Chapter 20
After three days of Ewan’s unprecedented silence in the house, his minimal responses to her questions, his disappearances after dinner, Cassandra had had quite enough.
She was not about to let her husband get away with this. If he had something to say to her about Christopher’s return, then he had better say it. But the icy chill that had settled between them even since his brother arrived was no longer acceptable.
Which was how she found herself out in the fields in the early afternoon, trudging through the heather and mud toward where Ewan was standing with several farmers, examining a drainage pipe.
At the sound of her approach, the men turned. Ewan’s eyebrows immediately shot up, and then a dark cloud passed across his face, and he all but scowled at her.
“Your Grace,” he said, nodding curtly, while around him, the farmers bent into low bows. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to help,” Cassandra said, putting both hands on her hips and staring back at him defiantly. “Alaric told me that you were working on the drainage pipes, and I wanted to see your work.”
Ewan’s face remained cold. “Help? You?”
“Why not?”
“Because women do not do this work. And certainly not ladies. Especially not duchesses. That is how it always has been. For centuries.”
Cassandra glared back at him. “That might be how things used to be, but I am the duchess now, and I shall do as I please. Even if it breaks with centuries of tradition.”
Behind Ewan, she saw several of the farmers smirk at each other. They seemed more amused by her presence than offended by it, and she was heartened by this.
“Do either of you gentlemen have any objections to me helping my husband?” she asked them.
“Not at all, Yer Grace,” one said, while the other smiled. “We would be honored.”
Ewan gave them both looks that seemed to say, We will have words about this later, but when he turned back to Cassandra, he seemed to wilt under her gaze.
“Fine,” he snapped. “You can hand me the tools I will need. But nothing more. I shall not have you lifting anything heavy or putting yourself in any danger.”
“That is fine by me,” she said, trying to disguise the smile of triumph that flickered across her lips.
Ewan turned back to the drainage pipe, then crouched down and began to examine it more closely. The farmers moved away, to the other end of the pipe, while Ewan continued to examine the stone. At last, he held out his hand toward the leather bag that was sitting several feet from him.
“Hand me the trowel,” he told her brusquely.
“Trowel?”
“It is like a shovel, but smaller. Hand sized.”
Cassandra dug around in the bag for several seconds until she located the trowel. The hand was made of lacquered wood that had been worn down over years of use, and the metal end was rusted but sharp. She handed it to Ewan, and he began to dig into the dirt around the pipe.
She said nothing as she watched. It was fascinating to watch him work. He was in his shirtsleeves, which he had rolled up, his coat and cravat cast aside on a bush behind him.
As she gazed at him, she saw his arms flex, and suddenly became aware of how muscular and tanned his arms were. Insanely, she found herself wondering what he looked like with his shirt fully off.
Her mouth went very dry.
Ewan glanced over his shoulder at her, then frowned.
“What?” he grunted.
She blinked, then stammered, “N-nothing!”
“You are staring at me,” Ewan said.
“No, I am not!”
“You are.” He glowered at her. “Am I doing something wrong, in your expert opinion?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know I am no expert. I was simply watching you work. I had not actually seen you out in the fields before.”
“It is unglamorous work,” he said.
“On the contrary! I was just thinking that it is the noblest work.” The passion in her voice surprised her, and Ewan stilled, watching her with slightly parted lips.
She flushed, but did not break her gaze.
“You are so connected to the land you own. You do not expect others to simply work it for you. You take responsibility for it yourself. I do not think many dukes are like you.”
Ewan’s shoulders seemed to relax a little, and then, to her surprise, he smiled. It was a brief smile, but still, it had been there.
“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate that more than I can say.”
She smiled back. “Well, I mean it.”
He held out his hand again. “Now I need the screwdriver and the nails.”
She laughed. “Very well. Give me a minute.”
They continued like that for another hour, until at last Ewan insisted that she return to the castle.
“I will not be responsible for you getting overtired from the heat,” he told her grumpily. “Or dehydrated.”
“Fine, I will return,” she said, wiping the sheen of sweat from her brow. In truth, it was hot. “But there is something I must say to you first.” She gave him a long, levelling look. “I am not going to allow you to decide my fate for me.”
Ewan frowned. “Decide your fate?”
“To keep me as your wife, to give me back to your brother,” she said, her face burning. “Whatever it is you have planned. I deserve to know.”
A flash of fury crossed Ewan’s face, and he stared at her thunderously. She stared back, willing him to say something, anything, to reassure her. When he did not, she turned away and returned to the castle in frustration.
When Lillian saw her approaching, she immediately stood up. “Your Grace,” she murmured. “Is everything well?”
“I do not know,” Cassandra said, sitting down on the bench.
Her friend slowly lowered herself back onto it.
“The duke has been in the strangest mood ever since the return of his brother, and I still cannot get a word out of him about our marriage. Those walls you mentioned… They are not coming down easily.”
Lillian sighed and closed her book. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings when you are already so distraught, but I confess I must tell you something.”
“What is it?” Cassandra asked, her stomach jolting.
“I have been offered a position at another estate,” she said, her eyes misting slightly as they met Cassandra’s. “It is better wages, the household is larger, and the children are younger, meaning I will have many more years of work ahead of me. But it is far from the Highlands…”
Cassandra took Lillian’s hand, pressing it softly. “Do you want to go?” she murmured.
Lillian looked away. “I do not think I have a choice,” she muttered. “Things here are becoming intolerable, the way they are…”
She did not elaborate, but of course, she did not need to. Cassandra understood entirely. She was speaking of her feelings for Alaric.
“I am very sorry,” she said at last. “I wish there was something I could do, some way I could persuade you not to leave, that you should follow your feelings, that the duke and I would help you.”
But Lillian was already shaking her head. “I cannot be reliant on Your Graces’ will for the rest of my life,” she said. “I must make my own way, support my family. I must do what is right for them, even if it causes me pain. The pain will fade, after all. It always does.”
Cassandra was thinking about Lillian’s predicament, and her own, for the rest of the afternoon. She did understand why her friend was reluctant to accept their help.
It was not easy to be reliant on a patron’s benevolence, even one as generous as Ewan. And if his current behavior was any indication, it was possible that his favor could change. And if Lillian married Alaric, they would be reliant on him. It would be a life of constant insecurity and charity.
And yet, how is that any different than my life? She wondered, as she sat in the library several hours later, trying to read while her thoughts wandered. A wife is also reliant on her husband’s charity. She cannot work for herself. Her fortunes are dependent on his continued favor.
She had just let out a long sigh of disappointment when she heard the door open. She turned, hoping to see Ewan entering the library, but her heart sank.
It was Christopher.
“Good afternoon,” he said, bowing. “I did not think to find you here.”
“Good afternoon,” she said stiffly.
“I have been thinking much about our previous conversation,” he said, his mouth composed into an unreadable smile.
“Have you?”
“And I wondered if you had given any thought to my offer.”
“Your offer?” Cassandra frowned.
Christopher’s smile slipped. “My offer to be your dance partner and companion at social gatherings, since they are not my brother’s strongest suit.”
“Oh…” Cassandra barely knew what to say. “I suppose that if we are at a dance together, and you ask for my hand, then I will say yes. But I do not know why we need to discuss it ahead of time.”
There was no doubt about his countenance now: Christopher looked angry.
“Perhaps because you were supposed to be mine,” he said, with such viciousness that she was actually taken aback. “Perhaps because I am mourning the loss of the woman I was supposed to marry.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed. Although he had hinted that his thoughts were turning in this direction the other day, she had not thought he would be so bold as to actually speak it out loud.
“Do you ever think of it?” Christopher urged, leaning closer to her. “The life you might have had as my wife?”
Cassandra swallowed. Truthfully, it had crossed her mind, but every time, she had found herself infinitely relieved not to be married to him. And she did not think it would be polite for her to tell him that.
“No,” she said instead, speaking as gently as possible. “I do not think about it, my lord. I find it better to focus on the present and plan for the future.”
Something flickered, deep, in Christopher’s eyes. She did not think it was heartbreak, exactly, but something far more dangerous. However, before she could place it, it was gone.
Christopher sat back, observing her coolly. “You are an impressive woman, Your Grace,” he said. “A woman like you is wasted on my brother. He will never be able to love you with the openness and passion that you deserve. Of that, I am sure.”
Cassandra felt suddenly sick. As much as she did not want to give any of his words credence, they hit harder than she had expected. Because it was her same worry. That the man she had married, while a good man, could never fully open his heart to her.
That he would forever be stuck behind the walls he had built.
“Excuse me,” she said, and she rose, sweeping away across the library and out the door without a backwards glance.
She might never be able to make Ewan open his heart to her, but she could choose to walk away from Christopher. He had no power over her. And she desperately hoped it remained that way.