Chapter Thirty-Three
Cassandra held a napkin over her mouth to hide her yawn.
Enviously watching Seth drink coffee, she took another sip of her tea.
Next to her, Seth ate his food too quick, too loud, and mostly with his hands, famished after a strenuous morning.
True to his word, every spare moment he was home, he made love to her, and he slept.
He wasn’t home long enough for anything else.
Improvements on the original design completed, production for the front line rifle had begun.
Between work at the factory and his duties to Lord Bolderwood, Cassandra rarely saw Seth in daylight.
He came home late and left long before she woke, leaving behind a whisper of a kiss and the lingering scent of him on an empty pillow every morning. Except for this morning, she smiled.
Saturday morning.
Breakfast was a hard-won battle with Lord Bolderwood.
Cassandra had learned that his fist might be iron, but his tooth was sweet and he had a weakness for home-baked treats.
Luxuries of time with Seth couldn’t be earned by his hard work, but could be bought through her strategic use of shortbread, tarts, and cakes.
She had, of course, invited the Earl to breakfast, but he declined, much to the relief of her housemates.
Not used to being alone—and with their townhouse under renovation—the Coopers moved in with Seth and Cassandra.
It was good to have noise to fill the empty home.
The Times rustled in Matthew’s hand. Caroline’s spoon clinked against her teacup as she stirred in her third lump of sugar.
A fork scraped against Trevor’s plate. Jasmine giggled as she read the society papers and sounded a squeal.
“You owe me a sovereign, Matthew Cooper!”
“For what?”
“Caroline, read this.” Jasmine handed the paper to Caroline and sat back with a gloating grin.
“Sir Reginald Thomas suffered a fainting spell at White’s last night, the second one this month.
Sources say he is recovering at home with his nephew, Colonel Bishop.
The Colonel is expected to make his first public appearance since Duke Kendall’s Rifle Contest, where he lost a wager, a lady, and his plans for early retirement by one shot.
Both gentlemen are expected to attend General Martin’s annual charity ball this Friday. ”
“Wonderful.” Seth scoffed.
Caroline continued, “On the subject of contest losers, what of Captain Reeves and his Wager Wife?”
“They’re still calling me that?”
“She’s behind on the times,” Matthew said. “They’re calling you the Hollingsworth Harlot now.”
“Truly?” Caroline snorted with laughter.
“Shh!” Jasmine hissed. “Keep reading!”
“The Pamphlet Pair were indecently seen at the Pantheon last week in flagrante delicto—” Caroline’s eyebrows shot up. “In a staircase, Cassandra?”
Cassandra shot a glare to Seth.
“What?” He held his hands up. “I thought we were alone!”
“We were not in flagrante—my word!” Cassandra blushed. “It was one kiss!”
Jasmine cackled. “That’s why they call you a harlot.”
“I don’t want to hear that.” Matthew scowled. “Skip to the part where I owe Lady Jasmine money.”
“Shall we finally see Lady Worthing, this Friday?” Caroline read.
“The Countess has been oddly absent after her public fall from grace in Madame Fournier’s.
Perhaps it isn’t shame that keeps her away, but happier tidings?
Sources close to the family say that Lady Worthing is with child.
After these long years, it appears that an heir is in the air for Lord Worthing.
Aged, yet virile! Congratulations to this contest couple! ”
“An heir is in the air!” Jasmine crowed and extended her palm. “I’ll take my sovereign now, please.”
“I’ll hold on to my coin until the babe cries,” Matthew said. “It might be a girl.”
“I’m patient.” Jasmine took a sip of her tea. “It’s a boy. I have a feeling about these things.”
“Because of your vast experience with ‘those things’?” Matthew raised a brow. “I’ll eagerly await my sovereign.”
The clock chimed eleven, and Seth stood.
“Are you going to see Lord Bolderwood?” Caroline asked.
“It’s part of my deal.” Seth gave Cassandra a peck on her cheek and turned to Trevor. “Are you coming with me today, Trevor?”
“I’ll stay here and protect Mrs. Reeves. No harm will come to her on my watch,” Trevor vowed.
“Very well.” Seth smiled. “Carry on, then.”
Trevor saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
Weeks after being shot, Seth still couldn’t remember their attacker’s face.
The ‘wait and see’ strategy hung heavier over his shoulders with each passing day.
He didn’t want Cassandra to leave the house without protection, but she had won that argument on the condition she would take Trevor with her on her errands.
Though she doubted how much protection the boy could provide, she enjoyed his company.
“Seth,” Cassandra called out before he reached the door. “There’s a package of shortbread in the kitchen, could you bring that with you?”
Seth scowled.
“I’m not bringing Lord Bolderwood biscuits.”
“It’s a gift.”
“Shortbread isn’t a gift, it’s a bribe.” He eyed her suspiciously. “What are you trying to get now?”
“My way.” Cassandra stood on her toes and kissed him on his cheek. “Have a good day at work.”
“I’m suddenly doubting that,” Seth grumbled.
The sun had set, and she was already in bed when Seth returned home that evening. From the foot of the bed, he tossed her a small rectangular wooden box. Simple, but old, the case was worn and held together by a tiny brass clasp.
“What’s this?”
“Lord Bolderwood’s counter offer.”
The clasp clicked open under Cassandra’s thumb.
Inside, wrapped in fine red silk, was a rose wrought from silver on a slender and sharp spike.
Red rubies dripped from diamond lined petals as if someone had pricked their fingers on a thorn.
The piece glinted dangerously in the lamplight. “Another hairpin?”
“A family heirloom, he says. He wants you to wear it this Friday,” Seth said the words as if he might choke on them.
Lord Bolderwood often had these requests before formal events, gifting her ornate hairpins that should have rightfully gone to Adrian’s future wife.
It must have belonged to Rebecca. Cassandra smiled, closed the box, and handed it back to Seth.
He set it on the vanity before pulling a folded piece of parchment from his pocket.
“And a letter.”
He flicked the letter between his fingers and held it aloft above her head.
She plucked it from his hands and read aloud, “Mrs. Reeves. I have been more than lenient in allowing Saturday morning breakfast, and do not appreciate these additional requests. I will remind you once more that Britain is at war. Do not waste my time. Be succinct and specify what you determine to be a reasonable hour to have your husband home at night.” Cassandra smirked.
“I had our new cook make a fresh batch of apple hand pies, bring those with you when you go tomorrow. I want you home for supper.”
“You scare me sometimes, wife.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, Seth removed his shoes, then his shirt. Placing his pocket watch on the bedside table, he froze. “Cassandra. What is this?”
From the table, he lifted a small booklet. No larger than his hand, no longer than ten pages. On its wooden cover was an engraved soldier on a horse. He stared at the pamphlet as if he could see through it. “Where did you get this?”
“Mr. Sanderson allowed me to borrow the set,” she said carefully, expecting this response.
“Why would you ask for them?”
“I’m trying to learn more about you.”
“If you want to know more about me, ask.” Without another glance at it, Seth placed the pamphlet back on the bedside table. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. You don’t have to go searching for answers.”
“I don’t have to read them,” she said. “If it makes you angry, I’ll give them back.”
“I’m not angry with you, it just… caught me off guard. That’s all. It’s… uncomfortable to look at.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t mind if you read them, they’re good stories, but I don’t want them in the bedchamber. This is our space.”
Darkness followed Seth as he extinguished the oil lamps in the room one by one. Silk bedclothes slid against her skin as he joined her on the bed. He gently rolled on top of her, supporting himself on his elbows.
“I was thinking about General Martin’s ball…”
“And…?” Cassandra prompted.
“I say we stay home.” He kissed her and trailed his mouth from her lips to her neck.
She tilted her head to his attentions with a low breath as his night-beard scratched deliciously over her sensitive skin.
“I haven’t seen you all week.” He nibbled playfully at her shoulder and lifted her nightgown to grip her thighs in his hands. “You have wifely duties to attend to.”
“Lord Bolderwood requested our presence personally.”
“Ugh!” Seth rolled off of her and laid on his back. “I draw the line at talking about him in bed! Can’t you send him some scones and get us out of it? We always end up in the papers.”
“If you can keep your hands off of me, they’ll have no reason to gossip.”
“You know I can’t. Your dresses tease me with shoulders and skin, and you do it on purpose to drive me mad.
” He climbed on top of her again. His hot breath tickled her ear, followed by a dart of his tongue.
“You like it when I misbehave in public, it gives you a reason to scold me, and I like that. Scold me at home instead.”
“We need to make an appearance.” At his pout she added, “We can leave early. It’ll be different this time.”
“And why is that?”
“This time people want us there.”
“Everyone wants to meet the bastard shot in Hyde Park and the woman he compromised. We’re a novelty.”
“Not for General Martin. I imagine you’re not the first man he’s met that’s been shot.”
“Must you talk about other men in bed?” He glided his hands over her hips and moved up.