Chapter Thirteen #2
Her breath had deepened. Her eyes had widened. She knew he was withholding something, didn’t she? “Allow me to deal with him in my own way, and in my own time. Please. Finding a replacement will take time.”
“Mrs. Townsend’s son is a London solicitor, and she recently suggested he might be interested in the position.”
“Pardon?”
“When you—” She stopped abruptly. “I mean, if you find yourself in need of a new steward, he knows the estate. And his father has a vested interest.”
The points of her gold cross bit into his palm. “I can handle my own concerns, Cassandra.”
“Our,” she said derisively, looking hurt. “Our concerns.”
His conscience panged. She was right to look hurt.
She’d gone behind his back, she’d discussed estate problems with tenants without his presence. But she’d done so because she wanted to help. And he had asked for her opinion.
In other words, his withholding of information was still the greater omission.
“I will have a talk with Mr. Townsend,” he said finally. “And I will arrange for us to meet with his son.”
“Before Michaelmas?”
“Before Michaelmas.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you.”
She turned back around and lifted the bottom of her cap. He positioned the necklace so the cross rested in the valley between her collarbones, clasped the ends, and then rested his hands against her shoulders.
“And I must beg your pardon,” he said contritely. “I was too abrupt.”
“No matter.”
Her smile lifted only her lips—a pale specter of the sweet smile he’d come to know, love, and long for.
He wasn’t angry at her for meddling. She was simply getting too close to a truth he wasn’t yet ready to reveal. He had to tell her everything. And he would. Tonight.
*
Cassie flashed yet another look of worried inquiry across the jostling carriage, but Harbury remained reluctant to meet her gaze.
As they made their way to the meeting with her husband’s father’s friends, he angled himself toward the fields outside the carriage window, and he kept a pale-knuckled grip on the strap.
His posture made her feel as if he were deliberately separating their bodies, the same way his abrupt manner during their earlier discussion had suggested he was withholding something on his mind.
Perhaps she should have chosen a better time to bring up the issue, but she’d only just had the conversation with Mrs. Townsend about her son.
She’d sensed her interference in estate matters would not be as welcome as he’d intimated in their early discussions, but she hadn’t anticipated this level of upset.
True, he’d been quick to recognize his rudeness and apologize, but she didn’t feel as if he’d truly addressed her concerns. In fact, she’d felt his apology had been a way to distract her from another, more complicated truth.
She’d known keeping the real reason for her attempted alliance with the wives a secret from Harbury hadn’t been honest. And she hadn’t been sure why she had decided not to be forthcoming, other than an instinct Harbury had been hiding something himself.
Her suspicion was no longer only instinct. Harbury was hiding something. And whatever he was hiding was slowly breaking apart the foundation they’d laid together.
“We should have brought Mercy,” she said to break the silence.
“Mercy hates to be taken in the carriage.”
So much for that attempted line of conversation. She tried something else. “Did I tell you I finally received another letter from Eliza, this one from Ravenswood?”
“No.”
She continued, even though he hadn’t sounded the least interested. “Lord Neville has come to visit and is making a nuisance of himself…”
Nothing.
“…I don’t know why Neville feels he has to bother Millie. No one else ever complains about her behavior. She could be considered somewhat outspoken, I suppose. But he treats her as if she were outrageous, and—”
“Is he bothering Millie? Or is the problem the Wainwright ladies, who all appear to delight in creating turmoil?”
“Harbury!” She scowled. “What an unkind thing to say.” She cast her own gaze out the window. “Unkind and unfair.”
He exhaled harshly. “Just so. I must beg your pardon.” He paused. “Again.”
She glanced askance. “Why did your ‘apology’ just make me feel worse?”
Finally, his troubled gaze met hers. “Truthfully? I’m dreading this visit.”
At least he’d told her something. “I thought the Wexfords were old family friends.”
“They are.”
“Well, what more can you tell me about them?”
“An older couple. Longtime friends of my parents.” He hesitated. “I expect they are eager to make your acquaintance.”
“But you aren’t eager for me to make theirs?”
He remained silent.
“Harbury…” She placed her palms against her knees. “Do I embarrass you?”
He closed his eyes. His purse lips suggested an inner battle. Then, without looking, he grasped her hand and raised her fingers to his lips.
Her heart squeezed as he held his mouth against her knuckles for far longer than a simple kiss would have warranted. When he returned his own to his lap, he kept hold of hers, apparently inordinately interested in the row of embroidered flowers decorating the edge of her glove.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “Never. Have I ever given you reason to believe such a thing?”
“You must realize you’ve been acting strangely of late. Especially whenever we discuss the estate.”
“You’re right.” His hand tightened over hers. “I don’t wish to let Anderson go, but I’m starting to see I have little choice. Do you understand what forcing him out of not only his position, but his home will mean for him?”
“He wouldn’t have to leave Rose Cottage.”
“He’s a man of deep pride. He would not stay if he were not employed, especially if he were forced from his post.”
“What of his daughter?”
Warily, he held her gaze.
“Perhaps she would be willing to take him in?” She shifted. Their knees bumped. “Perhaps you can write to her.”
“Perhaps,” he echoed, looking exceedingly bleak.
She squeezed his hand reassuringly as the coachman called out to the horses, and the carriage rolled to a stop. Her fear the Wexfords would find fault with her was not realized, and the older couple welcomed them into their home with delight.
First, they were taken on a house tour, which turned out to be a solid affair about the size of Willowhurst. By the time they sat down for tea, Cassie felt warm and welcome.
If Harbury had not been so stiff, her happiness with the visit would have been complete.
But if the Wexfords noticed his stilted behavior, they didn’t make mention of it. They settled amiably in a parlor with large-paned windows looking out over a pond. Two white swans glided peacefully over the water.
“Well, son,” Lord Wexford said. “I’d say you’ve done well in your choice of a spouse, very well indeed. Your father would be proud.”
“I’m honored you think so,” Harbury cordially replied. “My wife charms everyone she meets. Her overtures toward the tenants’ wives have been received with great enthusiasm.”
Cassie smiled, though she wasn’t sure he meant his description as a compliment.
“Then you at The Hall will never again be ignorant of the latest on dit,” Lady Wexford offered.
“How right you are.” Harbury chuckled without mirth, as if Lady Wexford’s assertion matched his greatest fear. “And how goes things here?”
Lord Wexford exchanged a glance with his wife. “Our son manages most things these days.”
“Most,” Lady Wexford agreed. “But not enough.”
“Hard for a man to let go.” Lord Wexford shrugged as he crossed his legs. “Although you do not have to worry about letting go for a very long while, Harbury.” He cocked his head fondly. “Still odd to refer to you as Harbury. How fast the time has gone. How long has it been?”
“Nearly two years,” Lady Wexford offered.
“Two years!” Lord Wexford shook his head. “Is Anderson still at his post or have you replaced him?”
“At present, he remains my steward,” Harbury replied. “You say your son has been managing the place? It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to Arthur. I’d love to see him. Is he—”
“What a mess your father had on his hands.” Lord Wexford shook his head, seemingly so lost in recollection he hadn’t heard Harbury. “How is that former governess, er, rather, companion of Lady Sarah’s?”
Beside her, Harbury stiffened.
“Moved up in the world, last I heard,” Lord Wexford mused.
“Twice, I believe. Just as she always intended, but I don’t have to remind you, now do I?
” He chuckled as if he’d said something witty.
“She would have caught you in the parson’s trap, Harbury, wouldn’t she?
That is, if your father hadn’t acted so quickly and shrewdly. A boon for you, my dear.”
Unable to respond, Cassie fixed her gaze on a mole just beneath Lord Wexford’s right eye. A boon?
“Please excuse Lord Wexford, duchess. He is such a great tease,” Lady Wexford said with a laugh.
A laugh Cassie hardly heard because the thudding in her ears deadened all sound.
Parson’s trap…
Unless her husband had left some other youthful attachment unrevealed, she only knew of one lady he’d ever wanted to marry. But Lord Wexford couldn’t possibly be referring to Lady Pennington.
Lady Pennington lived in London.
Lady Pennington was a countess.
Lady Pennington, as far as she knew, had never come to the Harbury estate.
“All that was so long ago,” Lady Wexford continued. “And surely of no interest, now. Why don’t we—”
“She was a handsome thing, if I recall,” Lord Wexford interrupted, his unfixed eyes still lost in memory. “Not as pretty as your duchess, but stately. Come now, Lydia, what was her name? You remember.”
“I’m sure I don’t,” Lady Wexford raised her voice.
“Lady Pennington, I believe.” Cassie responded quietly. “Her name is Vivianne, Lady Pennington.”
“Vivianne!” Lord Wexford cheerfully exclaimed. “Yes! Her name is Vivianne. Only she was Vivianne Anderson then.”
The bit of cake Cassie had eaten sat uneasily in her stomach.
Like the pieces of a dissected map, the puzzle came together, finally making sense. Harbury’s reluctance to dismiss the steward. His evasiveness when talking about his past. His reaction when she suggested he write Anderson’s daughter.
How could he have kept such a thing from her? Why hadn’t he told her?
She didn’t know how her heart could simultaneously be beating in her throat and broken into a million pieces.
She’d thought they were building something new.
All the while, she’d existed only in her rival’s long shadow.