“Ah yes!” he exclaimed as he pulled a letter from inside his coat. “I have a surprise for you, and this surprise comes in the form of an invitation. I called on Mrs. Kent, a most generous patron of this church. She and her husband have their hand in a great many of the dealings and host a monthly gathering at their ancestral home for the leaders of the area. I’m always invited to attend, although I don’t know why. She is fond of me for some odd reason. But anyway, I mentioned you to her, in the vaguest of terms, and she has sent you this.”
He extended the missive to her.
Cassandra slid her finger beneath the wax seal, opened the letter, and read it. “It’s an invitation for this week.”
“Of course, this all took place before I learned of your news just now, but I think your prospects are brightening. I have it on good authority that Mr. Peter Clark will be in attendance.”
At this she sobered. “But there is still so much I do not know. Maybe it is too soon. Perhaps I should wait for Mr. Longham to make the arrangements.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. You said yourself this could take time, and it never hurts to have the local gentry on your side. Mrs. Martin always attends, along with a few of the other business owners on the high street. It’s a very eclectic gathering. We often share a carriage, and I assume this time will be no different.”
“I’ve never been invited to anything like this,” she confessed, slowing to study the fine penmanship on the invitation. “I’m not sure what I would do.”
“It’s quite simple. You’ll be yourself, and you’ll be completely captivating. Don’t look so perplexed! If you’re to spend much time in Anston, you need to be in with the right sort of society. One never knows how these things will develop.”
She sobered, attempting to comprehend. “It just doesn’t make sense. Why would she invite me? She doesn’t even know me.”
“But she knows me, and I daresay she quite fancies me. Come, do say you will join us. It would brighten the event for me, that is sure.”
A million thoughts darted through her mind. Perhaps it would do her good to meet some other people, as Mr. North suggested. She did, after all, need to look after her future and could take nothing for granted.
She folded the letter with her gloved fingers. “Again I must thank you for your thoughtfulness. You’ve really been most kind. I’m not sure what I have done to deserve it, but I am grateful nonetheless.”
He gave a little chuckle and stared down at the ground, then glanced up almost sheepishly. “Do not credit me too much. I assure you my motives are quite selfish. Now that you are here in Anston, I find I can’t imagine what it would be like without you.”
Chapter 20
“Why, this is wonderful!” Betsy cried as she read Cassandra’s invitation to the Kents’ soiree as they stood in the boardinghouse parlor. “You must be beyond thrilled.”
Cassandra accepted the invitation back and tucked it in her reticule. “I’m not even sure I should go.”
“Why not? I don’t know anyone who has been invited to one of Mrs. Kent’s gatherings. Certainly not someone who boards here.”
Cassandra stretched her hands out toward the dying fire to warm them from her recent walk outdoors. “I’ve never been to anything like that. I’m sure if it’s as fine as Mr. North indicated, I’d not fit in at all.”
Betsy sat on the sofa in the parlor and motioned for Cassandra to join her. “You worry for nothing. All you need do is smile and be polite. Besides, if Mr. North went to such trouble to secure you an invitation, he must have other thoughts on his mind.”
Betsy’s thoughts mirrored her own on that count. She could not plead ignorance. Mr. North’s attentions had crossed the line from concerned vicar to a man whose interest teetered on something more.
Perhaps her continued conversation with him encouraged it. Perhaps not. But she could not think on that now. She had to keep her focus firmly in front of her. Cassandra joined Betsy on the sofa. “But I have nothing suitable to wear, and it’s just under a week away. My best gown is the celadon muslin one I wore to church on Sunday. Mr. North said that Mrs. Martin would be in attendance. If I am using her as a guide, I’m far too shabby.”
“I might be able to help on that count. A grin spread across Betsy’s face and she motioned toward a candle. “Take up that light and come with me.”
Cassandra did as bid, grabbed the candle, and followed Betsy up the stairs. It was the first time she’d been upstairs in the boardinghouse, or anywhere near the main bedchambers, for that matter. She paused as Betsy opened the door and went in.
This room was much nicer than her little space off the kitchen. The ceilings were not tall, but there were two spacious windows that overlooked the high street. Two beds stood centered in the room, along with a compact dressing table and chair. A single wardrobe stood in the corner, and a chest was at the foot of each bed. A fire grate was at the far end, and embers glowed softly.
Betsy knelt on the wooden floor next to the trunk, pushed a long tawny lock away from her face, and set the candle next to her. She lifted the lid, rummaged inside, and then pulled out two gowns. She stood and laid a gown of ivory brocade with gilt threads embellishing the bodice on the bed, and then she shook out the folds of a deep rose silk adorned with Mechlin lace and with white flowers embroidered on the sleeves and in the folds of the shimmering fabric.
“Why, those are beautiful!” Cassandra exclaimed. “Where on earth did you get them?”
“They’re mine, of course.” Betsy beamed with pride. “I haven’t always lived in a boardinghouse, you know. One of these should do for the dinner, I should think.”
“Oh no, no.” Cassandra shook her head. “I couldn’t ask that.”
“You aren’t asking. I’m offering. Besides, these gowns haven’t seen the light of day in well over two years.” Betsy extended one to her. “Someone might as well get to use them.”
Cassandra took the soft fabric in her hands. “But why don’t you wear them?”
Betsy shrugged and rubbed her finger along the ivory gown’s delicate lace adornment. “They are far too fine for me to wear. Moreover, the other girls would think I was putting on airs.”
As if interpreting the questions on Cassandra’s face, Betsy motioned for her to sit next to her on the bed. “When I was young, my father was a merchant. Had a proper shop on the high street in the town we lived in, and there was no shortage of fabrics and bows and fripperies and bobs. In those days I only sewed for fun and to pass the time. But when my father died, everything changed.”
“Oh.” Cassandra realized how little she knew about this woman who was quickly becoming a friend. “I didn’t realize.”
“He had debts. I suppose most men do. When he died, everything was sold to cover them. My sister and I had to make a living the only way we knew how—sewing. She was lucky enough to marry soon after his death, but I, well, let’s just say I didn’t quite catch anyone’s eye.”
“That isn’t to say you won’t,” Cassandra offered, sensing her friend’s disappointment. “He could be the very next person you meet!”