Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
CASSANDRA
The morning air felt positively alive in St. Brelade. A slight mist with a salty tang mingled with the scent of damp earth as Cassandra and Rosamund walked to her friend’s cottage nearby for a visit.
The garden of the small thatched-roof cottage burst with lavender and rosemary. A servant brought them through. Their cloaks and hats were taken, and they entered the sitting room.
“Rosamund, so lovely to see you.”
Cassandra froze at the sound of that voice.
Rosamund stepped aside and introduced her friend.
Frederica Ashton.
Cassandra had known Frederica for years. Mrs. Ashton had been the woman Rowen once publicly claimed as his mistress in order to manufacture a scandal for a political rival. Rosamund chattered brightly as she settled at the table by the window, but the words dissolved into a blur.
Frederica met Cassandra’s gaze.
There had never been jealousy between them, nor rivalry. Only an understanding of the game. Now they weighed what could be said, and what must remain unsaid.
Frederica inclined her head. “Your Grace. Welcome to my home.”
A servant entered with the tea, and Frederica gestured to Cassandra to sit at the table.
“The Duchess and her husband were once at the epicentre of our social life in Naples,” said Rosamund.
“Really?”
Cassandra took a seat at the table. “His Grace had been the chief diplomat there for a time.”
Frederica poured the tea. “How exciting that must have been for you.”
Cassandra added a touch of milk to her tea.
“We enjoyed our stay there very much. The Mediterranean is incomparable.” A memory of a suntanned Rowen tugged at her.
His hair loose, shirt open at the neck, sleeves rolled up, holding a flask of wine out to her as they walked along the seashore hand in hand.
Rosamund chose a slice of lemon sponge cake. “The Duke and Duchess hosted the best dinners and dances, sponsored wonderful charities.”
“How delightful.” Frederica forced a smile through the strain of their pretence. “Is the Duke of Oakley with you here now, Your Grace?”
The delicate porcelain cup warmed Cassandra’s fingertips. “He has remained in England. I’ve ventured here to visit Rosamund.”
“We’re having a ladies’ holiday,” laughed Rosamund.
“How splendid.”
A baby’s cry sliced sharply through the house, and Cassandra’s breath caught. Frederica stiffened as Cassandra’s narrowed gaze met hers. “You…have a child?”
Frederica’s lips parted, and her face paled. She did not answer.
“Yes, the poor dear!” Rosamund exclaimed. “She recently lost her husband, came here for a holiday, and then found herself with child.”
Frederica spilled tea from her cup and busied herself mopping at the puddle on the pale green tablecloth.
“How old is the babe?” asked Cassandra, her voice suddenly low, her pulse thudding in her neck.
Frederica only cleared her throat.
“A few weeks now, isn’t it?” Rosamund sipped her tea.
The teacup slipped in Cassandra’s fingers. A few weeks. Her mind clicked through memories. Dates. Months. The calculation assembled itself without mercy.
“The child has been rather fitful, hasn’t he, Frederica?” remarked Rosamund.
Cassandra’s gaze bore down on Frederica. “Is this your first child?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.
“I-I was with child once before, when my husband and I first married,” Frederica replied. “I had scarcely begun to hope when the babe slipped away in the second month. I am most pleased to have another chance at being a mother, although alone.”
“What a blessing for you.” Cassandra’s eyes tightened. “Even under such…tragic circumstances.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.” Frederica’s cheeks flushed. “Rosamund kindly helped me find a wet nurse, and I take walks every morning, which I find invigorating.”
“A newborn can be so very trying,” Rosamund observed.
Cassandra smiled stiffly. She very much doubted Rosamund had ever tended to her trying newborns.
“Will you be returning to England now?” Cassandra pressed Frederica. “You must have family?” She knew the answer to that question already.
Frederica’s eyes widened as she gently placed her cup back in its saucer. “I do not have any family to speak of, and I find life here on the island so delightful that I have decided to stay.“ She lifted her gaze to meet Cassandra’s evenly.
The clatter of horses’ hooves interrupted their volley of words and wills. A messenger with a note for Rosamund.
She read it quickly, her lips pursing. “What I feared has happened, my friends. The theatrical society is having a conundrum over the guests at the reception for next week’s première. I am needed to put out the fires and calm the tempests.”
“There’s been such a fuss over every detail, hasn’t there?” said Frederica as she gestured at her servant. “The ladies will be leaving.”
“And I’ve been caught in the middle of it,” Rosamund took her hat from the servant. “I’m sorry to cut our time short here—”
“Why don’t I remain here with Mrs. Ashton, and I could walk home on my own? I remember the way,” said Cassandra.
“Are you sure?” Rosamund smoothed back her hair.
“We’ve just arrived. I’m sure Mrs. Ashton was looking forward to our company today.” Cassandra smiled coolly at Frederica, who only averted her gaze, her hands clasped together tightly.
“How good of you, Cassandra.” Rosamund adjusted her cloak and hat. “Very well, you two. Wish me luck.” Rosamund swept from the room.
The carriage took off, and the two ladies let out a deep exhale. Yet instead of ease, tension ruled the room.
“Tell me, Mrs. Ashton, does Lady Rosamund know that your husband died over five years ago and therefore could not have possibly sired your child?”
Frederica’s small hands wrung together. “She does not. She, like everyone else here, believes my story that I was recently widowed, and came here for a holiday, and was surprised to find myself with child. And I may have lied about how far along I was.”
“You realised you were with child when you left us at Greywick and so came to Jersey to escape us?”
“Your Grace, we parted on good terms, did we not?”
“We did.”
“I never thought to see you again.”
Cassandra’s lips slanted. “Is it so very horrifying?”
“Not at all. It is a pleasure.”
“Is the child my husband’s?”
“Your Grace—”
“It’s quite a logical deduction.” Cassandra took in a small breath. “Frederica, you know very well that you do not have to lie to me.”
“There has never been any reason to do so, and I could never lie to you. You are the strongest, smartest woman I have ever known. You know very well that I have never been any kind of threat to you and never shall be.” A frown passed over Frederica’s face.
“Had Lady Rosamund perhaps told you that I was here, and so you came to Jersey?”
“I came to see Rosamund. I did not know you were here. Rest assured, I cannot say I have given you a single thought since we said goodbye at Greywick that morning.” Her fingers slid up and down a silver spoon.
“I cannot help but think that you knew you were with child before you left, and so came here to—”
“It is not His Grace’s child,” Frederica whispered.
She took the seat Rosamund had left vacant, closer to Cassandra.
“I came here directly after we parted simply because I wanted to escape the ton. Although being His Grace’s mistress was a great boon to me in many ways, once it was over, there was nothing but whispers and reproach, especially from my brother-in-law and his wife.
They informed me in the ugliest of terms that I was no longer fit for society. ”
“Lord Enggers is an uncivilised bull.”
“Agreed.”
“Then who is the father?”
“I don’t know.”
Cassandra laughed sharply. “Frederica Ashton! You were always most ladylike and rather shy, but this….”
“I shall tell you everything. When I first arrived in Jersey, I met a Frenchman. I’d never met anyone like him. He was rather like a battle-weary pirate. We spent one night together…one very memorable night. And now, as you see, I am paying the price for that indulgence.”
“Never feel guilty for indulging. Did you learn nothing from us?”
“Oh, I did, Your Grace, and I’ve always wished I could be like you. That night I did try, and it was glorious. But now…”
“And this French pirate?” Cassandra asked. “Is he still here? Does he know that—”
“I never saw him again. It was one night we shared, and then he was gone. A brutishly handsome man, handsome as a devil. There was a rage inside him, sharp and cruel, but not with me. We happened to meet on a street in St. Helier’s.
He seemed lost and angry and so very tired.
I helped him. It was a simple thing really, but he seemed to truly appreciate my kindness and … ”
“His name?”
She flushed crimson. “I don’t know his name.
I only know what I saw and what I felt.” Her chin lifted slightly.
“Yet for all his roughness, there was something of the gentleman about him. His bearing was not without refinement.” A brief smile swept her lips.
“I imagine he is an aristocrat of some kind. There are so very many of them here. He had the most horrible scars all down his chest, and long stretches of burn marks too. Many were recent. He would not discuss it. I assumed he must have been in the army and fought in a battle, and perhaps was imprisoned, for he suffered greatly.”
Her wistful tone scoured Cassandra’s nerves.
Frederica had woven a romantic tale of a mysterious French lover who, after a wild, lust-filled night of congress, had disappeared into the shadows of the Jersey night. Such things didn’t happen to the Frederica Ashtons of the world.
“And so you told a tale of being recently widowed.”
“What else could I do? I am fortunate that Lady Rosamund took a liking to me and has become such a dear friend.”
“Indeed you are.”
“I beg you, Your Grace, please keep my secret from her.”
“You ask a great deal. She and I have been friends for quite some time.”