Cassandra followed her friend’s gaze to see Mr. North enter near the altar. His thick, straight hair was combed neatly to the side, his tidy side-whiskers emphasized his high cheekbones, and his warm eyes appeared bright against his fair, clean-shaven complexion. She’d only seen him in his somber black coat and trousers, but the flowing fabric and white band at his throat transformed him from friendly helper to a more official capacity.
“You’re fortunate.” Betsy’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Here not even a week and already you’re catching the eye of one of the most eligible men in the village.”
Cassandra shifted uncomfortably. She knew all too well how gossip could grow, especially on such a topic, and she had no desire to be fodder for such chatter. Not again. She gave a little laugh to lighten the matter. “Don’t be silly. I only just met Mr. North a couple of days ago.”
“And that is all it takes sometimes, is it not?” Betsy raised her fair brow playfully. “There is much about you that I don’t know, but I do know there is hardly a young woman who would not benefit by a match to such an influential man.”
Cassandra looked toward Mr. North again. Yes, it was important to be self-sufficient, but it was every woman’s goal—not to mention hers—to one day marry well. And Mr. North had been very eager and attentive and did seem fond of her. With the school gone she needed to seriously consider that her future might soon include marriage. “Yes, I’m sure he would make a fine match for someone.”
“I’d say so, but he’s never given anyone else a second glance. At least not someone like the girls or myself.” Betsy motioned to the other boarders at the end of the pew and in the pew behind them.
Cassandra did not miss the hint of sarcasm—or disapproval—in her new friend’s voice. “I’m not sure I understand,” she lied.
Betsy smirked. “Putting it plainly, the girls and I are a little too lowly for our vicar’s society preferences. Every man has a reputation, vicar or not. Mr. North prefers to keep company with those who are more socially affluent than the likes of us.”
“How can that be? For just yesterday I witnessed him stopping with Mrs. Pearson to deliver some bread baskets to the cottages along the river.”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Pearson is inarguably cordial. I’ve never met a more thoughtful soul. But I suspect Mr. North had other motives for his display of generosity, like perhaps impressing a pretty visitor to our village. You’re entitled to your own opinions on the matter, of course, but I’ve lived here for well over a year now and have not missed a single Sunday since my arrival—Mrs. Martin has made sure of that—and I’m certain that our vicar does not even know my name.”
The reproachful words were sobering. Cassandra would have expected the vicar to be accepting of everyone. The mere suggestion of the contrary clouded the high regard she’d held him in until this point.
Their conversation fell silent, and Cassandra returned her attention to the activity around her. The gathering in the church was much larger than the congregation at Lamby. For the most part the congregation was plainly dressed in drab shades of grays and browns. Mrs. Pearson had told her that many of their parishioners were millers, weavers, or other occupations that worked wool, and judging by appearances only, the congregation seemed to match her description.
Cassandra noticed Mrs. Hutton sitting near the front on the far end of a pew. She was dressed in a dark green pelisse with elegant braiding and a high collar, and her silvery hair was much tidier than it had been at their visit. She spoke with no one but sat rigidly, her focus straight ahead.
A strange sense of defeat settled over Cassandra. She was convinced that Mrs. Hutton knew much more than she was letting on. But what could be done for it? She could not force the woman to divulge what she wanted to keep secret.
Cassandra was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t notice when the Warrington family appeared in the nave. It strangely warmed her to see familiar faces, even though the circumstances surrounding their interactions had been tense. Mr. Warrington led them, clad in a smart coat of olive-green broadcloth. He held a little girl with an abundance of blonde hair in his arms, and another young girl held his hand. He looked different today, lighter. Rachel followed him in an elegant campanula pelisse, and Mrs. Towler followed her.
Of the family, Rachel was the only one to look out over the congregation, and she quickly caught Cassandra’s eye and nodded.
Cassandra smiled in response.
“Are you acquainted with them?” Betsy asked, clearly noting the subtle nod.
“The Warringtons?” Cassandra considered how much to divulge. “Yes, but I have only been introduced. I don’t know them well.”
“Introduced? Ah, that makes sense then.”
The judgment in Betsy’s voice was difficult to ignore. There was more to the story than Betsy was letting on, but now was hardly the time or the place to investigate such things.
Mr. North climbed the pulpit, and the service began.
Cassandra tried to focus on his sermon, but it was not for lack of an impressive delivery, for Mr. North’s effectiveness as a speaker could not be disputed. His clear voice commanded attention, his dedication to his topic was decided, and his appearance was captivating—even more so now as the light streamed through the tall windows and the situation allowed her to study his features without being accused of staring.
But it was the Warrington family that now captured her thoughts. Mr. Warrington had not looked in her direction. In fact, from her angle, she could see only his profile. But the two little girls next to him wiggled and chattered during the sermon. Given Mrs. Towler’s demand for propriety with Rachel, Cassandra was astonished that she would allow it. Furthermore, Cassandra was surprised there was no governess. At least not one of whom she was aware.
Rachel glanced back at her a couple of times. Cassandra was genuinely happy to see the girl in a better state than the one she had left her in during their previous interaction.
As her gaze drifted back to him, she noticed it. Ever so slightly.
Mr. Warrington, with his cool gray eyes and calm demeanor, had glanced in her direction.
But only for a moment.
An unexpected jolt shot through her.
And then, as quickly as he had glanced her way, the moment was over, and he leaned to his side to quiet a chatty child.
He was a handsome man. Very handsome. And the gentleness in his nature was attractive. Despite the frustration she had felt after the churlish treatment by Mrs. Towler, her experience with Mr. Warrington had been quite different. She supposed that at one point in her life, it would have been easy to consider such a time romantic. All the elements were present on their walk back to the boardinghouse—they’d just endured an intense event and were alone under the cover of darkness. But time and experience had a way of dulling the allure of such a situation. And once tarnished, she doubted the luster would ever return.
At one time, securing a husband would have been first and foremost on her mind. But now she needed to remain focused on answering the questions that would complete her.
* * *
After the morning’s service, Cassandra trailed Betsy from the nave, past the stone font, and through the ancient wooden doors. Just outside, on the path leading to the high street, Mr. North greeted each of his parishioners as they departed.