr. Reid. “You would have made an excellent brother. I wish it had been you instead of Mr. Prescott.”
But Mr. Reid did not smile at the compliment. “No, Miss Richards, I do not wish that.”
Cassie’s joy plummeted. “You don’t?”
“I cannot think of you as a sister.”
“Oh.”
“Do you understand me?”
Cassie repeated his words inside her mind. Her mouth formed a small “o” of surprise. Dared she hope?
“You mean…”
“I mean, I care for you. Not like a brother.” He looked to his own hands as if to find answers there. “Is it too soon to speak of such things? You hardly know me. But I have felt drawn to you from the moment we met.”
Cassie felt music should burst forth from her throat. “As I have to you, Mr. Reid!”
He lifted his head, his mouth widening into a smile. “You have?”
“Oh, yes! From the very start. I have never known a man of such quality before.”
“But surely… You have moved in such privileged circles…”
“Privilege and character are not synonymous, I have found.”
“Would you consider…?”
Cassie’s heart thumped smartly as the words hung in the air.
“Yes?”
“I don’t suppose…” The poor man was quite wretched. The words just would not come.
“You may speak freely, sir. I shall not be offended.”
He nodded as if he understood, but still he hesitated.
“She’s waiting, Martin,” Mrs. Reid said calmly.
“It’s just… I don’t want you to make sacrifices.”
“If I do, it will be my choice.”
He looked up and around the room. Cassandra got the impression he was looking beyond these walls. “This… could be enough for you?”
Her ribcage ached as her heart hammered at it. “By ‘this,’ you mean…?”
“A life, here, with me… as a farmer’s wife.”
Cassie’s heart finally soared free. His wife! He had said the words! And with such humility, as if he did not deserve her. Foolish man! She would take him if she had to dig the soil beside him!
“A gentleman farmer,” she corrected him softly.
“Ah, that.” He gave a small shrug. “I have not taken to the gentleman part so easily. We live a modest life.”
“Mr. Reid,” Cassie said sternly, “you are the very epitome of a gentleman. It has nothing to do with clothes and carriages and everything to do with the way you treat people. I would be honored to be your wife.”
If Cassie had ever doubted his feeling, such doubt was now thoroughly quashed, because Mr. Reid’s face opened like the sky when the clouds had shifted to reveal the sun. He positively beamed.
“Like the cat that’s got the cream, isn’t he?” said Mrs. Reid, nudging Cassandra with her elbow. “And why not? He’s just made the best decision of his life.”
“Oh, dear,” Cassie said as an important realization rushed in and sat squarely on her happiness.
“I am not yet one-and-twenty. And Lady Webb has expressed her firm opinion against our friendship, let alone marriage. She will not give her blessing. We shall have to bide our time until I no longer need it.”
“Then we shall wait,” Mr. Reid said firmly. “If I remember correctly, your birthday is but two months away.”
“Besides,” Mrs. Reid cut in, “usually some form of courtship should be involved. Those two months could be well served.”
Her son rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.
“Oh, dear, I may have put the cart before the horse somewhat. My mother is quite right, of course. You must have time to get to know me again. I should not have rushed to ask for your hand.” He took a steadying breath, his palms lifting at the wrist as if to halt his own thoughts.
“Miss Richards, I relieve you of your answer. Perhaps it will not be the same after we have spent more time together. I will accept whatever you decide. And I apologize for my hasty actions.”
Cassie wanted to shout, “No! I will never change my mind!”, but his words had been so solemn, she paused to give them due consideration.
What did she really want? She was not afraid of hard work, though she could not imagine she’d be expected to till the fields. But putting her hand to some cooking or gardening or sewing—these were worthwhile pursuits. Mrs. Reid would be a pleasant teacher of these tasks, and her son… Ah, her son!
Martin Reid offered stability, kindness, and now, pure selflessness. Yes, indeed, qualities with which a woman could build a life. And then there were those honest, green eyes, that uncompromising jaw, those lips that called to her…
Cassie swallowed. “I don’t need time to know my mind,” she declared.
“What more will I discover that might alter my decision? It is I who has carried shameful secrets and you who have freed me from them. You who would give me up if I choose it. With you I feel safe and… and… known. If you will take me as I am, why would I refuse you?”
“I do not ask you to be my wife out of pity,” Mr. Reid answered, a hint of offense staining his speech. “I admire you! Your courage, your grace. These are rare qualities.”
A shy smile crept around the corner of Cassie’s mouth. “Well, in that case, I choose to share them with you.”
Choice. What a powerful experience! A shiver of pleasure ran through her.
Mr. Reid’s answering smile blazed forth.
Her pleasure deepened.
“You are certain?”
“I am.”
“If you change your mind…”
Cassie’s mouth twitched. She tilted her head to the side. “Mr. Reid, are you implying that I am fickle?”
“No! I…”
“Well, then, let us speak no more of it.” Cassie felt quite giddy with power. It roared in her head. She could choose! This lovely man was hers to choose, to have, to keep. Forever. And she could tease him. And touch him. And…
Mrs. Reid rose abruptly. “Our tea has grown quite cold. Let me make a new pot. I think the two of you can be trusted to behave yourselves in my absence. She gave Cassandra a little wink. “And if you don’t, well, Miss Richards will be my daughter soon either way.”
“Please, call me ‘Cassie.’ And I shall not shame your family.”
“I know you won’t, dear. But Martin could use some time alone with you, anyway. It isn’t every day a lad has to propose in front of his mother. I’m glad he was wise enough not to waste the opportunity.” And with that, she collected the tray and left the room.
Cassie turned back to Mr. Reid. “I don’t remember my short years here, but you must have called me ‘Cassie’ then. I hope you will not find it strange to do so again.”
He nodded solemnly. “Welcome home, Cassie. I am Martin, your betrothed.” And with that, he threw open his arms and Cassie rushed into his embrace, folding into the space he had created for her.
She could hear his heart beating briskly, knowing it did so for her.
His jacket was warm and slightly scratchy, and so was his cheek when he lowered his face to hers, drawing her even closer.
His mouth was warm and wet when it found hers.
No hunger, no raw desire, only the sense of finding where she belonged.
The rest, she knew, would come later. And she would welcome it.
But in this moment, all fears and worries slipped away.
His lips did not try to possess her, nor did his hands ask for what she could not yet give.
She pressed deeper into him, as though to absorb all the goodness that he carried.
He stroked her hair and planted soft kisses within it.
Her fingers curled around his neck, the bridge of her nose nuzzling under his chin.
The tea, unsurprisingly, did not arrive for some time. But in all that while, they stood, wrapped within each other, their hopes complete.