Hopefully, Honoria would return with a fresh cake from the bakery. Imagine her young sister’s face when she found the duke stretched out upon their sofa as if he belonged there!
Cassandra tucked the last of the work away. She would labor over her embroidery hoop until waking him could no longer be avoided.
Wadebridge had admired her dahlias. He’d asked her to stitch something for him, and she looked forward to the project. She looked forward to knowing him better, so that she could craft the perfect gift for this great man.
Her fingers itched to get started.
Cassandra rose quietly from her chair. She went to the window—the one that looked out across the lane, the green, and the White Lion beyond. She moved to lift her sewing box and embroidery hoop from its perch on the ledge when she spied a familiar figure heading her way.
She watched George Fulton, their postman, storm toward the cottage.
Her heart sank. Something told her that he wasnotdelivering a letter.
Cassandra turned back to the sleeping duke, who absolutely could not be discovered lounging on her sofa. His boots could not be seen drying by the door.
She must reach George before he reached her cottage.
Cassandra ran for the umbrella and deployed it as she hauled open the door. She burst over the threshold and almost crashed into the young Mr. Fulton.
“George!” she said, gathering her composure. Rain fell about her in a sick drizzle.
He touched his cap. “Miss Cassandra, I am glad I caught you.”
They had known one another since childhood. She’d seen him in his underdrawers, for Heaven’s sake. He had always been a little bit in awe of the Staunton sisters, thought they counted him as a friend. She hoped he would not embarrass himself by bringing up that old infatuation.
“Have you a letter for me?” she asked, holding out hope that he had come on a more benign mission.
He did not reach into his postman’s bag. He put his hand to his heart, instead. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Why else do you think I scraped and saved to take lessons with your father? I passed my examinations foryou. I knew you’d never wed a mere carpenter’s son.”
“Oh, George…”
He was tall, blond, and more attractive than any other village lad. He looked so smart in his uniform, so proud of his occupation. She had rarely known him to be in a sour mood. To his credit, he was utterly uncomplicated. There was no better catch for a Longstone girl.
Even Honoria had developed an infatuation with him, though George had only ever had eyes forher—Cassandra—the most beautiful Staunton sister.
“When I heard there was a duke rooming at the White Lion, I was not surprised,” he continued. “A wealthy, powerful man would want a comely woman on his arm. You could be a duchess if you set your heart to it.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “But I don’t think that fellow is here to marry you.”
She raised her brows. “If I didn’t know you so well, George, I might be offended.”
“I do beg your pardon, but I thought you had a right to know. There’s talk about His Grace in the village. Job Benning was having his horse shod and I overheard the gents talking in the stable yard. The Duke of Wadebridge is a drunkard, and a scoundrel, and a seducer of women. They said he behaved despicably toward Miss Raines. The ladies won’t step foot from Stone House so long as he’s in the village.”
It was no use trying to explain to George Fulton that beautiful, haughty Miss Raines deserved every word of disrespect Wadebridge had shown her. There were always two sides to every story.
“Now, I don’t blame you for wanting to be his duchess—I hear he is a handsome enough fellow—but at what price? He is an awful man, Miss Cassandra, and will cause you nothing but heartache.”
Rain fell around them. Her skirts had grown wet and heavy at the hems. A steady stream of water ran down George’s nose, dripping off the tip. He was jealous, she knew, yet he really believed he had her best interest at heart.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, George. You’ll be relieved to know that I’ve no intentions of marrying Wadebridge.” She lifted her skirts to step away. “If you’ll excuse me, I really must return inside—”
The young man touched her arm to stop her. “Won’t you invite me in, then? I know Honoria is not at home. I saw her looking in the shops, so I know she’ll be gone for much of the afternoon. She does love her ribbons.” He smiled, softening his grip on her elbow. “We might speak in private, you and I, for I’ve something to ask you that I’d rather not discuss in the lane.”
Oh, dear. Cassandra absolutelycould notallow him inside. “This is not a good time…”
She blocked the door, resting her hand on the knob. She wielded her umbrella like a shield, but George Fulton would not be dissuaded. He dropped down to one knee in the puddling garden path.
“Marry me, Miss Cassandra. I might not be a duke, but I’d treat you like a princess,” he vowed. “I’ve been saving up for a home of my own. We’d only have to live with Ma and Pa for a year or two after we’re wed. But I’ve my own bedroom now, as the little ‘uns have moved upstairs. You could decorate it any way you liked.”
Although he meant well, the prospect of sharing the Fulton’s cramped cottage did not endear her to his cause. They might save and save on his postman’s wages, and she wouldstillnever have a household of her own.
