They spoke of ponies—Leah adored her Welsh gelding—and the adventures of her troupe of dolls lead by Lady Annis and Lord Asparagus.
Cassandra cherished her own childhood toys, though her dollies had been carved of wood and clad in cheap frocks. Many of them had come second-hand, shared among the sisters, and then passed on to other little girls in the village.
She’d spent countless hours organizing teas and solving disputes between her imaginary friends. She had cared for each of them, agonized over their petty dramas, and poured her heart out to them whenever she’d felt Mama, or Papa, or her sisters couldn’t understand her troubles.
Watching Wadebridge take a genuine interest in Leah’s dolls swelled Cassandra’s heart, for every little girl needed someone to listen to her problems—even if those problems were created in her toy chest and packed away each night at bedtime.
Cassandra admired the duke for recognizing that.
Sadly, not all of the guests respected this choice of conversation. Eugenie Raines resented losing His Grace’s attention to a mere child.
The beautiful woman—who the Staunton sisters had once envied—snarled at Leah. “Aren’t you a little old to play with dollies?”
“I am six years old.” The child’s cheeks pinkened under the scrutiny.
No six-year-old warranted Miss Raines’ mockery. Leah’s dolls were important to her, and she deserved to be taken seriously regardless of her age.
“I’ve heard,” Cassandra said, coming to the child’s defense, “Queen Victoria treasures her dolls, andsheis quite grown up.”
She shared a wink with Lord Althorne’s niece.
Who could argue with their modern monarch? One quarter of the world’s population lived and worked under Her Majesty’s rule. Perhaps the queen had once practiced diplomacy on a miniature audience, just as Cassandra had done with her toys.
Miss Raines failed to make that connection. She lacked the ability to feel empathy at all. “Six, did you say, young lady? I thought you a great deal older—all arms and legs, and elbows and knees. You might ask your governess for clothes that fit.”
The hateful woman turned her icy gaze upon the Staunton sisters, who were the true targets of her jealousy. “But, of course, there are those unfortunate creatures who simply do not know when a frock has reached its last wear.”
Cassandra’s attire may not have been the height of fashion, but it was hardly tattered rags. The sprigged muslin had been ordered a summer ago. She’d worn it but a few times before Mama and Papa’s deaths.
The dress was dear to her, and that insult cut to the quick.
Cassandra sputtered, grasping at any retort, but Wadebridge set upon Eugenie Raines in her defense.
“Or…” he drawled, as slow and menacing as a snake in the grass, “there are those disinclined to purchase a new wardrobe when last year’s silks and muslinsfit themjust fine.”
His Grace oughtn’t to have insulted the women, but something had to be done. Miss Raines harassed a six-year-old! She had mocked the sisters’ humble upbringing!
Lord Althorne attempted to remain cordial—he was the host, after all. Octavia rushed to soothe Leah’s feelings. Honoria looked as if she wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole. The other guests observed the scene as though a curious spectacle was being put on for their amusement.
Wadebridge met Cassandra’s eyes. He held her gaze, unblinking, unconcerned with the trouble he’d caused.
He approved of the way she’d stood up for the child. The duke liked children. He treated them as individuals, as persons capable of feeling fear, embarrassment, rage, and confusion. He did not simply humor Leah Caswell. His Grace understood her. He sympathized with her.
He cared for that little girl.
The realization brought tears to Cassandra’s eyes.
She snapped her attention back to the scene at hand just in time to hear Lord Althorne say, “Miss Staunton, I think the heat of the day is getting to our heads. Would you please return Leah upstairs?”
He spoke to Octavia, of course. Their host could not possibly know how Cassandra’s heart ached. How her cheeks flamed. How her breath caught in her throat.
As governess, it was Octavia’s duty to ensure that Leah wasn’t too humiliated from the exchange, yet Cassandra leaped at the chance to flee. She needed to get away from Wadebridge, the Raineses, and the rest of the party before they discovered her secret.
The Duke of Wadebridge had a sensitive side to his character that he guarded fiercely. He’d make a wonderful father. Even if Cassandra allowed herself the dream of loving him, in reality, His Grace required what she could never give him.
Only Octavia and Honoria knew of her illness. Cassandra had tried so hard to fit in among the guests at Caswell Hall that this reminder struck her like a blow to the face.
She rose, silently pleading to Honoria, who sat across the carpet from her. While Octavia saw to Leah’s needs,theycould escape upstairs.
