Chapter Four
When Cassandra returned from her afternoon outing, she hardly expected to be confronted by a ghost from her past.
Cassandra nearly fainted when she stepped through the doorway and glimpsed the shadow seated behind the ornate mahogany desk.
For one heartbreaking moment, she thought it was James returned from beyond the grave to haunt her.
The world around her began to crumble into darkness.
She braced her hand against the doorframe and tightly closed her eyes.
It cannot be true. Her mind raced.
“Mother, are you well?” the shadowed figure asked, rising from his seat and rushing to her side. He rested his hand on her shoulder and eased her against him.
She stiffened at the movement, wrenching her eyes open and staring up into the face of her son, Phillip.
His stature was so like James, it often left her with the striking similarities to her deceased husband, but as she studied his profile, she noted the gentle concern in his eyes, so like her own.
The vise around her heart eased, and she gasped, inhaling deeply to fill her spasming lungs with air.
“Phillip.” Cassandra forced a laugh. “You gave me a fright.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “I was not expecting you, although this is your house, you may come and go as you please.”
“My apologies, Mother.” His grip softened, and she leaned into him as he led her to the chair beside the fire. “It was quite unexpected on my part. I have just returned from Paris and did not know you had gone out for the afternoon.”
“You always stop by unexpectedly.” She waved her hand. “I do wish you would give up your bachelor lodgings and take your place here. This house is far too big for me alone.”
“Where did you venture off to today?” Phillip asked as he poured her a small dram of port and redirected the conversation. “Here, drink this. It will help your nerves.”
Cassandra took the glass with a muttered thank you. As she sipped the rich liquor, she wondered if her son would think her too forward by joining a group of widows in their philanthropic endeavors. She dare not speak of their other discussions. Instead, she chose fragments of the truth.
“Lady Corby invited me over for tea.” She twisted the glass in her hands. “Lady Winstead and Lady Amesbury were also in attendance.”
Phillip’s brow rose. “The Mayfair Widows.”
She ignored the skeptical tone of his voice. “Yes, it seems they have asked me to join their ranks.”
“As one of the infamous Widows of Mayfair?” He laughed and poured himself a glass of whisky.
“Do not believe everything you hear, my darling son.” She narrowed her gaze on him as he sat across from her. “They are highly respected and cast a great deal of influence.”
“Of that, I have no doubt.” He lifted his glass in salute before taking a drink. “But I must ask, you have only just ceased mourning for father—”
Cassandra held her hand up and the words died half-formed. “I have done my duty to God and my queen. I mourned your father for two years, and I have decided it is best for me to rejoin society and allow my influence to help those in need.”
“Mother, I did not mean any disrespect.” He hung his head as a child shamed but quickly divested it and met her gaze. “It is my duty to ensure you are well cared for. That is all.”
“I believe I know what is the best course for my own life, son.”
Phillip downed the rest of the amber liquid in the crystal glass before speaking again. “Is that why you choose to retain the services of Evans?”
This time, Cassandra bristled instinctively, her smile disappearing in a nervous twitch. “Why are you asking this after two years? What does the butler have to do with this conversation?”
“Come now, Mother.” Phillip scoffed. “What was wrong with Owens?”
“He was elderly and died shortly after retirement.”
“And so you recommended father’s valet to the position without a thought to how it may be perceived?”
“I highly doubt such a suggestion would have caused a scandal.” She straightened and set aside her empty glass. “While this is your home, I was in need of a butler I could trust.”
“And you trust Evans implicitly?” Phillip nearly choked on the question.
“As a servant in our employ for nearly seven years, he has given me no indication otherwise.”
Phillip stood, crossing to the table and retrieving the ledger sitting open on the flat surface. He held it high and pointed to one of the entries. “Then explain to me why I pay him a king’s ransom in wages per annum.”
“You do no such thing.” Cassandra stood and snatched the ledger from his hand, squinting down at the numbers. They were generous, to be sure, but nothing she—her son could not afford.
“Mother, this is more than what you paid Owens when he retired, and he was in our family’s service for fifty years.”
“Can we not afford it?” she asked, standing her ground.
“We can, but…” He tugged his hair in evident exasperation. “Mother, he is—”
“He is what?”
“He is young,” Phillip relented with a groan. “We are but four years apart in age.”
“Are you saying I cannot trust him to be responsible?” Cassandra listened to his argument and found it severely lacking. “You consider yourself to be responsible. He is not much older than you. Should your age define you with such finality?”
“No, Mother. I meant nothing of the sort.” He inhaled deeply and exhaled in a long sigh as though trying to gather his thoughts. Cassandra waited patiently.
“Then will you not trust me in my decision to keep Evans as our butler?”
“Very well, Mother.” Phillip set aside the ledger and collapsed in the chair behind the desk. “You may keep Evans on the books, but I reserve the right to interview the servants at my leisure.”
“As the duke, you may do as you please.” Cassandra smoothed her hands over her skirts, pleased with the direction of the conversation. Even though this was her son’s home, she wanted to feel safe in it.
“If Father were here, he would have found a suitable butler to replace Owens.”
“Evans is a suitable replacement. He far surpasses expectations.” Cassandra frowned. “And your father is no longer the Duke of Tolland, you are.”
“Yes, but I wish to do his memory proud by following in his footsteps.”
Cassandra stiffened at his words. How could he say such a thing?
James had been a horrible husband and a selfish lord.
Everything he had ever done had been for his own personal gain and pleasure.
The extensive gambling. The never-ending string of affairs with noblewomen and whores alike.
She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to steady herself.
Phillip knew nothing of his father’s proclivities and vices.
Cassandra had done her utmost to ensure he remained oblivious to his father’s true nature.
But now she understood that had been to her own detriment.
He truly believed his father to be a paragon of virtue. Someone to whom he should aspire to be.
Her body trembled at the realization that she had inadvertently reinforced this picturesque, pristine version of her husband he had presented to the world. By keeping this secret, she risked ruining his sainted reputation and breaking her son’s heart with its revelation. Damn you, James.
Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids, but she pushed them aside, swallowing the painful memories of abuse and torment.
Cassandra could not reveal the truth to her son.
Doing so would shatter the memory he held of his father and possibly send him into denial.
The last thing she wanted to do was drive her son away.
She needed him. He was all she had left, and as the new Duke of Tolland, he was responsible for not only upholding the family name but supporting her as well.
With a delicate sniff, Cassandra held out her hands and he took them. “You are not your father, Phillip. You are your own man and must step into your own as the duke. I am proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mother.” He pulled her into a warm embrace, and she savored it.
Phillip was not his father, and if she had anything to say about it, she would never allow such evil to consume him.
“Now, tell me, have you called upon Miss Georgianna Sumner?” She led him back to the chairs by the fire. “You cannot dance with a young lady twice at the most coveted event of the year and not call upon her, only to disappear to Paris for a month.”
“Mother.” Phillip sighed in evident exasperation, but he indulged her curiosity. The shift in conversation eased her conscience, and still, the uncertainty lingered.
Could she truly do as she wished now that she was no longer tethered to James?
Within reason and at the behest of her son, of course, but if she truly wished for freedom, it would come at a financial cost. For years, she had feared his wrath and bent her will to his demands.
She shoved aside any remaining thought of her dead husband and instead listened with delight to her son as he regaled her with tales of his time in Paris.
By the time Phillip left for the club, it was well after dark.
Cassandra rang for supper, hoping to see Evans, who had been conspicuously absent the entire afternoon. Concern tugged at her mind. Had he forgotten her?
The conversation with Phillip about Evans’s presence in the household rose up in the back of her thoughts. Perhaps he had said something to Evans and caused some confusion.
She rang the bell again, and this time, the door to the study opened. But it was Mrs. Mercer, not Evans, who answered her call.
“Mrs. Mercer, where is Evans?” she asked, clasping her hands in front of her.
“He has not returned from his errand, Your Grace.”
“‘Errand’?”
“Yes, madam. He left shortly after the duke’s arrival, saying he would be back this evening.”
“Ah, I see. Would you please bring my supper? I will take it in the study.”
“At once, madam.” Mrs. Mercer curtsied and took her leave.