Octavia smiled. “Just imagine—a society wedding, packing the pews at St. George’s Hanover Square! You will make the loveliest bride.”
Lord Althorne leaned to take his betrothed’s hand. “Octavia and I have decided to marry in Longstone. A simple ceremony, surrounded by familiar faces. We can have the wedding breakfast at Caswell, or perhaps even at the White Lion.”
Cassandra’s heart overflowed with love for her elder sister. Octavia would be the most beautiful bride that any of their friends and neighbors had ever seen. She would be the mistress of Caswell Hall, wife of a viscount, and aunt to one very spirited little girl.
Her eyes grew misty. Rather than weep over her almond sponge, she placed her teacup and cake aside, and then rose from the sofa. She crossed the drawing room to stand by the windows.
Cassandra dabbed her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief as she looked out over the grounds of Pender Abbey and the glittering blue sea beyond.
She watched Octavia’s reflection in the panes as she approached. Her elder sister wrapped an arm about her waist, pulling Cassandra close. They stood together for a long time, simply enjoying the view.
“How magnificent,” Octavia said. “Can we go down? Will you show me the sea?”
She nodded. “Wade and I visit every morning after breakfast.”
“I am not surprised.” The eldest Staunton brushed a finger over Cassandra’s nose. “Just look at those freckles. I haven’t seen them since you were a girl.”
They both laughed.
She’d long since given up fretting over her freckles. Every time Cassandra looked in the mirror, she saw a happy, vibrant, fearless woman staring back at her. What were a few imperfections marring her otherwise perfect countenance?
“But you are thriving!” Octavia added. “It appears that the sea and the sun have done you good.”
Shewasthriving, for the first time in her life. “I’ve everything I could ever want—love, acceptance, a household of my own. Servants to manage. Oh, Octavia, to them I am not just a sickly, beautiful woman. I am their mistress, respected and admired for more than just my pretty face.”
“And what of your illness? Surely, the duke knows by now…or have Ihimto thank for this flourishing young woman I see standing before me?”
If she could not be frank with her beloved sister, who could she confide in? “Wade is not put off by anything. Indeed, he makes me feel safe, normal. With him, nothing is beyond the realm of possibilities.” Cassandra blushed. “He is resourceful.”
That was all she dared say on the matter, but the tell-tale heat on her cheeks spoke volumes. She and Octavia erupted into laughter. It seemed they were both contented, satisfied, well-loved ladies.
They had found their joy.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Wade sat on the sand. He wore no hat, and had shed his sack coat to enjoy the warm, salty breeze that ruffled his shirtsleeves. He watched Cassandra and Octavia dance in the foam, laughing as seawater lapped at their bare toes.
Cassandra’s muslin skirts dragged in the water. The ribbons of her straw hat fluttered loosely as the wind caressed her beautiful, sun-pinkened face. Simon walked some distance behind the sisters with his trousers rolled halfway up his shins.
This was the sort of gathering Wade longed for—comfortable, close knit. Carefree. To any outside observer, they were merely a foursome on holiday. No one would’ve suspected that this jolly group consisted of a duke, a viscount, and the women they loved.
Surely, no future duchess raced across the golden sand, unconcerned with the heat of the sun or the state of her hems. Two of the wealthiest men in Britain could never enjoy such simple pleasures, yet Wade looked out across the cove and felt…peace.
He marveled that this casual scene was his life now. His summer days would be filled with sunshine. His winter nights could be spent cozied beneath the blankets with a warm, wanton woman. He could indulge in sweets without guilt and oversee his ducal duties without feeling as though a committee breathed down his neck.
Instead of attempting to live up to his infamous reputation, Wade couldlive.
The realization was freeing. The dukedom no longer hung like a millstone ‘round his neck. His obligations were to give Cassandra the life she craved, and to provide those around them with the opportunities to make a better future—even if that future did not include another Duke of Wadebridge.
Wade never felt he needed children to secure his legacy. He did not want a son merely to protect his lineage. Let the history books say that the last Duke of Wadebridge rashly and irresponsibly married the woman he loved, and instead of hoarding the estate’s wealth—as the miserly trustees had done—he spent it freely on neighbors, tenants, and employees who needed it now.
He’d given Cassandracarte blanche, and she had selflessly shown him how to spend it. Wade aspired to follow in her footsteps.
He propped his elbows on his knees, grinning as the sisters spun and splashed in the spray. Their figures were silhouetted against the sun. The sea glittered at their backs, and he was so mesmerized watching the women frolic that he hardly noticed Simon jogging up the beach.
His old friend flopped down beside him.
Wade slung his arm around Simon’s neck, dragging him down to ruffle his hair. He kept the fellow pinned until he was red-faced and struggling. At last, he let Simon come up for air.
