Alex’s wails subsided into hiccupping sobs. He’d laid his head on her shoulder, sniffing. “I-I didn’t get my ice,” he complained pitifully.
Cassandra felt a wave of guilt assail her. She had promised him that treat. “I’ll ask your Uncle Edmund for funds for tomorrow to get your treat. If he won’t give us money, I’ll send a note to your Uncle Miles,” she promised. She hadn’t wanted to take money from her brother Miles. Perhaps that had been just her pride, and she was being missish. She hadn’t been able to convince Edmund to give her any money so far; why did she think he might change his mind now? Stubbornly, she hadn’t wanted charity from her brother. As far as society knew, she was the wealthy Marchioness of Darkford!
They turned the corner into the street where they lived. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man turn as well. Cassandra picked up her pace, though Alex grew heavier and heavier in her arms. She only slowed once they reached the steps before the townhouse. It would be difficult to climb the steps carrying Alex. Reluctantly, she set him down and took his hand.
In the house she let Dulcie take Alex upstairs while she handed her bonnet, gloves, and reticule to a waiting footman. She crossed the hall to the visitor’s parlor to the right of the door and looked out the window, careful to keep to the side of the heavy, swagged, brown velvet drapes. The gentleman who’d been behind them was across the street, talking to a street sweeper urchin, ten years of age, she guessed. The young lad claimed the right to clean up after horses on their street and earn the tips received for his efforts. The man pointed to her house as he handed the boy a coin, and then he walked down the street, turning once to look up at their house. She pulled away from the edge of the drape. She didn’t want him to see her watching. The boy remained in front of the house, picking up rocks and skipping them down the street.
Cassandra frowned at the interchange between them. It did not appear the gentleman paid the boy for his street sweeping services. It was something else. Her brow furrowed deeper.
She started to turn away when she saw a woman walk up to the boy and engage him in conversation.It was Rose!Lady Guinevere’s maid. What was she doing here?
It appeared she knew the boy, for they had an easy camaraderie, laughing together. She asked him some questions, then listened intently as he answered her, his arms flying about, wildly punctuating his words. She looked up the street, then back at the boy, nodding. Cassandra saw her take a coin from inside the palm of her glove and press it into the boy’s palm as she talked earnestly to him. He nodded vigorously. Rose patted his shoulder and then walked hurriedly away.
The boy shadow-boxed his glee, reclaimed his tools, and jauntily walked up and down the street on the lookout for new horse droppings.
What was that all about?Cassandra wondered. She turned away from the window, her frown replaced by curiosity. She slowly walked out of the room, intending to go to her room to change clothes. She nodded to Edmund in passing as he came out of the library.
“A moment, Cassandra,” Edmund said.
She turned toward him. “Yes?”
“While you were gone, we received notice that Harrison Farrow is coming to visit on his way to Brighton for the summer.”
Cassandra made a moue of distaste. Vanessa’s younger brother, Harrison Farrow, was not a favored person. She found him ingratiating. And since Richard had died, he seemed to have acquired the notion she would welcome his suit.
“When?” she asked.
“He should arrive tomorrow. Said he would visit three to five days before journeying on to Brighton.”
She nodded, wondering how difficult it would be to remain out of his range.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said and turned to go up the stairs.
“You were not gone long today,” Edmund observed.
She turned slowly back to look at him. “No, we were not,” she agreed.
“Why?”
“I beg your pardon?” Cassandra asked, raising her chin as she looked at him.
“Why did you return so soon?”
She studied him a moment. There was no way she would tell him the truth of why they returned. He’d never believed the story of how Richard came to die as it were. And now there was a book that described it? No.
She frowned. “I suddenly did not feel well, so we returned home. Unfortunately, Alex did not get his ice. Tomorrow, may I prevail upon you to provide funds for an excursion to Gunter’s for Alex? Should I feel well, of course.”
Edmund frowned. “I don’t—”
Cassandra interrupted him. “Edmund, now that I have returned to society—albeit in a limited fashion—do you wish it bruited about the Ton that you withhold funds from me? That I cannot purchase even an ice for my son? Do you wish to be considered a nip farthing executor? How should that be received?”
“Now, Cassandra, you know you are not in a good state of mind…”
“Edmund, we can discuss this later,” Cassandra said tiredly. “At the moment, as I told you, I do not feel well. I have a blazing headache and wish to lie down for a while.” She turned away from him and continued up the stairs to her room, aware that Edmund stared after her.
In her chambers, she allowed Agnes, her maid, to help her out of her walking dress and short corset. She slipped on her dressing gown over her chemise.
“I’ll get you some tea, ma’am,” her maid said.
