Page 18 of An Unwitting Alliance
Chapter 6
Hiding in her secret placemight have been childish, but Cassandra had been desperate to get away from the irksome Mr. Harwood, her prying siblings, and her pushy parents. The old garden shed was a far cry from a drawing room, but it was decidedly better than staying inside Fairview and losing her mind.
She looked around her happy place and wondered what Mr. Harwood would say if he knew his future wife preferred this place to his company. Not that it mattered. She had no intentions of being his wife and felt no obligation to show him anything. Glancing around, she was quite proud of her renovations. The shed had not been utilized much in the past few years, as most of the supplies were held in the stables now, and it had become a place for the family to store odds and ends that did not fit in their small attic space.
Seeing the resource for more than what it had been intended for, Cassandra had taken it upon herself to revitalize it. First, she had created a barrier with an old bookshelf, stacking several broken crates on top of it and beside it, sufficiently dividing the shed in half. It had taken months to clean and organize the back space, add bits of paper and mud to the cracks in the walls, and secretly clean the old blankets—one of which she had transformed into a set of drapes for the single window. A well-used embroidered elbow chair missing a leg was now propped up on a stack of outdated textbooks from Papa’s childhood, creating a comfortable place to read.
Beside it was a stool for her feet and an upturned crate for a table. She had draped it with the scrap of blanket leftover from her drapes and had added a vase full of paper flowers she had crafted the previous week with the boys after one of their lessons.
Sinking down in her seat, she stared up at a painting of Fairview. It was done during the manor’s better days—a time when it had been kept up properly. The canvas had become torn at some point and had been cast off to the shed. A bit of glue had repaired the canvas enough for her to appreciate the artist’s work. Her eyes went to the garden on the side, and inevitably, her thoughts went to Mr. Harwood.
He was certainly handsome, and some would possibly even say charming. For some reason, those qualities made the situation all the more dire. What if she fell in love with him? Would he use her feelings as a joke? And did he know she had very little for a dowry? What had enticed him to her? From every angle she examined this, there was only one solution. Mr. Harwood had to go. Every day he remained increased his opportunities to beguile her and her parents. Removing him from the house would dramatically help her efforts to convince her parents to let her return to her aunt. She was sure to hear back soon with an invitation.
She had not been in the shed long when the next step formed in her mind, but she had to act right away. Slipping out of the structure, she closed the door tight to prevent mice from entering. Staying close to the outer wall of the shed, she refrained from touching her dress against it while keeping hidden enough to prevent her family from noticing.
Once she had successfully returned to the house unseen, her first stop was the kitchen. She found Mrs. Potter stirring a cold cucumber soup. Everyone trusted Cassandra to deliver instructions from Mama, and lately the staff had looked to her as the mistress of the house since Mama was often busy with the children or napping. This sort of trust made it difficult to lie, but for Cassandra, it was better than a lifetime married to a cruel man.
“That smells delicious, Mrs. Potter.” Cassandra leaned forward to catch the savory scent all the better.
“Thank you, miss. I hope our guest likes it.”
“About him.” She hesitated to abuse Mrs. Potter’s trust, but ridding the house of Mr. Harwood benefitted them all. Any unsuspecting person could become a victim of his manipulation. “I hear he has a poor ability to taste and prefers his food very salty and heavy with spice.” Heat flooded her cheeks, but she said nothing to withdraw the lie.
“I will see to it that his dishes are well flavored, then.”
Cassandra thanked her and hurried to her room. A small thrill stole through her. She was taking her future into her own hands, and it was empowering.
Not an hour later, she and her family were dressed and seated for dinner. Since her visit to the kitchen, Cassandra had begun to wonder if she had been a bit rash. Whenever the thought entered her mind, she had countered the guilt with one direct thought: Mr. Harwood had taken away her power of choice. Her freedom was worth fighting for.
Cassandra realized she had another advantage over the Honorable Mr. Harwood. Her family’s tendency toward unique awkwardness could finally work in her favor. Michael was a good ten minutes into a tedious verbal history report over the soup course, and their guest had to be utterly bored. It took only a few well-directed questions to keep her brother going.
In the meantime, Cassandra noticed the effects of the food on Mr. Harwood. He reached for his glass over and over again to quench his thirst. Their single footman, Samuel, had stepped forward to refill it twice already.
“Thank you, Michael,” Papa said for the third time. “I am most impressed.”
Cassandra was ready when Michael’s words began to slow again. “What about listing the kings starting with King Arthur next?”
“No kings!” Papa said a bit too sharply before tempering his tone. “No kings please, Michael. Why don’t we ask Mr. Harwood to tell us about himself.”
Mr. Harwood wiped his mouth with his napkin and even blotted his forehead where beads of sweat had formed. “There is not much to tell.”
Mother did not seem to agree. “Lady Felcroft wrote of your tour of the Continent. Where did you go?”
A grand tour? Cassandra could not help but be impressed. But this was yet another reason she and Mr. Harwood were too different to be together.
“I joined my parents partway through their trip. We passed through France and a corner of the Austria-Hungary empire to Italy. We thought of going to Spain, but with the conflict there, we chose to avoid any possible skirmishes.” He pushed his food discreetly away from him. Cassandra noticed, but she was too eager to ask a thousand questions that came to her mind.
Had he climbed the Alps? Seen the Pantheon? What were the foreign balls like? And the food. What dishes did he miss? Which country had claimed his heart?
She shook her head and stayed silent. This was Mr. Harwood—the man she hoped to scare away—not a pleasant guest to converse with.
Dinner passed with stories of Mr. Harwood’s adventures, which were told with surprising modesty. Some of her questions were even answered. She pretended disinterest, of course. She would not give the man a single reason to gloat. If the food and conversation would not send him running, she would have to do it herself.
After the men’s port, they joined the women and her brothers in the drawing room. She eyed their easy manner and scowled. If Mr. Harwood was against marrying her, he was doing a poor job of convincing her father to end the engagement. They laughed together about something, and she shook her head. It was just as she’d thought. Mr. Harwood was playing games with her. She was becoming ever more certain that he had managed to track her down from Lady Kellen’s ball to further humiliate her somehow. Or, worse, he had been in on her parents’ plan from the start and intentionally thwarted her suit with Mr. Gibbons rather than revealing the truth to her. She could imagine him capable of all sorts of mischief.
At long last, Papa sent the boys to bed, and only Megan, Cassandra, their parents, and Mr. Harwood remained. Megan claimed a seat in the center of the sofa, so Cassandra sat on her right. Her mother slipped past her to the piano room, but not before Cassandra noticed the fatigue in her face and the way she shifted her hips to walk, as if each step brought her discomfort. No matter how well-placed Mama’s intentions were, their guest could not add any strain to her health. Mama’s accoucheur had warned her to take this final month easy to prevent a premature labor. Unfortunately, Mama was a hard person to tell to slow down.
After she settled on the piano bench, a soft melody flowed from the instrument. Papa settled next to Mama, and they shared a whispered conversation together over the steady flow of music.
