* * *
Fire pummeled through James’s veins as Cassandra disappeared down the corridor.
She had agreed to marry him!
He hadn’t expected to propose to her right there and then. But he could not resist her allure. She was inebriating, and he didn’t want to part from her.
But she’d said yes. She would be his wife. Forever.
One day they would not have to part at the day’s end. They would be together with the sunrise of every morning and at the close of each day.
He forced his fingers through his hair as he considered the events. It seemed every day since Cassandra arrived had brought change and growth, and he could only wonder what the next days would bring, for all of them.
He made his way up to the family chambers. He should try to catch a little sleep, for he doubted the next day would bring much rest. But there was one thing he still needed to do.
Rachel had said Mrs. Towler had gained consciousness.
And he was relieved, but as he arrived outside of Mrs. Towler’s room, he paused.
The thought of Elizabeth flashed in his mind, as she did so often.
He had no doubt that Elizabeth would approve of Cassandra, but her mother was another matter. He wanted to handle this situation with respect and compassion, but he was sailing in uncharted territory. She’d been ill, and he did not want to upset her, but he also did not want her to find out from someone else about his relationship with Cassandra.
He found Mrs. Towler propped up on her pillows. She was pale, and yet she appeared healthier than she had in days, perhaps even weeks. She was dressed in her nightclothes. How strange it was to see her in the cream linen instead of the black she had worn since Elizabeth died. Even the white cap atop her wiry hair altered her appearance significantly. Mrs. Helock was sitting next to her. He cleared his throat to garner her attention.
“Ah, James.” Mrs. Towler waved her hand toward Mrs. Helock. “Leave us, please. I wish to speak with my son-in-law.”
He stood in silence as the housekeeper exited the room, and then he stepped closer to the bed. “You gave us quite a fright.”
“A fright? Bah. It’s nothing compared to hearing a pistol discharged in one’s own home. Mrs. Helock told me everything. And Rachel brandishing a pistol! Why, I’ve never heard the like.”
“It’s all over now.” He moved a candle closer to the bed. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about? I hear that North fellow broke into our home and tried to attack Miss Hale. I never did like him.”
James laughed. “No, you did not.”
“That’s not all I heard about Miss Hale.” She raised her brow. “Sit down, James. We need to talk.”
“Perhaps we should wait until you are stronger. You’ve had an—”
“No. It cannot wait.”
Bracing himself, he pulled a chair from against the wall and carried it next to the canopied bed.
“Mrs. Helock tells me that Miss Hale sat with me and helped out while I was indisposed.”
He nodded. “She did. She was concerned about you. We all were. We still are.”
James could see the battle warring within her. Mrs. Towler was the proudest woman he’d ever met. And yet, whether as a result of the illness or just recent events, the usual harsh lines of her face seemed softer.
“I also understand the two of you shared a very public display of affection in the courtyard. In front of the magistrate. In front of the servants.”
He had not even had time to plan out the words. It was all so new still. He remained silent.
“James. I am nearing sixty years of age, and I do realize how close I was to death.” She fixed her eyes on him. “I’ll not wait to right wrongs. First of all, I need you to know that I am grateful to you. You did not have to allow me to stay with your family after Elizabeth’s death. I recognize that it has not always been easy. You are a good father to my grandchildren.”
He remained silent, knowing how hard those words were for her to say.
“Perhaps I have not made the transition as easily as I could have. I’ve lost my daughter, but I know things are changing. I don’t want to lose my granddaughters too.”
“I miss Elizabeth,” he admitted. “I miss her every day. I think about her and wonder what she would think about our daughters. Our life. About me. I will always love her, but she would not want us to grieve forever. I’ll not rob my daughters of having a mother figure in their lives, and I will not deny myself happiness. Elizabeth would not have wanted that. You and I both know it to be true.”
He expected her to protest, to argue, but she did not. Instead, she tilted her head to the side. “I think about her every day too. I see her in the girls. And I see how happy they have been since Miss Hale’s arrival. I may be stubborn, but I can admit when I’ve been wrong. I don’t want to be sad anymore. I don’t want to be angry.”
“Nothing will change,” he said, reading the thread of worry in her expression. “You are the girls’ grandmother, and you have a home here. Always.”
She stared down at her hands. “What is it that you are not telling me?”
“Miss Hale and I are to be married.”
Initially she said nothing. But then she reached for his hand with her withered one. “I could tell by the way the two of you looked at each other, that very first day in the hall, that a connection was developing between you. At first it frightened me. Made me angry that you would forget Elizabeth.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand. “But I was wrong.”
She stopped short of apologizing. And at this he could almost laugh. Apologies were not in her nature.
“I will never forget Elizabeth. Ever. But Cassandra is a gift. A second chance to feel alive again. We have the opportunity for a great many fresh beginnings here. For everyone under this roof.” He sniffed. “Now, the surgeon told us you will recover, but he stressed that you need rest.”
“Very well. But do send the girls in once they have woken for the day. I wish to see them.”
“I will.”
“And, James,” she said, a rare smile quirking the corner of her mouth. “I am happy for you.”
Epilogue
North Yorkshire, England
Summer 1812
Cassandra adjusted the reins in her gloved hands and surveyed the scene before her. Grassy land swept down to the river banks, and just beyond it stood Clark Mill, rising up in a tower of red brick and smoke.
So this was it—Linderdale. This was the portion her father had set aside for her.
James drew his horse to a halt next to her, dismounted, and turned to help her down from the sidesaddle. “So, what do you think of your first riding lesson, Mrs. Warrington?”
Mrs. Warrington.
How her heart leapt whenever he called her by that name. It still seemed like an impossible dream.
Once her booted feet were firmly on the ground, Cassandra adjusted the folds of her emerald wool riding habit around her. “It’s wonderful. And not as difficult as I thought.”
“See? I knew you’d enjoy it, and soon it will be second nature. You live in the countryside now, my love. Riding is an essential skill.”