He was a handsome man. Very handsome. And the gentleness in his nature was attractive. Despite the frustration she had felt after the churlish treatment by Mrs. Towler, her experience with Mr. Warrington had been quite different. She supposed that at one point in her life, it would have been easy to consider such a time romantic. All the elements were present on their walk back to the boardinghouse—they’d just endured an intense event and were alone under the cover of darkness. But time and experience had a way of dulling the allure of such a situation. And once tarnished, she doubted the luster would ever return.
At one time, securing a husband would have been first and foremost on her mind. But now she needed to remain focused on answering the questions that would complete her.
***
After the morning’s service, Cassandra trailed Betsy from the nave, past the stone font, and through the ancient wooden doors. Just outside, on the path leading to the high street, Mr. North greeted each of his parishioners as they departed.
He smiled, familiarly and almost affectionately, as she approached, and he bowed. “Miss Hale! I wondered if you would be joining us today.”
She curtsied. “I would not miss it.”
He cast a glance toward Betsy and gave a nod before returninghis attention to her. “I hope while you are in our village you’ll join us each week.”
As he spoke to her, enthusiasm animated his expression, but the manner in which he ignored Betsy added vibrance to the haughty picture of him Betsy had painted earlier.
Other parishioners were queuing behind her, so she bid farewell and moved farther down the path, through the very graveyard where she had first encountered him. Betsy muttered something about needing to speak with someone, and she stepped away, leaving Cassandra alone.
She was but a few steps away from the Clark gravestones. Her gaze drifted over to them.
Dread, sadness, and the desire for answers pushed forward.
What secrets, if any, did everyone besides her know?
At the call of her name, she turned to see Rachel Warrington approaching her. Genuine happiness to see the young woman filled her. “Miss Warrington!”
“I am so glad to see you.” Rachel descended in a quick curtsy, her eyes bright and her cheeks pink from the chill in the air. “I was afraid I would not get a chance to see you again. James told me you were not sure how long you would be in the village.”
A strange thread pulled within her at the thought of Mr. Warrington speaking of her. “I would not leave without saying goodbye. Besides, I’ll be in Anston awhile yet, I think.”
Rachel looked down to the gravestones at Cassandra’s feet. “James also said that you’re searching for information about your family. Are you having any success?”
Cassandra shifted. Somehow it felt safer to speak with the Warringtons on this topic as opposed to Betsy. After all, Cassandra and Rachel already shared a secret—a solidarity—which held with it an understood discretion. “Not quite yet, but I’ve not given up hope.”
Rachel fiddled with the strings of her reticule and glanced over her thin shoulder before speaking. “I never did thank you for your assistance to me.”
Cassandra shook her head. “In truth I did nothing. I just happened to be there.”
“Nothing? How can you say that?” Incredulity clouded Rachel’s expression. “Who knows what would have happened or where I’d be if you’d not intervened. I’m not sure I would have been strong enough to resist Richard on my own.”
“You are much, much stronger than you think you are.” Cassandra squeezed Rachel’s gloved hand. “Have you heard from the young man?”
Rachel’s face fell. “No. And I doubt I ever shall again. It is for the best. I see that now.”
“And your brother and Mrs. Towler? Are you on better terms with them than you were the other night?”
Rachel bit her lower lip. “Things are set to right with James. We often don’t see things the same way, but we always come ’round. I fear I’ll never be on good terms with Mrs. Towler.”
A giggle rose from the direction from which Rachel had come. The two Warrington girls were playing on the walkway, clad in matching dove-gray pelisses and chip-straw bonnets adorned with white ribbons. Cassandra recognized the older brunette child from the orchard on her first visit to Briarton Park. “Are those young ladies your nieces?”
Rachel looked over her shoulder, lifting her hand to still the curls wild about her face in the wind. “Yes. Maria and Rose. James’s daughters. They are quite spirited.”
Cassandra watched as the little one dropped to the ground and pulled some of the grass. “Do they not have a governess?”
“No. They would benefit from one, I’m sure. As it is they run Mrs. Towler ragged. She is supposed to be in charge of them, but sheoften does not pay them much heed, or rather, she doesn’t know what to do with them.”
Cassandra frowned. She was definitely in favor of allowing young girls plenty of fresh air, play, and sunshine, but there was a time and a place for such behavior. “And does your brother not intervene?”
“He tries, but he knows nothing of such things. He is like a big child sometimes. He encourages their wildness, I think.”
