Chapter 18
It was strange knowing that Christopher was in the house.
Cassandra could barely sleep that night, imagining him in his quarters.
She had come to this castle expecting to marry him, to live with him here in their chambers, until they moved into the house that the duke would give Christopher on the occasion of his marriage.
But now, he was here, and she was sleeping alone.
She would have preferred to sleep with Ewan, of course, to feel his large, warm presence beside her.
But Ewan had been quiet all throughout dinner, withdrawn during drinks in the parlor, and then had retired early.
Instead, she had been forced to endure another hour of Christopher’s conversation, during which he recounted the details of his shipwreck in such minutiae that it sounded more as if he had read it, rather than lived it.
She had finally feigned a headache in order to go to bed.
The next morning, she was feeling similarly restless, and was determined to try and speak with Ewan.
She wanted to know how he was feeling about his brother’s return.
Surely, his emotions were turbulent. She wanted to comfort him, to be there for him.
But no matter where she looked, she could not find him.
He was not in his bedchamber, or in his study, or even in the library. Finally, she made her way up to the nursery, wondering if he might be visiting Annabelle.
But he was not there, either.
Annabelle, at least, was eager to speak with her.
“Now that Uncle Christopher has returned, will you marry him again?” the little girl asked as she took a break from her lessons to have a cup of tea with Cassandra.
Cassandra shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The neckline of her dress suddenly felt too high, too tight.
“No,” she said quickly. “That is not how marriage works. One cannot simply go from being wed to one brother to the next.”
“Even though you were married to Uncle Christopher first?” Annabelle asked.
Across from her, Lillian raised her eyebrows, and Cassandra went scarlet.
“We were not married yet,” she said. “We were betrothed. It is different.”
“How is it diff—” Annabelle began, but before she could finish, someone interrupted from the door.
“My niece certainly does ask a lot of questions.”
They all looked around to see Christopher standing in the doorway. He was looking at Cassandra, smiling widely, his appearance so altered from the day before that Cassandra nearly gaped.
Christopher was no longer gaunt. The rosey, tanned look had returned to his cheeks.
His eyes no longer looked sunken. He was still thin, and his hair was still more colorless than it was, but the change in his face was so startling she could not help but think of actors on the stage when they put on a coat of makeup.
“Lady Cassandra,” Christopher said, coming into the room and bowing. “I was wondering if I might take a moment of your time.”
“It is Her Grace now,” Lillian said, and Cassandra almost laughed out loud at the look of surprise on Christopher’s face. “Not Lady Cassandra.”
“Quite right,” Christopher said quickly, throwing Lillian a curious and slightly disgruntled look. “Your Grace. May I have a moment of your time? I thought it might be nice to speak just the two of us, after all the excitement.”
For some reason, a chill crept up her spine.
“Can it wait?” she asked, nodding at Annabelle. “I am in the middle of tea.”
Christopher barely glanced at his niece. “I would prefer not to wait too long,” he said.
Cassandra looked at Lillian, whose eyebrows were disappearing into the top of her head, then sighed.
“Very well,” she murmured.
She rose, and Christopher escorted her out the door. Once they were in the hallway, he offered her his arm, which she reluctantly took.
He did not say anything to her for several minutes, until they had made their way all the way down several flights of stairs to the library.
Christopher steered her inside, letting the door fall closed behind them.
They were now alone among the quiet of the library, the musty smell of books strong, the dust tickling her nose.
In the dimness, Christopher turned to face her.
“My dear Cassandra,” he murmured. His eyes glittered. “I thought we ought to take a moment alone to acknowledge the strange turn of events. Because it is passing strange.”
“Yes,” Cassandra said, standing up a little straighter. “I must admit, it was not the course of events that I might have chosen, but I am not unhappy with the results. Forgive me if that is harsh for you, but you abandoned me, Lord Christopher.”
She stared at him very bluntly. “You ran off to Holland days before our wedding. Even if you had not been presumed dead, I would have had every right to call off the wedding and marry the man of my choosing.”
Christopher coughed, and she could tell that he was taking a moment to collect himself, that he had not expected this from her.
“Yes,” he said after a moment, “you are perfectly right. And I also wanted to take this opportunity to apologize to you for my behavior. It was ungentlemanly.”
“Yes, it was.”
He stared at her, but recovered quickly. “In fact, I should have apologized last night, when you first received me.”
She said nothing. Yes, he should have, but she knew that her opinion was evident in her silence.
“It is, of course, a grave insult to a young lady for the gentleman to call off the wedding,” Christopher continued. “Although that was not my intent. I had every plan to be back in time to wed you. I think I merely felt… nervous. You can understand, I am sure, Lady Cassandra.”
Cassandra considered her words carefully. “I can,” she ventured at last. “But unlike you, I did not have the luxury of acting on my doubts.”
Christopher’s eyes flickered, and she knew that he had attached to that word: doubts. Good for him to know that she had doubted him.
“And marriage to my brother,” he began slowly. “It is… tolerable?”
“More than tolerable,” she said, raising her chin. She thought, briefly, of the moments of tenderness that already existed between them, of the garden that he had created for her. He had just been starting to open up. And now…
She could not say for sure that he would retreat. But his silence at dinner yesterday, the distance in him in the parlor, the way he had left early…
It did not bode well.
“I am glad to hear that,” Christopher said, his smile sunny again. “My brother was always a bit sullen and bookish, but if that has not been too boring for you, well…” he shrugged. “Let me know if you ever need a gentleman to dance with. I know society is not my brother’s strong suit.”
Cassandra’s jaw tightened, and she nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “I shall let you know.”
And without another word, she turned and left the library. She did not care if she was being rude. She did not owe Christopher anything. He had abandoned her right before their wedding, and she was already worried about how he would disturb the fragile peace she had built here.
Just as she was coming out of the library, however, she almost ran right into her husband, who was walking down the hall.
“Ewan!” she cried in surprise, almost falling backwards in her haste not to collide right into him. “W-what are you doing here?”
Ewan frowned at her, then reached out a hand to steady her. “I was just returning from a ride,” he said. “I thought—”
But then his words faltered. He was staring over her shoulder, at the door to the library, which Christopher had just followed her out of. The moment he saw his brother, his face shuttered, and she realized what he must be assuming: that they had been alone together in the library.
Well, they had been alone together in the library.
But not for any tawdry reason.
“Ewan,” she began quickly, “I want to speak with you, I have been eager to discuss some things with you—”
But Ewan was already backing away. His face had become as expressionless as a wall, his body rigid.
“I have much work to attend to,” he said curtly. “Please excuse me. Good day. To both of you.”
And he turned and disappeared down the corridor before she could say another word.
Behind her, Christopher sighed. “What did I say? Always sullen and bookish. I suppose some things have never changed.”
Cassandra did not even look at him. She turned and stormed away down the corridor in the opposite direction. She had to get out of Calder Castle. Now.
Thankfully, Christopher did not follow her. Outside, it was cool and crisp, and she was grateful for the breeze as she made her way around the house and out into the forest. She needed to think straight, and the wind, with its sharp chill, peeled away the fog.
It did not take long before she was in her clearing again. Her garden, really. Her garden. A place that was safe, that Christopher did not know about, that was her own to tend and nourish.
Without hesitating, she seized some of the tools that they had left behind in the makeshift tool shed several of the groundskeepers had put up, and began to work in the earth. It felt good to get her hands dirty, to feel the soil between her fingers.
She felt most like herself when she was like this, using her body for something, tending to something, making herself useful.
Maybe that was the hardest thing about being a gentlewoman. One did not always feel useful. She had hoped that as duchess she would have more use, if even just to produce heirs, but since Ewan did not seem overly concerned with this, she did not know what her use here truly was.
But this garden. This could be how she preoccupied herself. How she stayed away from Christopher.
But how long would he stay for? And would he attempt to renew his attentions? Surely, that would be mad. She was married to his brother.
And yet, she had seen the way he had looked at her, the desire that flickered in his eyes, the closeness with which he had approached her. And she wondered, too, if even taking her to the secluded library had been purposeful.
She would put nothing past him at this point.