Sally disappeared into the dressing room. By the time she returned, Cassie had discreetly covered the stain. Still, she stood frightened-rabbit still as Sally prepared her for the day.
Unlike Mary, the kind and motherly maid she had shared with Eliza and her sisters when they were all back at Willowhurst, Sally proved brisk and efficient, neither inviting confidences nor offering consolation.
On one hand, the maid’s manner left Cassie even more adrift. On the other, in less than a quarter hour, Cassie’s hair was arranged, her layers properly fitted, and her locket containing a miniature of her deceased mother on one side and her sisters on the other clasped around her neck.
Of her late father, she refused to carry a remembrance.
Leaning toward the mirror, Cassie pinched color into her cheeks.
There.She stood taller.
If not formidable, she was, at least, presentable, and she carried with her the love of the people she held dearest.
Keeping her posture formally erect, she made her way down the stairs. The breakfast room was easy enough to find. She, her sisters, Adrian, Harbury, Lady Sarah, and Adrian’s sister Emily had met there every morning for the past fortnight.
Before, however, she’d only needed to follow the sounds of her sisters’ voices.
If today had been like the prior days, Millie and Lenora would have already been exchanging witty barbs, Nettie and Emily inserting occasional dry comments, and Harbury’s sister, looking from one pair to the other as if watching a game ofjeu de paume.
Adrian and Eliza, of course, would be oblivious to all other company while sharing smoldering looks. And Harbury…
Cassie smirked.
Harbury would be lounging at the table’s head, observing them all with no small amount of consternation.
Perhaps he, too, hadn’t known quite the level of upheaval marriage would bring.
Girding herself with a deep inhale and a cheerful smile, Cassie stepped into the breakfast room. Her new husband, she noted, looked as sleepless as she felt. Her forced smile faltered as his troubled gaze met hers.
“Good morning.” He rose from his chair. His hand hovered in the air before he changed his mind about whatever he’d been going to do and dropped his arm. “I trust you slept well.”
“Well, indeed.” Her gaze briefly flitted to the liveried footman next to the sidebar. “And you?”
“Capital.”
They stood in uncomfortable silence, each with fixed smiles stitched to their faces, while the clock in the corner clicked as loudly and incessantly as a bad-tempered cricket.
Recalling himself, Harbury cleared his throat and then moved to the chair beside him, the same seat she’d chosen on earlier mornings because the rest of the table had been full. The legs made a rushing sound against the carpet as he pulled back the chair. With a gesture of his hand, he bid her to sit.
She inclined her head in thanks but, instead, moved to the sideboard to fill her own plate.
He remained silent while, taking her time, she served herself a bit of ham, a spoonful of berries, and a slice of toast with a slab of butter. Only when she returned to her chair did she venture a glance to see how he’d taken her rebellion.
Harbury’s color was high, but, like last night, the look in his eyes suggested embarrassment rather than anger.
Gracefully, she took her seat. He aided her by adjusting her chair’sposition before returning to the table’s head.
Cassie lifted her knife. The flatware was cold and heavy and the process of slicing her ham ridiculously labored. This wasbreakfast, for heaven’s sake. A meal she took every day. So why, on this morning, was she so irritated by the sound of silver clicking against porcelain?
And why did the crunching noises Harbury made increase her annoyance?
He swallowed, patted his mouth with a napkin, then studied her with passive features.
“I’ve been wondering if your bedchamber is furnished to your taste.”
“Yes.” Cassie dropped her eyes.
Actually, she hated the profusion of pink, but she couldn’t bring herself to disparage decorative choices likely made by his deceased mother. Nor had she any valid reason for complaint—the fabrics were of good quality and showed surprisingly little wear.
