He was also the man who self-assuredly pledged his troth to her, and then he placed a plain gold band on her finger that was solid and real.
The ceremony was over. The rector introduced them as man and wife. As Lord and Lady Dewsberry.
Soren gave her hand a squeeze. She had been so caught in a swirl of emotions, she hadn’t realized he was holding it.
The dowager was the first to wish them happy. Willa gave her a hug and then turned and made a pretty speech to Soren about how fortunate he was to marry one of her dearest friends.
Cassandra noted that Camberly watched Willa, a bit of interest in his eye, and yet he made no untoward move.
Soren tucked her hand in his arm as they led the procession up to the house where the other guests waited for the wedding breakfast. “Let me tell you again that you look lovely,” he said.
Cassandra smiled. She was too tall for lovely. Everyone told her that, and yet his words sounded honest. They touched something deep inside where she hid everything she hoped was true and knew wasn’t.
A great cheer went up when they walked into the dining room. The dowager insisted she and Soren sit in the center of the table side by side, and they were toasted repeatedly. The food was plentiful, the punch, wine, and ale more so.
Cassandra drank. One must have a sip when one is being feted. However, she wanted her wits about her when Soren took her upstairs. She was more than a touch anxious.
She did have a notion of what to expect in the bedroom.
However, seeing Camberly with Letty Bainhurst had been shocking. It hadn’t been poetic at all. In fact, it had been far too intimate. It had also been completely counter to what she’d thought would happen.
The toasts grew rowdier and more suggestive. The niceties grew thinner and Cassandra became uncomfortable. When she’d attended weddings, they had been for family or very close friends. They were discreet, enjoyable affairs.
Here she was with the crème of London Society and she found them crude when they overimbibed. And unhappy.
No wonder they hopped into different beds. The drinking, the laughter, all of it masked what people truly felt. Lord Bainhurst was flirting with the lady to his right. His wife was once again exchanging glances with Camberly. If there was a happy marriage in the room, Cassandra was hard pressed to find it.
Lord Drucker, one of Lord Bainhurst’s friends, stood and lifted his glass. “Here’s to having enough money to buy a husband.”
The comment was met with mocking laughter and “Hear, hears” mingled with cruel twitters.
Cassandra was shocked. A knot of unease formed in her belly. She looked to Willa, who appeared equally stunned and offended. She shook her head as if saying to Cassandra she didn’t know how to gracefully accept such boorish behavior, either.
The person who didn’t seem upset was Soren. Not an ounce of tension. He drank to the toast.
And then he stood to make his own.
Everyone quieted down expectantly. The man who had made his jibe wore a sheep’s grin across a face flush with drink.
Cassandra could not look at him. She felt shame. She was glad now her father was not here. The glow went off the day.
Soren raised his glass. “I first set eyes on my lady over a decade ago—Aye,” he said, noting the piqued interest of the women in the room, “this is a romantic tale.”
Romantic? Cassandra frowned at her lap.
“She and I met at the harvest day festival. It was held at the church. At one time, all would have come to Pentreath Castle, my family home. However, the bad blood between her family and mine had destroyed that celebration two generations earlier. We were warned as children to avoid each other.”
That was true. Cassandra raised her eyes to him. He was stood tall and proud. He could hold his own with any gentleman in this esteemed company.
“A York would walk on the other side of the road if he saw a Holwell coming. A Holwell would spit in a York’s direction.” He had the interest now of everyone in the room.
“So I was raised to look down upon the Holwells... and then at this festival—one my family was attending reluctantly because, after all, it should have been ours—” He paused and looked directly at Lord Drucker. “We may not have money but we have more than our share of pride.” Heads nodded. And why not? For many noble houses, their vices made money a priority.
“Well, we prideful Yorks were at the festival along with every man, woman, and child for twenty miles around. There was a band of fiddles and drums, two great steers turning on a spit, and more gossip and conversation than anyone could hope for in a year. I was happy to see my friends. I was home on holiday and would soon be sent back to school. And we had a high time of it. You know, the sort only boys can have when the grown-ups are not watching them closely. A group of us stole some meat pies off a table before it was time to eat. We went running off, and it was then that a girl arrived whom I’d never met before. Oh, please, let me assure you, as a lad of thirteen, I noticed but rarely paid attention to the fairer sex—”
“Something you changed years later,” Camberly shouted out with good humor, and the audience laughed.
“I have been a bit of a hound,” Soren agreed easily. “But this day, the lass who caught my eye was not just anyone. She was my family’s enemy. For the rest of that day, I circled and circled her, working up the courage to talk to her. In the end, she spoke first.”
