It was harsh, stark, and out of place on the windswept headland, but there was beauty in its boldness, for only a man like Wadebridge would plant his flag and claim this lonely point.
“What do you think of it?” he asked.
“Oh, Wade! It is enormous—larger than Caswell Hall, even.”
He laughed. “Be certain to repeat that when next you speak to your sister.”
She cocked her head. “Which sister?”
“Octavia, of course. Hearing that my house is bigger than his has been something of a sticking point between Althorne and me. The news will make him jealous.”
Cassandra pondered that. She turned to study the pockmarked stone and lead roof as the house loomed. It was a leviathan no matter how one cut it. “Does such a thing matter between gentlemen?”
Again, he laughed. “Some days, it is theonlything that matters between gentlemen.”
The open barouche pulled to a smart stop at the steps. The coachman—Pasco—swung down to open the door.
Wade jumped out, his booted feet crunched on the gravel as he landed, and then he offered her his hand.
“I used to be terribly envious of Simon,” he confessed as she disembarked. “He had a fine home and a loving family. He had a brother, a playmate. He could romp the dales and bathe in the river at Caswell Hall whilst all I had was an eerie, silent house on a lonesome jag of rock. I hated Pender Abbey—a place devoid of joy, laughter, and love. It was certainly no home to me.”
This was hardly the welcome she’d envisioned, yet Cassandra understood what he was trying to say. What heneededfrom her, and why he’d brought her here.
She clung to his arm and pulled him close. In front of the coachman, groom, and the footman who hauled open the front doors, she said, “That’s all in the past, Wade. This isourhome now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
He had dreamed of bringing her here, seeing her face light up at the sight of tall windows filtering warm late-afternoon sunlight. He wanted to watch her fingertips dance upon silk draperies that stretched so high one’s neck ached before their eyes reached the curtain rod.
Wade wanted to hear her footsteps echo on the parquet floor of his grand entrance hall, and to hear her laugh when she recognized the color scheme.
Now, she stood in the center of the room, eyes wide. “Oh, Wade, everything is yellow!” Amusement glimmered in those blue depths. “Buttercup yellow!”
The hangings were honey-golden, shot with iridescent thread that twinkled in the light. He had ordered the walls painted pale yellow as soon as he’d regained control of his dukedom from the board of trustees. He’d purchased vibrant Turkey carpets to soften the space and modern upholstery for the fussy French furniture.
It wasn’tallyellow, of course, but Wade had tried to infuse the spirit of his buttercup meadow wherever he could.
Now, he felt a little foolish. His heavy boots clopped against the floorboards as he joined her beneath the chandelier. “You may change whatever you don’t like.”
But Cassandra only laughed. “It’s perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
It was as if he’d been designing this house for her, all along. Flowers bloomed in old urns, their floral scent as delicate as her own. Polished pier glass reflected the brightness and joy she brought to the lives of those she loved. The rosewood accents were warm, elegant, and beautiful—just like her.
Surely, her cheeks ached from grinning, because she had not stopped smiling since they’d arrived. She squeezed his hand with each new discovery.
Even Wade observed it all with fresh eyes, and had hardly noticed the pair of servants standing stiffly in the hall. Indeed, he nearly crashed into them as he and Cassandra took a turn ‘round the space.
“Oh,” Cassandra said, acknowledging their presence. “How do you do?”
Wade paused, his hand still laced with hers. “Cassandra, this is my butler, Tremaine.” The man bowed stiffly. “And my housekeeper, Mrs. Cardy.” The thin grey-haired matron angled herself into a curtsey.
Neither knew what to think of their new mistress, but the cut of their eyes as she greeted them was distrustful and downright unkind. She was a fallen woman, in their opinion, though Wade hadn’t touched her.
He wasn’t worried, for Cassandra would win them over soon enough.
“I trust you will ensure Miss Staunton is comfortable here,” he added.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Tremaine replied.
