When His Grace realized just how sick she became—for one week each month, like clockwork, with no reprieve—he would send her packing. She’d return to Longstone in disgrace.
Honoria’s eyes went wide over her teacup. “Do you not know?”
Cassandra had some knowledge of what happened between men and women in the bedroom. Everyone believed her utterly innocent because of her affliction, yet she’d imagined such wondrous things happening toher.
There were nights when she could not sleep for the wanting.
“Of course I know,” she replied. “I only meant that Wadebridge does not seem the least bit concerned that I cannot offer him proper female companionship. And how doyouknow what transpires between a man and his mistress, Hon?”
The youngest Staunton sister blushed. It was not out of the ordinary for a young woman to be curious of such things, but no lady ever admitted to experiencing inappropriate thoughts.
“His Grace must truly care for you,” Honoria said, “if he is asking you to live with him after you refused his proposal.”
“I suspect he is accustomed to getting his way—by any means necessary.”
“Oh, Cass! Is it so hard for you to admit that he loves you? I believe he would go to the ends of the earth for you, yet you won’t even budge for him. He wants to make a life with you.”
“We both know what that would mean.” Isolation. Ruination. Possibly, damnation.
“Independence. Comfort. Safety. Companionship,” Honoria argued. “You could leave Longstone. Travel the country. Have a life with the man you love. You might even get to use those skills you’ve been blessed with, rather than puttering ‘round this village, where everyone knows they’re too small for the likes of you!”
Cassandra could only stare at her sister in shock. Did her friends and neighborsreallythink that? Longstone was her home—she’d been born here and expected to die here. Just because she was beautiful and educated did not mean she was meant for something greater. She was no different than Miss Mary Brooks, or Mrs. Harris, or George Fulton’s mother.
But she had refused the hand of every local boy who’d ever asked. Only the Duke of Wadebridge’s proposal had tempted her.
Neither Mary Brooks, nor Liza Harris, nor any of George Fulton’s little sisters would ever expect such a grand suitor calling at their threshold. Perhaps shewasdifferent…
Not better.
Not more beautiful or more accomplished.
Simply different.
It had taken Wadebridge’s attention, her sister’s harsh words, and twenty-three years of genteel boredom for Cassandra to finally see that.
She did not want to spend her life darning socks and sweeping floors to keep out the creeping loneliness. Happiness was worth more to her than respectability.
She was going to Cornwall.
“Please don’t tell Octavia,” she begged.
Honoria emptied the tea pot into both of their cups. They were going to need all the tea they could get for this conversation. “She will notice that you are missing…”
“But she will think this is her fault. She will try to stop me. She will blame Wadebridge for seducing me, and possibly ruin her relationship with Lord Althorne.”
“What shall I tell her, then?”
Cassandra thought for a moment. “Tell her—and anyone who asks—that I’ve gone to the seaside for my health. It isn’t a complete lie.” No one would suspect the truth, for she was frigid and barren, and sexless women could not succumb to temptation. “Let me write to Octavia when I am ready.”
“And what amIto do when you’re gone?”
A part of her felt guilty for leaving her younger sister behind, but Cassandra was emerging into a new life. Someday, Honoria would understand.
She reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “Find your own happiness. Make your own future. And don’t you dare settle for anything less than what you are worth.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Wade had every faith in her—so much so that he purchased her a one-way ticket without any promise of commitment from her lips. Words were unnecessary, for theirs had not been a farewell kiss. The embrace they’d shared two nights ago in the darkened lane had been the confirmation he’d needed.
