She laughed. “We have supper together almost every night!”
“Let’s make tonight special. Wear your best frock, and I’ll put on my tailcoat. We can dine by candlelight.”
“Like that evening when we first met at Caswell Hall?”
Wade smiled, and Cassandra felt her heart flutter.
“Better,” he said, “because now we are not strangers.”
No, indeed. They were lovers.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Oh, ma’am, but ‘ee are beautiful!”
Cassandra smiled at her reflection in the cheval glass—and at the grinning maid standing just behind her. Wenna succeeded in dressing her mistress’ hair for this formal occasion. Dark curls had been brushed to a shine, styled fashionably atop Cassandra’s head, and trimmed with a length of lace. She looked better prepared to visit the great reception rooms of London than a supper by the sea.
“Thank you, Wenna,” she told the girl. “His Grace will be pleased.”
The maid fussed with the low bodice of Cassandra’s apricot evening frock. She’d powdered her mistress’ bare shoulders, though there was little to be done for the freckles marring her bosom.
“Aren’t ‘ee pleased, ma’am?”
For so long, Cassandra had felt ambivalent of her looks—the pretty reflection in the mirror had caused her much trouble over the years—but tonight, she gazed fondly upon the confident beauty staring back at her.
Tonight, she liked what she saw.
“Oh, yes, Wenna! Very much so.”
The young maid smiled. She practically radiated beneath her mob cap as she bent to fluff her mistress’ trailing hems, so that they caressed the carpet as she walked. She followed Cassandra to the door, through the corridor, and out into the gallery beyond.
Wade waited beneath the portrait of his mother. When he saw Cassandra sweep into the space, he turned and bowed to greet her.
He wore immaculately tailored evening clothes and glossy black shoes. His hair had been combed and styled in much the same way she remembered it had been at Caswell, and—as always—he sported a fresh shave. As he reached out a hand, gold cufflinks glinted in the lamplight.
He brought her knuckles to his lips. “The sight of you steals my breath.”
She laughed. Heavens, she even blushed! “Have you not grown tired of this face and this frock, Your Grace?”
“Never!” he said, smiling up at her. Wade stepped back to offer her his arm. “I thought it fitting to meet you in the gallery tonight. I haven’t a Gainsborough or a Reynolds, but my noble ancestors cut a fine dash.”
Indeed, they did. Cassandra had spent a few hours walking among the portraits here at Pender Abbey. They were every bit as fascinating as the panniered ladies soen vogueamong collectors—more so, for these familiar faces shared Wadebridge’s nose, his eyes, his insolent air.
Wade led her through the gallery. Thankfully, Mama had educated the Staunton sisters in etiquette and comportment. She had trained her girls for a future that seemed improbable for three humble country ladies, yet Cassandra knew how to gracefully manage her hoop skirts; how to rest her hand on the duke’s sleeve, allowinghimthe privilege of escortingherinto dinner.
She felt grateful for Mama’s forethought, though the industrious middle sister had grumbled of the lady-training at the time. As a young woman who expected nothing from life beyond Longstone, Cassandra would’ve rather spent her afternoons mending or baking.
Her gallant escort paused in the dining passage. The lamps had been lit, though it was not yet dark outside. Lamplight mingled with fading sunlight, casting the corridor in a warm, orange glow. It seemed cheerful, welcoming, and so much likehome.
She turned to Wade, who admired her openly despite the two maroon-liveried footmen flanking the double-doors. He looked as if he had something up his sleeve—or, rather, hidden behind his back.
“I’ve a gift for you,” he said.
After her week of misery, the fact that he still looked at her as though she hung the very moon was benefaction enough. Wade been through the worst with her, yet loved her all the more for it.
He produced a jeweler’s box, its leather cover worn smooth and faded by time. He offered the box out to her, and she carefully lifted the lid.
Cassandra was glad that Wade kept a firm grip on the edges of the jeweler’s box, for she nearly swooned at the contents. Inside lay a fortune of pearls—identical in size, shape, and iridescence—strung into five strands of graduating lengths.
