Page 22 of A Highland Duke to Claim Her Heart

There was one last person she needed to speak with before making a decision. And this person’s advice would not be unbiased. It would, however, be smart.

Half an hour later, she had found her mother in the parlor and explained everything to her. Lady Pembury had listened dispassionately, her face a mask that even Cassandra could not read. When she was done, Cassandra collapsed backward against the settee and looked at her mother expectantly.

“Well?” she murmured. “What do you think?”

Lady Pembury let out a long, slow breath, then folded her hands in her lap. “I think that… you are very lucky indeed.”

Cassandra sat up. “Lucky?” she repeated, a little incredulously.

“Yes, very lucky,” her mother repeated. “I know that I encouraged the match with Lord Christopher, but I do not think either of us harbored any illusions about his character. The man is charming, to be sure, but…” She trailed off, shrugging. “His brother, on the other hand, is of a disposition that is much more predictable. And predictable, in marriage, is an undervalued quality.”

Cassandra swallowed. She was not so certain.

But Lady Pembury continued, as if reading her mind. “He will not run up gambling debts. He will be loyal. He will not run off to Holland just when you need him most. He will keep you respectable and your wealth intact. More importantly, perhaps, he is the duke. You will not just be the sister of a duke, but the duchess herself.”

I might have been the duchess anyway, if he had no plans to remarry, she thought. Lord Christopher was his heir, after all. But she did not say this. Instead, she spoke the real objection that lingered in her heart.

“But… He cannot love me,” Cassandra whispered. “He said so himself.”

“And you think Lord Christopher would have?” Her mother asked sharply.

Cassandra looked away.No, Lord Christopher did not love me,was the correct answer. But still, hearing it said out loud, crushed all her secret hopes. Hopes she knew she had been foolish to cherish.

“Do not be naive, Cassandra,” her mother said, her voice still edged with harshness. “And do not mistake the reason for thismarriage. It is and always was a political and financial alliance. That is what marriages of thetonare. That is what mine was to your father. But did I complain? No. I did my duty.”

Something in her mother’s voice made Cassandra look back at her. “Did you ever love Father?”

She watched as her mother stiffened, her lips turning down into a frown. For a moment, she wondered if she had made a mistake in asking so directly. But then her mother’s shoulders relaxed, and her hands unclenched.

“I have learned to love your father, yes,” she said quietly. “It was not always the case, but over the years our fondness and respect for one another grew. I know it is not the stuff of romantic novels, but that kind of love… There is a sweetness to it all its own.”

Cassandra carried these words with her as she paced through the castle for the next few hours, taking in the home of which she might be mistress. A love that grew… Her mother was right. It was not something out of a romantic novel, nor was it what she had dreamed of when she was a little girl.

But on the other hand, she would have a respectable husband. A castle in the Scottish Highlands. A title.

Perhaps best of all, she would have Annabelle to raise. And maybe, someday, children of her own.

The thought made heat rush to her cheeks, and she had to still the beating of her heart with deep, careful breaths. The flutter in her stomach when she imagined her children with the duke would not do. She would have to shut every part of that down and accept what he could offer her.

She found him in the courtyard of the Castle, pacing back and forth. He was still in the dark jacket he had been wearing earlier, his cravat perfectly starched, his expression moody and restless. But when he heard her footsteps, he turned at once, as if he already knew that it was her.

Cassandra clasped her hands behind her back and took a step forward. She looked him directly in the eyes as she spoke.

“I will accept your proposal,” she said, her voice echoing slightly as it bounced off of the stone walls of the courtyard. It wasn’t joy with which she spoke, nor was it defeat. She was steady and clear-eyed. “This is the best possible outcome for everyone involved,” she continued. “For myself, for you, for my father, and most of all, for Annabelle.”

His eyes flickered as she said this, and he took a step toward her. She drew back slightly, and he stopped. For a long moment, they considered one another, the tension in the air so taut between them that Cassandra felt she could have cut it with a knife.

Then he took another step toward her. This time, she did not move, until he was standing right in front of her, his dark, impenetrable eyes boring into her, as if they could see all the way into the darkest depths of her soul and what was lurking there.

“Very well,” he murmured at last, and she felt the words go through her like a shiver. “The bishop will arrive tomorrow. And then, Lady Cassandra, we will be man and wife.”

Chapter 9

“The cravat is tight enough,” Ewan heard himself snap as his valet adjusted it. Over the top of the man’s head, he could see his face in the looking-glass. It was not a pretty sight.

Ewan was always serious, but today his expression was even more dour than usual, and there were shadows under his eyes. He also looked pale, unusual for him, as he spent so much time out in the sun.

But he had not slept well the night previously, which accounted for the wan expression and the dark circles.