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‘Who’s Willa’s father?’
Daphne’s jaw dropped and she stumbled, almost falling back to the sofa. ‘Warrington—this is not proper conversation.’
‘Daphne.’ His voice brooked no argument. ‘I need to know.’
She grasped her skirt in both hands, shaking her head.
He put his glass on the side table and stood. He reached out, moving forward and securing her elbow. ‘Daphne, this is about a child’s life.’
She turned back to him, eyes flat. ‘We won’t talk of this. I lost as much as you. Nothing will ever be the same.’
‘That may be. But I need to know who Willa’s father is.’
‘Why, you, of course.’ She pulled from his grasp, but he grabbed her fingers before she could jab Ludgate awake. She jerked her hand from Warrington’s and pounced on Ludgate, pulling him up while handing him his crutch.
‘Time to leave.’ She bit out the words.
Ludgate wobbled and Warrington instinctively reached out to give him assistance. Warrington felt a stab of guilt while he helped his friend down the stairs. Warrington hadn’t thought of the trouble Ludgate might have walking should he drink too much. Loading the sotted man into the carriage was no easy task. Ludgate mumbled his gratitude before sliding back into the squabs and closing his eyes.
Daphne avoided Warrington’s gaze when she rushed into the conveyance and shouted to the groom, ‘Home. Now.’
Warrington turned back to the house, angry with himself, but more displeased with Daphne. She knew. He could not blame her for wanting to keep Cassandra’s confidence if she’d been alive, but this was a different matter.
Then he wondered if a spider ever built two webs at the same time. A good practice.
Chapter Seventeen
Warrington walked to Melina’s door and knocked. Melina peered out, a question in her eyes. He took her by the hand and she squeezed his fingers. He led her to the sitting room.
‘They’ve left. Daphne claims not to know. But it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t tell me from her own mouth. Perhaps I only asked her to see if she would speak of it.’ He stopped near the fireplace, and stared at the chip in the mantel.
Melina didn’t sit. She put her hand on his forearm.
He gave a long blink and nodded. ‘My illness before Cass left—I have not been able to get it out of my mind. Something about the watchfulness in Cassandra’s eyes before I became ill. Suddenly she was at my elbow every moment, watching me. Even putting a palm to my forehead.’ His lips twisted in mockery of a smile. ‘She’d never shown such care for me before. Not long afterwards, my stomach began to revolt, my heartbeat changed and I could hardly think of anything except how ill I was. Cassandra’s concern vanished and so did she—with my son. To protect his health, I was later told. I wondered if she’d tainted our food.’
When he’d finally regained his strength and reviewed the household ledgers and accounts, he discovered that Cassandra had struggled through his illness at the modiste’s and the perfumer’s, and even the stationer’s—and she never neared ink because it might stain her hands.
‘Because she didn’t care for you, didn’t mean she wanted you dead.’ Melina squeezed his arm.
‘It certainly didn’t mean she wanted me alive, either. My father died of the same sickness I had.’
In the days she was gone, Cassandra became visible to him in a way she’d never been before.
She never let herself be alone. In her quiet moments, the maids would work with Cassandra’s hair or fingernails, or somehow change a dress she liked, and he would be aware of the gossipy hum of conversation. Not only did Cass know of every movement in society, she knew if the stable master fancied a household servant and who’d bedded whom.
Cassandra held no past, only the present moment. She’d never had a portrait or miniature of Jacob done and the knowledge plunged regret into him. He’d not asked for a painting, either.
Pulling himself from his memories, he spoke again. ‘I found nothing in her chamber to indicate she wished me ill.’
His eyes reflected the past. ‘Even now, I cannot believe she would do such a thing. I tell myself I must be imagining it, and after the knife attack, I felt some relief, because she couldn’t have planned that. No matter how much I say Cassandra cannot rest in peace and would continue her mischief in her death, I know it’s not possible.’
