Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
George returned home to collect Philippa, but he did not expect to be faced with his grandmother, dressed to accompany them.
“You seem surprised to see me,” she said, not acknowledging his arrival.
“I was not expecting you to be home. You did not even tell us that you would be absent this morning.”
“I do not need to ask your permission to leave the household. I can do as I please, and I can go wherever I wish.”
George fought the urge to roll his eyes at her, for he was simply pleased that she had come to her senses. They had to display a united front, and it would only be taken seriously if they were all there together.
“You are right,” he replied. “My apologies. Are you both ready to go?”
They both nodded, and within minutes they were in the carriage. George wondered what had made her change her mind, but he did not want to pry. He had to be careful with her, and that meant not pushing her too far.
And yet, he could not help but think that she was hiding something from him. She was unhappy to say the least, and there was no reason that he could think of as to why she would so suddenly change her mind. The carriage lurched forward, wheels striking the stones with steady insistence.
“All of this is unnecessary,” his grandmother said after a short while. “I see no reason why I must attend to begin with. Your sister would be with you.”
George did not look at her. He knew that she understood why it was vital, and this was her way of punishing him for wanting her to go.
“Your presence suggests approval.”
“Which I do not give.”
“That has never stopped you from doing what is expected of you before. Besides, you have always told us both that it does not matter how we feel. We must do what is right and what will please the ton. This is what will please them.”
“Placate them, you mean.”
He looked at her then, and saw that her lips were pressed into a thin line.
“You may choose whichever word you please. You know perfectly well that you need to be present to witness the reading of the banns.”
“You are asking me to witness a mistake.”
“I am asking you to witness a formality.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, for George knew that he was pushing her but he could not allow her to have such a terrible attitude while they were out. Philippa leaned forward, eyes bright, and he hoped that she would say something to help.
“I think it will be nice,” she said. “I am yet to meet her, and I think she will be a good friend to me.”
Her grandmother turned toward her sharply. It was Philippa’s turn to receive her anger.
“You do not know what you are talking about.”
“I know she plays the violin,” Philippa said, undeterred. “And that she stood up to Lord Lashton. That alone makes her interesting.”
George glanced at his sister. He had told her to avoid reading the gossip columns, but he knew such a request was futile.
“Have you been listening to gossip?”
“I have eyes,” Philippa replied. “And ears. Everyone says she is… well…”
She hesitated, then smiled. George felt the same, for he never would have expected Lady Cassandra to be who she was had he only heard what the ton thought of her.
“She is not at all what I expected,” she said finally.
“That is precisely the problem,” the dowager said. “When you think of a duchess, you think of propriety. You do not think of her.”
Philippa ignored her.
“Do you think she will like me, George?”
“Why would she not?”
“Because she is marrying you against her will. That is hardly a good basis for a friendship between her and I.”
The dowager made a sound of approval.
“At least someone understands the gravity of the situation.”
“Enough,” George said. “You will not change the outcome of what is to happen, Grandmother, so you might as well accept it.”
A brief silence followed.
“I hope she does not hate me,” Philippa said softly.
“She will not,” George said, more firmly than he intended. “The two of you will be friends.”
His grandmother arched a brow.
“You sound remarkably certain.”
“And that is because I am.”
The carriage slowed, and his grandmother reached for her reticule. She straightened, fixing her face into a smile, though George could see through it.
“I will stay only as long as is absolutely required.”
George opened the door, offering his arm, which she took.
“Of course. I would not expect anything else from you.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“You may take it however you please.”
“Remember,” Philippa added behind them, “we are here to be seen as united.”
“Which of course, we are,” George replied, without turning.
They crossed into the parish church, and George watched as Philippa looked around her.
“I do not see her.”
“She is not here yet.”
“Late, of course,” the Dowager mumbled, but she said nothing further.
George took his place in the pew, beside his grandmother, leaving the space to his right empty with the plan being that Lady Cassandra would join him there.
A moment later, murmurs rippled through the nave. George looked up to see Lady Cassandra entering with her parents. Her spine was straight, her chin lifted, and her expression was unmistakably defiant. She did not look at him, rather she continued down the aisle while looking ahead.
George raised his hand slightly, signaling for her to join them. Her gaze flicked toward him, only for a second, before she deliberately took a seat several rows away. His grandmother inhaled sharply.
“She is being difficult on purpose.”
“So I see,” he grumbled.
Philippa leaned closer. “She is beautiful,” she whispered, as if surprised by the thought.
George did not respond. He was already on his feet, trying to prevent a disaster. He stopped beside Lady Cassandra’s pew, close enough that she startled despite herself.
“What are you doing?” she hissed as he reached her.
“You are sitting in the wrong place. I have come to ask that you go to the correct one.”
“I am sitting exactly where I wish.”
“That is not what will happen today. You are to sit with me.”
“No. Even if I cannot escape this marriage, I will not pretend in public that it is a convenience for me.”
George bent slightly, keeping his voice low.
“You are creating a scene. We have already discussed this.”
“You created it,” she shot back. “I was sitting quietly.”
“If you do not come willingly, I may be forced to carry you.”
Her breath caught. He saw it; the brief, traitorous reaction before the indignation returned. She was flustered, and in spite of himself he delighted in it.
“You would not dare.”
“Oh, I most certainly would.”
They held each other’s gaze for slightly too long to be proper.
“That will not be necessary,” she muttered, standing abruptly. “I can walk.”
“Good.”
She brushed past him, clearly furious, and took the seat beside him. Her hands trembled as she folded them in her lap. George sat once again, and though his grandmother said nothing, her displeasure was palpable.
Lady Cassandra did not look at him again. George, however, found it impossible not to notice how flustered she was, and how deeply satisfying he found it.
Cassandra became aware of her troubles the moment she entered the church.
She felt everyone turn to look at her, already deciding what sort of woman she must have been.
She took her place, only for the Duke to come and protest that she joined him.
She felt as though she had been watched enough, and did not wish to worsen it, but he was more convincing than she had first thought.
But she did not look at him. She feared that if she did, she would see something that would make it all harder. The Dowager Duchess sat on his other side, rigid with her lips pressed thin, her gaze fixed straight ahead. Cassandra felt that gaze even without meeting it.
The service began, and she tried to settle her nerves.
She had attended church countless times in her life, but that day every word seemed different.
Her hands were clasped in her lap, and she realized that she was pressing her thumbnail into her palm and forced herself to loosen her grip.
This was no moment for trembling. If she was to be examined, she could not appear weak beneath the scrutiny.
Her name was spoken first, then his. This was the first time the announcement was made, the first public declaration.
She considered that, if she proved herself troublesome enough, the marriage could be halted without Cassandra bearing the full weight of blame, for there was one part of the day that could be her saving grace.
“If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony,” the priest announced, “you are to declare it.”
Cassandra could tolerate the silence that followed.
When nobody stood, she reasoned that she could also be the one to do it, but her knees did not move.
She waited for someone else to speak, anyone, but there was nothing, not even from the dowager.
Society, it seemed, was perfectly content with this arrangement.
She became acutely aware of His Grace beside her.
Of his stillness. Of the absolute confidence with which he occupied his place, as though the future had already been decided and there was nothing left to contest. It infuriated her, that certainty.
It made her want to disrupt it if only to prove that she could.
The moment passed.
The priest nodded and continued, the ritual resuming as though nothing of consequence had been offered at all.
She was no longer merely threatened with marriage; she was being dragged toward it. She rose with the congregation when the time came, her expression composed, her posture impeccable, so that nobody would say she lacked dignity.