Chapter Three
Cassandra’s eyes trailed up to her canopy, and she counted embroidered roses on green vines.
One… three…. Hours had passed since the Earl and his pack of solicitors left the estate.
Following tea, the Earl went to the barn, stayed for no longer than a half an hour, and left.
Fourteen… eighteen…. Matthew and Mr. Reeves had not emerged from the barn, and had their meals brought in.
Matthew had said nothing. Thirty-two…. Wait.
Thirty-two or thirty-three? She flipped her pillow over for the fifth time, tried to settle into it, scrunched her eyes closed, but it was no use.
Cassandra turned onto her side and stared at the light seeping in beneath her bedchamber door.
They must have lost.
The household had been on edge all day. Morale plummeted as the day drudged on into the evening, worse when the house turned in for the night and there was no news.
They must have lost, because Matthew would have certainly said something.
Maybe he was up in that barn with Mr. Reeves trying to figure out how.
And what of Mr. Reeves? Under the tree, what had that been?
With his eyes half-lidded, bracketing her in his arms, it almost felt as if he would kiss her—she shoved her heated face into her pillow.
Whatever happened—or didn’t happen—didn’t mean anything.
He didn’t have any desires for her. Matthew had sent him after her for her own safety, and once they were on the ground, he must have wanted to make sure that she was well.
That was why he held onto her hips, to ensure that she was steady on her feet.
He had believed her concussed, after all.
Who wouldn’t?
After he finished toying with her, Mr. Reeves would return her page.
Of that, she was certain. And she was moderately confident he wouldn’t read it.
He wasn’t cruel, but he got bored. He was often finding small ways to amuse himself.
In the same manner that he gossiped with Caroline, or the pranks that he and Matthew would play on each other, or how he would quarrel with Cassandra for no apparent reason other than his enjoyment.
He failed to take anything seriously, unless it was his work.
But this? Mr. Reeves would enjoy having something over her for a short while, but would ultimately do the right thing. It didn’t mean anything.
But Matthew’s silence did.
She huffed and got out of bed. There was no point in fighting it.
Sleep would not come. She wrapped her dressing gown around herself, bundled a blanket in her arms, laced up her boots, walked down the stairs, and for the second time that day, opened the door to the backyard.
An evening chill teased the air. The wind had eased, somewhat.
A gentle breeze lapped at the bottom of her nightgown, beckoning her forward with the sweet scent of flowers and earth.
The gate to the kitchen garden groaned as it opened, sliding a worn path through the grass.
She closed it behind her, careful not to disturb the vines of peas braided through the fence.
Padding through the walkway in between rows of carrots and turnips, she reached the center of the garden.
A wrought-iron bench welcomed her with looping arms and a whimsical backrest of butterflies and daisies.
Her father had built it for her mother as a wedding gift. There were so many memories in this small space. Every summer, she would help her mother tend to this garden. Now Cassandra tended to it alone.
A familiar wash of grief came over her as she sat on the bench, legs curled beneath her.
She blinked away the pin-prick of tears welling in her eyes and took a hiccuped breath.
She huddled in the blanket and pulled it tight.
Wrapped in warmth, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the golden hue of marigolds from below, and the blue light from the hint of a moon above.
A crescent sliver of light clinging to the shadows of the sky, as if it too were hiding.
“Can’t sleep?” Matthew called out gently, emerging from the dark.
He was down to his shirt-sleeves and his formal trousers from that afternoon, but he had abandoned his coat and shoes.
His bare feet fell silent against the ground as he approached and sat next to her on the bench.
He brushed his hands through his hair, braided his fingers behind his neck, and directed his gaze to the stars above.
“I knew I would find you here,” he said. “You always come out here when you need to think.”
“So do you.” Cassandra leaned her head on his shoulder. He smelled of ink and the same cedarwood scented pomade from earlier. “I’m not the one who was hiding in the barn all day. What did they say?”
Matthew barked out an empty laugh.
“They were not impressed.” Each word was a sharp jab.
“They said that the rifle looks as cheap as the materials used to build it. Duke Kendall’s representative hated it.
Lord Bolderwood drilled Reeves endlessly, but he hardly had two words to rub together for me.
That man is made from granite. They wanted a demonstration, and the wind was ghastly today,” he said blandly, turning to her, “as I’m sure you’ll recall. ”
Cassandra ignored the barb as disappointment sank in.
“You aren’t moving forward.”
Cassandra gripped her blanket closer, and she swallowed around the lump forming in her throat.
It had been a long shot from the beginning; she had known that.
But Matthew promised he had an advantage that no one else did, was confident in Mr. Reeves’ abilities, and sure that they had a real chance.
He threw the last of their savings at the project, and promised her that when they won, he would take care of everything.
He promised her a lot these days, but this time, she had allowed herself to hope.
Now, finding a wealthy husband would be that much more of a challenge. Even if she were pretty enough to catch the eye of a gentleman, he would have to overlook that she was two-and-twenty, had no dowry, and came from a family that squandered their last penny on a gamble.
“No.” Matthew’s shoulders fell with his sigh. “We are. We’ve been invited to Lord Bolderwood’s hunting party next week as finalists. I’m bringing you as my guest.”
Cassandra jolted up. “You said they hated it!”
“They do hate it!” Matthew beamed. “But they couldn’t deny its performance.
The wind was not favorable today, but Reeves still managed to shoot a bullseye at three hundred and fifty yards, and once again when the wind took the target.
He was incredible! You should have seen the look on their faces!
I was sure that Mr. Edgars was having an apoplexy, his face was purple! ”
They were still in!
Cassandra punched Matthew’s shoulder.
“Why didn’t you say anything?!”
“Because I wasn’t sure that I was going to accept the invitation.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“Of course you’re going to accept it! You’ve been working toward it all this time!
You’ve thrown everything into this! Why—” She stopped speaking as the wind tossed Matthew’s hair from his eyes, and for the briefest of moments, he seemed…
older, somehow. Up close, she could see the deep bags under his eyes.
Something raw and vulnerable lurked behind his masks of smiles and enthusiasm.
She only witnessed flashes of it when he didn’t think she was paying attention.
His mask was gone now, and he was open to her, perhaps for the first time in years.
Rather than being elated, he looked as though he were sinking into a pit.
“Why would you not accept it?” she whispered.
Matthew closed his eyes and released a long exhale.
“Before you sell your soul to the devil, you should stop to consider the terms.” He pointed his gaze skyward. “To think long and hard about what it’ll cost you.”
“Your soul?” Cassandra frowned. “Matthew… what does that mean?”
“It hardly matters now.” He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Reeves and I are riding into London tomorrow to sort out the paperwork.” He turned to her. “Make sure you’re ready to leave for Hampshire when I return.”
I suppose this isn’t a time to relax.
They may have won this round, but the competition was fierce from here on.
For both of them. If Matthew didn’t win, the responsibility of the family’s financial future would land on Cassandra’s shoulders.
The sooner she could marry, the better. Already her best years on the marriage mart were gone after two years of back-to-back mourning periods.
Now, she was reentering society with no support from her parents.
Matthew refused to match-make for her at all and would be absolutely no help.
She would need to find a match for herself.
“I’m ready,” Cassandra said. “When do we leave?”
Matthew laughed loudly.
“You act like you’re going into battle!” he cooed and pulled her close to him, wrapping her in a messy hug.
Her hair caught between his arms and the blanket.
“I don’t want there to be any pressure on you.
Let your big brother handle it.” He ran his knuckles over the top of her head.
“Consider this a holiday. All you have to do is enjoy yourself. Don’t worry about husbands, or gentlemen at all.
Spend time with your friends. You do have at least one? ”
After elbowing herself free, she pushed him away with both hands.
The blanket fell from her shoulders onto her lap with the movement.
“Be serious! I don’t have time to put this off any longer.
You can’t stand in my way when we go, Matthew.
I need to marry well if this family hopes to survive, even if you win—”