Chapter Five
Bolderwood
Cassandra stretched her shoulders, failing to find relief from her stiff muscles.
She massaged her bruised elbows with the curve of her palm and winced.
Their aged carriage had been ill-equipped to handle the rocky paths it wobbled across.
Once already they stopped to change a wheel, and if that awful clacking noise was any indication, they would do so again within the hour.
At least she could stretch her legs.
She and Matthew had slept in a coach inn the previous night. The straw bed and scratchy linen did nothing to soothe her body before it was once again jostled into an unforgiving wooden box.
Comfort aside, the journey had not been wholly unpleasant.
The scenery changed from rolling green hills to fields of wheat that stretched on for hours.
In between, a splattering of villages buzzed with the sounds of farmers readying themselves for harvest. Now, sunlight flickered through a canopy of oak and beech trees as they traveled through a dense forest path that only thickened as they inched closer to Hollingsworth Manor.
Outside, the air was cool and crisp, but it was stifling inside the carriage. A bead of sweat dripped from her brow to the corner of her eye. She blinked against the sting and dabbed at her face with a handkerchief.
Matthew sat across from her, his spine straight against the padded cushions at his back, arms crossed low at his midsection, feet planted firmly on the floor.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other occasionally for balance.
A fine sheen of sweat covered his brow as well.
With a perturbed set to his shoulders, he stared out of the carriage window with longing.
He would rather have been up top to take a turn driving the team.
In the past two days, her brother had taken a slow transformation from Matthew to Viscount Lincolnshire.
The closer they traveled to Hollingsworth Manor, the more prominent it became.
That morning over breakfast, she noticed the subtle changes in posture, his face gentle but firming around the edges of his cheekbones and eyes.
He became stricter with his smile, and even more with his tone.
Their interactions changed from teasing to instruction.
“The Marquess and Marchioness of Dorchester will be in attendance, as will Lady Jasmine,” he said. “I’m sure Aunt Valentine will have no objections to chaperoning you. You will stick close to her.”
“I imagine I’ll have a difficult time avoiding her.” She beamed. Lady Valentine Sinclair, the Marchioness of Dorchester, had been close friends with Cassandra’s mother and had been a consistent presence throughout Cassandra’s childhood.
Where Matthew refused, Aunt Valentine would pave the way for her. If there was a match to be made, she would make it. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? And Jasmine! Joy bubbled within her at the prospect of seeing her dearest friend again after so many years apart.
“Do try to keep your chin down, no causing a scene or climbing any trees—”
“I won’t be climbing any trees!” She threw her hands in the air and lost balance as the carriage drove over a rut in the path, knocking her elbow again against the side of the carriage.
This was the first time that Matthew had brought up the incident with the diary page, having already removed it from his list of priorities as he prepared himself for the trials ahead.
Cassandra had spent the carriage ride brainstorming ways to satisfy her deal with Mr. Reeves.
A kiss. Ha. She couldn’t kiss him. Not when he was always filthy, or greasy, unshaven, unkempt, and that was when his mouth was closed.
When he spoke, he was infuriatingly sarcastic, had a complete disregard for social norms, and he talked with food in his mouth.
He was blackmailing her with her own secret and…
underneath it all; he was still so devilishly handsome that it warmed her to her toes.
Little bird, he had called her.
He had been patient and kind. Strong enough to carry her with one arm, as if she weighed nothing. The way he regarded her with midnight eyes, as if she was this fragile and precious thing. He had been so close.
It had to have meant something.
If she had not stopped him, would he have closed the distance between her mouth and his? If she had inched closer to him, she would have—Cassandra sighed.
She would have ruined her entire life.
She would think of something else.
“You may converse with whomever you please, gentleman or otherwise. I promise to not interfere, as long as you make a promise to me.” Matthew fixed her with a serious expression. “You are not to take any permanent actions regarding your future in the next seven days. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” she bristled. She was tiring of catering to the whims of men, and now dreaded inviting more of it.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” she said. Irritated at his lack of faith in her, she turned to look out of the window. “Anything else Lord Lincolnshire?”
Matthew gave her a lopsided grin. “Try to enjoy yourself.”
They emerged from the forest into an expansive green field.
In the middle, Hollingsworth Manor stood as a brick fortress, curved like a shield that sheltered a shooting range, an equestrian track, and an impossibly large glasshouse.
The fading sunlight glimmered off the glass panes, as if calling to her.
It must have been two stories tall!
Already she had questions for the groundskeeper. How was it able to maintain heat throughout the winter? How many species of plants grew inside? Did it house trees? It was certainly tall enough to do so.
The carriage came to a stop in front of the main doors.
Her feet had scarcely touched the ground before a rush of emerald green skirts hurled itself at her with a high-pitched squeal of delight.
Ivory silk gloved hands grasped both of her own.
A full head taller than her, with shimmering obsidian hair and bronzed skin, the young woman greeted her with a toothy smile.
“You’re here! I can’t believe that you’re here! ”
“Jasmine!” Cassandra squeezed her hands and closed her eyes to fight tears, unaware until that moment of how much she had missed her.
They had corresponded, but letters weren’t enough, not for as long as it had been.
She longed to wrap her arms around her, and would have done so if not for the troop of footmen arriving to assist with their luggage.
Jasmine was the daughter of an English marquess and a Spanish heiress to a vineyard empire.
A perfect blend of both, she inherited her darker coloring and full-figure of her mother, and sharp cheekbones from her father.
Her saucy attitude and mischievous nature were all her own.
She was as courageous and effervescent as champagne, mouth popping off with whatever came to mind.
“I could scarcely believe my ears when Mama told me that you’d be here.” She turned to Matthew. “Matthew, everyone is calling you the best kept secret in England. A true dark horse!”
Matthew laughed loudly, moving aside to allow the footmen to do their job.
“The moniker is flattering, but I’m certainly not the best kept secret, Lady Jasmine.” Matthew raised an eyebrow at Cassandra. Heat rushed to her face. He returned his gaze to Jasmine with a conceited grin. “Don’t stop now. What else are they saying about me?”
“Mostly that you’ve lost your senses and don’t stand a chance.”
Matthew scowled.
“Is it true that you have partnered with a ruffian?” Jasmine’s eyes brimmed with curiosity as she focused her attention on Matthew before looking around, as if said ruffian would appear.
“No,” Matthew said, at the same time that Cassandra said, “Yes.”
“I’ll pray for your victory.” Jasmine glanced between the siblings dubiously. “Ruffian or no.”
“I’m honored by your favor, Lady Jasmine.” Matthew bowed to her with a hand over his heart. “I have some business to attend to. Can I trust you to keep my sister out of trouble?”
Jasmine winked at him.
“Cassandra is the one that keeps me out of trouble, but yes, I will take good care of her. In fact, I plan to steal her straight away.” She turned to one of the three footmen and instructed, “Please deliver Miss Cooper’s belongings to the second to the last bedchamber in the West Wing.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“I had a maid show me to your bedchamber this morning,” Jasmine said to Cassandra.
“We are on the same floor, but a good distance away from each other. You’ll be getting your daily exercise walking to the breakfast hall!
I’ll give you a tour along the way.” Jasmine led Cassandra up the stairs.
Almost as an afterthought, she threw over her shoulder.
“Say goodbye to your sister, Matthew! You won’t see her for a week! ”
“Don’t be late for dinner!” Matthew called out as they walked away.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Jasmine weaved her arm into Cassandra’s when they reached the top of the stone stairs.
With an appreciative and dreamy exhale, she hummed.
“The food here is divine. Everything is fresh. Most of the food is grown in the glasshouse or hunted in the forest. And the chef! Mama has already threatened to poach him and the rest of the kitchen staff.”
“Do you think she could afford them?” The grit on Cassandra’s shoe grated against polished marble flooring as Jasmine tugged her into the foyer and onto crimson carpets that led to a winding grand staircase with mahogany banisters.
Jasmine shuddered. “She would need to sell half of her reserve.”