“Papa was protesting the railway,” she admitted. “He hated the noise and disruption it brought to the countryside, but most of all, he worried it would expose our family to our grandfather’s wrath. Mama and Papa tried so hard to build a good life for us here, and he feared it would ruin everything.”
Her father had been right, in the end. “He was arrested with the rest of the protesters and contracted gaol fever. I’ve heard the conditions are deplorable, even for the lightest offenders. Mama went to nurse him, and neither survived.”
They walked, though Wadebridge was silent. Her story troubled him.
At last, he shook his head and sighed. “I own stock in that railway…”
“I am not surprised.” It seemed any gentleman with money to spare invested in some railway scheme or another. She could not hold that against him. “It is a profitable enterprise.”
Perhaps His Grace had never before considered that his coffers were filled by the systematic destruction of the countryside, exploitation of workers, and the ruination of innocent lives caught somewhere in the middle of it all.
He pulled away from her at the village green. “You should know that if your sister marries Althorne, she’ll be closely involved in railway business. His company is soon to build a new station in London called St. Pancras, which will earn the Caswell family a fortune. That cannot weigh easily on her conscience, in light of what you’ve told me.”
Cassandra pivoted to face him. This was news to her. “He means to marry Octavia?”
“He did when last we spoke—but the final decision rests with your sister, of course.” Wadebridge eyed her from beneath the brim of his hat. “Did you not know?”
She shook her head, for Octavia had never mentioned romance. “I believed my sister opposed to the institution. She was the most determined of the three of us to refuse our grandfather’s summons.”
“You seem averse to the leg-shackle, as well,” he said.
“It’s not that we don’t want to marry, but we wish to make our own choices. We deserve to have control of our own lives,” she told him. “If Octavia wishes to wed Lord Althorne, then she should do so. Being an honorable man’s wife is no less worthy an endeavor than being a spinster governess. As women, we have so few opportunities. We should be able to decide whether to marry or not. My sisters and I shan’t be ordered to town like cattle being driven to market!”
He smiled, as if in awe of her declaration. Likely, he was sorry he ever brought the subject up. “Your grandfather must be a fool to think he could rein you in.”
Cassandra shrugged, enjoying the feeling of that weight lifting off her shoulders. She could talk to Wadebridge about anything without fear of censure. Despite a reputation for philandering, he was not the sort of man who dismissed the opinions of the fairer sex.
He seemed to delight in her independent, high-spirited, often-contrary points of view.
She smiled, thinking of her mother’s legacy. When Grandfather Dawsen had tried to rule Mama and forbade her from marrying Papa, the young woman had severed all ties and eloped with the man she loved. “One could say that a stubborn streak runs in my family.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Cassandra Staunton was not stubborn—she was fearless. If her sisters were equally as courageous, then he admired them all the more. He hoped Simon would marry Octavia, for she would make a first-rate viscountess, an excellent partner, and a strong female figure for Leah. He hoped Honoria would emerge from beneath her sisters’ wings and blaze her own equally bold path.
If not, he prayed they found joy in whatever future lay ahead of them.
Wade and Cassandra walked the row of cottages lining the lane. These humble residences were shuttered and quiet, darkened for the evening. The village was peaceful, and on such a night as this, it seemed as if they had all of Longstone to themselves.
He typically avoided such calamities. Peace and quiet, thoughtful conversation, and finding himself alone with a virtuous lady were dangerous waters for a bachelor duke to tread. If it had been anyone but Cassandra, he would have left her on the pavement. He’d have gone straight to the station and bought the first ticket to London.
Wade needed the noise, the distraction, and the temptations of town to keep him from confronting his own worst enemy—his heart. But his heart belonged to Cassandra Staunton now, and he could no more wrench it from his chest than be parted fromher.
So he walked with her. They strolled in the lane, with moonlight glinting off the slate rooftops, lamplight flickering from the odd window, and surely a million stars sprinkling the Heavens above them. He was not a romantic fellow, but Wade had to admit that this night seemed made for romance.
Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle bellowed. Its lonely cry echoed through the dales as it passed over Simon’s viaduct and through the tunnel carved into the hills surrounding Caswell Hall. The locomotive would pass Longstone soon.
He wondered if it was a night express or some private train bound for destinations unknown.
Wade turned to his pretty companion. The violet silk frock glowed in the dim light. Her dark curls shone. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—whether by candlelight, moonlight, or the harsh light of day.
He longed to see her in a church, haloed in white silk and orange blossoms. And then in his bed, framed by rumpled linens and his own two eager hands.
“Do you want to know what’s out there?” he asked.Beyond Derbyshire.
Cassandra lifted her blue eyes to meet his dark ones. “I suspect it is more of the same. Villages much like this one, filled with people like you and me. Oh, the scenery might be different, but…at its heart…the world is full of quiet places and good people.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?”
