Chapter 10 #2
The morning air was cool, sharp enough to clear her thoughts, and she welcomed it.
Sleep had come in restless fragments, her mind circling the same arguments, the same injustices, until remaining still had become impossible.
She had dressed simply, hair pinned with little care, and slipped into the gardens in search of solitude.
She did not find it.
“Cassandra?”
The voice stopped her short. She turned to see someone she had been longing for, and suddenly her restless night was of little consequence.
“Anthea?”
Anthea stood a few steps away, a shawl drawn close around her shoulders. For a moment, Cassandra could only stare. Then she crossed the distance between them in three quick steps and seized her friend’s hands.
“What are you doing here?” Cassandra asked, scarcely able to keep her voice steady. “I did not know you were invited.”
“I was not certain that I could come,” Anthea said, smiling faintly. “At least, not at first, but I suspected you would need me.”
Cassandra felt a sharp, unexpected sting behind her eyes.
“I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you,” she said. “I thought I would have to endure this alone.”
“You never do,” Anthea replied simply.
They began to walk, slowly, along the path that bordered the paddocks. Cassandra glanced instinctively toward the stables, then away again.
“I am going to sabotage the wedding,” Cassandra said, the words tumbling out before she could soften them.
Anthea did not stop walking. Cassandra did not doubt that her friend expected it.
“How?”
“I have not decided yet,” Cassandra admitted. “But I cannot allow this to continue unchallenged. Every day here is a performance, and I cannot do it for the rest of my life.”
Anthea’s grip tightened slightly on her arm. “You understand the consequences.”
“I understand that if I do nothing, I will disappear.”
They reached a stand of trees and paused. Anthea turned to face her fully. Cassandra waited for the lecture, but it did not seem to come.
“I will not tell you that this is wise,” she said. “Nor will I pretend that it will not hurt.”
“I did not expect you to.”
“But,” Anthea continued, “I will support you. I know that you will be pleased with any outcome as long as it was your doing.”
Cassandra exhaled, some of the tightness in her chest loosening for the first time since she had arrived.
“That is enough,” she said quietly. “More than enough.”
Anthea smiled, small but resolute.
“Then tell me what you have already done.”
Cassandra hesitated, then allowed herself a brief, crooked smile.
“Nothing as yet,” she said. “Though I did speak rather untowardly to Lady Sylvia.”
“I see,” she laughed. “Well, that is to be expected. If you ask me, she should remember who she is being unkind to in the first place.”
“But I did not tell you about that.”
“You did not need to. I know that you would never attack unprovoked.”
The relief she felt was palpable. Whatever came next, Cassandra knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would not face it alone.
Cassandra left Anthea with reluctance.
The comfort of her friend’s presence lingered, but it did nothing to solve the immediate problem. She needed to speak to the Duke about what had happened the night before, while the house still held the quiet of early morning.
If she were to sabotage anything, she would need clarity first. She would not act blindly. Whatever he believed of her, she would not become reckless for the sake of spite.
A footman passed her in the corridor.
“Is His Grace awake?” she asked.
“Yes, my lady,” he replied. “He was searching for you.”
Cassandra frowned, wondering why he would wish to speak with her. A maid paused nearby, curtseying.
“If you seek His Grace, my lady, he stepped out into the gardens moments ago.”
Of course he had.
Cassandra thanked her and turned again, irritation beginning to prickle beneath her resolve. The estate seemed determined to frustrate her at every turn.
She descended the back staircase, skirts gathered in one hand, and emerged near the side entrance. She scanned the paths, but there was nothing.
A groom hurried past, and she stopped him.
“Has the Duke been this way?” Cassandra asked.
“I believe His Grace is here somewhere, yes.”
She continued on toward the walkway. It occurred to her then, with a sudden, unwelcome clarity, that this was not entirely a coincidence. He was moving as deliberately as she was, and the thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
She paused at a window, steadying herself, forcing her thoughts into order. She did not care whether he was looking for her. That was irrelevant. She needed to speak to him because she had decided to act, and that would remain unchanged.
Still, as she resumed her search, she could not quite banish the awareness that somewhere else in the house, at that very moment, the Duke of Sherton was doing the same thing.
Cassandra walked farther into the gardens than she had intended.
She followed the curve of the path until they suddenly came into view — the Duke and Sylvia, engaged in a conversation she could not hear.
Cassandra paused. Of course. She had spent the better part of the morning searching for her betrothed, only to discover that she was hardly the only woman intent on claiming his attention.
A small, unwelcome sting settled in her chest. She did not know what passed between them, nor did she care to assume — but she disliked, intensely, being one among many orbiting the same man.
Not knowing what else to do, she left for the paddock. The horses stood calm behind their fences, shifting their weight, tails flicking, breath steaming faintly in the morning light. One lifted its head as she approached, dark eyes steady and intelligent. Another stamped, impatient but contained.
Cassandra slowed her steps. She had never been afraid of horses. She had ridden enough to understand them, enough to respect the strength they possessed. They were not wild creatures here — they were trained, restrained — and that knowledge stirred something restless within her.
She rested her hands on the fence rail and exhaled slowly.
A sudden thought took hold before she could examine it too closely. She could ride. Just for a moment. Just to feel movement that was not dictated by anyone else.
Her gaze followed the line of the gate. The bolt was simple, easily lifted. She hesitated only briefly before sliding it back.
The nearest horse startled at the unexpected freedom. Instead of waiting for her, it surged forward, hooves striking the earth, and bolted past her into the open stretch beyond.
Cassandra froze. Then she watched it run.
The sight of it — uncontained, powerful, choosing its own direction — struck her harder than she anticipated. Something tightened in her chest.
Before reason could return, she moved again. One latch, then another. If one could run, why not the rest?
She told herself she would gather them. She told herself it could still be contained. But as the paddock dissolved into motion and thunder, another thought slipped in — quiet, dangerous.
If she could not free herself, she could at least free something.