Cassandra cast a glance back to Mr. Warrington, who seemed unfazed by his sister’s interruption. He lowered the letter and folded it before extending it back to her. “Yes, you ladies go on your walk. If you want to take advantage of the daylight, you’d best be about it. Miss Hale, we can finish our conversation another time.”
She bit her lip to hide the bitter disappointment welling within her. His dismissal and distracted expression seemed like a rejection. Then again, perhaps he needed to think.
Or perhaps this was his way of declining her politely.
Either way, perhaps a bit of fresh air and a walk with Rachel would do her good.
Chapter 16
Rachel had been right. The ornate gardens that stretched out before Briarton House were beautiful in the late-afternoon light.
Despite the fallen leaves and faded hues of autumn, the boxwoods and intricate stone paths were a sight to behold. Cassandra and Rachel strolled beneath the canopy of ash trees, as if old friends instead of new acquaintances.
“I’m so glad you came by today.” Rachel glided her bare fingertips over the tops of the boxwoods as they traversed the stone path. “It’s so quiet here. Don’t you agree? Never a soul around besides those who reside at Briarton.”
Even though it had been partly due to Rachel’s suggestion, Cassandra thought it best to keep the topic of the conversation she’d had with Mr. Warrington to herself. “But you have visitors, don’t you?”
Rachel shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Not really.”
As a mill owner, surely Mr. Warrington was connected socially. But as the meaning of Rachel’s words struck her, the young woman’s behavior began to make sense. Perhaps she was searching for friendship and camaraderie and not necessarily a romantic attachment. Could that sentiment have contributed to her actions with Mr. Standish?
Loneliness could drive one to make decisions they would not ordinarily make. Did she herself not know that to be true?
Rachel brushed her hair away from her face, her brows drawn together. “Do you really not know who your parents are?”
Cassandra shook her head. She shouldn’t have been surprised at the personal nature of the question given their interactions, but the topic seemed sudden. “No. I don’t.”
“Both my parents are dead,” Rachel offered matter-of-factly. “My mother died of fever when I was two years of age. My father died of pneumonia when I was seven. That’s when I came to live with James and Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth was your sister-in-law?”
“Yes, and she was wonderful. She was beautiful and genteel and everything a lady should be.” Rachel’s face brightened. “It’s hard to believe she was raised by Mrs. Towler, the old bird.”
Cassandra had to mask her amusement at the sudden disgust in Rachel’s tone. “That’s hardly kind.”
“Well, she’s hardly kind to me. And she never has been. One time, several years ago, I heard her telling Elizabeth that I was standing in the way of the family being resplendent because of my parentage, which is ridiculous because James and I have the same father. Can you imagine? I was just a child.”
Sadly, Cassandra could hear Mrs. Towler saying those words. “What an awful thing to say.”
“I lack ‘natural grace,’ or so she says.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think your grace is brilliant. But why does she still live with Mr. Warrington if her daughter is dead?”
Rachel scrunched her face and fussed with the fabric-covered buttons of her pelisse. “It’s James’s own fault. He claims it’s what Elizabeth would have wanted him to do. Mrs. Towler came to live with them when her husband died, before I arrived. She has no money of her own or any close family. James says it’s important that she remain with us because she is the only family Maria and Rose have left, and family must be respected and protected.”
The words struck her. How would it feel to be treated like that—respected and protected? To know Mr. Warrington felt that way eased her. He might not know the answers she sought, but he seemed sensitive to her plight.
“But surely your brother intends to wed again one day. One would think that having a mother-in-law living under the same roof would discourage that.”
Rachel shrugged. “James cares only for his work, plus he still mourns Elizabeth. He doesn’t say as much, but I know.”
Their conversation was treading on very personal information. Cassandra needed to shift it. “After what happened, I am glad to see you happy and smiling, Rachel. You seem to be recovering well.”
Rachel nodded and drew a deep breath. “I suppose. It’s frightening how close I came to changing my life so completely. What could I possibly have been thinking?”
“Do not be too harsh on yourself, my dear. You are not the first woman to find herself in this situation. And that includes me, as I told you. Maybe one day I will tell you the details, but right now, they aren’t important. What is important is that you find that your strength is in your character, not in the person to whom you are married. Find happiness and contentment from within, not in your circumstances.”
The words she uttered struck her.
Circumstances.
Was she not battling the same thing? She had spent the last few days waiting for information. Waiting for truth. Endless waiting. But what if this was as far as her journey took her? What if she never found her family? Would she be able to find happiness then?
Indeed, she’d be wise to take her own advice.
* * *
The hour was growing late, and the crowd was growing rowdy at the Green Ox Inn.
As James sat alone at a table waiting for Milton to rejoin him, he took a swig of cider and returned the pewter mug to the table with a thud before once again assessing his surroundings. He should be satisfied. He and Milton had just concluded business with two local sheep farmers regarding wool prices. But the news the farmer shared sobered him. A wagon transporting new power cotton looms had been attacked in broad daylight. Two men had been injured, and the loom had been destroyed with axes. The incident had taken place two villages over, but the violence was increasing in its frequency.
James toyed with the mug and glanced at the faces around him. He’d grown up in a village very much like this, where his father resembled the men around him: hardworking, suspicious of authority, and eager to make names for themselves yet deeply rooted in tradition.
After James’s mother had died when he was seven, he and his father lived in the countinghouse at their struggling textile mill, spending every waking hour surrounded by wool and workers and learning the value of hard work. His father remarried to Rachel’s mother when he was sixteen, and it was then he was sent to Micah Towler in Plymouth to learn the shipping details of the trade.
James became acquainted with the business quickly, but even more importantly, he earned Mr. Towler’s respect. He’d been treated as a member of the family, which gave him the opportunity for his attraction to Mr. Towler’s daughter, Elizabeth, to grow.
He married at twenty-two years of age—ten years ago now—much younger than his mentors advised and much to the chagrin of Mrs. Towler, but neither he nor Elizabeth would be deterred. She had possessed every quality he ever could have dreamed of. She’d been divinely beautiful. Poised. Elegant. But what was more, they’d shared a passion for their future—one that they hoped would take them out of the bustle of the city back to his roots in Yorkshire.