Nothing could have prepared Willow for the agony of meeting Cassin’s family in the midst of a devastating family tragedy.
The pleasantries she’d gone over in her mind, the leather gloves she’d carefully packed as gifts for Cassin’s sisters—these amounted to nothing. Now she stood mutely in the sunny castle garden and watched her husband try to console his mother while he absorbed his own shock and grief. He staggered a little, and the dowager countess literally hung from his body. Pain was etched on his face as he struggled to draw breath.
Willow was inconsequential to the scene, she knew, but she felt breathless herself. She was overcome with the desire to go to Cassin but restricted by her position as newcomer and outsider. She idled between the door and their embrace, like a new and unknown guest to a terrible, terrible party.
All the while, the selfish truth resounded in her head: Felix was dead, and Caldera’s only opportunity for an heir had died with him. The earldom would require offspring, a male if possible, and Willow could provide nothing.
Her knees almost buckled as she thought through the ramifications. Only pride and her love for Cassin bolstered her. There was no time or care for her collapse, mental or physical. A young man was dead. A family was mourning.
Three young women now swarmed the castle door—Cassin’s sisters, obviously—and they sprinted to their brother, escalating the scene with a crying, clinging onslaught of tears and sobbing. A fourth woman appeared, Felix’s young widow, Ruth, and with considerable effort, she corralled them inside.
It was unexpected to see the grieving widow contain the hysterics and accommodate the surprise guests, but obviously young Ruth Caulder was the most capable woman among the group, widow or not. Gentle nudging and quiet leadership was, clearly, a preexisting role for Ruth, even in non-hysterical times.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Willow whispered to Ruth when they settled on a threadbare couch before the fire. There was so much to say, but this, Willow knew, must be first.
“Yes, I appreciate it, my lady,” Ruth said calmly, pouring tea. “It has been a terrible, terrible shock. We are . . . overcome. All of us. The dowager countess and Felix’s sisters have a more vocal and colorful way of dealing with their grief, obviously. I am not prone to displays of emotion, but my heart has been broken.” Here, her voice betrayed the tiniest rasp of a crack.
“I can only imagine,” said Willow. She glanced across the room. Cassin leaned closely to his middle sister, Violet, and spoke in low, even tones. His mother clung to his arm, her head against his shoulder. The other sisters, Juliana and Marietta, clasping tightly to each other, stood behind Louisa, Lady Cassin.
“But I only wish we had known,” Willow whispered. “I had no idea that your husband’s condition had grown so grave.”
Ruth nodded. “Felix was very bad off after the accident; then he rallied these last two weeks. We all felt sure he would recover. Just when we believed him to be better, he lost consciousness. Before we could call for doctors from Leeds, he was gone. It happened very quickly in the end.” She passed a cup of tea to Willow and her hand shook.
Willow smiled sadly. “Will you allow me to pour tea for the others?”
Ruth waved her away. “You are kind, but it is my preference to keep busy. My grief is different from the girls’ and the dowager countess’s. They feel relief in a torrent of tears and carrying on. I feel as if I am on a long, slow walk from hopelessness to . . . Well, I cannot say where. But I know that I must not stop.”
Willow gave another gentle smile and watched the young woman pour tea into five cups. Not only was Felix’s wife capable and controlled, but she was articulate and honest. Valued qualities all; qualities Willow would do well to remember.
“I’m not sure why I’m bothering with tea for the girls,” Ruth said, staring across the room at the huddle of tears, with Cassin at its center. “They’ve scarcely taken food or drink since the funeral. Lady Cassin might do, if Brent implores her. She has always been blindly adherent to any word from her boys.”
Willow nodded and took another sip and then another. Moments passed. Ruth settled back into the sofa and slowly nursed her tea. Periodically, one of the girls would let out an anguished sob. The longer Willow waited, the more difficult it was to control the doubts and fears welling in her mind.
It’s up to Cassin now, she thought.
There is no other way the inheritance of Caldera can be resolved.
He will be compelled to annul our marriage and remarry.
Or he will invoke a surrogate woman to bear him a child.
He will . . .
Suddenly, she felt physically ill. She shook her head and swallowed hard, gulping the last of her tea. It solved nothing, of course, to indulge in a wild spiral of defeat. Cassin had lost his brother. The household was veritably drowning in grief. She was being selfish and outrageous.
Eventually, in time, she and Cassin would address the deficit left by Felix’s death. Perhaps the lack of an heir could be somehow overlooked. Not likely, but perhaps. Perhaps one of his sisters would marry and the law could be manipulated to bequeath Caldera to one of Cassin’s nephews. In addition to Willow’s substantial dowry, she had inherited significant income from spare properties among her father’s far-reaching holdings. It was the money on which she lived in London, and she received it regardless of her brother Phillip’s progeny.
The situation was bleak, no doubt. But Willow must not dwell. She must support Cassin until . . . until the deficiencies of her body forced the issue.
Now she heard the sound of her name and looked up. Cassin was guiding his mother and sisters to her, watching her with sad, tired eyes.
“But I know you will want to properly meet,” he was saying, “the woman behind your London correspondence these many months. She was planning to travel here from London without me; did you know it? I caught her in London with just twelve hours to spare.”
Willow rose immediately, fixing a look of compassion on her face. She prepared to give a slight curtsy and take the woman by the hand, but Cassin’s mother rushed to her with arms outstretched.
“Oh, my darling girl.” The dowager countess breathed deeply, squeezing Willow tightly against her. “What a comfort and a joy your letters have been. And to finally make your acquaintance? You are the only bright spot in this horrible time. I’m sorry we are all in such a state.”
Lady Louisa’s voice broke, and Willow felt her throat grow tight. Her eyes filled with tears. She was unaccustomed to motherly embraces. Willow could not remember ever once being drawn into her mother’s arms. She froze at first, holding her breath, but when the dowager did not release her, Willow felt herself slowly relax, to take real comfort from the closeness and the raw, honest affection.
