Cassandra wisely kept her thoughts to herself, and a vapid smile across her closed lips.
Thankfully, the Camberly butler stepped into the room. “Dinner is served.”
“Thank you, Marshall,” the dowager answered. She looked to the duke. “Your Grace, you will escort me in.”
“Of course, Grandmother.”
“Ah, and Bainhurst, you have come for your wife,” the dowager said to a hard-looking man in his forties. His hair was close-cropped with a good amount of iron gray among the black. He was of average height, with frowning lines around deep-set eyes. At one time he’d probably been quite handsome. That time had passed, to Cassandra’s way of thinking. He was too full of himself now, too prideful. She could feel it about him immediately. This was a man one should never cross.
And he was especially pleased to have a young and beautiful wife. He staked his claim to her by placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.
For her part, his lady didn’t flinch. Cassandra realized that the very pleasant Lady Bainhurst she’d been enjoying conversation with might also be a cold creature who could well take care of herself. There was no basis for the thought, just a strong awareness of an undercurrent of something Cassandra did not understand.
The dowager busily paired Willa to the overly plump and gossipy Mr. Bullock, who tiptoed when he walked. He was vastly annoying. Willa’s father smiled his satisfaction because Mr. Bullock was a confirmed bachelor. Mr. Reverly probably thought, as Cassandra did, that this pairing was saving her for Camberly’s attention.
And then the dowager announced what Cassandra had feared she would say. “Lord Dewsberry, will you please escort Miss Holwell in to dinner?”
“It would be an honor,” Soren responded.
Cassandra had been aware of him moving into position behind her. He’d known.
She dared not look at her father. He would not kick up a fuss right here with everyone’s eyes upon them, but she knew she’d be hearing his opinion later.
He had no need to fear. Cassandra had let down her guard around Soren once and he had wounded her in the cruelest way possible. A wise woman would gird her loins against him. And if Cassandra was anything, she was wise. Without looking at Soren, she placed her hand so lightly on his arm, she barely touched his sleeve.
The dowager finished her assignments. They would all process in. They might be in the country; however, London rules would be observed, albeit an hour earlier for dining. She led the way to the dining room with the duke, followed by Lord Bainhurst and his lady, with all the pomp due a formal event.
Others fell in line. Soren moved and Cassandra went with him, almost tripping over the hem of her dress. She’d stepped wrong and would have fallen except for her hand quickly gripping his arm.
It was a humbling moment. Soren knew what had happened, and he knew that he had saved her.
She had yet to look at him, although from the corner of her eye she could see the hard line of his jaw... and a hint of a smile as if he was pleased with himself.
The thought struck her that he truly did need a haircut. What was wrong with him, or his valet, that he wasn’t a bit tidier?
Then she chastised herself for even noticing.
At that moment, as the line entering the room slowed to a stop so that people could be properly seated, he turned and looked right at her with his all-too-knowing eyes.
She refused to give him the satisfaction of so much as a glance. She could feel the heat of his stare. Instead she focused on the bald patch on Lord Rawlins’s head in front of her.
“You are welcome,” he said quietly, a hint of laughter in his voice.
He’s nothing to me, she began repeating to herself.Nothing at all.
She must keep those words in mind.
Chapter 3
The dining room was set for forty with gilt-edged plates and silver centerpieces. The light of what seemed to be hundreds of candles reflected off the place settings and glassware. Footmen dressed in forest green velvet and cream satin stood ready to pull out chairs. It was all a bit much, and yet emphasized the power of the House of Camberly and paid honor to the importance of the company.
Soren also knew this party was costing Camberly more blunt than he could afford to spend. He’d complained to Soren about his grandmother’s extravagances. Apparently there was no reasoning with Minerva. She wanted what she wanted, and it was up to the Duke of Camberly to see she received it. Soren was glad his mother wasn’t as reckless. She might be cold but she wasn’t a spendthrift.
The guests flowed around the table searching for their names on the place cards at each setting. The scent of cooked meats and breads was in the air, and the convivial atmosphere was enhanced by the fact that everyone in this room believed he or she had been invited as a Person of Importance. They mattered.
Cassandra had removed her hand from Soren’s arm as quickly as she was able. All without so much as afullglance his way.
Soren watched her look for her seat. The duke was naturally at the head of the table, with Miss Reverly on one side and Lady Bainhurst on the other. Disappointment crossed Cass’s face when she noticed. She acted as if she’d hoped she was nearer the head of the table and then realized that there was only one seat unclaimed, the one next to Soren.
