“Aye. They say that Holwell is done up. Apparently, paying your inheritance has left him broke.”
Should she lie? No. She was done with lies. She spoke her truth. “I didn’t receive an inheritance, sir. MP Holwell spent it unwisely.”
“We all wondered.”
“If only I had been that aware—” She stopped. “No, my life is exactly as I would wish it. I pray whoever purchases Lantern Fields will be good people.”
“That is a good wish, my lady.”
It would also mean she need never fear having her path cross with Holwell’s. “What will become of him?”
Mr. Morwath shrugged. “He’ll stay in London until his term has ended and probably retire here or someplace else.”
“He’ll go someplace else,” she predicted. The man who had pretended to be her father was too proud to humble himself after such a downfall.
He walked her to the pony cart. “I will keep the books you chose ready for when you need them.”
She nodded. In the past, she’d always shaken his hand before she left. She didn’t know what to do now.
For the first time, she noticed the resemblance between them—the height, the eyes, the set of her mouth. Why, she even looked very much like his daughter Beth, whom she had seen at services from time to time.
He answered the question for her. He leaned forward and kissed her on her cheek as if in benediction. Without a word, he turned and walked back around the rectory to resume his task of conquering the hawthorn.
She drove home, her mind somewhat numb... and yet, she had a sense of finally feeling complete. The truth could do that.
The stable lads took the pony cart from her. She was most anxious to find Soren, but she noticed a strange horse in the stables. “Do we have a visitor?”
“Yes, we do,” the head lad said. “A lone rider. My lord knew him well.”
Soren might have been familiar with the guest, but he had not been expecting him. He would have said something to Cassandra.
She marched up the path to the house. She took the back entrance so that she could speak to Mrs. Branwell and Cook before presenting herself to her husband and their guest.
Logan was in the kitchen eating a bun fresh from the oven. She stopped, watching him, her heart full of love.
He caught her eye, and popped the last of the bun greedily in his mouth, unabashedly grinning with satisfaction—and in that moment, she silently thanked Mary’s spirit that lived in her son. Logan was a gift in Cassandra’s life and, in honor of his mother’s memory, she would do all in her power to nurture his proud independence. She wanted to believe that is what her own mother had wanted for her. Gentle, loving guidance. She was thankful for what Mr. Morwath had been able to offer her.
Mrs. Branwell was happy to see her. “Lord Dewsberry wishes you to meet him in the library.”
“And what of our guest?”
“I have taken him to his room. Lord Dewsberry said he will be here for several days.”
“Who is he?”
“A Mr. Ewing.”
The name meant nothing to Cassandra. She headed for the library, untying the ribbons of her bonnet as she went.
Soren was at his desk, counting a stack of gold coins.
At the sight of her, he rose and raced to greet her. He lifted her by the waist and swept her around the room with such energy, her bonnet fell to the floor. He stopped at his desk. “Look at them. Do you know how much is there?”
Cassandra had to catch her breath. She pulled off her driving gloves and picked up one of the coins. It was thin but heavy. “Where did you find these?”
“Mr. Ewing delivered them.”
“Our mysterious guest?”
