Chapter 24
Adelaide woke up the following morning feeling optimistic.
It had come out of nowhere, but she decided that Cassian’s sudden change of heart had come from him seeing his friend. She liked Rowan, and she knew that he had strong morals, even though he had spent years avoiding marriage.
She dressed for an outing at Cassian’s request, selecting a pale yellow gown. As her maid readied her, she wondered what they would be doing.
“Do you think it will be romantic?” she asked.
“Did he suggest that?”
“No, but in his note, he told me to dress for the weather. Fortunately, it is warm today.”
“Well, would you like it to be romantic?” Lilly asked as she applied rouge to her cheeks.
“I… I would. I know that it is asking for too much, but I cannot help but feel as though something has changed.”
As she descended the staircase, Adelaide saw Cassian waiting with a picnic basket at his feet. It was unassuming, wicker with a neatly folded cloth tucked beneath the handle, and it caught her eye in an instant.
He glanced up as she reached the bottom step, his face brightening with what she could not help but think was approval.
“Good,” he said. “You are ready.”
The word settled strangely between them. Ready for what, he did not say, but it warmed her all the same.
She smiled, suddenly conscious of her gloves, of the way her hands clenched and unclenched as though they might betray her thoughts.
She did not know how to feel about the fact that he was making her nervous, but she told herself that it was not him. It was simply that they were going on a picnic together.
Cassian picked up the basket and walked toward the door, with her trailing behind.
“Cook was very efficient,” he explained. “I thought it best that we leave now, for we should make use of the weather while it lasts.”
They stepped out together, and Adelaide matched her pace to his without thinking. She told herself that the simple act of walking side by side was insignificant, yet she was keenly aware of the distance between them, of how easily he might close the gap if he so chose.
Cassian seemed to notice that he was walking too quickly and slowed down, so she did not need to hurry. The consideration felt intimate, almost, though she suspected he would have shown it to anyone.
Outside, he spoke of practical matters, such as how long they might be gone, whether the path would be muddy, and the advantage of eating before the afternoon turned into evening.
It was mundane, but Adelaide listened intently. With each subject he broached, it was clear he was thinking of her comfort. He had planned the day, which was something she had not expected when they had discussed spending time together.
As they walked, he suddenly paused and looked at her, as if remembering something important. For one foolish moment, Adelaide thought he would reach for her hand. But he did not. Instead, he simply cleared his throat.
“I perhaps should have made sure that this was something you wished to do.”
“You need not worry about that.”
“But you do want to go, yes?”
“Will it make you feel better if I say I do?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes, I do.”
Cassian nodded, satisfied, and set off again.
As they walked, Adelaide allowed herself the smallest hope that the outing, so ordinary in its details, marked a change, and that the care he had taken was not merely a sign of politeness and duty, but of something deeper.
They reached the park just as the sun reached its peak in the sky.
It was a modest stretch of green, bordered by trees and intersected by a narrow gravel path. Cassian seemed pleased by it, and he set the basket down beside his feet. Adelaide felt a quiet thrill that he had chosen it, for as far as she was concerned, choice meant intention.
“Perhaps here,” he said. “It is level enough.”
Adelaide agreed, though she would have agreed to stop anywhere.
She sat when he indicated she should, smoothing her skirt with unnecessary care.
He took a moment longer before settling beside her, not quite close enough for their sleeves to touch, but near enough that she was acutely aware of the space between them.
For a while, they spoke of nothing in particular. Whenever he asked her a question, she answered him readily. Whenever he asked for her opinion, she felt an unexpected pride at being consulted, even on smaller matters.
She had not expected it, but with his effort came a new desire to open up to him, as though she were giving him a reward.
“I like the quiet here,” she said. “It feels private.”
Cassian gave an easy, unguarded smile. “Yes. That was my thought as well. One can speak without being interrupted, and without a mother watching.”
She laughed softly at that.
They unpacked the basket together, their hands brushing when she reached for the cloth at the same moment he did. The contact was brief, accidental, and yet her breath caught.
Cassian did not seem to notice, moving as though nothing had occurred, which somehow made the moment feel all the more intimate.
As they ate the sandwiches, cakes, and biscuits, he glanced at her with mild curiosity. “You have never spoken much of where you grew up,” he noted.
“No, I do not suppose I have,” Adelaide replied after a moment. “It was quiet, much like this. I did not have any siblings, so it was my mother, my father, and I.”
He smiled faintly. “So you received all the attention. Did you enjoy it?”
“I did,” she said, surprised by the confidence in her tone. “I miss it sometimes.”
Cassian nodded. “You sound fond of them.”
“I am,” Adelaide affirmed. “I miss my father, though he was a busy man.”
Cassian considered this, his gaze thoughtful rather than distant.
Adelaide watched the way the light caught in his hair, the ease with which he spoke, and wondered if this was how closeness began. Had they been courting, she would have been very happy to be there, but she had to remind herself that they were already married.
Did that change anything?
At one point, a breeze stirred, and Adelaide shivered. Cassian noticed at once. Without comment, he shifted closer, enough that his shoulder nearly touched hers.
“There,” he said. “That should help.”
It did, more than he knew, and Adelaide wondered just how deliberate that was.
They sat like that for several minutes, their conversation lapsing into comfortable pauses. Adelaide felt a rare contentment settle over her, the sense of being exactly where she ought to be. She told herself that the ease, the gentle attention, could only mean affection on his part too.
Suddenly, their peace was broken by a sharp cry from somewhere beyond the trees.
Adelaide bristled, her hands clenching instinctively in her lap, and Cassian turned sharply toward the source of the noise. A moment later, a small figure came into view. It was a boy, no more than six or seven years of age, flushed and near tears, stumbling as he ran up the path.
Before Adelaide could even move, Cassian was already on his feet. He crossed the distance in a few quick strides and crouched beside the child, his movements entirely devoid of the reserve she knew so well.
“It is all right,” he said, his voice lower and steadier than she had ever heard it. “I do not believe that you have hurt yourself too terribly. May I see?”
The boy sniffed, nodding, and held out a scraped hand. Adelaide watched as Cassian examined it with care before drawing a clean handkerchief from his pocket. He dabbed at the blood, all while speaking calmly.
“It looks worse than it is,” he explained. “Gravel is very dramatic that way. You need not cry so.”
Adelaide’s eyebrows flew up in astonishment. This was not the careful politeness her husband showed the ton, the persona he had crafted. This was something warmer, instinctive. When he asked the boy where his family was and listened patiently for the answer, she felt something shift inside her.
They had not properly discussed having children, but if that was the sort of father he would be, then she would not have been at all opposed to it.
A woman appeared at the far end of the path, breathless and pale with worry. Cassian rose at once, guiding the child gently toward her.
“He fell,” he said simply. “Fear not, it is nothing serious, and we have cleaned the cut.”
“Your Grace!” she gasped. “Thank you, I—oh, William, are you all right?”
They spoke for a moment, before the woman ushered the boy away. Cassian watched until they were well clear, then returned to the bench as though nothing had happened.
“You were very kind,” Adelaide said, unable to keep the admiration from her voice.
He seemed faintly surprised by the compliment, and she wondered why.
“It was nothing,” he replied. “One does what one can to help.”
She nodded, though the words felt insufficient. What she had seen was not nothing. He had helped a frightened young boy because it was his instinct, as there was no glory in helping when there was nobody to see it.
The man beside her seemed suddenly larger, more substantial than she had understood him to be.
As he sat down again, their arms brushed, not by accident this time, and neither of them moved away. Adelaide did not know whether he noticed. She only knew that her admiration for him had grown.
She hesitated only a moment before speaking, afraid that if she did not say it at once, the feeling would slip away again.
“You are good at helping people,” she said. “It seems to come naturally to you.”
Cassian looked at her, and the change was subtle but unmistakable. The ease that had been there moments ago vanished, and he straightened, his expression smoothing into something polite and unreadable.
“I simply did what was required.” He shrugged. “There is no particular skill in that.”
Adelaide faltered. She searched his face for the man who had knelt on the gravel without hesitation, who had spoken so gently to a frightened child, but he was gone.
“Even so,” she tried again, “it was not nothing to that family.”
Cassian did not say anything in response. He glanced toward the sky, as though checking the hour, then reached for the basket.
“We should return,” he declared. “It’s late afternoon, and you will want to change before dinner.”
The words were sensible. They always were.
He rose and offered his hand to help her up, a gesture so correct it might have been rehearsed. Adelaide took it, feeling the distance reassert itself at once. His grip was light, impersonal, and once she was standing, he released her.
They walked back in near silence. Cassian kept his usual pace, no longer adjusting it to hers, speaking only when she spoke first. She replayed the moment again and again, trying to understand what she had done wrong.
Had she said too much? Had she expressed her admiration too plainly?
The park receded behind them, the bench and the quiet left untouched as though they had imagined it all. By the time the house came into view, Cassian had reverted to his usual demeanor: firm, cool, and entirely removed.
They reached the hall, where Adelaide stopped so abruptly that Cassian took two steps more before realizing she was no longer beside him.
“Cassian.”
He turned, impatience flickering briefly in his eyes. “What is it?”
“What is it?” she huffed. “You do not get to ask that, not after the way you behaved.”
“I behaved perfectly well, Adelaide. What are you—”
“No,” she interrupted, stepping closer. “You behaved warmly, and then you behaved like a stranger. I praised you, and you punished me for it.”
“This is absurd.”
“Is it?” Her voice rose. “You were kind to that child. You were human. And the moment I noticed, truly noticed, you withdrew, as though I had touched something I was not meant to see.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened. “You are reading far too much into a trivial incident. All I wanted today was to have a pleasant time.”
“Then why won’t you tell me more about yourself?” she pressed. “Why is it that every question I ask is met with evasion? You ask about my past, my family, my feelings, yet you offer nothing in return.”
“I offer you stability,” he snapped. “Courtesy and protection, too. That is what you said a good husband offers. What more do you require?”
“I require honesty,” Adelaide shot back. “I require a husband, not a shell.”
“That is unfair,” he said sharply. “You knew exactly the sort of man I was when you married me.”
“No,” she said, her voice breaking. “I knew what you allowed me to see. And I was foolish enough to believe there might be more.”
Cassian looked away, pacing once as though seeking an exit that was not there. “Some things are private.”
“Not in marriage,” Adelaide countered. “Not when your silence leaves me guessing, filling the space with hopes you refuse to confirm or deny.”
His head snapped up, and she realized what she had said.
“Hopes?”
“Yes,” she uttered. “Because what else am I supposed to do when you show me kindness and then pretend it meant nothing?”
The words struck harder than she had intended. He went very still.
“You cannot want explanations for every decent act,” he said coldly. “You cannot mistake obligation for intimacy and then accuse me of deception when I do not indulge it.”
“So you would rather I feel nothing at all than risk my misunderstanding you?”
“I would rather you not demand what I cannot give. This is exactly why I prefer to keep certain matters to myself.”
Adelaide held his gaze, though her hands trembled. “Then stop pretending you are protecting me,” she bit out. “You are protecting yourself, and if you are going to be so selfish, then at least say that part out loud.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he inhaled sharply.
“If you absolutely must know, then I will tell you.”