“I suppose I threatened both.” She looked up at him, finding that she really did care about his opinion on the matter. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
He focused his full attention on her, as if he could see into the heart of who she was. “You assisted Rachel in the most selfless of manners, and people who are willing to take such risks to help another deserve respect. So yes, I do believe you, but you must understand that my children are now involved by default. I will be no stranger to this matter until it is resolved.”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded. “That’s fair.”
“Speaking of fairness, I think it only right to inform you what Clark accused me of, since it includes you.”
She lifted her gaze, confused. “Accused you of?”
Mr. Warrington left his position at the desk and crossed to the mantelpiece. He paused to adjust a book on the mantel, as if fumbling for time, then turned to face her once again. “Clark suggested that my reason for engaging you as governess was an attempt, somehow, to gain ownership of the land. It’s ridiculous, of course. I had no idea of your connection to the land until this very day. He suggested that I have you in my house to form an attachment to you, for if you owned the land, your, uh, husband would become the owner, and, well . . .” His voice faded away.
Cassandra winced. The heat of embarrassment rushed to her cheeks at the suggestion. It was one thing to speak of employment. It was another thing entirely to have someone suggest marriage, even in passing.
She looked down at her hands and muttered, “I—I never considered that.”
When she regained her courage to look at him once again, his expression perplexed her. When had someone beheld her with such approval in his eyes? As if he wholly listened to her and her thoughts mattered? Surely she was not imagining it.
“Are you all right, Miss Hale?”
The simple words threatened to undo her. How she had yearned for someone to come alongside her. Support her. See her.
She could not allow herself to notice how deeply his direct attention affected her, or allow her mind to wonder how safe it would feel to stand closer to him. She had to keep her wits about her. She could not—would not—romanticize this conversation. “My only intention was to find my family, Mr. Warrington. In spite of all this, I promise you, I will be a good governess for your children.”
“And I believe you will.”
Chapter 28
Cassandra could not sleep.
Nestled in her small little chamber, she found her thoughts drifting from the anxious uncertainty to the confusing sentiments that had ruled her thoughts since quitting Mr. Warrington’s study. It wasn’t the topic of conversation that had unnerved her so. Instead, it was the vulnerability that the conversation conjured.
Perhaps this entire situation was all carefully orchestrated by someone with ulterior motives, as Peter Clark had suggested. Perhaps not. There would be no way to tell for sure until the truth finally emerged.
Her letter—her one truly personal tie to her father—had been destroyed, and yet she kept coming back to Mrs. Hutton’s statement. “I can confirm this is his writing.” Moreover, Cassandra had seen the same exact signature on the paperwork Mr. Longham possessed.
Yes, she believed Peter Clark was her half brother.
Yes, she believed Mr. Longham, in spite of the lingering questions.
But her sense of rationality longed for concrete evidence of truth.
Her mind raced, reliving every occurrence since her arrival in Anston and at Briarton Park. Her thoughts returned repeatedly to Mr. Warrington. His direct expression and the delivery of his tone had affected her. His strong physical presence and his gentle kindness attracted her. She recognized the undeniable draw that was developing between them. She had felt it with Frederick. But she had to check herself. Mr. Warrington was her employer.
Her employer.
It would be more appropriate for her to linger on thoughts of Mr. North. He’d given her plenty of advice, but unlike Mr. Warrington, he’d never inquired how she was doing or feeling.
It would be a slippery slope if she allowed her mind to think of Mr. Warrington as anything other than the man who paid her wages. But in the daunting loneliness of night, she craved that feeling of having someone care about her. How would it feel to have his arms around her? To trust him with the secrets of her heart and to know that he thought of her as more than just a governess? She desired honesty. Sincerity. Vulnerability. Their conversations had opened the door to those thoughts. And now that it had been opened, that door would be very difficult to close.
* * *
The next day, Cassandra awakened before dawn. Indeed, she’d never fallen asleep. She heard the maids creep in for their early morning stoke of the fire to make sure all was warm when everyone arose, so she rose from bed, dressed in a heavy wool gown, donned her cape, and would go out for a walk to watch the sun rise over the garden walls.
She encountered several maids on her way out, and as she passed Mr. Warrington’s study, flickering firelight poured from it, suggesting he was already awake as well. She glanced at her pocket watch. Forty-five minutes remained before she would wake the girls for the day, ensuring enough time for some fresh air.
Outdoors, the air was cold and exhilarating, the freshness of which helped to clear her mind from the thoughts that had festered overnight. She traversed the courtyard to the manicured lawns, where even in winter the paths were trimmed neatly and the plants maintained their order. The hoarfrost was crisp and fresh beneath her boots. It crunched with each step, and her breath plumed before her in invigorating brightness.
She continued along the wall until she reached the edge of the garden, where a copse of ash and elm trees separated the gardens from the muted moors that stretched beyond. She looked back to Briarton Park, doing its best to appear gloomy in the morning shadows. But nothing could look sad in the pink morning light that reached from the east. So she decided to walk farther.
Then, as she turned the corner at the edge of the boxwoods, something caught her eye. Something black on the grass protruded from the corner, just where the fence met the trees. She walked down the road a bit farther to the edge of the fence and frowned.
A boot jutted out from behind the uneven stone wall.
Alarm pricked her skin at the sight. Every word of warning that Mr. Warrington had shared rushed her.
Cassandra held her breath and took another step. The black fabric of trousers became visible. As she took another step, her mind prepared her heart for what she was about to see.
A body lay there. Unmoving and awkwardly positioned.
But not just any body.
She recognized the white hair, the emerald coat from the previous day.
Mr. Longham.
The beauty she had enjoyed just moments ago dissolved around her into horror.
Disbelief slowed her limbs, making them feel thick. Heavy. Her throat felt too dry to speak, yet she managed to call out his name.
But she knew he would not answer.
She dropped to her knees by his side and touched his shoulder.
As she did, he rolled slightly, just enough for her to glimpse blood and his glassy stare.
The scream curdling within her bubbled, and she scrambled to her feet. She took one step backward, and then another, until she turned and ran as fast as she could back to Briarton Park.