Chapter 15 #2
Cassandra dressed and descended with the others, outwardly composed, inwardly restless.
They gathered in the courtyard before setting off, carriages arranged in neat order.
Voices rose and fell, laughter sounding a little too deliberate.
Cassandra stood slightly apart, watching the movement around her, when Lady Sylvia approached.
“You seem distracted,” Sylvia said pleasantly.
“I am not particularly fond of crowds.”
“And yet today offers you everything. You shall be seen by the entire village, and so you can make your first impression.”
Cassandra studied her. She was dressed almost too well for such an excursion, but she looked undeniably beautiful.
“Is that a warning or an encouragement?”
“Neither,” Sylvia replied. “A question, perhaps. Why do you seem so determined to throw this away?”
“Throw what away?” Cassandra asked.
“This,” Sylvia said, gesturing subtly toward the carriages, the estate beyond, the future implied by both. “An opportunity others would kill for.”
Cassandra exhaled slowly.
“Because a title is not a home.”
“Then clearly you underestimate what all of this offers.”
“I know exactly what it offers,” Cassandra said.
“And yet you resist it,” Sylvia pressed. “Why?”
Cassandra hesitated. She did not want to divulge such information to a lady that so clearly disliked her, but then she also wished to no longer be perceived as a threat.
“Because I want more than a name,” she said. “I want to belong somewhere. I want affection and love, not just duty.”
Sylvia was quiet for a moment.
“I was meant to be in your place,” she whispered.
The words were not sharp. They were stated simply, as fact.
“Our fathers were close,” Sylvia continued. “They intended for George and me to marry to unite our legacies. It was discussed for years. You were never meant to know, of course. Nobody was.”
“I had no idea…” Cassandra said slowly.
“Yes,” Sylvia replied. “Everything was as it should have been until you came and ruined the plan.”
Cassandra absorbed that in silence. She was too kind to remind Sylvia that she had done it to herself by bringing the group to find them alone together. Had she not done that, Cassandra would not be in her situation to begin with.
“I do not say that to wound you,” Sylvia continued. “It is simply how things were arranged. I do not mean to offend you, but you know as well as anyone else that a man like George would never choose someone like you.”
The words were spoken calmly, without malice, as though stating the weather, but Cassandra felt them land nonetheless.
“I know,” she said.
She had known, and she had told herself the same thing many times, but hearing it from someone else, framed as inevitability rather than cruelty, hurt in a way she had not expected.
“I only hope,” Sylvia added, “that if you insist upon this union, you will not waste the chance you were given.”
The carriages began to move. Voices called for places to be taken.
Cassandra did not reply.
As they passed into the village, she caught sight of a small church set slightly apart from the main road. Stone-worn, modest, framed by trees, it looked untouched by expectation.
She slowed. Then, without comment, she turned away. She left the others behind and walked toward it alone.
The church was cool and dim, the air carrying the faint scent of stone and old wood. Sunlight filtered through narrow windows, striping the worn floor. It felt removed from the noise of the village, from the expectations that followed her everywhere else.
She had taken only a few steps down the aisle when she heard movement.
George stood near the front, his back to her, one hand resting on the back of a pew as though he had been standing there for some time. He turned when he heard her, his expression unreadable.
“I did not mean to intrude,” Cassandra replied automatically.
“You are not,” he said. “This church belongs to the estate.”
She glanced around again, suddenly uneasy.
“Do you come here often?”
“Occasionally,” he said.
They were quiet for a moment, and all the while he did not look at her. Then, he cleared his throat.
“This is where we will be married.”
The words landed with unexpected force.
“In two days,” he added. “It is also where my parents were married.”
Something tight and bitter rose in her chest.
“Sylvia should be standing here,” Cassandra said. “Not me.”
He frowned slightly.
“Why?”
“You know why,” she replied. “This was always meant to be her place. You were supposed to continue what your fathers planned. I was never part of it.”
“That plan was not mine,” George said.
“You broke it because of me,” she said, the bitterness sharpening her voice. “You broke the rules.”
He let out a short, incredulous breath.
“That is laughable.”
“Is it?”
“I never wanted to marry Sylvia,” he said. “Or anyone.”
The words should not have hurt, but they did.
“But you are marrying me,” Cassandra said quietly.
“Yes.”
“Because of your sister.”
The silence that followed was heavy. George did not deny it.
Cassandra turned away, staring down the aisle, at the place where she would soon be expected to stand and promise a future she had never imagined wanting.
“You say you never wanted this. And yet you will go through with it as though that does not matter.”
He stepped closer.
“You are wrong about one thing,” he said.
“Which?”
“That you are the reason I broke anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am in control of what I do. If I choose to break a rule, it is because I want to.”
“I do not believe you. You do not do anything reckless, and when you see someone do it you admonish them.”
He was close to her, too close, and as she spoke he tilted her chin up to look at him.
“Do you need proof?” he asked.
“I would love it.”
And so, without another word, he kissed her.
It was not hesitant. It was not gentle in the way she might have expected. It was deliberate, controlled only by the effort it took to stop himself from doing more. For a moment, the world narrowed to that single certainty.
Then footsteps sounded outside, voices.
Her parents.
Cassandra pulled back just as the church door opened. Lady Hurton froze when she saw them standing together.
“Cassandra,” her mother said sharply. “This is highly inappropriate.”
George stepped back at once, his expression composed once more.
“My apologies,” he said. “This was a mistake. It will not happen again.”
The words struck Cassandra harder than the kiss had. A mistake. Never again. She felt the weight of them settle painfully in her chest.
Had he already regretted it?
She did not look at him, because she was no longer certain she could bear the answer.