Chapter Three
Cassandra found herself in quite a conundrum thanks to Evans.
After their encounter in the study last evening, Cassandra had indulged in a second glass of port before retiring to her chamber where she lay in bed, staring at the canopy above while wondering what in the devil had just happened.
Had she been dreaming? Delusional? Perhaps the excitement of her excursion to the theater had left her in some delirious state and she had imagined the whole encounter.
Unfortunately, that was not the case, as Evans’s attentive gaze lingered on her a moment longer than propriety dictated when she passed him in the hallway on her way to the dining room.
All through her morning meal, she relived the previous evening’s exchange over and over, searching for something—anything to convince her not to follow him down this dangerous path.
Fortunately, she did not see him for the duration of the morning. By early afternoon, she realized the futility of wandering around the house hoping she would see him and called for her maid. As Sidlow styled her hair in an elaborate coiffure, Cassandra stared at herself in the oversized mirror.
What did he see in her? She was eight and forty with a full-grown son. Evans and Phillip could have been brothers, they were so close in age. She snorted indelicately, startling Sidlow. Heavens, she was nearly old enough to be Evans’s mother.
Closing her eyes, Cassandra pushed the thought from her mind. It mattered not. If her son were of an age where he could seduce any woman he pleased, then Evans could do the same. As could she, for that matter.
Oh, she had heard the whispers from gossipmongers among the peerage who delighted in revealing the untoward behaviors of the upper class.
The queen might not have appreciated such activities, but it was human nature to indulge in such carnal delights.
And even Cassandra had heard the tales of the absolute depravity some in her social circle chose to partake in.
Why, just before James had passed, Lady Jacoby had told Cassandra of the actress who’d revealed her pierced nipples on stage accidentally during a performance. It had been outrageously erotic.
Cassandra shifted uncomfortably in her seat, which earned her a stern look from Sidlow, who nearly poked her with a hairpin.
How could she possibly function with all of this knowledge in her mind and no way to sort it out in a way that helped her understand it?
Being married was one thing, but understanding the truth behind sexuality was something else entirely.
Her husband had shared her bed on occasion.
Sometimes he’d forced her to it. But there had never been any pleasure in the act for her.
Her mother had not prepared her for her wedding night or the expectations placed upon women by their husbands.
When she’d discovered the hidden delights of erotic literature and heard the sordid tales from the wagging tongues of her peers, only then had she truly realized what she had been missing.
“You look lovely, Your Grace.” Sidlow stepped back to admire her handiwork.
“Thank you, Sidlow.” Cassandra cast aside her wayward thoughts and focused instead on selecting a gown to wear to meet the other widows for tea. “Would you fetch the green muslin gown with the plaid overcoat?”
“Right away, madam.” Sidlow bustled to the wardrobe and retrieved the garments. With the expected efficiency, the maid had her dressed in less than fifteen minutes. Sidlow curtsied and disappeared from the room.
Cassandra took one last look at herself in the mirror.
Small creases lay at the corners of her eyes, but her skin glowed with a radiance to rival a young woman of eight and ten.
She allowed herself a small smile. If only she could tell the young lady she had once been that not all hope was lost, she would.
Turning from her reflection, she ventured into the hallway and down the stairs, nearly colliding with a servant in the foyer.
Not just any servant.
Evans bowed. “My apologies, Your Grace. I thought you had already departed.”
“I was just about to take my leave.” Her gaze drifted over him, drinking in his distinguished form and hoping to spy a hint of the flirtatious man she’d encountered the night before.
The silent footman aided her with her wool cloak and muff before opening the door.
“Enjoy your excursion, madam. The weather is quite lovely, if not a bit brisk.” He bowed again.
“Thank you, Evans.” She ventured from the house, ignoring the pang of guilt as the door closed behind her.
Damn and blast. She heaved a frustrated sigh. Why was this so complicated? Surely, if she had someone with whom to discuss this whole conundrum, she could settle her conscience once and for all.
By the time she’d reached Lady Corby’s home, Cassandra craved distraction from the mixed feelings and conflicting thoughts racing through her mind.
She needed this. To be among her peers. To rejoin society.
Being alone for so long had left her in quite a state.
Perhaps her decision to go into self-isolation during her mourning period had left her at a disadvantage.
She had been away from society for too long, but today’s outing would change the course of her life. She knew it.
The housekeeper led her to the sitting room, where the three widows waited for her arrival. The ladies stood upon her introduction.
“Your Grace, welcome to my home.” Lady Corby bustled forward, blue eyes sparkling, smile warm and sincere. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“Lady Corby.” Cassandra acknowledged her and then turned to the other two ladies. “Lady Amesbury. Lady Winstead. A pleasure to see you both again.”
“Come, sit. We have just rung for tea.” Lady Amesbury gestured to the small settee beside her.
After a few moments of pleasantries and compliments, Cassandra slowly fell into a comfortable rhythm. Perhaps she had not forgotten how to socialize, after all.
“Thank you again, Lady Corby, for the invitation.” Cassandra placed her tea down. “It is refreshing to be in your company after such a long absence from society.”
“Of course.” Lady Corby glanced at the other two ladies. “We were surprised by your decision to spend two years in isolation while you mourned the loss of your husband. Our condolences.”
It took all of Cassandra’s effort not to choke on a brash response.
No one knew the truth of her marriage. They had kept up a good facade for years.
For the sake of her husband’s position, but also for her son.
No one had needed to know; therefore, she’d held her tongue.
But the bitter memories burned in her mind and soured her stomach.
“Thank you,” she demurred. “Tell me…” Cassandra shifted the topic away from her horrid marriage. “How does a widow of means spend her days in society? I fear I am at a loss on what to do with myself now.”
“Well,” Lady Winstead began at a nod from the other two widows. “I am glad you asked. You see, we”—she motioned to the rest of the ladies—“have formed a small charity school for girls who are less fortunate.”
“A school for young ladies, how lovely.” Cassandra brightened at the direction of the conversation.
“As the founders and patronesses of the institution, we take pride in overseeing the school and raising funds for its success,” Lady Amesbury added.
“That is a noble cause.” Cassandra nodded. “I am certain it takes a lot of time and resources to keep a school functioning.”
“It does,” Lady Corby said. “We were hoping you might be interested in joining our ranks as a patroness of the Mayberry Academy for Young Ladies.”
Cassandra blinked in surprise at the sincerity in their request but recovered quickly. “I would be honored.”
A collective sigh of relief filled the air around her.
“Wonderful,” Lady Winstead replied.
“Fantastic,” Lady Corby added.
“You will make the perfect addition to our little organization,” Lady Amesbury said with a bright smile. “And here we were worried you might find it silly.”
“‘Silly’?” Cassandra asked. “Why in the world would I find such an invitation silly?”
Lady Amesbury’s cheeks pinkened. “I—Well, we—”
“To be honest, we were unsure you would be interested in such an endeavor.” Lady Corby twisted her hands in her lap.
“Why would you think that?” Cassandra regarded each of them in turn, reading the embarrassment in their expressions, and realized that they had been intimidated. Too intimidated to approach her before the theater last evening.
Lady Corby spoke carefully, “You have always been that to which we aspire. So graceful, elegant—”
“Aloof,” Lady Winstead supplied.
With a sigh, Lady Corby continued. “Reserved is the word I would have chosen, Victoria.”
“Yes, reserved.” Lady Winstead blushed. “That is precisely what I meant.”
A deep regret settled over her. Had she truly been so isolated during her marriage that she would ignore such opportunities?
It pained her to know that such possibilities existed and she had been so distracted by her own personal marital problems that she had not sought refuge in friendship and community. No longer.
“What we are trying, and failing, to convey is that we did not wish to inconvenience you with our proposal since you have other, more pressing matters to occupy your mind.”
“Being a dowager duchess can be quite taxing.” Cassandra smiled. “But I assure you, I am fully invested in learning as much as possible about your school for young ladies.”
“We are delighted you feel that way.” Lady Corby relaxed and retrieved her tea.
“And what of your little trio?” Cassandra asked, excited by the prospect of expanding her horizons in all areas of her life, not just philanthropy. “Would you be willing to add another to your ranks?”