She’d told him about their long-ago game. He’d thought it funny, and she remembered it as sad. She had explained that back then, the game had been what they needed to make themselves go through Season after Season of meaningless routs and parties.
Cassandra scanned the letter. “She doesn’t sound happy. She said the announcement has been made and then he disappeared.” She looked up. “He did that one other time. He attended the Marquis of Devon’s rout and then seemed to vanish.”
“Yes, when he was enjoying Letty Bainhurst.”
“You knew where he was?” she asked.
“Apparently, he owns a hunting lodge that is good for clandestine meetings.”
She frowned. “I don’t want Willa to marry a man who can’t love her. She deserves better. In fact, wealldeserve better.”
“I love you,” he said.
“I am so blessed.” She frowned at the letter. “I’m thankful you are in my life or I could have been in a marriage like this.”
“No, you would have been shuffled off to a miserable spinster’s life. I saved you.”
She laughed. “And I saved you from marrying atrueheiress.” She held up the letter. “You could have offered for Willa.”
“And I would not be half as happy as I am now.”
She had to run over and give him a kiss. “Well said,” she whispered in his ear. “And this sort of marriage is what I want for Willa.” She still held the letter. “If the duke was going to disappear, why did he go through the motions of making an offer to her?”
“I just hope his disappearance doesn’t involve Letty again.”
“That is two of us. Poor Willa. What shall she do?”
“Become a duchess. Camberly needs her money.”
“But he may never be faithful.”
“She will still be a duchess.”
“That is not enough,” Cassandra declared. “I’m going to write and tell her as much. But first, I need to call on the vicar.”
“Mr. Morwath, why?”
“I asked him if he had books he could lend us for the school and he said he had several that his children no longer enjoyed. He has offered to donate some of them.”
“Excellent.” He was already returning to the task of listing the grain purchases. It would be nice when the day came that they could hire a steward to manage the details for him.
She kissed the top of his head and left the room to gather her bonnet and driving gloves.
It was a warm August day. The drive to the rectory would be enjoyable. Logan was out riding with Toby, but she had become rather handy with the reins and drove herself places in the pony cart.
An hour later, she reached the parish church. Mr. Morwath was in the back of the rectory cutting the limbs off an overeager hawthorn bush. He was a tall man with stooped shoulders. Every time Cassandra saw him, she always thought he appeared overwhelmed by life.
She could also commiserate with the difficulty of his gardening task. She’d had a time cleaning out the beds around Pentreath. She’d done it herself since there were no servants to spare for such a task, save for when Mrs. Branwell found a moment to help.
She parked the cart and tied up the pony.
The vicar came out to greet her. “How is everyone at Pentreath, my lady?” he asked. With a wave of his hand, he invited her into his home.
“Pentreath is fine. And how are your wife and children?”
“Mrs. Morwath is at market day in the village. She enjoys her time there since two of our daughters usually meet her and they have a time of it.” He had several married children and a host of grandchildren. “And how is Lady Dewsberry? Did I hear that she is out of town?”
That was the good news. Arabella had been a glum presence until she had written to her brother in Hertfordshire inviting herself for a visit. Over the weeks since she had been moved to the dowager’s cottage, both Cassandra and Soren had made efforts to call on her several times a week. Each call was met with her stiff disapproval.
