“Such as being a duchess?” There was that touch of jealousy again. It shamed him.
If she noticed, she did not give an indication. Instead, she said, “I want the power to do something important. Something that matters. I can’t do that in Cornwall.”
You are wrong, he wanted to tell her, but then her mind was set.
“Ah, Cass, you just want a poet for a husband.” He kept his voice light.
It was the right touch. Her eyes lit with humor. “It is the bookworm in me. Or perhaps I just want poems written in my honor.”
“I can write poetry.”
“I can’t imagine it, Soren.”
“If I can draw a dog, I can certainly write a poem. Let’s see...I called you a dog because I’m as dull as a log,” he recited. “But you are actually very pretty, and now I’m trying to be flirty.”
His poor attempt startled a laugh out of her, and he was charmed. He’d forgotten how special her laughter was. She was usually too cautious and conscientious to be completely herself—until she laughed.
What he was thinking must have shown on his face, because she sobered, but she did not run...
Perhaps there could be something between them—?
The turning of the handle beneath her palm broke the spell between them. The door opened on Cass. She stepped back just as Lady Haddingdon attempted to enter the room.
The first person Her Ladyship laid eyes on was Soren.
“Why, Lord Dewsberry? Am I in the wrong room?” She looked up to squint at the hand-printed sign on the door and Cass used the moment to slip past her.
“Excuse me, my lady,” she murmured, and made her escape.
“I’m not in the wrong room,” Lady Haddingdon said. “I believe you are, my lord.”
“I am indeed,” Soren agreed with a short bow. “With your leave?” He didn’t wait for an answer but moved past the woman to chase after Cass.
And what would he do if he caught her? She’d made up her mind.
Nor was she in the hallway. He walked back into the dining room. They were on the beef course. He moved to his place at the table, expecting Cass to be there.
She wasn’t.
Her seat was empty.
Nor did she return.
Down the table from him, Soren saw MP Holwell smile his satisfaction.
Of course, Cassandra could not return to the dining room. If Soren’s purpose had been to rattle her, his confrontation in the necessary room had done the trick. She would not be able to sit beside him for the rest of the meal in peace.
For years, she’d proudly nursed her grudge against Soren. It was what had made her a Holwell, she’d told herself. Yorks were not to be trusted, even though at one time Soren had been her ambassador. Because he’d befriended her, everyone else had included her as well, until the day he’d left without saying good-bye. He’d just disappeared.
Now she knew he’d been as surprised to be sent away as she’d been to lose him.
Seeking solace in the bedroom assigned to her, Cassandra sat on the bedside chair and tackled her own culpability in the incident in the schoolroom. She had jumped to some conclusions. Silly ones, she realized... and yet, at the time, it had been as if he’d broken her heart.
During that same period, she’d acted out quite a bit herself. Her father had recently married Helen. Cassandra had found herself with two stepsisters who treated her as if she was of no consequence.
When she’d first met them, she’d thought them perfect. They were of average height and had average-sized hands and average-sized feet, something they often pointed out to her as if hers were gigantic. They rarely discussed ideas because they were more interested in what Helen referred to as “feminine” pursuits—handwork, gossiping, primping. They studied art and music and practiced dance steps.
In contrast, Cassandra could not even stitch a button on a piece of clothing. The whole process, as simple as it was, annoyed her. And she had a terrible voice. Music lessons had been wasted on her. Helen had said as much repeatedly. Cassandra was also not particularly concerned with household matters. Helen had accused her of being too willing to rely on a housekeeper, which sounded like a perfectly good idea to Cassandra.
