After the picnic concluded, Cassandra did not return to the boardinghouse with the rest of the young women. Instead, with her discussions with both Rachel and Betsy fresh in her mind, she felt her task was clear before her, and she set out over the bridge leading from Anston to Briarton Park.
A week ago she never would have had the courage to ask someone for a position of employment. It just was not done.
It was presumptuous, really. She had a decent education, but it did not extend to the exalted level of ladies of the Warringtons’ station. There were etiquette rules and languages that she did not likely know that Maria and Rose would no doubt require.
But she had witnessed their lack of ladylike decorum. They needed guidance. Guidance she could offer. And if anything positive had come out of this debacle, this past week taught her that she was capable of initiating difficult discussions and accomplishing difficult tasks.
The worst Mr. Warrington could say would be no.
After traversing the wooded path from the bridge to the Briarton property, Cassandra pushed open the gate to the side of the front lawn. A fire burned somewhere on the grounds, and the earthy scent of burning leaves and timber lent a bit of familiarity.
She recalled the housekeeper’s ire at Cassandra’s knocking at the main entrance on her first visit, so she continued on to the other end of the house, where the road curved to the stone stables and slate-roofed outbuildings behind them.
She rounded the path and was met with an unexpected sight. Mr. Warrington and another man, presumably the groom, were in the courtyard supervising the young girls on small ponies.
They all had their backs to her, but then the younger girl spotted her and pointed her riding crop in her direction, and both men turned to face her.
They were having a riding lesson.
At the sight her confidence fled, and she felt like a fool. How it must appear for her to come wandering up, uninvited. Unexpected.
She wanted to disappear. To turn and run to escape her embarrassment. But she’d been observed. She had no choice but to muster courage and proceed.
Mr. Warrington handed the lead rope to the groom, patted the girl’s arm, spoke to them both, and then walked toward her.
“Miss Hale,” he said as he approached, “we did not expect you today.”
She made a quick study of his expression, hoping to gauge his reaction to her surprise appearance, but his demeanor struck her as affable and genuine, which put her mind slightly at ease.
“I—I was hoping I might speak to you.” She gripped her reticule tightly. “But I see you are busy, and I do not wish to disturb.”
As he glanced back at the girls, the wind swept down from the trees, disrupting the pale hair over his forehead. “No, not busy. The groom is giving riding lessons to my daughters. We’re just about done. I’ll see them inside. Please, go on into my study. It is through that door, the first room on the left. You can’t miss it.”
She followed his instructions and went to his study cautiously, as if stepping into his private space was a glimpse into who he was.
It was a sizable room, with two large windows overlooking the very courtyard from which she had just entered. She did not intend to spy, but she watched as Mr. Warrington helped the two girls down from the dappled ponies. The little one twirled dramatically about him, and the older one tugged at his arm. He said something to the groom, and then they entered the house from a door on the courtyard’s far side.
She turned back to the center of the room, shrugged her pelisse from her shoulders, and held it in her arms. She smoothed her hand down the front of her best celadon muslin gown and patted her hair.
Cassandra drew a fortifying breath. She could not allow doubt to take hold. Instead, she made a quick study of the space. The paneled walls were painted dark green, and a large desk stood in the center of the room. Two worn chairs flanked the fire, and tidy stacks of paper dotted the furniture. She was about to turn her attention to the landscape paintings on the wall when heavy footsteps sounded in the hall.
Mr. Warrington lingered in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the space. Even though she anticipated his arrival, his sudden appearance caught her off guard.
She did not know when she had been so nervous—not even when she had first knocked on Briarton Park’s door.
His very presence unsettled her, with his windblown sandy-colored hair and distractingly sharp gray eyes. He stooped to pass through the door’s opening and brought with him the scent of the outdoors and horses and the faintest hint of wood smoke. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I wanted to get the girls settled back in the nursery.”
“No apology needed.” She forced her voice to be as calm as possible. “I interrupted your day.”
“Think nothing of it. As I said, it was just a riding lesson. Please, be seated.” He motioned to a chair across from his desk. “WhenRachel was young, we lived in the city, in Plymouth, so riding lessons weren’t a priority. Now that we’re in the country, it seems like something they should know how to do. Do you ride, Miss Hale?”
“N-no,” she stammered. She settled into the chair. “I do not.”
He sat in the chair behind his desk, pausing to adjust his cravat, pulled his striped waistcoat straight, and smoothed his fingers through his tousled, curling hair. “There now. What is it I can do for you?”
Cassandra opened her mouth to speak, and the words she had so carefully planned felt thick and clumsy on her tongue. She lifted her chin. She had to at least appear confident. She met his gaze directly. “The other night you mentioned that if I needed any assistance to come to you, and you would help if you were able.”
He nodded. “Yes. Of course. And I meant it.”
