She climbed into their new first class carriage carrying a brown bundle in addition to her dainty reticule. Wade stood, feeling more than a little cramped in this low-roofed coach, for the trip from Plymouth to Bodmin did not warrant the luxurious compartments of the longer-legged railway lines. He waited for Cassandra to settle her hoops on the bench, and then took his seat beside her.
He was immensely curious to know what she had purchased—she had not asked him for any money, and he had not considered whether she might need anything while they’d stopped. Once the train rattled across the Royal Albert Bridge, which spanned the River Tamar from Devon to Cornwall, his traveling companion unfurled her bag and fished through its contents.
Cassandra offered the paper sack to him. “Fancy a barley sugar?”
She’d boughtcandy?He felt a twinge in his mouth just looking at the hard, golden-colored confections. “Thank you, no. They hurt my teeth.”
“You’re not supposed to crunch them, but to suck them,” she explained. “My mother used to give them in church to keep us from falling asleep. I crave sugar drops during services to this day.”
Boiled sweets were only suitable for little children whose teeth were going to rot out anyway. “You had better not come crying to me,” he said, “when you end up in a dental parlor—or missing half your teeth like poor Leah Caswell.”
Each time he visited Caswell Hall, his honorary niece boasted fewer and fewer teeth. Of course, such shedding was perfectly natural for a six-year-old, but the loss of Leah’s baby teeth disturbed him. The sight of her gappy, gummy mouth shook him to his core.
Oblivious to his suffering, Cassandra laughed and popped a barley sugar drop into her mouth. “I’ve perfectly good teeth, I’ll have you know. Mama and Papa were particular about our dental health, and threatened visits to the smithy if we did not brush well enough.”
For those who could not afford a dentist, the village blacksmith was the next practical option. As a boy, Wade had been subjected to regular examinations from a Harley Street tooth-puller. He feared those yearly directives—marched to town each spring for clothing orders, medical visits, and errands too tedious even for a young duke.
He avoided dentists like the plague.
“I had a sore molar once at school,” he confessed. “The lads held me down and wrenched it loose. It was something of a trophy for a bit, passed ‘round from pocket to pocket.” He’d bled copiously enough to frighten the house dame. Wade rubbed his jaw and smiled at the memory. “Looking back, it was, perhaps, rather gruesome.”
“I do not envy you your boyhood, Wade. Such stories make me glad to have been educated at home…with sisters. The worst that ever befell me was when Honoria scorched my hair with hot curling tongs. I couldn’t even stay cross with her, because that smoldering patch was the reason Mama finally allowed me to pin my hair up.”
Cassandra wore her hair up now. The dark, neatly coiled locks were tucked beneath her veiled hat. He wagered they were riotous when left on their own, and longed for the moment when he could run his fingertips through each cascading curl.
He shifted on the cushion, pressing nearer to whisper, “I am sure you looked lovely.”
Her cheeks pinkened as his lips brushed her sensitive flesh. The air between their bodies felt warm, radiant.
How had tales of teeth, hair, and childhood traumas fanned his ardor? Wade loathed reliving his past or discussing it openly, yet sharing stories with Cassandra only made him feel closer to her. Not ostracized, alone, or set apart.
He wanted this kind, courageous woman to know things about him that no one else knew. He needed her to love him despite everything he’d endured—much of which he had brought upon himself over the years.
She waggled her sack of sugar drops.
His guardians had instilled an unhealthy fear of dentistry in him when he ought to have been sneaking sweets along with his schoolmates. The Wadebridge trustees had obsessed over his health, as his father had been a sickly man who’d barely lived long enough to sire an heir.
Indulging in confections—withher—might prove a delicious rebellion…
It certainly wasn’t wine, or whiskey, or any of the other multitude of poor decisions he’d made just to spite those callous old codgers.
“Oh, what the hell,” he said, reaching a hand into the bag. “Why not?”
Wade placed a barley sugar in his mouth, rolling the hard sweet across his tongue. Damn, but it was delicious!
Cassandra laughed at her little victory, and then reached for his gloved hand. They crossed into Cornwall with fingers laced and candy melting against their cheeks.
He’d never known a more blissful homecoming.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The train slowed into a small station—a coastal outpost, really. Hardly more than an engine shed and a grey, rubble stone depot boasting one window for ticket sales and a pair of weatherworn benches.
Cassandra had seen many villages on their journey, but never had she encountered anywhere smaller than her own dear Longstone. She wagered that, had this place not been the country home of a wealthy duke, there would be no railway stop at all.
“Heavens, Wade,” she said, gathering her bundle and reticule. “How remote!”
He smiled, as if she’d paid the tiny fishing village some rare compliment. “I’ve always considered it to be isolated and dull, but with you, I think it shall be…private.”
