* * *
Laughter and happy chatter met James’s ears before he entered the nursery. And the sound was sweet.
Moments like this, sounds like this, made him think that the family could truly be happy again. And that was what he wanted—to live life again, out from under the shadow of grief. Elizabeth would always be a part of them, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to forget her. But he’d meant what he said to Maria. Elizabeth would not want them to live in sadness.
He stood silently, listening so as not to miss a minute of it. Then he turned the corner to the nursery to see Maria, Rose, Miss Hale, and even Rachel sitting at the small square table. Baskets were strewn across the top of it, and on it was a pile of leaves and sticks.
It was a beautiful sight, really.
When he entered the room, both girls jumped to their feet and ran to him. He swept Rose up in one arm and wrapped his other around Maria, careful not to jostle her arm. “Well now, how was your day?”
Rose wrapped her arms around his neck. “Look! Our new governess is here!” She wriggled down and bounced over to Miss Hale and grabbed her hand.
“I see.” His gaze fell on Miss Hale as she stood from the table. “Welcome to Briarton Park, Miss Hale.”
She curtsied in response, and before she could speak, Maria leaned with her good arm on the table. “Look at our collection!”
What initially had seemed like a haphazard pile when he had entered was really several piles separated into leaves, rocks, and sticks.
He sat in the chair to make a greater display of observing their work. “Ah, so I see! Tell me about it.”
Rose climbed up on his lap and picked up one of the smooth stones. “Miss Hale said we each had to find five leaves, five sticks, and five stones. None of them could be like any of the others we found. And they all had to be from our garden and fit in our baskets. See? This one is my favorite.”
“I hope you don’t mind such outside activities,” Miss Hale added quickly, twisting her fingers before her. “If you prefer that we remain indoors, we—”
“I think it’s wonderful. As long as they stay in the walled garden with you.” He bounced Rose on his knee. “What else did you do?”
He listened as the girls outlined their day, and warm satisfaction spread through him at their enthusiasm. After the girls finished, he left them to complete their sorting and approached Miss Hale, who’d been standing at the window, listening and watching. “Are you settling in all right?”
“Yes, I am. Your daughters are charming.”
He looked back at them, encouraged by the joy radiating from their small faces. “Yes, they are. If you require books and so forth, just get a list to Mrs. Helock and she will see to it that they get ordered for you.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Miss Hale returned to the girls, and James watched for several minutes. Things were looking up for the Warringtons. And he did not want it to stop.
Chapter 26
Each day at Briarton Park divulged new revelations, leading Cassandra to believe she could indeed enjoy being a governess. She adored her young charges and discovered specific facts about them with each interaction. Maria enjoyed reading. Rose loved all things out-of-doors. Even Rachel, who no longer needed a governess, was becoming a friend.
It was Mr. Warrington who surprised her most, however. She’d always heard that governesses had little contact with the parents, but every evening he would spend at least an hour with his daughters, reading, playing, or talking. He spoke with her often about the girls’ progress—what they were learning and how they behaved.
But now, as she sat next to Mr. Longham in Mr. Clark’s stark countinghouse at Clark Mill, waiting for her half brother to join them, the peace and confidence that brought her such comfort at Briarton had fled, and a sickening anxiety flooded her. Other than the sounds of the persistent rain on the panes and the hissing fire in the grate, she and Mr. Longham sat in galling silence.
Cassandra glanced up at the clock above the mantel and shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair. Mr. Clark should have joined them half an hour prior. “Do you think he’ll not come?”
“He’ll be here.” Mr. Longham’s tone exuded confidence. “I know Peter Clark quite well, actually. He’s stubborn. This is his attempt to seize control. We simply will not allow it. We’ll wait as long as it takes.”
She smoothed a wrinkle out of her sleeve for the dozenth time and fidgeted with the satin cords of her reticule. If only she possessed Mr. Longham’s composure.
After what seemed like more than an hour, the door flew open, creaking on its hinges and thudding against the wall behind it.
Cassandra jumped, whipping around to see who caused such a commotion, and could only stare at the bulky man in the doorway. For weeks now she had wondered about meeting him. She’d envisioned him to resemble her father’s portrait. He did, but only to an extent. His face was ruddy, either from frustration or drink, and his sorrel hair was wild, unkempt. His nose was strong and straight, and his forehead remarkably broad. But it was his eyes, the same obsidian eyes from the portrait, from which she could not look away.
Mr. Longham rose, his movements as casual as if this were a pleasure visit. “Clark. It’s been a while.”
Peter Clark did not respond immediately. He stomped in, his boots heavy on the planked floor, then went straight to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “So, you’ve not let this go, have you?”
Ignoring Mr. Clark’s question, Mr. Longham extended his arm toward Cassandra. “I’d like to introduce Miss Cassandra Hale.”
Mr. Clark returned the glass noisily to the sideboard and turned to fix a hard gaze on her. “So I hear you are claiming to be my father’s illegitimate daughter.”
Flustered—and slightly intimidated—by the accusations hidden in his tone, she lifted her chin. “I am only looking for answers.”
He scoffed. “Answers, is it? Bah. Spreading vicious rumors, more like. What is it you want? Money?”
She shook her head, shocked at the animosity in his tone. “I’m not spreading rumors. And I don’t want money.”
“You know very well your father named Miss Hale in the will,” Mr. Longham interjected, as if soothing an angry child. “Why act surprised now that she’s here?”
Mr. Clark fixed a hard stare on Cassandra and squared his expansive shoulders. “I don’t believe for a moment that you are Cassandra Hale. Furthermore, I don’t believe you are my father’s daughter, whatever this man claims.”
“Do you know another Cassandra Hale then?” Longham reasoned, amused sarcasm dripping. “Be reasonable, Clark. She’s a real person, clearly, otherwise your father never would have included her.”
Her defenses growing, Cassandra forced confidence to her voice and retrieved her letter from her reticule. “I received this letter inviting me to Briarton Park and claiming to have information about my family. I think you will see for yourself that it is by your father’s hand.” She extended it to him.
His face hard, Peter Clark snatched it from her and glanced at it.
And then, in a sudden action, he turned and tossed it in the fire.