“I would not say that.”
“Even if I succeed in my efforts,” Cassandra continued, lowering her voice, “what happens afterward? I ruin my own engagement, my own reputation, and then what? I am exactly what they already believe me to be. Who would ever take me seriously again?”
The child across from her yawned and leaned against his father. Anthea’s husband shifted instinctively, one arm going around her shoulders. It was unconscious, natural. Cassandra watched them, her hands trembling.
“If I am to marry,” she said quietly, “I want what you have.”
Anthea reached across the narrow space and took her hand.
“You are allowed to want that. You always were.”
Cassandra nodded, though she did not feel steady. She glanced back toward the other boat despite herself. The Duke stood at the stern, one hand resting on the side, listening to Sylvia speak. He looked composed as always.
Then, briefly, he looked up. Their eyes met, and neither of them looked away at once.
The boats drifted on.
Cassandra turned back to Anthea, heart uncomfortably heavy. For the first time, the question was no longer how to escape the future being arranged for her. It was whether she was brave enough to want something different from the plan she had so carefully made.
Anthea leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“Gregory,” she said, turning slightly, “would you take us back to shore?”
“Already? We are yet to even arrive.”
“Our daughter wishes to sleep,” Anthea continued calmly. “And I believe she left her snacks behind.”
Gregory glanced at the child, who was now sleeping, but of course that was not why Anthea wished to return. It was for Cassandra’s sake, and though she was grateful for that she wished that it were not necessary.
“Ah. Of course.”
He rose carefully, reaching for the oars. He began to row, but as he pulled them out of the water some splashed on Cassandra, and for reasons she could not explain, she was startled by it. She leaped to her feet without thinking, and suddenly the boat shifted.
Cassandra felt it at once. The tilt was small, almost imperceptible, but it pulled her weight in the wrong direction. She grasped for the side, fingers scraping against the boat.
There was no graceful way to fall into a lake.
The cold struck her first– sharp, shocking, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her skirts dragged her down, heavy and uncooperative, water pressing in from all sides. For a moment, there was only noise and panic, then hands closed around her arm.
Strong hands.
She broke the surface with a gasp, coughing, hair plastered to her face. Someone was speaking her name, urgently, unmistakably.
It was him. He was already in the water, coat abandoned, boots sinking into the mud beneath them. He hauled her closer without hesitation, one arm firm around her waist, the other gripping her sleeve.
“Steady,” he said, voice low but commanding. “I have you.”
She clung to him without thinking, fingers digging into his shoulder as the shock began to wear off. She was acutely aware of him in a way she had never been before. The heat of him through soaked fabric. The certainty of his hold. The way he did not ask permission, did not hesitate.
He lifted her from the water as though she weighed nothing. Her feet found the shore, unsteady, skirts clinging, water streaming down her sleeves. She swayed once, and his hand tightened reflexively at her back.
“Go to your room,” he instructed firmly. “Change your clothes. Now.”
It was not unkind, nor cruel, but it was absolute. She nodded at once, mortified, shaken, obedient without meaning to be.
“Yes,” she said.
Only then did she realize how quiet it had become. She looked up to see that every eye was on her.
