No, she did not know these people well, but Betsy had been kind and welcoming. She was not about to judge an entire group so abruptly. “I appreciate the concern, but we’re having a lovely time. It’s a fine day, and it is much better to be out here in the fresh air than to sit alone in my chamber. Besides, I’ve been enjoying their company.”
He straightened. “I understand such interactions might be a diversion for now, but some of these people—not all—might not be the sort of people you are accustomed to associating with. ’Tis only a friendly observation, of course, with your best interests in mind.”
Cassandra looked down to hide her dismay. If spoken by any other person, she might not be surprised, but to hear such words from a vicar about members of his own parish was disconcerting.
When she did not respond, Mr. North continued. “I saw that you were speaking with Miss Warrington after the service. I could not help but wonder if they had any more information regarding your search.”
“No, sir. They did not.”
“Well, it is fortuitous that I found you here, for I have news.” His lighthearted congeniality returned as he produced a letter from inside his coat. “I wrote to Mr. Clark last night, as promised, and had one of the boys run it over to him after we returned from our visits yesterday. After the service a boy brought around this note from Mr. Peter Clark to the vicarage.”
His seemingly arrogant offense momentarily forgotten, she forced herself to stay calm.
“It may not be exactly what you want to hear, but Clark departs for London tomorrow and will be gone for at least a week. But he did say he will meet with you upon his return, so that is something to anticipate.”
A week? Cassandra’s nerves intensified. How long could she afford to pay for such lodgings without a position?
Mr. North tucked the letter away. “And, of course, if it is agreeable to you, I thought I’d join you. Perhaps then you can put voice to some of your inquiries.”
She battled the disappointment and tried to focus on the positive. “That is wonderful, truly. I cannot thank you enough.”
Expecting their conversation had come to an end, Cassandra prepared to bid him farewell, but he stopped suddenly. “There is one other thing I had hoped to talk with you about.”
Cassandra brushed her hair from her face. “Oh?”
“Last night I took the liberty of checking the birth and death records for the year you were born, 1787, as we discussed.”
Cassandra’s chest tightened as she studied his face for any clues. “And?”
“Unfortunately, I did not find anything in our parish records that would support your search. With your permission I will contact my colleagues in the neighboring parishes and see what I can uncover.”
She shook her head to mask her further disappointment. It seemed every door was being closed before her. But she had to remain cheerful—she did not want Mr. North to feel as if he had failed her. “This is all very helpful. Really.”
He hesitated and looked toward the young women gathered before he fixed his gaze on her. “I did not mean to take you away from your picnic, but I thought I would be forgiven by sharing that bit of information with you. You must have guessed by now that I feel a personal interest in your situation. I’m so very sorry for what you are going through, but if I am being quite selfish, I am happy that it has brought you to Anston.”
After a bow, he retreated back in the direction of the vicarage, and a strange sense wound through her. Initially, perhaps naively, she had thought he was helping her out of the goodness of his heart. But after hearing Betsy’s remarks and after encountering the hidden meanings behind his actions, she sobered.
If she did not want to be hurt again, she had to be smart and guard herself . . . and her heart.
Chapter 15
After the picnic concluded, Cassandra did not return to the boardinghouse with the rest of the young women. Instead, with her discussions with both Rachel and Betsy fresh in her mind, she felt her task was clear before her, and she set out over the bridge leading from Anston to Briarton Park.
A week ago she never would have had the courage to ask someone for a position of employment. It just was not done.
It was presumptuous, really. She had a decent education, but it did not extend to the exalted level of ladies of the Warringtons’ station. There were etiquette rules and languages that she did not likely know that Maria and Rose would no doubt require.
But she had witnessed their lack of ladylike decorum. They needed guidance. Guidance she could offer. And if anything positive had come out of this debacle, this past week taught her that she was capable of initiating difficult discussions and accomplishing difficult tasks.
The worst Mr. Warrington could say would be no.
After traversing the wooded path from the bridge to the Briarton property, Cassandra pushed open the gate to the side of the front lawn. A fire burned somewhere on the grounds, and the earthy scent of burning leaves and timber lent a bit of familiarity.
She recalled the housekeeper’s ire at Cassandra’s knocking at the main entrance on her first visit, so she continued on to the other end of the house, where the road curved to the stone stables and slate-roofed outbuildings behind them.
She rounded the path and was met with an unexpected sight. Mr. Warrington and another man, presumably the groom, were in the courtyard supervising the young girls on small ponies.
They all had their backs to her, but then the younger girl spotted her and pointed her riding crop in her direction, and both men turned to face her.
They were having a riding lesson.
At the sight her confidence fled, and she felt like a fool. How it must appear for her to come wandering up, uninvited. Unexpected.
She wanted to disappear. To turn and run to escape her embarrassment. But she’d been observed. She had no choice but to muster courage and proceed.
Mr. Warrington handed the lead rope to the groom, patted the girl’s arm, spoke to them both, and then walked toward her.
“Miss Hale,” he said as he approached, “we did not expect you today.”
She made a quick study of his expression, hoping to gauge his reaction to her surprise appearance, but his demeanor struck her as affable and genuine, which put her mind slightly at ease.
“I—I was hoping I might speak to you.” She gripped her reticule tightly. “But I see you are busy, and I do not wish to disturb.”
As he glanced back at the girls, the wind swept down from the trees, disrupting the pale hair over his forehead. “No, not busy. The groom is giving riding lessons to my daughters. We’re just about done. I’ll see them inside. Please, go on into my study. It is through that door, the first room on the left. You can’t miss it.”
She followed his instructions and went to his study cautiously, as if stepping into his private space was a glimpse into who he was.
It was a sizable room, with two large windows overlooking the very courtyard from which she had just entered. She did not intend to spy, but she watched as Mr. Warrington helped the two girls down from the dappled ponies. The little one twirled dramatically about him, and the older one tugged at his arm. He said something to the groom, and then they entered the house from a door on the courtyard’s far side.
She turned back to the center of the room, shrugged her pelisse from her shoulders, and held it in her arms. She smoothed her hand down the front of her best celadon muslin gown and patted her hair.