Soren went through the motions of preparing for bed himself. Logan watched quietly a moment, apparently content, before he slipped into sleep. His child was exhausted, as was Soren.
However, he’d become accustomed to having his wife beside him. As soon as he believed it was safe, he climbed out of his bed and made his way to Cassandra’s.
He’d hoped she’d be waiting up for him.
Instead, she slept as if she was home at last. Even when Soren put his weight on the mattress, she did not stir.
The last days of the full moon that had followed them from London streamed through her window and outlined her body. She was naked, and he silently laughed.
She’d done it to tease him, and it would have worked, if she’d been awake.
He did not have the heart to disturb her. He lifted a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers.
“Thank you, my love,” he said. “And I promise you will never regret this marriage.”
For the first time since he’d silently made this promise to himself, he knew it would come true.
The first ray of dawn woke Cassandra. She was not ready to start the day. The bed had felt better than she could have imagined. She stretched as she turned over, and then saw her husband’s body beside her. He wasn’t under the sheets with her but had the counterpane over his most intimate parts.
He was very enticing in his relaxed state.
She wondered what would happen if she nibbled on his neck.
Rolling onto her belly, she carefully scooted her way toward him—
Soren rose up and leaped on her. He’d been lying in wait.
His hand over her mouth prevented her surprised cry. And then his lips on her mouth kept her busy.
He was already fully aroused. She should have noticed the change in the counterpane. It didn’t matter. She now had what she wanted.
Their coupling was good, very good . . . quietly good. He turned her on her side to enter her, his thigh over her hip. She covered his hand with hers, holding him to her.
It was all so right, and just when she felt his release, when she, too, experienced that sharp shiver of completion, the door between their rooms started to open.
“Logan, wait,” Soren ordered. He grabbed the counterpane to cover them.
To his credit, the child did stop.
“I will be right there.” He gave Cassandra a hard buss. “We will have to think this through.”
“I may have an idea.”
“Will it mean you are in my bed?”
“That is where I wish to be.”
“Then do it.” Leaving her the sheet, he wrapped the heavy counterpane around him and walked out of the room.
“It would help if you wore nightclothes,” she reminded his retreating figure. His answer was a grin.
But she did have an idea, and she had Miss Edgeworth to thank for it. She would turn her bedroom into Logan’s room. Then she could share Soren’s.
It didn’t take much to make the change. Over breakfast she outlined her plan to Soren and Logan. “I need your help,” she informed her stepson.
“We were going to tell stories,” Logan answered.
She was pleased he remembered. “We can do it as we change the rooms.” He liked that idea.
And, so, while Arabella was moved to a cottage by the house servants, four stable lads helped Logan and her set up what she was calling the “children’s” room. Because, she told him, he was too old for a nursery. He agreed.
She used Miss Edgeworth’s book as a guideline. The first advice was to have only furniture that, should it be spoiled, would not cause anyone grief. Cassandra had her bed moved to the nursery and the nursery’s furniture in her room. She had Logan pick out toys that interested him. There were not many. So, she instructed one of the stable lads, following a suggestion in the book, to cut different shapes and sizes of wood into blocks.
Later, when the room was set up, she and Logan sat on the portico and sanded those blocks of wood so they would not give him splinters. He liked having work. He was also proud of what he’d done and showed his handiwork to his father.
That night, Cassandra slept in her husband’s bed and it was exactly as it should be, although she could not convince either of the men in her life to wear nightclothes.
The next day, she made it a point to call on Arabella. She had Cook prepare a basket of bread, jam, and cheese. “Do you wish to come with me?” she said to her men.
“She sent me a note letting me know she is highly displeased,” Soren answered. “I shall give her more time.”
“And you, Logan? Will you join me?”
He looked to his father. “It is your decision,” Soren told him.
Logan considered the matter in his grave manner that was actually endearing in such a young child. “I will go with you, friend.”
“Do you drive, Cassandra?” Soren asked her.
“It has been some time, but I imagine I could,” she answered. She’d had no need to drive herself in the city.
“I drive,” Logan announced.
“There, you are in good hands,” Soren said.
Cassandra thought he was jesting, until one of the stable lads brought the cart around. Logan set his hat, a miniature version of his father’s, at a rakish angle and picked up the reins.
He barely waited for Cassandra to take a seat before he flicked them and off they went.
She looked back at Soren, who was laughing. “You should see him ride that pony,” he assured her.
It was lovely day for an outing, even though it was a bit overcast. Yesterday, they had told each other stories. Today, Cassandra shared her favorite poems she’d memorized with him. Logan liked the language of the poems, sometimes repeating the words.
Another advantage to having Logan drive was that he knew where he was going. He followed a wagon track through the wood, and on the other side was a house that Cassandra would be hard-pressed to call a cottage.
It might have been a home the first Dewsberry built for his family. It was Elizabethan in style with mullioned windows, a stone roof, and a brick walk. Rooms had been added on over the years. No wonder Soren didn’t have money, she reflected. This was quite an estate to maintain.
One of the maids from the main house answered the door. Cassandra knew that Soren had assigned a number of them to see to his mother’s comfort. “I shall see if she is in to you, my lady. Would you like to come in?”
Logan had stayed by the cart. “Are you coming in with me?” Cassandra asked.
“I will keep my pony company.”
“Don’t ruin your clothes,” she said to him.
His look was one of complete surprise that she would even think of him doing such a thing. She went inside carrying her basket.
Of course, the house was in a bit of disarray. It would take time for Arabella to arrange the rooms the way she wanted them. The maid left her in a lovely sitting room overlooking the front lawn, where Logan had unhitched the pony. Cassandra watched him hop on the animal’s back without the benefit of a saddle—
“What are you doing here?” Arabella demanded from the doorway.
Not the best welcome Cassandra had ever received, but what could one expect? “I brought you some treats.”
“Give them to the girl.”
Cassandra handed the basket to the maid, who appeared a tad befuddled over what she should do with it. “Take it to the kitchen, you stupid child,” Arabella said.
The maid ducked her head and did as bid. Cassandra felt sorry for her.
“You don’t need to pretend to care for me,” Arabella announced.
“You are my lord’s mother. Of course, we care what happens to you.”
“But I have been put out of my home.” She’d not taken one step into the room.
“I can understand how upsetting that is. However, Soren and I will not let anyone hurt Logan.”
“It isn’t right,” Arabella said. She walked into the sitting room and saw Logan
out the window. He was now trotting the pony in circles on the front lawn. “He isn’t all English. He should not be Dewsberry’s heir.”
“By all that is right, he is English and he is the heir.”
“I’ve never seen proof of a marriage. Have you?”
“I take my lord’s word for it.”
Arabella cut the air with a dismissive hand. “Then I am better off where I am.”
Cassandra silently agreed they all were.
Her mother-in-law faced her. “You don’t have to stay.”
“No, but I wish to visit. If you have time.”
“All I do have is time. Until death.” She looked around the house. “I might as well be here as anywhere.”
Cassandra adopted some of her husband’s words of encouragement. “I’m sure there is something you can do. Why, you could garden,” Cassandra suggested, too late remembering the mess of the gardens in Pentreath’s back lawn.
“What does that do for me?”
“It feeds the spirit.”
“My spirit was fed by being Lady Dewsberry. Even when my husband shamed me with that harlot of his and his bastard children, the title gave me importance. Now that I’m widowed, I am nothing.”
Cassandra could have felt compassion for her plight until Arabella added meanly, “But I rest in the pleasant assurance that someday you, too, will be supplanted.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing? I’m not taking your place. I’m trying to find my own way.”
“You are in Cornwall,” Arabella haughtily informed her. “There is nothing for us here.”
How many times had Cassandra said the same herself?
And yet, hearing her mother-in-law speak this way drove home the realization that, if she wasn’t careful, this could be her fate.
Cassandra was not going to let that happen. She moved to the door. “Well, thank you for your counsel,” she said. “I will take your advice to heart. If you need anything, please send word to the house. We want you comfortable.”
Cassandra then marched out of the house, anxious to leave.
“Logan, let us go.”
He hopped off the pony and quickly harnessed it. His clothes were a bit of shambles but he still wore shoes and socks. She counted that as a success.
She climbed into the cart.
“Are we going home, friend?”
“Yes, yes, home.”
They rode in silence. In truth, Cassandra buzzed with frustration over Arabella. “I’m not going to end up like her,” she informed Logan.
“No, friend.”
“I’ve a good brain and sound mind.”
“Yes, friend.”
“I want to do something useful. I believe in ideas and knowledge.”
“Like us telling our stories?”
He had impressed her yesterday. She’d shared her favorite myth about Icarus, who flew too close to the sun. Logan had immediately understood and told her a story of an Indian boy who boasted too loudly that he could throw a ball farther than anyone else. Then a new boy had appeared and challenged him. The boy was actually a rabbit who had changed to teach him the dangers of pride.
Soren had been right. His son had a quick mind and it needed to be put to work.
They had discussed the issue over their pillows that morning. A tutor would have to be hired. Soren didn’t know if he wanted to send his son away; however, there was not a school in the village or anywhere close.
Cassandra, too, believed that sending Logan away to school would not be the wisest course of action for him.
A thought now struck her. At first, she pushed it away, but it came right back.
Her dream had been to create a literary salon where important ideas were shared.
But what if, instead, she created a school? A school that used modern ideas like Miss Edgeworth’s, such as educating both boys and girls?
What if the important ideas she was destined to share were not with adults who were already set in their ways, but with bright minds like Logan’s? What if she put Practical Education to the test?
The idea took flight in her mind. Suddenly, Cassandra could not wait to return home.
She found Soren out in the sheep shed where he had been observing the shearing. The bleating of animals prevented him from hearing her excited explanation of her idea. He took her outside where they could talk.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m going build a school,” she informed him.
“A school?”
“Yes, like the sort Miss Edgeworth and her father encourage. And I must find the second volume of their work,” she said, making a mental note to herself. “Yes, that is what I shall do.”
“How are you going to build a school? I’m not being critical, Cassandra, but practical.”
“I have the garnets. I will sell them and buy books and whatever I need. Perhaps there is a building here at Pentreath we can use. Or a building in the village. I’d rather not use the old schoolroom upstairs. It is too small for what I envision.”
“What do you envision?”
“A wonderful school. I don’t care about the sex of the students but I am interested in their willingness to learn. I’ve thought of a good name for it. One that is positive and uplifting. The Dove School. What do you think?”
He was unimpressed.
She thought a moment more on it. “The Rising Dove School for Boys and Girls.”
Soren winced as if the second name was worse. Then he said, “How about the Dewsberry School? Because this will be your concept, Cassandra. You will have the running of it.”
“The Dewsberry School.” She liked it. “Everyone in the area will know exactly where it was located.”
“The name will also burnish the title,” Soren observed. “We will go from a reputation of being gamesters and spendthrifts to gentlemen, gentlewomen, and scholars.”
“Yes,” she agreed with enthusiasm. “This is something I wish to do.”
“Then do it, Cass. Do it with my blessing and make a gentleman out of that child.” He nodded for her to look up. Logan had climbed to the top of the sheep shed. He’d shucked off his shoes and stockings and walked the roof line.
“He will be hard to tame,” she predicted.
“I don’t want him to lose his spirit, but I want him to succeed in the world. Therefore, he is your first pupil.”
Her reply was to kiss him for being so generous and encouraging. “Now to make plans.” She set off for the house at a brisk pace, but then stopped and looked back at him. “Oh, and your mother knows about your father’s mistress. And, if you ever—” she started, pointing a finger for emphasis.
“Never,” he swore crossing his heart. “You are woman enough for me, love. It is all I can do to keep up with you. Now, go create your school.”
She threw him a kiss and hurried away.
Chapter 21
The Dewsberry School took over Cassandra’s imagination and her life. It gave her a sense of purpose. She used Miss Edgeworth’s thoughtful wisdom to prepare a philosophy for the school. She didn’t care if she had twenty pupils or only Logan. What mattered was opening minds.
The next weeks were a blur of activity. Mrs. Branwell ran the house. Cassandra would meet with her most mornings to discuss menus and the like and then the two women would go about their day.
Over time, a growing respect for each other began to form.
Cassandra moved a desk into the library on the opposite end of the room from Soren’s. They spent hours there, each busy with their own work. It was a good arrangement.
She even set up a small desk for Logan and she gave him assignments. He thought he was helping her create lessons for the school. She knew she was educating him.
He still called her “friend” on occasion. Lately, he’d taken to referring to her as “m’lady,” a slurring of the “my lady” the servants and Soren used.
Once in a while he would call her Cass. “His Cass,” just as Soren referred to her
on occasion. Usually this was when he was nodding off to sleep. Stories had become their nightly ritual. First, she told him a story and then, eventually she began reading stories to him so that he would understand the usefulness of words and books.
There were few books around Pentreath but Cassandra had found a Bible and that was all she needed. She read about Jonah and the whale, and the earth swallowing the Israelites, and Daniel taming lions, and sometimes Logan would share stories his mother and aunts had taught him.
It was a special time of the day between them. She no longer feared being a stepmother because she did not consider herself one. She was his mother and he was her son, a relationship built from a growing bond of love and respect.
Soren sometimes joined them but he was usually keeping late hours balancing the estate books and scheming of ways to “rob Peter to pay Paul.” She and Soren made sure they took care of each other’s needs whether talking about their day or having a good romp.
Meanwhile, she was anxiously awaiting word from Mr. Huggett in London, who was tasked with selling her garnets for a fine price. Then she would buy books and fill Pentreath’s library with them. The building for her school was still under consideration. They could build, or there was an abandoned granary on the estate close to the village that Soren thought might make a good school.
It was during this time of waiting that a letter arrived for her from Willa Reverly. Cassandra almost didn’t have enough money to pay the franking. Yes, money was that tight, but she had to admit, money was meaning less and less to her.
However, Willa’s news in the letter shocked her.
“What is it?” Soren said, seeing the change in her expression. They were in the library, each at their own desk.
“Willa says she is being married off to Camberly.”
“Is she now?”
“This is terrible news.”
“And why is that? Or did you want the points?” he teased.
She’d told him about their long-ago game. He’d thought it funny, and she remembered it as sad. She had explained that back then, the game had been what they needed to make themselves go through Season after Season of meaningless routs and parties.
A Match Made in Bed Page 23