But now what? What bearing did one kiss (well, two)—and now the acceptance of her offer, however under duress—have on her larger plan to leave Surrey? They shared a mutual attraction. Should she let it be and allow the impulse to go where it willed? Should she squirrel the memory away in her mind and cherish it forever? He may have said he would marry her, but he’d veritably gritted out the words with a terrible frown and then stormed away. If the proposal came to fruition (a significantif), would he kiss her again?
She had no idea. Drifting to the atrium, Willow frowned at the tapping rain on the skylight overhead. The usually bright room was cast in eerie dimness. Lavender clouds sailed overhead. A storm. Lovely. She could hardly report this progress to Tessa or Sabine if it rained all afternoon. The wet would also drive her mother from the stables to pass the day inside. She had no wish to entertain Lady Lytton’s questions about Lord Cassin. (Or, to be more accurate, she had no wish to learn that her mother had already forgotten about Lord Cassin altogether.)
As if on cue, the countess’s voice could be heard from the doorway, calling for assistance up the stairs in muddy skirts. Servants descended from every direction, and Willow slipped into the adjacent stairwell that led to the cellar. If her mother would go up, she would down.
Willow swiped a candelabra from an alcove, pulled the heavy cellar door, and clipped down, down, down to one of her favorite rooms in Leland Park. The only space untouched by her talents—the crumbling, neglected cellar bathing chamber. It was a red-and-orange tiled room (faded now to brown and mauve) that had not been used for generations. The already low ceiling sagged unevenly and dripped with condensation. Loose tiles were strewn with cobwebs, a byway for mice. There was a pervasive smell of algae and something else, something hollow and bone dry. Family history suggested that the bathing chamber had once been a marvel of luxury and modernization, but now it moldered in neglect. Naturally, the only room forbidden to her talents was the one that most called to her, and Willow made the journey down the small stairwell at least once a month to sketch and fantasize about how beautiful it could be. She also salvaged the floor for spare tile, chipping away foggy squares to polish and use elsewhere in mosaic projects or other handiwork.
The centerpiece of the chamber was a tiled bathing pool, ringed with a thick rim. In the center of the pool was a built-in chair, also tiled. As originally conceived, the bather could recline on the chair while taking the waters. None of it had seen water or bathers for decades, but Willow made a habit of stepping over the rim of the pool and lounging in the chair to think or daydream or, more commonly, avoid her mother. It was the one place she knew she would never be disturbed. Even Perry stayed away on account of the mice.
Willow sighed and settled into the chair now, grateful for the familiar solitude. When she leaned back and closed her eyes, she had the ridiculous thought that the last time she’d been in the cellar, she had never been kissed, and now she had. She frowned. The kisses, however lovely, were insignificant compared to the fact that, in the end, Cassin had said yes. She balanced the strange sensations of hope and throat-closing fear. He’d said yes, but then he’d gone; without another word, he’d gone. And there were so very many words yet to be said. If her mother was to be convinced, a wedding was to be planned. She’d need to pack up all the trappings of her existence in Surrey and prepare to relocate to London. The acceptance was an excellent sign, but it was only the first step.
Willow blinked up at the jumping candlelight on the low ceiling, allowing herself to slowly roll back the memory of the kiss, their discussion, the next kiss, and then the moment he said yes. She wondered what caused him to change his mind. He asked her repeatedly not to appeal to other men, and when she refused—
“Excuse me, my lady? Are you in the cauldron?” Perry’s voice called down the stairwell. Perry always referred to the bathing chamber as “the cauldron.”
“I am here, Perry. What is it?”
“Miss Tessa and Miss Sabine have both just come. Drove through the rain. Miss Tessa’s brother brought them. They would see you, my lady.”
Willow sat up. “Tessa and Sabine are here now?”
“Yes, my lady. They are speaking with your mother in the front hall.”
Willow scrambled up and squinted at the door at the top of the stairs. “Listen carefully, Perry. I will receive Sabine and Tessa in the cellar . . . ”
“Oh no, my lady, not the cauldr—”
“Perry, please,” Willow cut in, “do listen. Send the girls down to me, but first remind Tessa that her brother wished to meet with my mother about the horse.”
“Which horse is that, my lady?”
“It doesn’t matterwhichhorse,” Willow said, “Tessa will know what to do. Her brother and the countess can discuss horses for hours. It will keep them occupied so I may speak freely with my friends.”
“But all the way into the cauldron?” asked Perry tremulously. “I hope you won’t be requiring tea. You know I won’t sleep if I have to descend down into the depths of—”
“No, Perry, no tea. But you must tell us when the conversation between Tessa’s brother and the countess has ended. In the meantime, send the girls down. And Perry, do hurry, please.”
After two minutes of pacing, Willow heard whispers and the swishing of skirts on the stairwell. She stood at the base of the steps, extending the candelabra so they could see.
“Is it a good sign or bad—you hiding in the cellar?” called Tessa.
“You won’t believe it, even after I tell you,” Willow said. “Careful. Sabine, give Tessa a hand.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
Two days later, Cassin scrawled out a note and paid a stable boy to deliver it to Leland Park.
28 October
Dear Lady Willow,
I should like to meet you to discuss our upcoming arrangement. And my two partners would like to become acquainted with your friends. I will call on you this afternoon to learn how best to proceed.
Sincerely,
Brent Caulder, the Earl of Cassin
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
