Cassandra sat at the small dressing table and was still as Betsy’s hands worked the ribbon through her curls. She watched as the woman’s round face sobered in concentration at the task, and a genuine fondness for her new friend tugged at her. “I do wish you were coming.”
Betsy smirked and reached for the comb. “Girls like me do not get invited to such parties. I didn’t go to a fancy school.”
“Our backgrounds don’t matter much now, do they?” Cassandra tilted her face to give Betsy a better angle. “We live in the very same boardinghouse now.”
“But your path will take you farther. Somewhere bigger and better than a seamstress shop.”
Cassandra’s stomach sank.
Bigger and better.
Until everyone found out that she was illegitimate.
* * *
The cool air held the scent of rain as Cassandra alighted from the carriage to the drive before Kent House. Torches lined the drive leading to the elegant sandstone structure, providing flickering light to the guests arriving.
The drive from the village had been brief, and the hired carriage crowded. It conveyed not only Mr. North, Mrs. Martin, and herself, but two others as well. Now that they were here, Cassandra’s emotions vacillated between anticipation and hesitation.
She could feel Mr. North, strong and supportive, at her elbow. “You look wonderful, Miss Hale. No need for nervousness. Everything is going to be fine,” he whispered, almost intimately, as the flurry of activity of everyone departing from the carriage swirled around them.
The softly spoken words, and the compliment, caught her off guard and incited a flutter in her heart she had not anticipated, but before she knew it, they were swept into the grandeur of the house. Never before had she seen so many candles illuminating a chamber or so many elegantly clad people gathered and milling about. Voices echoed from the plaster walls, woven tapestries, and ancient stone floors. Laughter resounded from nearby rooms. The atmosphere felt happy. Engaging. Her nerves melted away and excitement flowed in.
Mr. North led Mrs. Martin in, and Cassandra followed to where a couple was greeting guests. Before she was even fully through the door, an older woman in a shimmering gown of vermillion lustring pushed past Mr. North and Mrs. Martin and took Cassandra’s hands in her own. “So, you must be the young Miss Hale Mr. North has told me about.”
There could be no doubt. The authority and perceived familiarity confirmed that this must be their hostess. Cassandra curtsied. “Yes, I am. And I thank you for your kind invitation to—”
“Ah, ah, none of that. My motives are purely selfish, I assure you. I’m so eager to have another young woman in our acquaintance that it is you who are doing me the favor.” She looped her large arm through Cassandra’s with a twinkle in her droopy russet eyes. “I’m taking her from you, Mr. North, Mrs. Martin. You’ve had her to yourself all this time.”
Cassandra cast a glance to the woman who had claimed possession of her. Her hair was faded to a pale walnut brown, streaked with white, and wrinkles splayed out from the corners of her eyes, but otherwise, her high, proud cheekbones and delicately arched eyebrows spoke to another time in which she must have had the command of every room she graced. And, judging by the way the woman paraded around the room, she still did.
When they were nearing the hearth, Mrs. Kent paused and turned to Cassandra. “So, Miss Hale. How do you find our little village?”
“It’s very lovely.”
“You probably haven’t seen much of it. How long have you been here?”
“Just above two weeks now.”
“My, my. And what an impression you’ve made.”
Cassandra was not sure how to take the last statement, but she was keenly aware of how the woman assessed her. Her gown. Her hair. She gripped her reticule to keep from fidgeting and focused on the conversation. “Mr. North and Mrs. Pearson have been kind enough to introduce me to some of the villagers.”
Mrs. Kent snapped her fan open. “Mr. North is such a pleasant man. I knew it the first time I saw him. Do you believe in that sentiment, Miss Hale? That you can tell what you need to know about a person the very first time you meet him or her?”
Cassandra chose her words with care. “I think we can make some judgment at first glance. But I find that some people take longer to divulge the truth about themselves.”
The ruby-and-diamond necklace about the woman’s neck glittered in the light with the movement of her laughter. “Oh, you sweet child. I suppose that at one point in life I felt the same way, but now I am not so sure. Perhaps it is my old age that makes me so suspicious. There now, I see the disbelief in your expression. I would shudder to know what you think of me upon this our first meeting.”
“I think you’re very kind to invite me without even knowing me.” She wanted to change the conversation from herself. “How long have you been acquainted with Mr. North?”
“Three years, if you can believe it.”
“And how did you become acquainted?”
“Mr. North’s uncle was the vicar in Anston before him. He had been for decades. I was particularly fond of his wife, Alice. She always attended these gatherings.”
“I was not aware that his uncle preceded him as vicar. That’s very interesting.”
“Yes, Mr. North first came to our parish as the curate, serving under his uncle, of course. His mother’s brother, if memory serves. I was so taken with him that I moved heaven and earth to make sure he became the next vicar. Impressive young man. And he would be a fine catch for any young woman.”
Cassandra’s cheeks flushed at the recommendation, and yet a sensation of uneasiness quaked within her. She glanced back at Mr. North. When he noticed her looking at him, he nodded. Smiled. Based on what Mrs. Kent had said, perhaps the sentiment was spreading. Perhaps others were seeing her as a contender for his hand.
She allowed herself to be led through the hall, pausing to be introduced at Mrs. Kent’s whim. It was clear Cassandra was here as the woman’s amusement—to be shown off. But with every new introduction, she was watchful. Mr. North had suggested that Peter Clark might attend. She would never dare inquire so obviously, but her eyes and her ears were open.
When they ventured from the great hall to the parlor, another man entirely captured her attention—one she had not expected to see.
She was looking at none other than Mr. Warrington.
Chapter 23
Maria’s sad expression refused to leave him as James arrived at the Kents’, and he was in no humor for socializing.
His earlier conversation with Maria about Elizabeth was still alive and vibrant in his mind, and at a time like this, he’d much rather be alone with his thoughts. Duty called, however, and there was business to conduct. Peter Clark was supposed to be here, and if they were going to defend their mills against the angry locals, then they needed to find some way to collaborate efforts.
He looked around the ornate, candlelit parlor. All of the regular attendees were present: the mill owners, some of the gentlemen farmers, even the innkeepers and local breeders. He needed to remain focused.
Elizabeth would have laughed at his apprehension. She would have smiled, fussed with his cravat, and told him that he’d worked too hard on the mill and invested too much time to allow an opportunity—any opportunity—to go to waste.