Chapter Three #2
Lady Corby’s eyes widened, as did Lady Winstead’s and Lady Amesbury’s. “We would be honored to have you join our little band of widows, if that is your desire, but I must confess, it is nothing more than afternoon teas and the occasional outing.”
“Oh, and our reading discussions,” Lady Amesbury added.
Lady Winstead choked on her tea, while Lady Corby gazed toward the heavens, as if asking God to grant her serenity.
“You have reading discussions?” Joy suffused Cassandra. She could finally talk to someone about the things she read. The ideas and questions that plagued her.
Lady Corby took a sip of her tea and set it aside. “We select a book to read and then discuss it the following week.”
“How delightful. I have spent much of my time these past two years cloistered in the study reading every book that catches my fancy.”
“We read mostly fiction.” Lady Winstead reached between the cushions of the settee and retrieved a book. “But I must warn you, it may be—scandalous.”
Lady Corby hid behind her hand and shook her head. Her face turned a deep crimson as she watched in horror.
Cassandra took the book from Lady Winstead. “Fanny Hill—Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure?” Clearing her throat, she opened the book and skimmed the passages randomly.
“Have you read it?” Lady Amesbury asked, her voice tentative.
“I have.” Cassandra closed the book and placed it on the table. “Have you all finished it?”
All three women nodded eagerly, relief softening their features.
“What a delightful selection.” She gestured to the book. “Well, then, shall we discuss it?”
The three widows covered their open mouths and exchanged a look before nodding in unison again. The tension and embarrassment had dissipated when Cassandra had shown her interest in their choice of literature.
As they launched into an animated discussion about the novel, Cassandra found herself invigorated by the lively debate and exchange of ideas.
This was not what she had expected when she’d set off for tea this afternoon, and yet it was precisely what her soul craved.
A connection with likeminded women. A companionship, camaraderie.
While this was a welcome surprise, Cassandra wondered what other delightful revelations would unfurl during the course of her newfound friendship with these ladies.
Finally, she felt at home among her peers.
Comfortable, not because of her rank and status, but that they welcomed her regardless of it.
For the first time in her life, Cassandra discovered a newfound purpose and the promise of exciting things to come.
Whoever thought a woman’s purpose died with her husband was a liar—and this small band of tenacious widows proved to be the exception to the established belief.
*
The encounter with Her Grace in the foyer had been a disaster. She’d looked radiant in a deep-green muslin gown. The color brought out the vivid color of her eyes. It had taken Reuben several heartbeats to find the proper words and not just stand and stare like a lovestruck fool.
Reuben had blundered it masterfully. Truth be told, he’d thought she had already left for her afternoon outing when he’d come across her.
After avoiding her for most of the morning, he’d decided to take the chance to survey her chamber once she’d left the house.
Instead, he’d stumbled right into her path.
Once he’d sent the Sidlow and Mrs. Mercer out of the house for the afternoon and ensured the rest of the staff was occupied with their daily tasks, Reuben took the opportunity to finally broach the one chamber he had avoided.
Her Grace’s private sanctuary. It was the only room he had not searched, if solely for the fact that he believed Her Grace had nothing to hide, and he had not wanted to violate the sanctity of her chambers—purely out of respect. But his patience wore thin.
The moment he’d stepped over the threshold, her signature scent wrapped around him, threatening to choke him with the memories it elicited—with the fantasies it conjured to his overstimulated mind.
He shoved all of it aside, determined to make his time in her chamber quick and efficient, lest her maid return from the errand with which he’d entrusted to her.
Within fifteen minutes, he had searched the room twice over. Nothing. No letters. No personal items to betray her. The only items with any sign of attention or wear were the books stacked on the table beside the bed.
He picked one from the stack and flipped through the pages. Jane Eyre. He quickly discarded it back to the top of the pile, careful to place it exactly as it had been. Perhaps he should read one of these books. Then he would have something in common with her.
Shaking his head, Reuben turned back to the empty chamber. He had a mission to accomplish, damn it. Where in the devil had the old bastard hidden it?
This was madness. Nearly five years in the old duke’s service and two in the new duke’s, and he was still no closer to finding what he needed.
He ran his hand over his face. Could it be possible she knew?
No. Even with all the torment the former duke had put her through, she couldn’t have known the extent of her husband’s depravity.
It would have ruined her. But if Reuben told her—asked for her help—would it make any difference?
Or would it only drive a wedge between them and earn him a one-way ticket to the poorhouse?
In the distance, the distinct sound of a door closing reached him. Had she returned so soon?
Quickly, Reuben abandoned her chamber, ensuring there was no trace of his presence. He closed the door behind him and hurried down the staircase.
The tall, athletic figure of Phillip Sterling, the young Duke of Tolland, stood in the entryway as David, the young footman, removed his overcoat. He turned at the sound of Reuben’s heels clicking on the wooden floor.
“Ah, Evans, there you are.” The duke extended his arm bearing the coat and his top hat to the lad standing beside him. “Is my mother in?”
“Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise.” Reuben nodded, firmly in character. “I am afraid you have just missed her. She stepped out for the afternoon.”
“Do you know when she will return?” the duke asked, watching him carefully.
“I am afraid I do not have that information, sir.”
“Perhaps I shall wait for her.” He crossed to the study and opened the door. “Bring me something to eat, would you, Evans?”
It was not a request. Reuben bowed and ventured to the kitchen to scrounge up something simple to serve the duke.
Mrs. Johnson, the cook, made a small tray of sandwiches and tea cakes, arranging them on the tray for him.
He took it with a stiff smile, regretting his decision to send Mrs. Mercer and Sidlow out on an errand.
During his time as valet to the old duke, Reuben had found the man’s son, Lord Sterling, to be a spoiled, self-centered child.
No matter he never had to work a day in his privileged life.
Lord Sterling had expected everything to be handed to him.
People had fawned over him when he’d been the Marquess of Sterling, but now that he was the Duke of Tolland, they positively fell over themselves to even make his acquaintance. Reuben scoffed. Entitled ninnyhammer.
The duke, he knew, harbored no love for him, either.
He often found the young duke scowling at him with no provocation.
But the moment his mother entered the room, the mood shifted and he brightened.
Their relationship was far stronger than most, and the duke often took her side, even if it went against the standard.
Her Grace’s request that Reuben remain as butler in the household had been the only thing that had saved him.
He knew should the duke give up his bachelor lodgings and endless travel to return to this house, Reuben would either need to change his personal opinion or search for a new post. Reuben prayed the apple fell far away from the tree in regards to the late duke.
With a deep breath and a prayer for strength, Reuben returned to the study, bearing the tray laden with fruit, sandwiches, and freshly baked cakes.
“Your Grace.” Reuben set the tray on the desk where the duke sat thumbing through the household ledger. “Will that be all?”
The young duke glanced up, his brow furrowing. “Mother asked me to increase your pay, Evans.” He selected a sandwich. “Any idea why that might be?”
“None, sir.” Reuben stood his ground, biting his tongue so hard, it bled. The sharp sting of pain took the edge off his frustration.
The duke leaned back in his chair and ate the small sandwich in one bite, leaving Reuben to stand patiently waiting for him to continue—or dismiss him. He prayed for the latter.
“Why are you still here, Evans?” the duke asked, eyes narrowed on him.
“I shall take my leave, sir.” Reuben turned to go.
“Not here.” The duke sighed, obviously irritated. “In this house.”
Reuben inhaled deeply and resumed his position facing the duke. “Her Grace requested that I remain.”
“And why is that?” He persisted, stepping around the desk, coming toe to toe with Reuben.
“I cannot say, sir.” Reuben held his ground. “Perhaps you should discuss it with the dowager duchess.”
“I have.” His gaze bored into Reuben’s. “And I have told her I could find someone more suitable.”
Reuben held his caustic response, tasting the blood again from holding his tongue. He would not let this man force his hand or encourage him to violence. Even if he deserved a good thrashing.
“While this is technically my home now, I have given my mother the liberty to do with it as she will until the day I take a bride.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I have been preoccupied as of late, but will rectify this immediately and discuss her staffing choices upon her return.”
“Very good, sir.” Reuben remained impassive. “Is there any other way I may be of assistance?”