“I’m afraid, Soren.”
“Of what, Cassandra?”
Of losing myself completely, she wanted to answer, but she didn’t. Instead, she said, “I had dreams. I was going to set up an important salon and discuss great ideas.”
“You may do that at Pentreath.”
“A literary salon in Cornwall?”
“Why not? We could use great ideas. This will be a new life for both of us. We are both feeling our way.”
“This is not what I expected my marriage to be,” she confessed.
“Life rarely meets our expectations. But sometimes, when we are lucky, we discover things are better than we could have imagined.”
Her thoughts went to last night, to being in his arms. He was right. She could never have envisioned that pleasure. Not even poetry did it justice.
She placed her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Thank you. It is all out now. No secrets between us. I want you to know that.”
Cassandra nodded. Did she believe him? She wasn’t sure. Today had proven to her how little she knew of human nature. She’d been so naïve.
However, her acceptance was enough for Soren. He stood. “Come, the hour is late and I’m hungry.”
At his suggestion, her stomach growled, although she could have claimed she was too tense to eat. Soren laughed and led her to the door. They put on their gloves and hats, she picked up a paisley shawl, and they left the room.
It was good to move and to be out in the fresh air, such as it was in London. Cassandra didn’t say much. Soren didn’t notice. He was in good spirits and happy to talk for both of them. He spoke freely about his son now.
They took their dinner at an inn several streets over from their hotel. “We are practicing economies,” Cassandra repeated to herself as if it was a novelty.
It was.
They ate shepherd’s pie and shared a pitcher of good local ale. By the end of the first mug, she relaxed and found her voice.
“I’m angry that MP Holwell—I refuse to call him Father—spent all the money and there is nothing I can do.”
“We can call on my lawyer on the morrow before we leave London. He might know of some recourse.”
“We’ll leave tomorrow?” The idea wasn’t as alarming as it had been. The ale had helped. She tapped her mug with a finger, signaling she was ready for more. With a dubious lift of his brow, he filled her glass halfway from a pitcher on the table.
She smiled her satisfaction and looked around the room. They were the only couple in the dining room. Everyone else was either single or in a larger party. There were also several families. The mothers appeared tired, while the children were full of movement. She tried to judge the age of the children, gauging where Logan would be.
“Logan,” she repeated, testing the name.
Soren smiled. “I believe we should start brewing ale at Pentreath.”
“Don’t,” she said, lifting her mug. “I don’t drink it.” Or she hadn’t before, but obviously she’d started.
His smile became a laugh, but she didn’t feel he was laughing at her. He seemed content. He reached across the table and touched her often. Her acceptance of his, no,theircircumstances had pleased him.
Then again, he didn’t know what was going on in her head. Because if he did, he might not be so satisfied.
She had no mooring, she realized. The truth of her life was a question mark.
All she had was what she could experience in this moment, and although she smiled at Soren, she was conscious of a kernel of anger deep inside. He’d loved another woman.
She was second best and she was aware that he’d never used the word “love” with her.
Her son, when he was born, would not be her husband’s heir.
