Mrs. Cardy leaped into action, doubtless taking some comfort in the tasks assigned to her. Rooms had required airing. Linens needed washing and changing. Wardrobes had wanted opening, and the old copper bathtub begged for filling. There had not been a lady in residence at Pender Abbey in nearly twenty years, andeverythinghad been made ready for their arrival.
“I can show you to your apartment, ma’am,” his housekeeper offered.
Cassandra smiled. The warmth in her cheeks hadn’t dimmed in the shadow of his servants’ judgment. “That is very kind, thank you. Do lead the way.”
Wade followed the women through the hall. Mrs. Cardy escorted their little group up the wide marble staircase that curved to the gallery above. Each step brought them beneath the gaze of some ancient Wadebridge ancestor.
In pride of place hung one large portrait of a dark haired beauty with merry eyes. Cassandra paused on the landing to admire the painting. “Your mother?”
He inclined his head.
“You look like her.”
Mrs. Cardy stopped a discreet distance away. The wiry matron waited while they spoke.
“Do you remember what I told you about her?” he asked Cassandra.
“Of course.” It was not something folk forgot, though there were times when his mother could scarcely recall her own story.
Wade frowned at the portrait. “She was chosen only for her beauty. My father was a sickly young man, and knew he was not long for this world. He needed a wife. He required an heir. Although he was not unkind to her, I believe he wanted to bed a pretty woman. He did his duty and she fulfilled hers—nine months later, I came along.”
Cassandra studied him. “Were they terribly unhappy?”
“I don’t think so. Whenever my mother speaks of him, she remembers him fondly. It was what came afterward that was horrible,” he explained. “Until I reached my majority, the estate fell under the care of trustees. Men were appointed to be impartial custodians of my money, my property, and me.”
They had deemed his mother incompetent and threatened to send her back to her parents, where she would live out her days on a widow’s pittance. They’d convinced her to give him up, as she had neither the means nor the intellect to bring up a child.
Mother had done what she believed to be best for him. Indeed, the trustees had raised the perfect duke, but even the most careful education was no substitute for love.
“So I’ve seen firsthand that looks aren’t everything. A house this size takes patience to manage, and compassion to oversee the people who live and work here. I own a dozen other estates and a London townhouse overlooking Hyde Park. They too require a steady hand to hold the reins.” He leveled his eyes on hers. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you capable of rising to the challenge.”
A life with the Duke of Wadebridge was not for the faint of heart. Thank God, Cassandra had courage in spades.
And a sense of humor, too.
“Am I not to be a woman of leisure, then?” she asked, feigning surprise.
He laughed. “I’ve never known you to be idle.”
She laughed and squeezed his hand, for she was excited to be mistress of Pender Abbey. Hadn’t she told him of her dreams for a home of her own with a household to manage? He’d given her a palace, and laid his world at her feet.
With a nod to Mrs. Cardy, they continued through the gallery. He looked forward to discussing each work of art with Cassandra, but knew she felt tired from their travels, and wanted a hot bath and a good meal.
“You’ll meet my mother someday,” he told her as they walked arm-in-arm down the carpeted corridor. “She will love you—no offense, but she loves everyone.” He smiled. “Though I suspect she’ll love you most of all.”
“Do you think so?”
“Oh, she shall tell me that I’ve done well for myself, and I had better make you smile. She’ll study your eyes to see if they’re happy—she wants everyone to be happy—and likely kiss you and make a great fuss over you.”
Cassandra grinned. “As all indulgent mothers do.”
He had, quite possibly, the most indulgent mother of all. But that wasn’t the point. “She’ll love you, Cassandra, just as I do.”
***
She had not been brought here as an ornament or toy. She was not to be put upon a shelf and admired like a prize, nor paraded before his servants and neighbors like a trophy. She was here to live and work, and to spend her life with Wade.
He loved her, understood her, and had gone above and beyond anything she’d expected from him. Pender Abbey was an exquisite golden palace—done up in lemony yellows and sunny creams—but it was also their home.
