Chapter Two
The first night out of mourning, Cassandra did the unthinkable.
After donning her finest blue, silk gown and matching sapphire jewels, she ventured forth to the Lyceum Theatre to indulge in a performance of Cymbeline.
Tucked inside the carriage on her way to the performance, she realized this would cause quite a scandal, even though she had followed the requisite two years of mourning her late husband in solitude.
It went against her inner nature to close herself off from society in such a way, after being such an active participant with her position as duchess.
Alas, upon her husband’s death, the title of duke had gone to her son, Phillip, and in order to ensure a quiet transition, she’d kept to herself, adhering to the standards laid by the queen.
Although she remained in the house at the request of her son, who seemed determined to keep from finding a wife by traveling constantly and keeping his bachelor’s lodgings.
Who was she to argue, as this house reminded her of her strength.
No matter how much she loathed the idea of being isolated in a false state of bereavement, Cassandra had used her time wisely, studying many of the books in the library and biding her period of mourning with the grace and aplomb expected of a dowager duchess.
Cassandra tugged on the hem of her gloves, shifting restlessly in the carriage. It had been too long for many things. Self-denial was not something she enjoyed. She longed to go out to the markets and shops, attend the theater, and appear at social events. But her wait was finally at an end.
Just this morning, no fewer than three invitations arrived. Evans had brought them to her on a silver tray as she’d sat in the study where she spent most of her afternoons.
A flutter of restlessness shook her at the thought of the handsome butler. For years, he had been her husband’s loyal valet, and upon the former duke’s death, had transitioned into the position of the butler long held by Orson, who, bless his soul, had passed not long after his retirement.
Her face warmed at the memory of her confrontation with Evans two years ago.
He had caught her in a dark place after her husband’s funeral, half-drunk on port and desperation.
She harbored no love for the deceased, and his absence had come as a relief.
The bruises he’d left on her skin the night he’d died had remained for nearly a fortnight after she’d buried him.
Evans had provided a moment of reflection in that shadowed reprieve.
His concern for her well-being had left her bolstered with a newfound confidence.
Knowing that he would not abandon her in her hour of grief had given her a glimpse of hope.
There was life after death. Now that her husband was gone, she could finally live.
But dare she be as bold as to pursue her own desires?
The driver stopped the coach outside the theater. She waited for the footman to open the door and escort her down the step, careful not to trip on the hem of her gown.
Cassandra inhaled sharply at the sight of the crowd milling outside the theater. Perhaps it had been hasty to venture out on such a busy evening to such a well-attended affair. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.
Into the fire… She fueled her own courage with the words.
“Your Grace.” The first woman dropped into a curtsy at her appearance.
Cassandra acknowledged her with a smile and a nod. “Miss Baxter, a pleasure to see you again.”
The crowd, like the Red Sea, parted at her approach. Every eye fell upon her as she walked up the stairs toward the entrance. The conversations dimmed with every step as society took her measure.
Not that it mattered to her. She had endured their stares and gossip for years.
The whispers of this evening would surely make the rounds for the next few days.
For good or bad, the invitations would quickly arrive in droves.
Cassandra felt a twinge of remorse in abandoning her quiet days in the study.
But those days had given her knowledge and confidence. Now, she would do as she wished, and not what was commanded of her.
Inside the lobby, a servant took her cloak, and she paused to survey the milling attendees around her. They watched her with sly glances, almost afraid to acknowledge her presence. Had she been that formidable and intimidating in the past?
Cassandra had anticipated the whispers and surprise, but not the small group of three women coming in her direction. The Widows of Mayfair.
Everyone knew of the Widows of Mayfair. Each had married a titled gentleman and settled into wedded bliss before losing their husbands.
Cassandra envied them, if only for their ability to say that they had experienced love in their marriages.
Although she could never say such a thing aloud, even in private confidence.
“Your Grace.” Hyacinth Corby, the Dowager Viscountess Corby, and her companions curtsied while wearing matching smiles. “What a pleasure to see you here.”
“Lady Corby.” Cassandra inclined her head demurely to the other two ladies she recognized immediately as Victoria Smythe, the Dowager Marchioness of Winstead, and Eleanor Maldon, the Dowager Countess of Amesbury.
“Lady Winstead. Lady Amesbury.” She greeted each in turn, taking a brief moment to assess the women.
They all seemed to be of a similar age, although Cassandra had already been married by the time they’d entered society.
It made sense why they congregated together.
“Such a delight,” Lady Winstead interjected. “Seeing you back in society.”
“It is rejuvenating to be among my peers once again.” Cassandra chose her responses carefully. No one knew the truth of her marriage. No one but Evans and her servants, apparently. She pushed them from her thoughts. “I could not miss an opportunity to see Cymbeline.”
“I have heard such wonderful things about this performance.” Lady Amesbury flicked open her fan. Her pinkened cheeks reflected the rising temperature of the lobby despite the winter chill on the other side of the doors.
“Would you care to join us?” Lady Corby asked, her wide, blue eyes hopeful. “I have a private box, and there is room for one more.”
Cassandra considered her own lonely box for a long moment before responding. “I would love to.”
“Wonderful.” Lady Corby clapped her hands together. “Shall we?”
Leading the way, Cassandra took careful note of the patrons she passed along the way.
There were many familiar faces, most of whom she had not seen since her husband’s death two years ago.
It was her own fault, honestly. She chose to follow the queen’s guidance and cloister herself away during the last two years, taking time only to visit her son’s country estate in Coventry for the summers.
She had contemplated retreating to Scotland to take up residence in the hunting lodge her husband had kept in the Highlands.
In such a remote location, there would be none to question her decisions regarding etiquette and fashion while in mourning.
But at her son’s request, she’d remained in London, leaving the house only when absolutely required to do so.
Cassandra nodded to the servant who drew aside the curtain for her to enter the box.
Inside, she skirted to the far seat angled toward the left of the stage.
From here, she could not only watch the performance, but the audience as well.
Unfortunately, there was no way to block their view of her.
Aware of their attention on her, she sat, forcing her gaze to study the program with the performance details.
“I have been anxiously awaiting this play.” Lady Corby took the seat beside Cassandra. “I adore Shakespeare.”
“As do I.” Cassandra folded the program and glanced at her companion. “Lady Corby,” she said, lowering her voice between them, “I do not wish to intrude on your evening, but I appreciate the opportunity to join your entourage. Thank you.”
“The honor is mine.” Lady Corby fanned herself. “I apologize for not calling on you. My children, bless them, have taken complete control of my time, it seems.”
Cassandra’s heart warmed at the statement. “I was not much in the spirit for visitors, but I do appreciate your kind words.”
“The duke has taken to his position with ease.” Lady Corby’s comment pierced her heart for a moment before she realized the dowager viscountess meant her son and not her husband.
Although she had been managing more of his responsibilities than he had been on the few occasions a month he came to the estate to give his blessing.
At some point, he must start taking his duties more seriously.
“Yes, he has.” Cassandra motioned for a drink from the servant standing near the curtained entryway. He delivered it promptly, saving her from having to expand upon her response.
“Such a handsome young man, and quite popular with the debutantes this year.” Lady Corby chuckled. “The duke has his pick of the young misses for his bride.”
“I dare say he does.” Cassandra sipped her drink. “And how does your eldest fare? Has he found a bride yet?”
“Not yet.” Lady Corby sighed with a wave of her hand. “Four children, two married, leaving just the eldest and youngest.”
“I am sure they will make splendid matches,” Cassandra assured her.
“My dearest hope is that they find love above all else.”
Cassandra regarded her silently, noting the way her eyes softened and she blinked rapidly, as though hiding tears. “Yours was a love match, was it not, Lady Corby?”
“Oh, yes.” She dabbed her kerchief at the corners of her eyes and brightened. “We were quite madly in love. I miss him dearly even after all these years.”