No.
No. No. No.
She closed her eyes. The scene from years ago of Franco hugging his beautiful Italian wife overtook her mind. She had been just as far away, but had seen perfectly. Seen Franco kissing his wife.
She shook her head.
No. Not Rorrick. Rorrick loved her. Wanted to marry her.
Franco loved her. Wanted to marry her.
No.
Not Rorrick.
He wouldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t.
She resisted with every fiber of her being what she was witnessing.
Cass opened her eyes.
The woman in the yellow dress had wrapped her fingers tight along Rorrick’s neck again, pressing her body into him. Rorrick lifted his arms.
The world slowed.
Rorrick’s hands moved through the air until his arms encircled the woman, his fingers moving to cup the back of her head, pressing in on her loose upsweep of golden hair.
The woman lifted herself slightly, her chin angling upward toward him. Clutching her head, Rorrick’s face dipped down to meet hers, disappearing behind her hair.
No. Not Rorrick.
There had to be some explanation.
Her body shook, jolting out of its stupor. She looked around frantically. Percival and Lilah were stopped five feet away, staring at her, waiting for her to join them. An older lady—grey hair beneath her black bonnet—scurried by the children, walking toward Cass.
Cass’s hand whipped out, grabbing the older woman by the upper arm. “Excuse me, ma’am—across the street, who is that woman?” She pointed at the end of the lane to Rorrick and the woman.
Startled, the lady looked down her long, straight nose at Cass, the creases around her mouth crinkling with a frown.
Cass didn’t let the woman’s arm go, shaking it.
The woman sighed and then looked over her shoulder to the end of the street. “On the corner, with the boys?”
“Yes.”
“That is Mrs. Trowlson.”
“Trow…Trow…”
“Yes. Mrs. Trowlson.”
The air flew out of Cass, blackness hitting her, and she stumbled backward, falling into the side of a stone brick building. Her arms flew wide, her fingers gripping the smooth stone to try and keep herself upright.
Two days ago Rorrick had asked her to be his wife, and he was married?
Married?
She gasped a breath.
Married?
She exhaled.
Married.
He was married. Rorrick was married.
Mr. Trowlson. Mrs. Trowlson. Married.
The cruelty of it sank into her chest, stealing bits of her breath until no air reached her lungs. Just gasps. Gasps for air.
Her hands flattened against the stone of the wall behind her, her nails scraping through her gloves into the mortar.
Not again. Not again.
How could she be so stupid? So very, very stupid.
“Miss? Miss? Are you not well?”
Cass cracked her eyes open, surprised to see daylight instead of blackness.
The older lady bobbed in front of her, waving her hand in front of Cass, half fanning and half trying to catch Cass’s attention. “Can I fetch someone for you?”
“Auntie Cass?”
Fighting the dizziness that was threatening to sweep her to darkness again, Cass’s gaze dipped down to the left of the lady.
Lilah stood there, clutching Percival’s hand to her belly. Stark fear cut across her face.
Cass looked at Percival. He was near to tears, his green eyes huge, watering.
Who was scaring them like this?
Hell. She was.
Lock your knees. Lock your damn knees.
She gasped a breath, shoving herself off from the wall whether her spinning head was ready for it or not.
“No. I am well. Thank you for your concern.” Waving the woman away, she snatched Percival’s free hand, the packages swinging in the air between them. She pulled him and Lilah down the walking path back toward the main intersection of the roads.
As far and as fast as she could from the scene at the end of the lane.
They cut through the traffic toward the street they had arrived on, sending horses to haphazard stops as they dodged animals and carriages.
The intersection and Tradd Street disappearing behind them, Percival tugged on Cass’s hand. “But Auntie Cass—we have to meet Mr. Trowlson. I am sure it is time, now.”
Cass didn’t break stride, her hand a solid clamp on Percival’s. “No. We need do no such thing. We are leaving. Leaving now to the docks. And if there is no ship setting sail, then we are traveling to a port that does have a ship leaving. Either way, we are not spending a minute more in this land than necessary.”
Her voice left no room for argument.
~~~
Cass paused at the entry to the library, leaning on the doorframe as she watched Percival and Lilah with their heads down, both reading the open books in front of them with the fierce intensity only the young possessed.
Cass knew the text Percival read from was at a level far beyond Lilah’s. He had been teaching Lilah how to read the best he could in the mine, and now with a proper tutor teaching both of them, the girl’s skills improved every day.
She wondered how long the new books would take to be delivered from London. Cass had furnished this home by the Desmond estate a year ago, and had supplied the library mostly with classics, not knowing there would be two young readers voracious for more and more stories.
The winds had been kind to them on the return voyage to England, and they had spent only four weeks at sea. During the past two months, both Percival and Lilah had taken to their new home in North Shropshire with wide-eyed enthusiasm for everything new and interesting. They were a pair, the two of them.
Within the year, she would have the steward she’d hired start teaching Percival about managing the land. It was a small estate—this farm and home that she had managed to purchase for him and his mother. But it would keep Percival in self-sufficient comfort his entire life if it was managed well.
Just as Percival had, Lilah had recovered reasonably well from the horrors of Folgart’s mine. The girl could already sing her way around most of the ladies in London, and that alone would open many doors to her. The fact that both her face and her spirit—if not her size—matched her voice, set Cass’s initial worries for the girl to rest. Lilah was smart, and Cass would ensure Lilah had any opportunity she wanted available to her.
Bright futures for both of them, Cass could already see.
Even as a content smile spread across her face at the thought, her heart started to thud, squeezing painfully in her chest.
Her chin dropped to her breastbone as she steadied her breath and attempted to stop her eyes from welling with tears.
It happened randomly, without warning. The crushing torment of missing Rorrick. Of not seeing his face. Hearing his laugh. Feeling his breath on her skin.
Even with the torment of his betrayal, she missed him. And that was the cruelest part of all.
There were moments when her thoughts would finally be content—only to explode painfully around her in the next, reminding her that peace would continue to be an elusive dream. Happiness, love—those things would never be for her.
It seemed as though the only one with lasting, open wounds from their time in America was Cass. And she needed to sear those wounds closed.
It was time.
Time to recapture some of her old life. The life that was constant. Dependable. Predictable.
Cass stepped into the library.
“Lilah, Percival.”
Both sets of eyes looked up to her.
“I have news. I am packing to leave today.”
“Leave?” Percival stood from his chair and scurried across the library to stand in front of her. “Where are you going, Auntie Cass?
“I—”
His green eyes wide, he
looked up at her as though he was losing his very life. “I thought you were to stay here with me, Auntie Cass. With me and Lilah. You said you would.”
Her lips drew inward, her words faltering. “I…I was…”
A confused frown set onto his face. “So where are you going?”
She reached out, setting her palm to the side of his smooth little cheek. “Your eyes are very much like your father’s, Percival.”
“Thank you, Auntie. He was very handsome. My mother always said so.”
“She was right. He was handsome.” A sudden rock of bitterness formed of regret and humiliation lodged in her throat. “Every time I look at your eyes I am reminded of how I failed him, how I failed your mother, how I failed you.”
Percival’s face fell. “Please stay, Auntie. I don’t mean to look like him. I don’t want to make you sad.”
The rock in her throat lodged free and guilt swept through her. Even after these months, she was still fumbling, making a disaster of what she could and could not say to an eight-year-old. She dropped to one knee in front of him and cupped his face. “I am so sorry, Percival. I should not have said that. I only spoke it as a reminder to myself—not to make you feel bad or to make you question how much I love you.”
She had never hidden from the boy who she was and how they were connected. That was Rorrick’s doing. He had convinced her at his cabin that if she didn’t tell Percival the truth of his parents, the boy would always wonder. The truth was better.
Laughable, now, Rorrick’s pious honesty.
But in this case, Rorrick had been right. She had never regretted telling Percival the truth and her part in it all.
To her shock, the boy had never blamed her for what had happened to his mother.
Percival’s face eased and he nodded.
Yet the guilt still pounded in her mind, refusing to ease. She squeezed her hands to his head. “You are not the sins of your father, Percival. I know that. You are a wonderful boy who will grow to be a fine man who I will be very proud of—who I am already very proud of.”
“So don’t go, Auntie Cass.”
Her bottom lip slipped under her front teeth for a long moment as she looked at him. “Do you know how you are happiest when you are in here, reading with Lilah?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
“Well, I have to go away for a little while to find that very same thing for myself. A place where I can be happy, if it can still exist in some form.”
“Must you?”
“Yes. And I will not be gone long. A few weeks, a month, at most. You will have Lilah and Mrs. Gettling. And your lessons with the tutor have started, so you will be incredibly busy learning and playing, and of course, reading. Those new books should arrive any day now.”
He nodded again, slow, reluctant, but accepting. “I still will miss you, Auntie.”
“And I you.”
She hugged him and then Cass stood, looking to Lilah still at the table and then back to Percival. “Now, did Mrs. Gettling say she was going to make sweet tarts with cook?”
Percival’s eyes lit up. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you two go check on their progress while I finish gathering my items.”
The children ran out of the library, running down the hall toward the kitchens.
Cass followed them, veering at the stairs to trudge up to the second level and her chambers.
Closing the door to her room, she looked at her half-packed valise. The temperatures had been warming steadily in the last weeks, and she eyed her heavy wool cloak hanging on the wall by the fireplace, debating on bringing it with her.
She stepped to it, lifting the edge of the cloak, and her gloves fell from a fold. Without thought, she picked them up and set them into the valise before she realized what she was holding.
The gloves.
The gloves Rorrick had insisted on buying for her in Charleston. Thick and terribly unfashionable.
Her fingertips dipped down to them, curling along the soft leather.
Warm and comforting. Even now.
She plucked them out of her valise and set them on the side table. These, she needed to leave behind. She needed to get back to the Revelry’s Tempest. Get back to her life as it was before.
It seemed like a thousand lives ago, what her world had been, managing the gaming house. In a time long before she did more—was more. A woman with boldness in her spirit. Determination. A woman of hope.
It was that damn hope.
Hope had destroyed her time and again, yet she was helpless to refuse it. She hoped far too easily. She loved far too easily.
And that had to end.
Hope was the thing she needed to squelch from her life.
And she would start back at the Revelry’s Tempest.
Back to what her life had been full with before—the Revelry’s Tempest and all it demanded of her. She could have that life—be that woman—once more.
It could be that way again.
It had to be.
{ Chapter 17 }
“Shall I see you in, m’lady?”
Clutching her driver’s hand as she stepped down from her carriage, Cass took one look at Rupert’s drenched, sagging top hat getting pummeled by the rain and she shook her head, taking the umbrella from his hand. “By all means, no. Take care of the horses and get yourself out of this cold rain.”
“Kind of you, m’lady.” Rupert winked at her. “But the flowers have started, so I’ll be happy to be takin’ the rain, cold or not.”
“I have to agree with you on that count, Rupert.” She smiled as she tightened her cloak against her chest, centering herself under the umbrella before she moved, jumping over haphazard puddles in the mews as Rupert led the horses and coach away to the carriage house. Reaching the rear gate, she flipped open the latch and stepped into the expansive rear gardens of the Revelry’s Tempest.
She paused, her hand on the gate as she scanned the many neat, orderly flower beds. Buds had started to form on many of the plants and plenty of new-growth—bright green leaves unfurling—soaked up the rain. This area was Adalia’s domain, as the duchess was a master of the roses and planning the wonder of an oasis like this. Cass guessed that within another two weeks, the gardens would be offering the first blossoms of their spring display.
She pondered a themed night of gaming focusing on the spring flowers. They had held such an evening two years ago and it had been a resounding success. Plus, planning a themed night of gaming was always an extraordinary amount of work and that would be perfect to occupy her time.
Logan had managed the Revelry’s Tempest with perfect ease while she was away—that hadn’t surprised her. What had surprised her was how relieved he seemed to be to have her back at the Revelry’s Tempest.
She had thought Logan would be terribly upset with her for leaving to America by herself without telling him—a move so atrociously unsafe she knew he would be irate with her to no end.
But whatever he thought of her misguided adventure, he had managed to keep his ire to himself, and for that, she was grateful.
Cass nodded to herself. A fresh blooms event was just what she needed to get everything back in order—back to how it had been before she left.
She spun to close the wrought-iron gate and a rush of air hit her, followed by a rush of man.
Sopping, the mass of soaked clothing crushed onto the front length of her, arms clasping around her torso and sending cold rain splashing onto her neck, onto her face.
Her umbrella flew out of her hand as she was lifted off her toes. Crushed into a soddened black overcoat, she twisted, craning her neck to see upward.
Rorrick.
Rorrick clasping her against his rock wall of a chest. And he was staring at her, fury and damnation and relief and craving bearing down upon her. His head sank to her, his lips finding hers in the next second, kissing her so hard and so fast she had no room to breathe, no time to react.
He yanked his head away, the rain he had s
heltered her from suddenly pouring upon her face. In the next instant, he released her, pushing himself away, his breath ragged, seething as his eyes skewered her.
“You left me.”
The three words cut through the rain, the rage in them so heated the tip of every nerve in her body spiked.
“You—”
“You damn well left me, Cass. Do you know how long it took me to find out where you went? Hell, I even thought Folgart was alive and had come after you.” He started to take a step toward her, but then he stopped with a jolt, his foot moving a step back. “You left me and I wasn’t going to come—” He cut his own words off, his lips drawing to a tight line as his head shook.
She had struck terror in him.
Good.
He had no right to his fury. No right at all.
Wiping a sheet of rain from her cheek that had dripped from the rim of her bonnet, she stepped toward him, her lip curling. “Don’t you dare feign outrage, you monster. You have a wife, Rorrick.”
His head jerked back. “I what?”
“You have a bloody wife.” Her words flung out through gritted teeth. “I saw it. I saw you with her in Charleston. Did you not think I would find out? Did you not think I might want a choice in whether or not I was entangled with a married man with a family?” Her hand slapped onto her chest. “Whether I was the mistress?”
His hands curled into fists. “Whatever you are thinking you have it all wrong, Cass.”
“Do I?” She jumped another step forward, her boots splashing water onto his trousers as she looked up at him, her words hissing. “Because I have witnessed the exact scene I saw on that Charleston street by someone who was far more cunning than you. You truly think me that stupid? You didn’t think I would find you with your wife, did you?”
“Found me with my wife? What are you talking about—I don’t have a wife, Cass.” The fury he had arrived with intensified.
She slapped his chest, the wet fabric smacking against her palm. “Don’t you dare try to lie to me now—not after what I saw in Charleston—I saw you—I saw you with her. I saw the boys—your sons.”
He exhaled an exasperated growl, his eyes going to the sky. “This is madness—what are you talking about, Cass?”
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