Chapter Twelve
Mrs. Townsend greeted Cassie on her steps, just as she had on Cassie’s prior visit. Her salutation was warm, but as she introduced Mrs. Grayson, Mrs. Bottlesworth, and Miss Clapham, the atmosphere cooled.
Mrs. Townsend, Cassie judged from the age of her sons, appeared to be around forty. Mrs. Grayson, with her abundant white hair, must be much older. Both Mrs. Bottlesworth and Miss Clapham were nearer Harbury’s age, leaving Cassie feeling very young. Very young, and even more inexperienced.
But she’d come too far to turn back now.
Mrs. Townsend suggested they collect the pods before tea.
As they worked, Cassie inquired about the various attendees’ family’s size and health.
She encouraged them to discuss their livestock and farms. While working side by side promoted disclosure, by the time they’d snipped half the plants clean, Cassie was running out of questions.
“Might you have anything to ask of me?” she ventured brightly.
The others exchanged significant glances.
Miss Clapham was the first to speak. “Mrs. Townsend tells us you have five sisters.”
Not really a question.
Cassie wondered if Miss Clapham had only spoken because the silence had been painful. Cassie would have done something similar in the same position. A lady after her own heart, perhaps?
“Yes,” Cassie replied. “I’m the eldest, though by only a few minutes. Elizabeth is my twin. Then there’s Millicent and Lenora, a mere eleven months apart, and Annette, the youngest.”
“Your poor mother.” Mrs. Bottlesworth’s eyes widened as if she could not believe she had allowed the exclamation to slip out. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
“You’re quite right.” Cassie smiled. “Motherhood took its toll. Later in her life, my mother did not enjoy good health.”
“She has passed on, then?” Mrs. Bottlesworth asked.
“Yes, and my father, too.”
“How good, then, that you have the duke on whom to rely.” Though Mrs. Grayson’s words had been kind, her tone had not.
“I count myself lucky,” she responded with care.
“Your sister Elizabeth is, I believe, married to the Marquess of Redver.” Mrs. Townsend came to the rescue.
“Master Adrian?” Mrs. Bottlesworth exclaimed.
“Do you remember him?” Cassie asked.
“Oh, of course! He and Master—” she stopped. “He and His Grace ran amok all over the estate when they were young.” Her words may have been harsh, but, unlike Mrs. Grayson’s cold eyes, the older woman’s gaze held only fondness.
“They still do, I imagine,” Mrs. Grayson replied wryly. “Run amok, that is.”
“Cynthia!” Mrs. Townsend whispered.
Mrs. Grayson shrugged.
Cassie ignored the comment. “My sister and Adrian were here for the wedding, but they have gone back to Ravenswood to oversee the harvest. They took my younger sisters with them.”
“On account of your being newlyweds,” Mrs. Grayson said with a sidelong glance at Miss Clapham.
Mrs. Grayson’s sarcasm confused Cassie.
She and Harbury were, after all, newly wed.
She set to extracting a particularly resistant pod. “I wonder…” She let her voice trail and kept her gaze on the pod, knowing she had all their attention.
“Yes, Your Grace?” Mrs. Bottlesworth prompted.
“I haven’t heard much from my sisters of late.
Lady Sarah is also from home. And I can no longer ask my mother, rest her soul…
” She laid the pod carefully in her basket and closed her eyes.
She summoned to mind painful recollections from her wedding night to force a blush.
“Forgive my plain speaking, but I wonder if I might ask you a question.” She paused.
“A”—she cleared her throat—“female question…”
“Oh! Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Bottlesworth said. “Are you—? I mean, could you be—?”
Cassie smiled. “I’ve been a little queasy in the mornings of late.” She hadn’t, but sickness on waking was the one symptom she could remember from her mother’s last pregnancy. “Is that a sign I might be increasing?”
The collective gasp was a surprise.
Miss Clapham studied the contents of her basket. A spinster could not be expected to answer such a question. But Mrs. Grayson and Mrs. Bottlesworth said nothing either, only exchanged puzzled glances.
Mrs. Townsend, clearly feeling duty-bound as host finally said, “Why, yes. Perhaps if…”
“I am not sure, of course,” Cassie interjected. “Please, keep this in confidence.”
A cacophony of assurances followed.
“Well.” Mrs. Grayson folded her arms. “I wonder what else Mrs. Grant has been lying about.”
“Pardon?” Cassie asked.
“Cynthia.” Again, Mrs. Townsend used her friend’s name as a chastisement.
“None of us mean to gossip.” Miss Clapham laid a hand on Cassie’s arm. “Only, we’d been told—” Miss Clapham’s cheeks turned crimson. “Well, led to believe, that is…”
Cassie frowned in consternation. Had they been told her marriage to Harbury hadn’t been consummated? By whom? And, more importantly, why?
“We’d been told,” Miss Clapham started again, “scandal had forced the marriage. And that the marriage was only in name.”
Cassie supposed this was her fault, proposing a marriage of convenience. Things always got out no matter how hard you tried to keep them private.
Mrs. Bottlesworth turned to Mrs. Grayson. “I told you not to put stock in what Anderson’s housekeeper said. You should know better.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Mrs. Grayson replied.
“Mrs. Grant?” Cassie asked. “Is she Mr. Anderson’s housekeeper?”
Mrs. Townsend nodded, then quickly added, “We had better lay these out to dry and sit down to tea.”
Cassie sensed if she pressed any harder, the tentative connections she’d just made would have devolved into silence and suspicion. So, during the rest of the tea, she turned the conversation back toward estate matters.
The more she demonstrated a sincere interest in their well-being, the more they revealed. They spoke of their husband’s hardships and concerns, and even made a few, to Cassie’s mind, ingenious suggestions for surviving the current slump.
After assuring them she’d keep the details to herself, Cassie made general notes in a tiny book she had brought. She’d have to work up the courage to share those general ideas with her husband, and she hoped that, when she did so, he would be open to implementing them.
But although she made good progress, the knowledge that Mrs. Grant—whom Cassie had neither heard of nor met—had been gossiping about her marriage churned in the back of her mind. Malice, she thought. Pure malice.
But why?
When the visit ended, Cassie, at Mrs. Townsend’s encouragement, lingered, becoming the last guest to depart. As they waited for the pony cart to be brought round, Cassie thanked Mrs. Townsend for her efforts.
“The afternoon did go well,” Mrs. Townsend agreed. “I knew they would take to you as I have.”
“I’m not so sure about Mrs. Grayson,” Cassie replied.
Mrs. Townsend glanced heavenward. “Cynthia can be a right stick. You mustn’t mind her, she finds fault everywhere. But in times of need, she is the most generous of them all.”
“I’d like to know more about this Mrs. Grant.”
“Well, she’s been with Mr. Anderson since his wife passed some twenty or more years ago. I doubt she meant any real harm.”
“But did she make certain implications about His Grace and me?”
Mrs. Townsend pursed her lips.
Cassie sighed. “I cannot ask you to divulge someone else’s words while simultaneously expecting you to keep mine confidential, can I?”
Mrs. Townsend gave a nod.
“Last time I visited,” Cassie tried another tack, “you mentioned Anderson had refused concessions requested by tenants in the duke’s name. I don’t yet know for sure, but I don’t believe the duke was ever made aware of any requested concessions. Now, I hear the man’s housekeeper is gossiping…”
Mrs. Townsend’s expression altered as she appeared to weigh various considerations. “I can tell you this…much as saying so pains me, Mr. Anderson has been—” She stopped herself. “Well, he is not the man I once knew.”
“Could you give me an example?”
When Mrs. Townsend didn’t answer, Cassie added, “From your own experience, of course.”
“Well, he’s always been very reliable. But the last time he was here, he told Mr. Townsend a very…
” She searched for a word. “…inappropriate story. And in my hearing, too. Mind you, I don’t know how men speak when there isn’t anyone of the feminine persuasion around, but what I heard left me downright shocked. ”
Cassie frowned.
“Why had he come?”
“The reason he gave for visiting was odd, too. He said Mr. Townsend owed him for the use of an ox borrowed from the home farm, but Mr. Townsend had already paid. Lucky thing my husband keeps every receipt. But Mr. Anderson reacted very badly when Mr. Townsend produced proof. Then, a few minutes later, Anderson’s mood completely changed again. ”
“I appreciate you telling me this.” She reached out and covered the woman’s hand with her own.
“Keep watch, will you? If you notice anything else of concern, please don’t hesitate to send me a message, just as you sent the invitation today.
I know you won’t betray a confidence, but if you find out anyone else has had a similar experience with the steward, please tell them they can come directly to me. ”
Mrs. Townsend nodded.
Cassie had been so absorbed in speaking with the older woman, she had not paid attention to the approach of a horse and single rider. When she looked over her shoulder, she found herself staring into the eyes of her husband.
She withdrew her hand and adjusted her shawl.
Harbury greeted Mrs. Townsend and apologized for not dismounting. “I’ve come to provide escort to my wife.”
The edge in his voice would not, Cassie hoped, be recognizable to Mrs. Townsend.
“I should be getting back,” Cassie said. “I can only imagine what kind of mischief Mercy has been getting up to while I’ve been gone.”
“Mercy?” queried Mrs. Townsend.
“Did the duchess tell you we acquired a small spaniel on our way home the last time we were here?”
“A spaniel?” Mrs. Townsend asked, surprised.