“Oh.” She touched her cheek in absent distraction. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? It’s been a sad day. I’d be surprised if you shed no tears at all.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She raised her shoulder in a halfhearted shrug, her gaze still downcast. “I’m apologizing because of what I’ve brought into your home.”
He sighed and shifted his weight. “There’s no way anyone could have foreseen this. It was a tragedy, a—”
“But if it weren’t for me and my presence here, Mr. Longham never would have been on Briarton Park’s property in the first place.”
He drew closer. “That might be so, but no one thing is completely dependent on another. There are threads that, if pulled, affect everyone and everything, whether those effects were intended or not. If Mr. Longham had never returned to Briarton Park, he very well might still be alive. Or he might not. He might have fallen and struck his head. He might have suffered an affliction or fallen prey to a highwayman. We’ve no way of knowing, and we needn’t speculate.”
Her tone hinted at disbelief. “That is very gracious to say.”
“Graciousness has nothing to do with it.” He watched as she toyed with the cuff of her sleeve. He was close to her, closer than he should be, yet she made no effort to increase the distance between them.
He wanted her to meet his gaze. What better way to judge the true feelings of a person than to see into her eyes? Her soul?
She tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what to do now. Not only is Mr. Longham gone, but so are the contents of his satchel. I’ve no way to prove my identity. Now it really is as Mr. Peter Clark suggested. I could be anyone claiming to be Cassandra Hale.”
“There has to be a way around it. You’ve known a lot of people in your life, I’m sure. Witnesses who can vouch for you. Surely there is a way to collect your inheritance.”
“It’s never been about the inheritance.” Her voice hovered barely above a whisper. “I didn’t even know about it until recently. I came here thinking that if I could just find out the truth about my family, I’d be happy. Now I have found the truth, but it is far more painful than I ever could have imagined. I believed Mr. Longham. I still do. But the sad reality is that I still have no family. No hope for what might be.”
“No hope?” He ached for the pain he saw in her. “There is always hope.”
Her expression dimpled her cheek. “Well, come to think of it, hope may be all I have left.”
The response struck him.
They might as well be talking about him.
He’d thought all hopes for happiness had died with Elizabeth, but slowly, surely, another truth was emerging. He studied the manner in which Cassandra’s hair was parted at the side, how her otherwise straight nose turned up ever so slightly, how she bit her lower lip in times of uncertainty. How, in this short period of time, this entrancing young woman had touched many parts of his life. A stranger just weeks ago, she was now a part of everything.
Oh, he needed to be careful. For she was sweet. Beautiful. Endearing. And now he could feel a tug he’d not felt in years—the desire to be in someone’s company and not leave her side.
He was not prepared to deal with these feelings again—to come to terms with the idea that another woman might be working her way into his thoughts and his mind.
He stepped toward the door to increase the distance from her, for his muscles ached to reach out and take her in his arms, and his heart longed to connect to hers.
This interaction had already gone too far, and she had to know it too. In that moment he was certain—she could not possibly have feelings for North. Not with the way she was looking at James now. They were in a dangerous situation, and if he allowed it to continue, there could be no turning back.
He cleared his throat. “It’s getting late. With your permission I’d be happy to write to some of my contacts in London and see if I can find out anything more about Longham. Perhaps he has a partner or business associates who might have information regarding his clients. It’s worth a try.”
She nodded, wide-eyed, the hesitation of which suggested that she, too, was struggling to make sense of the strange, invisible pull between them. She gave a hasty curtsy and was out of the chamber within seconds, leaving him alone with only his thoughts and the sounds of the fire popping in the grate.
Mrs. Towler’s warning echoed in his mind.
He had no idea how this would all work out, but he would not send Miss Hale away. That, he could not do.
* * *
Rose pressed her small face against the window in the nursery and looked out to the front garden. “May we go outside today?”
Cassandra stacked the books on the table. “No, dearest. Your papa wishes us to stay inside. Besides, it is far too cold.”
Rose slumped to the chair, a pout curving her lips. “But it’s sunny out. We always go outside when it’s sunny.”
“Come now. Let’s practice letters.” She reached out her hand to the girl.
With a toss of her long, golden braid, the girl reluctantly sulked to the table and lifted her book, and Cassandra listened as the girl read the letters aloud.
She tried to focus on the task at hand, but like her young charges, her mind kept drifting. She was haunted by the previous day’s events, and she supposed she always would be, but it was her conversation with Mr. Warrington that lurked in the corners of her mind.
She’d always considered Mr. Warrington a gentle, if not somewhat aloof, man. But any thought she had about his indifference toward her and her plight had been squelched by their last interaction.
Never had a man looked at her with such sincerity, concern, and even affection before—not even Frederick.
It frightened her.
It excited her.
In a different world, under different circumstances, Mr. Warrington would be everything she could ever desire. He was gentle, strong. And so very handsome.
And yet as these thoughts threaded through her, they were met with a darker thought.
Her mother had been in service in this very house. Perhaps this very chamber. She had been seduced, or taken advantage of, by the master.
Could this simply be a matter of history repeating itself? Mr. Warrington seemed kind. But all men could seem kind. His intentions could be another factor altogether. Could she be allowing herself to imagine a future that could never actually be?
Too many things were occurring all at once. Too many questions that needed to be answered. She needed to keep her focus firmly on her goal of learning the truth, at any cost. She had no idea where things would go from here. Mr. Warrington had said he would make inquiries on her behalf. But without Mr. Longham’s guidance and without proper documentation, what hope did she have? She needed to either find out who took the paperwork or find someone else who knew the truth.
Chapter 32
Cassandra fell into step next to Rachel as they trailed behind Mrs. Pearson on the charitable rounds for the day.
It had been several days since Mr. Longham’s body was discovered. The shock was subsiding, but the resulting melancholy draped every action, every thought. Mr. Warrington agreed that Rachel needed a diversion, so he granted permission for her to accompany Cassandra, Mrs. Pearson, and a few other ladies.