The heavy front doors were hauled open. Wade paused as the governess returned inside. She appeared in good spirits for a woman who’d just been parted from her family.
They met in the hall.
She frowned as she curtseyed. “Your Grace.”
The lady had backbone. A lesser woman might’ve relaxed her scruples in the hope of seeing her sister become a duchess, but Octavia was not dazzled by his rank, wealth, or authority.
“Miss Staunton, you should know that I respect your sister. Whilst I regret causing her embarrassment this evening, we parted as friends. Canwenot be friends, as well?”
She met his eyes. “Cassandra is a grown woman who does not need me to meddle in her affairs. I’m aware of the manner in which you parted, sir, and am satisfied. Let us leave it at that.”
She dipped a hasty curtsey. He bowed, and then she swept past him.
Wade had been warned off in more ways than one, but a spinster did not always know what was best for her younger siblings—andhehad never been one to take the high road.
“Before you go, Miss Staunton, I wonder if you might help me…”
She turned, brows raised. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Where might I find Lord Althorne?” he asked. “You two never seem to be very far from one another.”
Octavia Staunton turned up her nose, yet he noticed high color flaming her cheeks. “I believe you shall find him on the steps.”
“Ah, I am much obliged. Goodnight.”
As he turned to continue outside, Wade felt her staring daggers into his back. He smiled, for she would make Simon an exemplary viscountess. He very much approved of her, and intended to tell his old friend so.
***
The carriage rocked and swayed as they climbed the dales. Cassandra held tight to the leather straps overhead. She daren’t look out the window, down into the valley below. How could the coachman navigate the lane with naught but two dim lamps to light his way?
Honoria, however, kept her smiling face pressed to the glass. The youngest Staunton was determined to squeeze every last bit of excitement from their outing.
“How clever the horses are!” she said over the groaning springs and jangling of the traces. “If I were driving, I’d be sure to give them their heads. I wager they know this route better than anyone.”
Cassandra groaned, imagining her younger sister wielding the ribbons. “Horses want guidance, surely.”
“They must also desire independence. Autonomy.”
They were horses. Beasts of burden. Beautiful though they were, they’d been created to serve mankind, and must know their place whether or not they could do a better job than whoever was holding the reins.
“One evening among the aristocracy has given you funny ideas, Hon. Be careful you do not develop ambitions to rise above your station. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lord Althorne and his guests were snickering at us the moment we departed.”
“Oh, surely not!” Honoria argued. “I quite liked Lord Althorne. He did not have to invite us, nor did he need to go out of his way to ensure we all had a lovely time—though I suspect he did so because he admires Octavia.”
“Exactly! Men never do anything unless it benefits them in some way.”
Her younger sister smiled across the darkened coach. “Did the duke try to benefit himself at your expense?”
Cassandra refused to acknowledge that vulgar assumption. She turned her face to the window, studying the moonlit pastures and hedgerows as though they were the most fascinating things in the world.
“Come now, Cass. You know I meant nothing by that,” Honoria said. “Not every girl gets to flirt with a duke. Perhaps I am just a little bit envious of you.”
Cassandra met her sister’s eyes. “I don’t see why you ought to be jealous. You have George Fulton. Not every girl in Longstone gets to flirt with the postman.”
“Actually, I suspect most girls in Longstone do flirt with our postman. George seems to have eyes for everyone but me. Did you know he thinks of me as a beloved sister?”
“Are you quite certain?”
