“And so we’ve done it,” Cassin said lightly after the final guest had gone.
Willow answered with a small smile. “So we have.”
It was only one o’clock in the afternoon. Her mother had excused herself to look in on a foaling mare. The relations who planned to remain overnight had retired to their rooms to rest. The servants descended on the strewn dining room like ants, clearing the table settings, flowers, and food with swift efficiency. At Caldera, his family tended to lounge around the drawing room after a party, enjoying the last of the wine and gossiping about the guests, but not at Leland Park. Instead, bride and groom stood in the deserted entryway, watching through the door as the last carriage rolled away.
The impulse to reach for her was so great that Cassin heard himself speak instead. “Lady Wilhelmina—” he began formally, feeling like an idiot. He’d referred to her simply as “Willow” since he’d agreed to marry her.
She laughed at him, a reaction he deserved, and softly shut the door. “You may address me as ‘Countess,’ ” she said.
While he gaped at her, dazzled by her laugh, she turned and began to make her way down the corridor. Her mother’s scrum of small dogs scuttled from surrounding rooms to follow at her feet.
For a long moment, he watched her. From the very first, watching her had been one of his favorite occupations. She was always engaged, mindful of even the smallest details of her surroundings; now she picked at the festive garland strung on the banister, touched the base of each ivory bust in a succession of candlelit nooks. A servant with a heaping tray dropped a linen napkin, and she stooped to collect it. His hand itched to reach out for her, to steady her by the waist, to linger there and lean in close enough to smell the warm cinnamon scent of her.
Cassin began to trail behind her, admiring her as she admired the beauty of her home.
Brevity, remoteness, and formality, he reminded himself. It was unfair to encourage an intimacy that he could not reciprocate—possibly for years.
She glanced over her shoulder. “It was nice of Tessa and Joseph to attend the wedding. It shouldn’t matter, not really, but I missed my friend Sabine.”
“Yes,” Cassin agreed, cautiously following. “Besides your servants and your mother, Tessa and Joseph were the only guests with whom I was acquainted.”
While he was in London, Cassin’s partners, Joseph and Stoker, had both agreed to marry Willow’s two friends. The combined income from the girls’ three dowries was more than £100,000. This meant the partners had the money they required for the guano expedition and he could now comfortably provide for Caldera through winter.
“It’s sweet, really, how well Joseph and Tessa get on,” Willow was saying. “But I’m not surprised. She has always been acutely attuned to falling in love. A love match was at the forefront of her mind, even when I was writing the advertisement.”
“Well, I was shocked. Joseph enjoys a pretty girl as much as the next man, and there have been many girls in his life, but he’s had a very rigid stance on marriage. It was a goal, but a very distant one. Now he claims three weeks was all it took to fall madly in love.”
Willow had wandered down the great hall to a sweeping stairwell that rose in a gentle curve to the next floor. Cassin followed five steps behind.
“They were inseparable at the wedding, weren’t they?” Willow said. She reached the stairs and began to climb, whispering to the dogs. “Beaming. Mostly at each other.”
“Yes, I saw that,” he said. He paused at the bottom step and watched her. He called, “Joseph had been the most anxious to reach Barbadoes, and now he’ll be the last to leave England.”
“The wedding Tessa’s parents are planning cannot be rushed. They’ve invited all of Surrey and half of London.”
“Meanwhile, Stoker and your friend Sabine were married alone before a vicar. After just two days.”
“Also not a surprise,” said Willow. She paused at the top of the stairwell and looked at him. Slowly, warily, against his better judgment, he began to climb.Brevity, remoteness, and formality.
“I believe there was some real urgency there,” he said, “considering the abuse of the uncle.”
“Yes, and thank God,” said Willow. “We knew Sir Dryden was hateful, but Sabine had concealed how violent her uncle had become.”
“Apparently the man had her locked in a cupboard on the day Stoker called to meet her,” said Cassin. “Well, we needn’t worry; this will not happen again. Stoker rarely makes a fuss. When he is motivated to assert his displeasure, it is typically not with words. And it is not soon forgotten.”
“I know Sabine was grateful, even if she asked to be taken to my aunt in London and left alone. There again, I am not surprised. She has been so cautious and solitary since her father died. Despite Mr. Stoker’s assistance, she is distrustful of strangers.”
“Hmmm,” said Cassin. “Stoker himself is solitary soul. He is naturally suspicious of everyone, especially women. I would have been glad to see him at the wedding, but he detests social gatherings, and he would have been a foreboding presence, alarming old women and frightening children.”
Cassin stopped climbing two steps from the top. He looked up to her. “Where are you going?”
She gestured down the corridor. “Perry has fallen behind on packing. I’ve no choice but to lend a hand. I am anxious to get underway as soon as possible.”
Cassin looked down the corridor. He’d already followed her too deep into the house. Now he was upstairs, facing a corridor lined with what could only be family bedrooms.
Packing, he thought. Packing had the ring of monotony and labor. This was . . . endurable. And he’d learned quickly that any scenario including her maid, Perry, was as devoid of sexual tension as Christmas morning.
Willow and the dogs began down the corridor, and he took a deep breath and followed, passing a series of closed doors.Brevity, remoteness, and formality, he chanted again in his head, but the words had lost their meaning. He could think of little more than the nearness of her.
