She didn’t have the heart to tell Aunt Valentine that it didn’t matter. Matthew wouldn’t be there. And even if he were, he wouldn’t care. Cassandra didn’t have any honor left to defend. But if Lady Honora was right—no. Cassandra pushed down the rising doubt. Lady Honora was wrong.
Seth would never.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It had been seven days since Seth made love to Cassandra and woke with her in his arms. Seven days without her. Seven excruciating days of fighting with himself to stay away from her. Each day its own slice of purgatory that he survived by counting the minutes until she would be in his arms again. This time, as hiswife.
Thursday.
He could make it to Thursday.
Visions of her filled his dreams. When he closed his eyes, he saw the wordloveon the same page as his name. He dreamed of her body under his, her hair through his fingers, her laughter haunted him… and then he would wake alone, in a cold bed, embraced only by the sounds of the city. Hemissedher. God, how he missed her. Unaware of how accustomed to her he had become. He took for granted that he could open a door and find her on the other side.
But that would change soon.
Unfortunately, there wouldn’t be much time for a honeymoon. In a particularly uncomfortable conversation, Lord Bolderwood had allowed Seth one full day with Cassandra after the wedding and called himself reasonable. Stressing expediency, he instructed Seth to: “Get it over and done with, so you can focus on your work.”There was no shortage of work, but that would change, too. Things would settle, and he would take Cassandra on a holiday, if nothing else.
If Lord Bolderwood would allow that.
A lingering taste of coffee remained on his tongue, the brew becoming as vital as oxygen. Tea wasn’t strong enough for the hours he kept. If he thought Cooper had pushed him at a breakneck pace, he was nothing compared to Lord Bolderwood with a point to prove. Though Seth could do his work anywhere, Lord Bolderwood kept him chained to his office, looming over his shoulder while he drafted thefront line rifle.
Cooper and Mr. Sanderson were hard at work readying the factory in East End. Seth had yet to see it. Making good on his promise to not see Seth outside of a church, Cooper had banned him from entering until Friday morning.
Today, Seth was determined to finish signing the papers for a townhouse in Mayfair, per his deal. He selected the townhouse for its proximity to both the Cooper’s residence and Lord Bolderwood’s. Even if Cooper never forgave him, hewouldforgive Cassandra, and she would wish to be near her siblings. Seth wanted to see how many stepswalking distancemeant and took a stroll through Hyde Park to find out.
He wouldn’t call. Wouldn’t walk down her street. He just needed to know how close she was, only for peace of mind.
“I’ll have to write a letter toMaand tell her that I’ll be living inMayfair.” Trevor grinned. “Why, you know, I don’t think she’ll believe it.”
Less of a valet and more of an assistant and courier, Trevor had slimmed in the face and frame from running errands and relaying messages from Lord Bolderwood’s residence in Mayfair to Mr. Sanderson’s factory near the docks.
“You write a lot of letters to your mother.” Seth raised an eyebrow, wary whenever someone overused writing instruments in his vicinity.
“She misses me when I’m away, sir. Wants to know everything about my life. You know how mothers worry… oh… I suppose you don’t.” Trevor shrugged. “They worry a lot. You can hardly leave the room without them giving you orders to take care of yourself, or that you’re doing something wrong.” He mimicked a voice that didn’t sound very feminine, “‘Eat your vegetables, Trevor. Walk silently, Trevor. Don’t track mud in the Manor, Trevor. Never start with a man’s fingernails, Trevor, you want him awake.’ You know, basic things.”
“Fingernails?”
“No, sir. The questioning should always come first.”
“What questions need to be asked before trimming a man’s fingernails?”
Trevor quirked a brow.
“Trimming, sir?”
Seth’s head throbbed. “Go back to being quiet, Trevor.”
Trevor nodded.
“And stay away from my hands,” Seth added.
With his next breath, Seth inhaled the clashing scent of fresh-cut grass and coal stacks. In the country, nature surrounded him. Here, nature was manicured and maintained, a place for promenading and picnics, even in this dismal weather. Horses attached to carriages crunched gravel under their hooves. Men dressed in brown and black tailcoats walked past him, faceless shadows tipping their top hats to each other.
He had forgotten how dark London was.
But then he caught a flash of pink through the haze. His eyes shot to the source. And there she was. Straight ahead, a group of women approached. With them, a woman wearing a familiar pink bonnet walked arm-in-arm with Lady Dorchester. Even with her face obscured, he knew it was Cassandra. The shape of her burned into him. Heart thudding in his chest, he ached to run to her, sweep her into his arms and keep her there.
Behind them, a golden-haired imp he would recognize anywhere walked beside a grinning Lady Jasmine, waving her hand in the air.
