“Can I leave you here with my mother while I see to estate business?”
She nodded immediately, perhaps a little too immediately, and he saw tears shining in her eyes. Her grief touched him, and he reached down to scrape a kiss on her neck. She made a whimpering noise, and he breathed in the scent of her. “Thank you,” he whispered against her skin.
And then he kissed her mouth and strode out the door. He whistled for a horse and rode out to pay his respects at his brother’s grave.
After that, he would call on the tenants, one by one.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
The master suite of Brent’s castle was more opulently turned out than any room on the property. The rugs were not threadbare; the drapes were fresh velvet. The bedclothes were new and expensive.
Ruth had given Willow a tour of the castle’s family wing before dinner, and although Willow had been too anxiety-stricken to pay close attention, it was impossible for her designer’s eye not to see that the castle, albeit a historical marvel, was in desperate need of new . . . everything. Andmoreof most things. It needed better-crafted pieces of furniture and more thoughtful placement. It needed new window dressings. Fresh paint. The list went on and on.
Despite this, the design of the dwelling was not in the forefront of her mind. Instead, Archibald Caulder’s threats followed her from room to room, echoing in her mind. She’d gone miserably along until Ruth led her to Cassin’s bedchamber, the only truly beautiful room.
And now, she waited.
She wondered idly if Lady Cassin had arranged for the thoughtful attention to the earl’s suite, or whether Cassin himself had arranged them. It was a shame, either way, because the room had sat empty most of this year and the last.
Future years? Willow could not say. She would not be a part of Cassin’s future, and it made her physically ill to look at the massive four-poster bed and think of her husband taking another woman . . . a young, fertile woman . . . into it, while she—
Well, she had not been able to think her way through what she would do. Hopefully, they would be able to annul the marriage, so she would not be forced to endure the stigma and ostracism of divorce. If the marriage was annulled, she could likely return to Aunt Mary’s and Uncle Arthur’s, to carry on as their apprentice and perhaps eventually take on design clients of her own. That had been her plan all along, hadn’t it? To live with Sabine and Tessa in London and create beautiful places for distinguished people?
Cassin and her love for him had been a new dream, a dream in which she should have never allowed herself to indulge. She had been selfish to even consider it, and now she would pay the price in heartbreak.
And his family, his lovely family, would pay the price in confusion and alarm and, likely, outrage.
Cassin himself?
Well, likely he would be upset for a time (another cause for guilt). But he would recover. He was a wealthy man, an earl with a bloody castle; he would have his pick of women throughout Yorkshire and beyond.
Willow sighed and fell back into the cushioned window seat of Cassin’s bedchamber. It was a beautiful spot, perched against a window with gill-shaped panes, both transparent and stained glass. She could see the stars twinkling over Yorkshire, magical and serene. She saw his mother’s garden, silver-green in the moonlight. She saw the long, winding road that would take her away from this place, possibly very soon. Possibly tomorrow. The sooner the better, really. The longer she remained, the more painful her heartbreak would become.
Idly, she played with the wedding ring Cassin had given her, turning it on her finger, gazing at the green stone. Would it be too painful to keep it, she wondered. Would the sight of it, or even the knowledge of it locked away in a drawer, prevent the shattered pieces of her heart from eventually fusing awkwardly back together?
She tugged on the gold band, testing its give. She was hit with a wave of misery so complete she nearly toppled from the window seat. She squeezed her hand into a fist.
No, she could not remove it. Not yet. There was too much love and hope and unadulterated joy imbued in the hard, warm metal of the band and the multifaceted twinkle of the stone. And now the tears began to fall, more tears than she ever thought possible, and she held her closed hand to her heart, rested her face on her knees, and sobbed.
The crying, perhaps, prevented her from hearing the heavy chamber door open and close. Or perhaps it was the numb, floating detachment with which she now regarded the world beyond her anguish.
“Willow,”sighed a familiar voice.
She looked up.
Cassin stood in the center of the room, his hair wild, his eyes bloodshot, his waistcoat dragging from his hand.
“Willow,”he repeated, his voice raw. His expression called to her.
Willow’s heart squeezed so tightly she thought she would never again draw breath. Fresh tears shot to her eyes, and she bit her lip, willing herself to be strong. She scuttled back into the corner of the window.
“Ruth led me to this room,” she said formally. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
He bent his head, looking at her with tired confusion. He dropped his waistcoat on the floor.
“Willow, please,” he said. His voice sounded so very tired.
An unspecified entreaty was not what she expected, and she did not answer. She listened, trying to hear over the pounding of her heart.
