Cassandra, my dear,” Papa had said, barely a week after her wedding. Their prize sow Aphrodite had birthed a fine litter, and she and Papa were in the barn admiring the squirming, squealing piglets, while competing to think up the silliest names. Cassandra was daydreaming that her awful wedding night had resulted in a baby of her own, when Papa said, “Now that you’re married, I’ll have the lawyers transfer all my estate to you, which is to say, to Joshua. That’ll save you trouble later on.” She had asked what kind of trouble there could possibly be, and all he had said was, “You never know what will happen.”
Except that he had known. He had known exactly what was going to happen.
But she couldn’t say any of that, so instead she said, “Grandmother, please. Don’t punish Lucy for Papa’s decisions.”
Her grandmother laughed, a jarringly pleasant sound. “How melodramatic you are, my dear. No one’s punishing anyone.” She placed a gentle hand on Cassandra’s wrist. “I simply have too many other obligations. You do understand?”
“Yes. Thank you. I understand.”
This time, Cassandra let her go. As she watched, the duchess tapped Sir Arthur playfully on the forearm and drew him into animated conversation, full of her suggestions for curating the exhibition. Sir Arthur nodded enthusiastically, a wise man who knew better than to dismiss the duchess’s advice.
Cassandra left and roamed unseeingly through the exhibition rooms in search of the exit. Perhaps she was selfish, expecting her grandmother to leap to attention like a scullery maid, but to Cassandra, it was the most obvious thing in the world: One put one’s family first. Yet if she said that, the duchess would agree, smile pleasantly, and repeat that she was too busy.
“I’m too busy” was merely an acceptable way of saying “Everything else is more important than you.”
How Mr. DeWitt would gloat when she confessed her failure. Worse: Going back to Sunne Park and telling Lucy and Emily that she had failed.
Again.
Finding herself nose-to-nipple with two muscular marble warriors, she folded her arms and scowled.
“I will look after my sisters. I will,” she whispered to the warriors. “If you can go into battle with no clothes on, then I can find another way.”
She knew nothing about big old rocks, painted or otherwise, but she knew how to make friends. Her marriage had lowered her social position, but she would rebuild it. She would make so many friends that Grandmother would change her mind and Lucy could blow up Parliament House and they would still be received.
“And don’t you try to stop me,” she said to the statues.
The statues did not try to stop her and Cassandra decided to claim that as a victory.
One day, she would follow her grandmother’s example and lead an active life of her own. But for now, she would put her family first.
Family! With a sigh, she headed toward the gate and her waiting carriage. Her sisters hated her, her mother forgot her name, her grandmother thought her unimportant, and her husband wanted her gone.
If she’d known it would be like this, she would have brought her cat.
Chapter 6
Joshua was sprawled on the settee in his study, thinking hard, when a female voice outside the door sent his thoughts scattering like street urchins before the Watch. His eyes flew open, only to meet the provoking sight of the flowers on his desk, so he closed them again.
Curse that woman. In the three days since that breakfast, she had stayed out of his way, but her colonization continued ruthlessly. Vases of fresh flowers claimed territory throughout, the conquered staff smiled more, and pianoforte music invaded the air at odd moments, all the more odd because he hadn’t known this house even possessed a pianoforte. Admittedly, the staff moved more quickly too, and the flowers were not unpleasant, and it turned out that music helped him think.
But none of that was the point.
Another voice outside the door: Filby. Good: The butler would not let Joshua be disturbed when he was thinking. Samuel used to sneak in, though; he’d snuggle up beside him, his dark little head pillowed on Joshua’s arm. Sometimes he could still feel the pressure of that head, as though even his muscles remembered the boy.
But it seemed that even Filby could not withstand Cassandra’s amiable invasion.
The door opened. A moment later, it clicked shut. Without looking, Joshua knew he was no longer alone.
He slitted his eyes open, took one look at the invader—as fresh as one of her