“How exciting. You’ll have to take me up there.” Not that she was remotely interested in rummaging through a dusty attic. Shewasinterested in learning more about the increasingly intriguing background of her husband, though.
“And was Benedict’s mother close to Lady Karstark?”
Cassandra shook her head. “I don’t know. I think so. He doesn’t like to talk about her.”
“Lady Karstark?”
“His mama. He rants about the Karstarks all the time. He thinks Lord Karstark’s the devil.”
It was a sentiment Amelia shared. Although she rather thought the devil had the better end of the comparison. But surely there was more to it. “Why does he think that?”
“I’m not sure.”
Cassandra was proving a frustratingly poor source of valuable information. “Does your brother have any fancy visitors?”
“Not really.”
“Does he go visiting?”
“Why are you asking all these questions?”
Amelia scoffed. “Don’t be silly. This is just conversation.”
Cassandra looked at her suspiciously. “If it were a conversation, wouldn’t I get to ask questions?”
“Very well, what would you like to know?”
“Do you love my brother?”
Amelia choked on her tea. “I barely know your brother.”
Cassandra frowned.
“But I’m sure he’s a lovely person.”
“Then why did you marry him?”
Because she was an idiot, Edward was a coward, and Karstark was a jackass. “I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.” And since the child was asking the tough questions so would she. “What happened to your parents?”
Cassandra dropped her gaze and began to fiddle with the handle on her cup. “They died. There was a carriage accident two years ago.”
Two years was fresh. It had taken Amelia at least that long to be able to speak about her mother with anyone. “I lost my mother when I was about your age. It’s not easy. I’m sorry.”
And she was. It was a hard thing as a girl to grow up without a female hand to guide you. A governess could only do so much.
“Ben takes good care of me.”
“I don’t doubt. You’re very lucky.” Amelia hadn’t had that fortune. Her father had made it clear within days of her mother’s death that she was a nuisance, and other than giving her strict instructions on the appropriate ways to behave, he’d paid very little attention to her.
“What happened to Benedict’s mother?”
Cassandra shook her head. “He doesn’t like to talk about that.”
Getting information out of a child was like getting a decent rendition of Serenade Number 13 out of a country orchestra. “Come now. That’s hardly fair. I thought we had an agreement.”
“Ben really doesn’t—” She stopped and looked up at the sound of the drawing room door swinging open; her face was that of a child caught sneaking an extra sweet.
Dash it. Just when it was getting interesting.
