“From his.”
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“Something mentioned at Mayfield.”
“There was talk ofmymoney at the dowager’s party?” She didn’t how she felt about that. “Who would be so crass?”
Instead of answering, he said, “Do you think your father wouldspendyour money?”
“Of course. He spent it on me and my needs. When my stepsisters married, he told me he used some of the money for their dowries.”
“Were you all right with that?”
“Yes, Soren. Why would I not be? He gave them five thousand pounds apiece.”
“Five thousand?” he repeated as if dumbstruck by the number.
“He called it my wedding gift to them.”
“A generous wedding gift is fifty pounds.”
She tried not to bristle at the implied criticism. Should she have questioned the amount? It had not seemed to matter back then. “They needed it. They are older than I am... and their prospects were not good.” They had actually been terrible. Her stepsisters did not have good manners. In fact, calling them surly was not unkind.
“I imagine once it was put out they had dowries of five thousand pounds their prospects improved.”
That had been true. Cassandra had never thought of it that way before. Still...
“I have plenty of money. Thirty thousand pounds is a goodly sum. My father has even invested a portion of my inheritance. He’s told me that several times.”
“What sort of investments?”
She did not like the way his brow furrowed as if there might be a problem. “Good ones,” she answered, although she actually didn’t know any of the details. Soren’s questions were making her uncomfortable. “There will be enough for us to live on. Even to purchase a London home.” After all, everyone knew she was an heiress.
“Come,” she said, heading for the door. “Let us call on Father and he can explain everything to you.”
“Very well.” Soren opened the door. “I should warn you, we will be walking.”
So that was it. He wished they could take a hack. She smiled her reassurance. “Soren, everything will soon be better. We may walk to Papa’s house but we’ll ride back to the hotel. Besides, I have good walking shoes.” She raised an ankle to show him the kid leather pair she’d put on that morning. “They are the finest ever made. And you had best become used to those words, because from now on, my lord, you are a wealthy man.” She sailed out the door.
Her father had purchased the London house when Cassandra was fifteen. Until that time, they had lived in rented establishments.
The house was in Mayfair and had been owned by a marquis who had sold it to go off on an excursion to Greece. Cassandra had enjoyed living there. Her father had purchased new furnishings and it was the very height of fashion and comfort.
However, Cassandra had never stood on her doorstep as a guest before.
“Be prepared for anything,” Soren warned.
“I am.” She hoped.
Soren lifted the knocker.
The family butler, and one of only two manservants since male retainers were taxed and females weren’t, opened the door. “Miss Cassandra,” Bevil said as if happy to see her. He was a slight man with an elegant air that her father greatly admired.
“Bevil, we are here to see Papa. This is my husband, the Earl of Dewsberry. Announce us.”
The butler’s attitude changed. His shoulders squared as if he was remembering himself. “We’d heard you married a York. But I did not want to believe it. AYork, Miss Cassandra—?”
“She is Lady Dewsberry,” Soren announced in a voice that brooked no contradictions. Nor did he wait for Bevil to invite them in. He plowed forward into the marbled front hall, and the butler stepped back. Cassandra followed in his wake because she wasn’t about to be left behind.
