Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ROWEN
“To the Duke and Duchess of Oakley.” Uncle Winslow raised his glass of claret.
“Here, here!” added Aunt Isobel.
“And here’s to your father’s reserve of the finest spirits, my boy!”
“Oh, Winslow!” Aunt laughed at him.
“It’s true, my love. Can’t get French delights any longer.” Uncle refilled his glass. “Your father always collected what he liked, Rowen. Spared no expense.”
“And I am glad we are here to enjoy it,” replied Rowen, holding up his own glass.
Edmund arrived a few moments later, having ridden in from the village after tending to a patient. He greeted Aunt and Uncle and inclined his head to Rowen. “Cousin.”
“Edmund,” Rowen replied, grateful for the lack of ceremony between them.
Edmund’s attentive gaze shifted to Cassandra, and he bowed to her and smiled warmly. “Your Grace.”
Cassandra bowed her head and returned the smile. “Cousin.”
The dessert course arrived, and they applauded at the bride cake iced in white sugar and scattered with sugared almonds. Again, he noticed Cassandra glancing at Aunt Isobel before choosing her utensil. She would mimic Aunt, taking the appropriate spoon or fork and carry on.
His fingers tightened on the stem of his glass. She didn’t know.
Of course she didn’t know. Who was there at Redthorne to teach her such things? The whores? The lone footman or the cook?
Aunt Isobel clasped her hands together. “I think I shall play something for our bride and groom to dance to.”
“Isn’t it early for dancing, my love?” asked Uncle Winslow.
“I don’t care what time of day it is, Winslow. We’re celebrating my darling Rowen’s wedding.” His aunt clasped her hand over his for a moment, her beaming eyes meeting his, and she rose from the table and went into the drawing room.
She’d never shown him such outright affection before, and he found he liked it. The notes from the spinet in the drawing room burst through the house, and he smiled to himself.
“Come on then. There is never any denying my wife,” Uncle Winslow laughed as he and Edmund left the dining room.
Rowen stood and held out his hand to his wife.
Her shoulders tensed, and she put her hand in his as she rose from her chair.
“You look somewhat stricken, Cassandra,” he remarked as he led her into the drawing room, the largest public room in the Hall; the one that had gotten a modest renovation in his father’s youth to more resemble London sensibilities.
“I have a confession to make…”
“A sin? I thrill to hear it. Although perhaps you wish to wait until we are alone for such a delicious confession?”
“You might very well see it as a sin. Or a joke.”
He stopped at the entrance to the drawing room. “Say it, Cassandra. I demand you confess.”
Her gaze flicked over the smooth, polished, honey-coloured floor that had probably seen much dancing in its time. “I…I do not know how to dance.”
Rowen tightened his grip on her hand. “Of course you don’t. You learned other things in that house, but not the things a titled young girl should learn, like dancing.”
“Or a proper table setting,” she whispered, glancing quickly at Aunt Isobel. “Your aunt is such a dignified lady. I feel such embarrassment that—”
He brought her closer to him. “Never say that. That word shall never cross your mind or your lips again.”
Aunt stopped her playing. “Are you two going to talk or dance?”
Cassandra’s face reddened visibly.
“Aunt, as it has been a very long time since Cassandra has had the opportunity to dance, I say we should first review the finer points of the quadrille, perhaps?”
“A fine idea. Cassandra, if you like, I shall come play for you whenever you wish to practice further.”
“Splendid, dear Aunt.”
“I believe you’ve now made our aunt the happiest of women,” remarked Edmund, raising his glass at Rowen and Cassandra.
Aunt Isobel smiled broadly as her fingers touched the keys of the spinet once again. She played the first notes of a quadrille. “Let us begin—Rowen, I trust you are capable of tutoring Her Grace?”
“Indeed, I am.” Leaning closer to her, his lips brushed her ear, and he whispered, “Do not fret, Cassandra. We have all the time in the world to practice dancing and anything else you desire. All the time we want.”
“I am most grateful—and most willing.”
Her words shuddered through him, for she did not sound vulnerable or helpless, but gratified and eager.
Taking the opening cue of the dance from his aunt’s playing, Rowen bowed to his wife, his heart beating swiftly. Yes, a bond, strange though it was. There was a kind of connection between them.
Cassandra bowed to him in reply, and when she lifted her beautiful face to his, she smiled.