Cassandra had heard tales of fish who never grew any larger than the bowls they were kept in. Plants who choked on their own roots for want of space. While she would miss her cozy cottage in Longstone, she could not help but feel strangled and stagnant there.
Now, she could stretch her legs. At Pender Abbey, on this windswept Cornish headland, she could become the person she always wanted to be—a woman of purpose, of passion.
Mrs. Cardy escorted her to her rooms. Wade followed along, keeping his fingers laced loosely with hers. Occasionally, he stopped to point out something of interest on their walk through the house. Cassandra did her best not to become overwhelmed by the priceless art and the elegant surroundings, and the seemingly impossible labyrinth of corridors.
She’d require a map and compass just to find her way downstairs.
At last, they reached the end of the passage. The private wing stood on the eastern side of the house. As Mrs. Cardy swung open one particular door, Cassandra could just make out the river through the bank of windows.
“These are your rooms, ma’am,” the woman said. She looked down the length of her nose at her new mistress.
Cassandra knew what they must think of her, how she had lowered herself in pursuit of the Duke of Wadebridge. The servants believed she had sold her body for a life of wealth, luxury, and idle pleasure—but they were wrong.
For twenty-three years, she had lived beneath the gaze of gossips and tattlers. She had worried what her neighbors might think if she put a foot out of place. She’d been a good girl and always tried to keep her head down.
One old woman was not going to intimidate her. Cassandra swept past Mrs. Cardy with her shoulders straight and eyes on the horizon. This washerhouse, now.
“How charming!” she said, stopping a step or two across the threshold. Her bedchamber was as large as the ground floor of her childhood cottage. Tall, shining windows overlooked the grounds, and the grasses, and the heather-blanketed hillside that swept right down to the river. The world was glittering blue, lush green, and riotous purple for as far as her eyes could see.
When she turned around the room, she noticed a carved marble mantelpiece and a fire grate so clean she could kiss it without fear of staining her lips! The walls were papered in Chinese silk, and the enormous bed was hung with a fringed velvet canopy that cascaded from the scalloped ceiling.
This wasn’t a room for a guest, or even a mistress.
This was a space fit for a duchess.
A snug sitting area was nestled in one corner of the room. The primrose-yellow settee and matching armchair seemed a perfect place to put one’s feet up, and the writing desk by the windows would surely be the origin of many happy letters scribbled to her sisters.
But what claimed Cassandra’s attention—what practically had her on her knees weeping for joy—was the enormous copper bathtub positioned behind a folding screen.
She had never seen anything so extravagant.
Growing up, she, Octavia, and Honoria had lugged a pail to the pump to draw their bathwater. Twice per week, they heated it on the hob, and poured steaming water into a hip-bath placed before the kitchen stove. Their tub had never been hot enough, or big enough, or private enough.
She could stretch out in this copper cradle from nose to toes—and it wasallfor her.
Cassandra turned back to Wade. He and Mrs. Cardy hovered in the doorway, letting her gain her bearings. He stood with his hands jammed in his trouser pockets and eyes cast in shadow.
“This is my room?” she asked him.
He nodded. “And you’ve a dressing room next door.”
She poked her head into the antechamber, and then returned, laughing. “I haven’t the frocks to fill it!”
“That is easily remedied.” Hadn’t he told her she could order whatever she liked from the merchants in the village?‘Your heart’s desire is but a train ride from Bodmin away’.
She would purchase a new autumn wardrobe for when the weather turned cool. She would no longer need to mend her stockings or patch her petticoats. She could have new shoes!
Cassandra squealed with delight. Ignoring the housekeeper’s wide eyes, she rucked up her skirt hems and raced through room. She fell into Wadebridge’s arms and wrapped him in a tight embrace.
“Thank you! Thank you, I am so glad to be here! You are wonderful, Wade! Oh, you’re just wonderful!”
He lifted her feet from the carpet. He grinned at her as if she had been speaking the sweetest love words, not babbling on insensibly. Cassandra knew he’d never brought any woman to these rooms before, and that her reception of the space—herapproval—mattered.
“Will it do, then, darling buttercup?”
She gave him one last squeeze before he returned her to Earth. “It shall do nicely, indeed!”
They pulled away at the sound of Mrs. Cardy’s cough. Cassandra turned toward the old woman, who still hovered by the door. Only this time, the housekeeper was not alone. A liveried footman stood at attention in the corridor, arms laden with luggage. Behind him queued a line of kitchen boys with cans of hot water for her bath.
