***
Cassin awakened the next morning, satiated from the night of lovemaking, a satisfaction to which he could rapidly become accustomed. But now he must focus and prepare himself to evict his uncle; to make the rounds of tenant homes, assuring families; and to look in on his brother. In that order, hopefully. And in a week, if at all possible.
Despite his great love of the green dales and leafy lanes of Yorkshire, he could not linger, not if his ultimate goal was to eventually return from Barbadoes for good and offer a prosperous life to his family and tenants. He’d not embarked on the guano venture only to abandon it before they’d seen it through.
And Willow’s time in London had been cut very short, indeed. She would want a speedy return. They had not yet discussed how they might balance her love of London and her design work with rural life in a Yorkshire castle, not really, but she had abandoned projects to make this journey. She would want return to her responsibilities and passions, too, as quickly as possible.
As to their impending separation from each other, Cassin could not think of it without feeling physically ill. How in God’s name would he manage to leave her again? It had been a relief and a reward to reveal his true feelings for her. The painful uncertainty and regret would no longer be part of the separation, but they would still be so very far apart. He worried about her in London.
And God, how he would miss her.
But now he had little choice but to push away the impending agony of their separation and press on to what awaited them at Caldera. He shaved and dressed early and waited nearly an hour for her to descend from their rooms. She’d claimed she required more time to dress this morning in order to style herself in the manner of a proper countess. He indulged her and waited. And waited.
When, at last, she descended the stairs into the dining room of the inn, a proud maid hurrying behind her, Cassin blinked in the face of her throat-closing beauty. Even after days of togetherness, he was not accustomed to the shocking radiance of her hair—orange in some light, almost burgundy in others—nor the clear, smooth creaminess of her skin, embellished here and there with tiny outcroppings of freckles. Her blue-green eyes flashed pride and confidence.
“My sisters will believe the Queen Consort Adelaide has arrived,” he said, taking her arm.
Willow made a face. “Surely they will not think me that old.”
“They haven’t the slightest idea of how the queen consort looks, beyond broadsheet sketches. You will fulfill their expectations nicely. And I’ve hired a carriage so that your beauty will not be wind-whipped. What would Perry think?”
“Oh, lovely,” she said, watching a nicely sprung carriage being pulled ’round. “A carriage will allow you to tell me all about the cast of characters in your family. Their letters have been telling, but doubtless you may lend some perspective to what I have gleaned.”
He laughed and handed her inside. They passed the short ride discussing what she could expect from his three sisters: Marietta, Violet, and Juliana; and his mother, Louisa, the Dowager Countess of Cassin.
“And your brother?” Willow asked. “There was never a letter from him, but the others spoke frequently of him and his wife. Ruth, is it?”
“Oh yes, Felix and his child bride, Ruth.”
“Child bride?” Willow laughed.
Cassin nodded. “Barely seventeen when they married but far better than he deserves. The future earl could not come from a lovelier couple.”
Willow contemplated this in silence as the carriage trundled along, and they did not speak until they’d nearly reached the winding path to the castle.
“Not long now,” he said. If she heard the anticipation in his voice, she did not remark.
He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the familiar loamy, acrid scent so distinctive to the place he loved most in the world. He glanced at her, praying God she could develop some manner of affection for the centuries-old castle and land.
“But will I be able to spot the house from some distance, Cassin?” she asked, leaning nearly almost outside the window. “Can you point it out on the horizon, or—”
In that moment, the carriage path curved, and they came upon the familiar gap in roadside vegetation. He held his breath. Instead of answering, he pointed to the view between the trees.
“ ’Tis not a house,” he said, his voice almost breaking. “As I’ve mentioned before, it’s a castle.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
Cassin held Willow by the waist to prevent her from toppling out the window. She was mindless of her balance, gaping at the grey-and-black edifice that loomed at the end of a long, tree-draped carriage path.
Itwasa castle.
And not a manor house with various fortifications or castle-like flourishes; it was a proper castle, no different from the drawings of castles one might see in a book of children’s nursery rhymes.
“But it’s . . . ” she began, at a loss for words. The very height of it seemed to reach the clouds, and she could not see the top-most turrets for the trees.
She tried again, her voice in reverent whisper. “But I’ve never known of anyone who resides in an actual, working castle. I . . . I thought they’d all gone to dust, or been abandoned, or . . . I don’t know . . . been grown over by the forest.A proper castle. But where did you get it, Cassin? Er, I mean, Brent.”
Cassin laughed. “We built it. Or, I should say, our ancestors did. And as for dust or the forest, we keep beating it back, I suppose. Every swing I take with my bloody pickax, I strike a blow to preserve the old heap.”
