Chapter 15
“My father is arriving this afternoon with Lord and Lady Whitmore,” Cassandra announced at breakfast several mornings later. Ewan, who was sitting at the end of the table eating his breakfast in silence, looked up.
“Your father?” he asked. “I thought that he returned to London after the wedding.”
“Apparently he went to Edinburgh,” Cassandra said, shrugging.
She was in a simple white muslin dress this morning, her coppery hair caught up in a low coiffed style.
She looked so comfortable and casual, as if the castle had already become hers after so little time in it, that Ewan was almost as stunned as he was by the news of Lord Pembury’s return.
“He met several people there that he thought ought to come to Calder Castle and meet you.”
She looked Ewan over carefully. “Do you know Lord Whitmore?”
“We have… met,” Ewan said cautiously. “He is in charge of many of the redevelopment projects in the Highlands after the war. If I want to introduce radical improvements to farming, he is one of the men that I have to convince.”
Cassandra nodded. “I wonder if my father is aware of that. It is possible that he wants Lord Whitmore to help you.”
“Why would he want that?” Ewan asked.
“Because you are my husband,” Cassandra said, raising an eyebrow, and Ewan shook his head.
“That is not the reason,” he informed her. “It is because he knows that doing me a favor may result in me doing him a favor in the future.”
“Ahh.” Cassandra’s eyes twinkled. “I see that the politics of Scotland are the same as the politics of London. Every good deed is in exchange for another.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Ewan drummed his fingers along the table as he thought. “I have always found Lord Whitmore to be hard to get to know,” he admitted. “Perhaps it would be good to have him here with your father’s presence. And also…” He gestured at her.
This prompted her to raise another eyebrow. “And also my presence?”
“Well, a lady in the house can make it more hospitable.”
“Then it is agreed,” she said, smiling mischievously. “We will host Lord Whitmore, Lady Whitmore, and my father for the next few days, and you will convince Lord Whitmore to work with you to introduce new farming methods to the Highlands.”
It was a good plan, but still, by the early evening, as the carriage holding their guests trundled down the path toward the house, Ewan was already regretting it.
He never felt comfortable having people to Calder Castle, and indeed, being in any sort of group made him feel aware of himself and how much space he took up.
Lord Whitmore was one of those men who was always easy in large groups.
He was affable and charming, but he had never warmed to Ewan, whom he seemed to find too quiet and surly.
At least, that was Ewan’s impression.
And indeed, when the man stepped down from the carriage a few minutes later, he seemed to be bouncing already, his energy so strident and forceful that Ewan immediately felt himself closing up in response to it.
“Welcome to Calder Castle,” Lord Pembury said as he followed Lord Whitmore out of the carriage. “This is my daughter, the Duchess of Calder, and her husband, the Duke of Calder, whom I know you have met before.”
Lord Whitmore briefly bowed to Ewan before returning his gaze to Cassandra. His smile widened, and when he took her hand, he pressed his lips to it, bowing low and gallantly.
“Your Grace,” he murmured, looking up at her with sparkling eyes. “I have heard tales of your beauty, but I assumed that your father was exaggerating, that the love of his child may have blinded him. But now that we meet, I see that you are every bit as lovely as he assured me you were.”
“Oh…” Cassandra’s cheeks flushed pink, and she seemed to be unsure what to say. “Thank you, my lord… That is very kind of you.”
“Indeed not, I am simply speaking as I see,” he said, releasing her hand but continuing to gaze at her in awe. “The duke is a very lucky man indeed.”
He glanced again at Ewan, who was standing stiffly next to his wife now, trying not to let his hands curl into fists. He did not like the way that Lord Whitmore was speaking to Cassandra as if he, Ewan, was not there.
Was it customary in circles of the ton to speak to another man’s wife of her beauty in such effusive language?
He was not sure, but either way, he did not like it.
“Lord Whitmore,” he said, stepping forward and attempting to redirect the conversation. “I am very eager to speak with you during your visit. The new proposals that I have submitted to your committee on changing agricultural practices—”
“There will be plenty of time to speak of that later,” Lord Whitmore said, waving a hand dismissively. “For now, I would very much prefer to speak to your lovely wife about how she is adjusting to her new life in the Highlands.”
He offered Cassandra his arm, and she took it. As he led her into the house, she glanced back over her shoulder at Ewan. He could not entirely read her expression, but he thought that it was apologetic.
Or perhaps it was guilty.
Things did not improve once they had moved inside, changed for dinner, and were seated around the table in the dining room.
As lady of the house and the guest of honor, Cassandra and Lord Whitmore were seated next to each other, and Lord Whitmore was leaning close to Cassandra as he spoke to her just low enough that Ewan could not make out his words from the other end of the table.
He himself was seated next to Lady Whitmore, a tall, elegant woman with sad brown eyes and dark hair, who kept also glancing down the table to where her husband was speaking animatedly with Cassandra.
“They do seem to be amusing each other, do they not?” Lady Whitmore asked dryly at last.
Ewan, who was about to take a sip of his wine, hesitated with the glass just inches from his lips. Down at the far end of the table, Cassandra was laughing, her hand pressed against her chest.
Something tight and angry curled in his stomach.
“The duchess is a very charming host,” he said loyally. He would not have Lady Whitmore saying or suggesting anything that would malign her.
“And my husband is a charming guest,” Lady Whitmore said with a sigh, reaching for her own glass and taking a long drink.
“I suppose it is always like that in a marriage. There are those who are charming, and those who are doomed to love them. It is a lonely life for us, but it is one we must be resigned to.”
Ewan frowned at Lady Whitmore. He wanted to say something to contradict this, to assure her that his marriage was not lopsided in its love, but what could he possibly say?
He and Cassandra were not a love match. And he had not even been able to perform his husbandly duties for her.
No wonder she was enjoying the attention of another man.
He set down as his glass, watching with jealousy and curiosity as she threw back her head to laugh at something that Lord Whitmore was saying.
She is the one who must be lonely, he realized with some shock. I have left her alone.
Finally, the last course was cleared away, and Ewan suggested that they all retire to the drawing room for brandy and cards. However, the moment he spoke, Lord Whitmore shook his head.
“I would rather walk after such a filling meal,” he said, winking at Cassandra. “What would you say to showing me around the grounds, Your Grace? Now that I know you are an avid walker, I am sure that you would be able to show me the most charming spots around the estate.”
“I—” Cassandra looked startled as she glanced over at Ewan. “I do not know if I should leave my other guests,” she finished quickly. “And it is dark outside. Perhaps it would be better to show you the grounds in the morning?”
“I will show you around the grounds, Lord Whitmore,” Ewan said.
His voice sounded harsh, even to his own ears, and as he drew himself up, he glared down at the earl with all the malevolence he could muster while still not appearing rude.
“After all, I know the grounds better than my wife, who has only been here a short time.”
There was a tense silence as Lord Whitmore gazed back at Ewan. His expression was not exactly angry, but he did not look pleased, either.
“I would prefer a tour from the mistress of the house,” he said, his voice low.
Ewan’s jaw hardened. He opened his mouth to reply, sure that whatever words that were about to come out of his mouth would not be considered appropriate for polite company, when Cassandra interrupted him.
“We shall both go,” she said, smiling sweetly at Lord Whitmore.
“And it will give you and my husband a chance to discuss the changes to farming that I know you are both eager to speak about.” She batted her eyelashes several times, and Lord Whitmore’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
“I have heard that you are quite the visionary, Lord Whitmore,” she said, offering him her arm and leading him away from Ewan, toward the entrance hall.
“I am sure that you will be impressed with the incredible new designs that my husband and his colleagues are working on.”
“She is very good, is she not?” A low voice said in Ewan’s ear, and he turned to see Lord Pembury standing next to him, a small, knowing smile on his lips. “She knows how to charm men.”
Ewan’s mouth went dry. “She is a very genuine person,” he said stiffly.
“Genuine?” Lord Pembury shook his head. “She is my daughter, which means she has been trained in how to talk to men in power in the right way, in order to get them to do what she wants. She will be an asset to you, Calder, if you choose to use her that way.”
He patted Ewan on the arm, then moved away. Ewan watched him go, a sick feeling in his stomach.
There was not even a small part of him that believed Lord Pembury. Clearly, the man did not know his daughter. But it made him want to strangle the man to think about what it must have been like for Cassandra growing up with such a father.
No wonder she agreed to marry Christopher. She has been trained to do as she is told by that man, even marry a man with a reputation as a rake.
Ewan was about to follow them down the hall when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see Miss Ashworth standing behind him, wringing her hands.
“Your Grace,” she muttered, “you must come quick. I have just heard from one of the maids who checked on Annabelle. She has a fever.”
Ewan immediately forgot all about Lord Pembury and Lord Whitmore and their scheming.
“A fever?” he repeated, his heart leaping. “Is it serious? Should we send for a doctor?”
“I do not know,” Miss Ashworth said. “I came to find you at once. I thought you would want to check on her.”
“I do,” Ewan said at once. “Take me to her.”
Upstairs, he found that Annabelle was tossing and turning in bed, her forehead glistening with sweat and the sheets tangled around her feet. He went to her at once, placing a cool hand on her forehead. She was burning up.
“Yes, send for a doctor,” he murmured to Miss Ashworth, who was still lingering in the doorway. “And ask my wife to come as well.”
Ewan pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat with Annabelle, his hand on her shoulder as she flailed this way and that, for the next few minutes. At last, he heard soft footsteps coming down the corridor, then the door opened, and Cassandra came in.
The moment she saw Annabelle, she let out a small, worried gasp, and hurried to her side. Her brow furrowed, she bent over the girl, pressing her lips to her forehead.
“She is very hot,” she murmured. “How long has she been like this?”
“Miss Ashworth was not sure, but she was not feverish when she went to bed an hour ago.”
“We should get a cool cloth for her head,” Cassandra murmured.
She rang for a servant, and within a few minutes, a basin with clothes had been delivered to the room.
Cassandra rang one out, then placed it on Annabelle’s head.
The moment she did, the girl quieted a little.
After another minute, her face looked a little less red.
Cassandra took another cloth and began to sponge around her neck and along her arms.
“We must keep her cool,” she murmured. She passed the cloth once more over Annabelle’s face, and the girl’s eyes fluttered open.
“Mama…” she whispered, her glassy eyes finding Annabelle’s. Then they brushed closed again, and she turned over on her side.
Cassandra looked at Ewan. Her eyes were very wide. Ewan gazed back at her, and although he did not speak, he hoped his eyes communicated what his words could not: Annabelle was right. She was becoming her mother.
They stayed like that for a long time, the two of them sitting by Annabelle’s side, Ewan holding her hand, Cassandra wetting the rags and ringing them out before placing them over Annabelle’s warm body.
They were just beginning to grow tired, Ewan’s eyes brushing closed as sleep settled over him, when they heard a small sound from the bed.
“Papa?”
Ewan was awake at once. He stood up and bent over his daughter. Her eyes were open, and for the first time in what felt like hours, they were not glassy.
“Papa?” she murmured again. “What happened?”
Cassandra let out a long sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God,” she whispered. “The fever has broken.”
The relief was so strong that before he could even think about it, Ewan reached across the bed and took Cassandra’s hand.
They were holding hands like that, smiling down at Annabelle, when the doctor finally arrived. But by now, Annabelle was out of danger. Thanks to the gentle administrations and tender care of Cassandra.