Annoyed, Cassandra dropped her shoulders. “Will you just tell me where they are so I may go to them?”
“Miss Maria and Miss Rose are in the nursery.”
Cassandra hurried up to the nursery to assess the situation. She’d left the girls in Mrs. Towler’s care, but now they were with one of the maids. After instructing Rachel to sit with her nieces, Cassandra discarded her cloak and made her way to the family’s sleeping chambers.
The door to Mrs. Towler’s bedchamber was ajar. Cassandra peered inside.
Mr. Warrington was sitting in a chair near the fire. His side was to her. His elbows were on his knees, and his head was in his hands. He wore a striped waistcoat over his linen shirt but no coat. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His boots still had mud on them, suggesting he had been caught by surprise by Mrs. Towler’s condition when he returned home as well.
She angled her head to look in farther.
Sure enough, Mrs. Towler was in the bed. She appeared to be sleeping, but Cassandra knew it was more than that. The man she assumed to be the surgeon was seated at the side of the bed.
She hesitated. Perhaps she was overstepping her bounds by being present. Mrs. Towler did not care for her, that was certain, and despite their interactions, Mr. Warrington was still her employer. But as she watched him sitting there, her heart tore.
Surely now, after all they had experienced together, her presence would be welcome.
She entered the chamber. Mr. Warrington lifted his head at the sound.
For the first time since she had known him, he appeared tired. Worn. “Have you heard?”
She nodded, and without waiting for an invitation, she inched forward and sat in the chair opposite him. She leaned toward him and kept her voice low so as not to disturb the surgeon. “What is it?”
“She had an episode. Her heart.” Mr. Warrington sat upright and settled against the back of the chair. “He’s certain.”
Cassandra’s chest tightened. “Will she recover?”
“He doesn’t know.” He forced his fingers through his sandy hair. “I don’t know how the girls would handle another loss.”
“Let’s pray it does not come to that.” Cassandra swallowed the dry lump forming in her throat and then looked back toward the sickbed. Memories of the pain of sitting at Mrs. Denton’s side enveloped her—the anger, the sadness, the sense of betrayal. It all seemed so distant now, as if it had happened in a nightmare. She felt as helpless now as she had felt then. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“There is,” he said. “Sit here. With me.”
Sit with him?
Simple as his entreaty was, it was not the sort of request an employer should make of his governess.
Yet what about their interactions had fallen into any semblance of normalcy?
She looked down at his hands as they sat across from each other. His fingers were laced before him. How she wanted to reach out and cover those hands with her own. She could no longer deny the truth. Her feelings for him were growing in both depth and intensity. She didn’t care what Mr. North—or anyone—thought of him.
Even now, she could still feel the softness of his finger lingering on her cheek from their previous moments together. She wanted to be there again in that feeling of intimacy and closeness, of attentiveness and solidarity.
Did he think of it too?
The chances of a woman like her and a man like him having a personal relationship was so improbable. Even to find a match with a man like Mr. North was far-fetched for her.
She was an illegitimate, poor governess.
Dare she even let her thoughts drift there?
Or if she did follow her heart in such a manner, would she end up dispossessed like her mother?
She remained seated with him until after the surgeon left and all was still once again.
“I should like to help, if I can,” offered Cassandra as they sat in the quiet chamber. “I’m happy to sit here and do whatever is necessary. Does she have any family that should be notified? Any other children?”
“No. The girls and I are the only family she has, other than a distant cousin.” He folded his arms and looked toward his mother-in-law. A storm brewed in his gray eyes. His jaw clenched, then released. “My last conversation with her was an argument.”
She had no doubt what the argument with Mrs. Towler must have been about. Her.
“I understand how that feels. I do.” Cassandra tempered her voice. “I’ve shared with you that Mrs. Denton was like a mother to me, but what I didn’t tell you was that she waited until she was on her deathbed before she told me the truth about my past. All along she knew who my parents were. She said her silence on the matter had been to protect me, but in my final hours with her, I felt so betrayed. My last words to her were spoken in anger. How I regret it.”
He nodded. “It’s no secret that Mrs. Towler and I have not always seen eye to eye. We never have. Even before Elizabeth and I were married. She thought my background unbecoming for her daughter. She probably was right. But if something should happen I would hate to think our last conversation was one in which we were both so livid. And to think her state of mind might have contributed toward . . .”
“You can’t think that way. You mustn’t. Nothing you did, or didn’t do, contributed to her current state.”
He stood and stepped closer to the bed, increasing the distance between them. “Elizabeth would have been devastated by this. She adored her mother.”
Cassandra stiffened. She did not know much of love between a child and her mother. But she did know what her relationship with Mrs. Denton had been like. “Mrs. Denton knew I was furious that final night. But she also knew I loved her and respected her, and ultimately, nothing she could say to me would change that. I’m sure Mrs. Towler knows that even though you might not have the most cordial relationship, you respect her. It’s evident to those around you.”
“I hope so. How did life get so complicated?”
She managed a small laugh. “I ask myself that question nearly every day.”
He sobered again, his expression distant, as if the day’s events had opened a door to the past, allowing memories to stream in afresh. “I was not there the night my wife died. But Mrs. Towler was.”
He stared straight ahead as he spoke the words. “Mrs. Towler was the one who comforted Elizabeth in the end. Knowing that Elizabeth was not alone in her final hours—for that I will always be grateful.”
Cassandra remained quiet, sensing his need to share.
“I was only supposed to be gone for a few days, you know. I had traveled to Yorkshire, of all places. But the weather had changed and the roads to return home were impassable. I didn’t even know she’d been sick until I’d arrived back in Plymouth. By then it was too late. She was already gone. And now we’re here. And it seems like a version of it is happening all over again.”
His shell was falling away. With every word, with every memory he shared with her, their bond was deepening. She couldn’t care less about convention. He’d experienced loss. It was a different kind of loss than hers, but she could understand the pain.
She resisted the magnetic urge to draw nearer to him—to rest her hand on his arm in comfort. Instead, she tilted her head to the side and was about to speak when the door opened and Mrs. Helock appeared.