“Your father never asked for that.”
“I’m not my father.” How many times had Soren reminded himself of that fact? The answer: Every time he’d attempted to overcome the host of almost insurmountable problems surrounding Pentreath.
And he’d vowed to never stop doing what he must.
Except Toby almost broke him when he’d told him of the war of wills between his mother and his son. Arabella had shown no kindness. She ignored that Logan was caught between two worlds. One had been the open freedom of not only his tribe but even the life Soren had lived around his shipping company and businesses.
And then there was this world, the one filled with his mother’s resentments and disappointments.
Her true grievance was with Soren. No, actually with his father, but Soren was starting to believe she was having difficulty telling the two of them apart.
Her weapon of choice apparently was his son.
He couldn’t imagine locking Logan in a nursery room and keeping him there like a pet. Apparently, Mrs. Williams had objected and had been given the sack.
“That kept the rest of us quiet,” Toby had said. There was a pause, a test, Soren sensed, and then the man added, “ ’Course some think him an odd child.”
Now there was a truth.
Logan had the blood of chiefs running through his veins. He’d not come willingly to Cornwall, especially with a father he barely knew.
He resisted this new life, just as Cassandra resisted.
In truth, there were times Soren didn’t wish to be here, either.
Why was he burdening those who mattered to him with it?
He touched his son’s hair. It was need of cleaning. The boy had been neglected, and it tore at Soren’s soul.
“I’m sorry,” Soren said. “I did not abandon you. I told you I would return.”
“I waited.” He’d even staked out Soren’s room.
“You are a good and clever lad. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
Logan’s answer was to dive into Soren’s arms. Soren tightened his hold, wanting to be a solid presence his son could trust. He owed this to him. He owed this to Mary.
The first time Logan had reached for him had been during a storm on their ship crossing. Soren cherished each time his son looked to him to be a father.
His mother interrupted them. “Dinner will be in half an hour. Since your son has eaten, there is no need to send a tray to the nursery. I shall tell Mrs. Branwell.”
She started to walk away but Soren called her back. “Mother, I would have us talk.”
“Perhaps later.”
“Now, Mother.” From the moment he’d returned, Soren had treated his mother as a woman in grief. He’d been solicitous. But he was no fool. She might wear black with a touch of purple, but she was not displeased her husband was dead.
Her smile was cool. “I’m not a pup you can order about.” She would have walked off except for Soren’s next words.
“You will move into the dowager cottage. I shall tell Mrs. Branwell to make the arrangements.”
He had his mother’s attention now. She came charging up to him. “I will not move. This is my house.”
“No, Mother, it is mine. However unfair you believe it to be, I make the rules here. I paid the price to save Pentreath.”
“I knew you would not be happy with your marriage—”
“Well, you are wrong.” He stood, using his full height to lord over her. Logan slid from his chair to stand next to him. “I chose Cassandra Holwell. I love her.” The truth of his words seemed to ring in the air around him. “I want her to be happy here.” He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Logan is my heir—”
“He is not fully English. He’s—”
“A member of a proud tribe. His mother was one of the bravest women I knew. My son will be the next lord of this house and I expect all to respect him.”
There was a long beat of silence. His mother stood as if trying to swallow her words. She failed. “I will not accept him. Not completely. But I shall do what I can.”
“And you will do it from the dowager’s cottage.”
Her face contorted into fury but Soren was having none of it. “You had your chance to prove your mettle. I left my son with you and you did not see to his welfare.”
“I knew where he was. He was safe.”
“Don’t think me a fool. And if you do anything in the future to harm my son or my wife, I will move you even further away.”
She shook with anger. Soren remembered battles between his parents when she’d behaved just this way. When he’d been Logan’s age, her temper had frightened him. He squeezed his son’s shoulders, urging him to be strong.
Of course, he needn’t worry. Logan had faced worse dangers than an old woman’s tantrum.
“I will not be down for dinner,” his mother announced. She turned, and only then did they all see Cassandra standing by the door, her hands by her side, her eyes wide.
His mother walked up to her. “You’d best have a care. My son has no allegiance to anyone but that wolf child of his.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Cassandra said, and Soren’s heart swelled with pride.
“Fool.” His mother left.
Cassandra blinked as if shocked.
“She must always have the last word,” Soren said.
Her response was a very direct question. “Do you really love me?” She walked up to him.
So she’d overheard. The game was over. He was exposed.
He looked into her eyes and confessed, “With all my heart.”
“And why?”
He had to laugh, Cassandra always expected an explanation. “Because you aren’t afraid to speak your mind. Because you think. You are a survivor, my love, and I admire strong women. And I must also say, I love you because at one time, I thought you the prettiest girl in Cornwall and I still believe so today.”
“Soren, I’m not—”
He cut her off. “Why do you deny what I’m saying? It is the truth, Cass, my truth. And I apologize for my lack of poetry. I just like the way you look.”
I just like the way you look.
The compliment went straight to her heart. If he thought her pretty, who was she to point out her failings?
“I know I am not what you wanted—” he started, but she stopped the flow of his words with her fingers on his lips.
“I’ve never said that,” she answered.
“You didn’t have to, Cassandra. I knew.”
“Then you knew wrong.”
He went very still. “I don’t know if I believe what I’m hearing,” he said. “Tell me again.”
“If you don’t know how deeply I care for you by the way I hold you in my arms, well, words won’t convince you.”
“I adore being in your arms but I have this wife who assures me words are important. Say them, Cassandra. I pray you return my affections.”
He loved her.
He’d spoken the words.
She held up the fist she’d kept hidden in her skirts to reveal the heavy gold jewelry. The bloodred stones caught the light. “I’ve kept these from you.”
“What are they?”
“These are my mother’s garnets. I’ve had them hidden from you.”
“Why? Did you think I would demand them?”
“Perhaps. Yes. I . . .” She paused. How to express her fear? “I wanted protection in case I might need money someday.”
“To leave me?”
The direction of his thoughts shocked her, and yet, was that not what she’d been hedging against? Too late, she remembered that Mary had left him. Cassandra had been so selfish and caught up in her own worries, she’d not even thought of how he might consider her motives.
She now sought to reassure him. “I’ve lost so much, Soren. Everything in my life was unraveling, but these gave me some reassurance.” She’d also checked their hiding space every chance she safely could, she realized. “But I’m not afra
id any longer.”
“You never had anything to fear.”
“I knew that, but my life had been turned upside down. And then you gave me a book.”
“It was not such a big thing.”
“To me it was. It meant you accepted me. You understood.”
“Cass, you’ve had many books before. Especially from your father.”
“Hardly. Before we went to London, and I learned I could borrow from a lending library or visit a bookseller, the only books I read were the ones I borrowed from the Vicar Morwath. He’d let me read whatever his children were reading, and then later, when I surpassed them, he shared from his personal library.”
She pressed the necklace and bracelet toward him. “I want you to have these. Use them for Pentreath . . .” Her voice trailed off. The burn of tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back and forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I was confused. I—”
His arms came around her, shutting off anything else she would have said. She snuffled her face in his jacket and he gathered her close. “Cass, Cass, Cass.”
Yes, his Cass.
“The necklace is yours from your mother. Pass it on to our children or use it to do whatever you wish. Buy books if you want. We will be fine. You have already given enough.”
“You aren’t angry that I kept them from you? That I didn’t trust you?”
Her tilted her chin to look at him. “Have I acted angry?”
She shook her head.
“That is because I have received the best part of the bargain, Cassandra. You. I love you.”
“And I love you, Soren. Very much.”
No bells rang. No birds sang. But it seemed to her as if in that moment, everything was absolutely right in the world.
They kissed, and it was one of the deepest, most fulfilling ones they had ever shared because it was the pledging of a new troth between them.
Soren broke the kiss.
“Logan?” she said to him expectantly. He nodded.
She leaned around her husband. His son had climbed onto a chair and sat with his back to them as if shutting them out.
She knelt in front of him. “I love your father. I love everything about him. Do you understand what that means? It means I love you as well. You don’t have to love me in return, but let us be kind to each other. I want you to know that, like you, I lost my mother. I was sad and very angry. It seemed as if everyone wanted me to carry on. It was hard.” An unbidden tear over the memories ran down her cheek. “I won’t ask that of you.”
To her surprise, Logan reached out and gently brushed it away. Her heart expanded at his soft touch.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, and he nodded.
“Someday, your father and I will have a child together. However, I want you to know that you will always be the firstborn.”
It would have been nice to end that with a hug or some sign of acceptance. Instead, Logan watched her with eyes that had already seen too much in his young life. She would have to wait for him to come to her.
There was a footstep at the doorway. Elliot’s voice said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, my lord, but Cook wondered if anyone would be coming to the table?”
“Oh, I believe we can eat more, don’t you, Logan?” His son nodded. “We will be right there, Elliot.”
The butler withdrew. Soren helped Cassandra to her feet. “That was well said,” he said. “Thank you.” He tapped his son lightly on the head. “Come, Logan. We must wash for dinner.”
In that moment, Cassandra fell in love a little bit more. Did he understand how manly he was when he showed his son how to be a proper gentleman?
Logan rose from the chair and dutifully took his father’s hand. But then he held out his other. “Come, friend,” he said.
Friend. Just as she had suggested.
And someday, he might call her mother. Or think of her as one.
She prayed she would be worthy of the title. She took his hand.
Chapter 20
It had been a long time since Soren had sat at Pentreath’s dining table and enjoyed a meal, if ever.
Certainly, he couldn’t remember laughing. The unhappiness and dissatisfaction of the house’s occupants—his mother’s, his father’s, even his own—had made the air in the room almost impossible to breathe. It had not been a happy house, or childhood, he realized.
He’d wanted something different for his son. Instinctively, he’d known he would need a wife who could help him reclaim all that had once been good at Pentreath—and he’d found her.
Yes, he’d gone after Cassandra because it would take her money to save Pentreath. However, he realized he’d also been searching for her quiet dignity and her grace. She would help guide Logan through Society because she had navigated those same treacherous waters herself and survived.
His wife appeared radiant as she sat at the table with Logan between them.
Their declarations of love, spoken from their hearts, seemed to have freed her. Or perhaps it was the unburdening of her secret. Hiding her jewels did not seem a bad action to Soren. He considered it rather wise.
That she’d felt guilt was to him a testimony to her character.
And he was well pleased with his choice of a wife.
She wore the garnets at the table along with the pearl on its ribbon. However, for his tastes, what he liked best was the way the candlelight reflected off the gold wedding band he had given her. He’d purchased it with money he could not afford to spend, and yet he had never made a better investment.
The servants did not act as if it was strange for his mother not to be present. Who knew what the attitude between his parents had been when he’d lived in Canada. He’d overheard whispers. Apparently, after he was sent to his uncle’s, his father had spent most of his time living in the village with Deborah. No wonder his mother was bitter. And yet Soren could not let her bile spread to his small family.
Logan ate his weight in roast mutton, potatoes, peas, and carrots. It was as if he’d not eaten the plate of sandwiches earlier. Soren was pleased that he was using a fork. There had been a time when Logan had defiantly eaten with his hands. Or perhaps he was trying to impress Cassandra. Either way, this was a good sign.
That night, when Soren took his son to his bed in the nursery, Logan stopped him in the doorway. “I don’t want to sleep here.”
“But this is your room.”
“I don’t want this room. No lock,” Logan insisted, and Soren understood what he’d meant. If he’d been held prisoner for weeks in a room, would he want go back into it? He thought not.
“One moment,” he told his son. He went into the room, set the candle on the dresser, and then paused, looking around. The top of the furniture was dusty. Further inspection showed that the chamber pot had been emptied but not cleaned. He would have words with Mrs. Branwell. His son was right not to want to sleep here.
He picked up the mattress, bedclothes and all. He went out in the hall. “Let us go, sir.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my room.” He didn’t have to repeat himself. Logan skipped ahead in happy agreement.
The two of them set up a pallet on Soren’s floor in the space between the wall and the bed. “Here now, brush your teeth,” Soren said. He brought a chair over to the washstand for Logan to stand on as he performed the task.
The door between his room and Cassandra’s opened. She stood there in a nightdress and the green dressing robe she’d worn that fateful night. Her hair curled down around her shoulders, the way he liked it.
“You have company,” she noticed.
“Hello, friend,” Logan said, before spitting into the basin.
“You don’t spit there,” Soren warned. “You spit in this mug.” He moved it closer to the basin.
“Why do I have to do this?” Logan complained. He held up the brush.
“To keep your teeth in your head,” Soren admonished. He’d met a barber who swore teeth fell o
ut because mouths were filthy. “And so you don’t wake with the breath of a goat.”
Logan laughed.
“What does he wear to bed?” Cass asked, looking around the room.
“The same thing I do.”
“You’re kidding. He will freeze.”
“He hasn’t yet.” Soren looked at her. “Perhaps his nakedness might be why my mother locked the door?”
“You know her better than I.”
“The nurse did make a comment. She said she would dress him for night and in the morning, he would be undressed.”
“Again, like his father.”
He grinned and walked over to her. There was a kiss and a second one. “I will see you later,” he whispered.
She smiled. “I hope. Don’t dress.” She closed the door.
Having finished with his teeth, Logan jumped off the chair. He picked up Miss Edgeworth’s book that was on the upholstered chair before the hearth and, with a busy air, walked to the connecting door and knocked.
Cass opened the door. “You forgot this, friend.” Soren’s son handed her the book.
She knelt to his eye level. “Thank you. Do you like books?”
His answer was a shake of his head. “His father’s son,” Soren said. “But then, I’m not certain how well he understands what they are.”
Cassandra changed her question. “Do you like stories?”
“What kind of stories?” Logan asked.
“Stories about adventurers like you,” she said, touching his nose. “Or about places you have yet to see. Even places you’ve already been.”
“I like stories.”
“I do, too.” She stood. “Tomorrow, we’ll share some stories. I will tell you one and then it will be your turn to tell me.”
Logan liked the idea.
“Come now, to bed,” Soren said. “We have work to do on the morrow.” His son obeyed. He’d always listened to Soren, who had never understood why his mother had the issue she did with this child . . . save for her insistence Logan was not all English.
She refused to appreciate how strong and healthy he was. How white and straight his teeth were. Or admire his energy and ingenuity, two qualities Soren valued. Logan was going to do well in life. And if Lord Liverpool, who was rumored to have Indian blood, could rise to the highest offices in the land, then so could his son.
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