Page 35 of An Unwitting Alliance
“I was, dear.”
Dear?They had agreed to a cease-fire, not any sort of relationship in which they referred to each other with terms of endearment.
“As I was saying, Peter,” Mr. Harwood continued, “I will not let a crowd of people keep me from kissing my wife when I’ve a mind to do so. Society will never tell me when it is appropriate to show affection.”
A sudden surge of heat permeated the room. His words were incredibly improper and highly romantic.
Peter shifted in his seat, his ears and face burning red. “I just remembered something I forgot.” He struggled to remove his napkin from his collar in his haste. “It’s upstairs. In my room. Excuse me.” And just like that, he fled from their company.
Cassandra slid her gaze back to Mr. Harwood’s, her cheeks undoubtedly the same color as Peter’s had been. “Is there a reason you scared my brother from the table?” If Mr. Harwood dared say he wanted to be alone with her, their truce would be off.
He chuckled. “Actually, there was. I was not sure I could listen to any more market talk, because I have an errand to run.”
Oh. So he hadn’t wanted to be alone with her. Not that she was disappointed. She shoveled another bite into her mouth, careful to make sure it was a manageable amount. After swallowing, she asked, “Are you going to see a workhouse?”
“I am to meet your vicar today.” He removed his own napkin and set it on his plate.
She frowned. “What business could you possibly have with him?”
“I am getting married soon, am I not?” He relaxed back against his seat and grinned.
Her eyes widened and she pushed her chair back. “You said last night—”
He held up his hands. “I am teasing, Miss Vail. We might have called a truce, but since I discovered your plotting to give me a stomachache, I could not help but give you a taste of your own medicine.” He stood and dipped his head. “Good day, Miss Vail. I shall return in a few hours. Do try not to miss me.” He gave her a slow wink and sauntered through the open door.
Cassandra remained in her seat, staring after him. Why on earth was he going to see the vicar? Why could he not have simply told her instead of forcing her to jump to more conclusions? She crossed her arms, and her foot danced under the table. It hardly mattered what business he had.
But if breakfast with Mr. Harwood was going to be like this for the rest of her life, she was not going to be the only one blushing. He had caught her off guard today, but when they were married—
She blinked, shocked at where her thoughts had gone. If he had thought he was giving her a stomachache with his teasing, the man had been dead wrong. In fact, it had done quite the opposite. She had been like a gullible fish, believing she could resist his rather charming and attractive bait. In reality, he had ensnared her.
Was she really entertaining such thoughts? Good heavens, why was the idea of Mr. Harwood not so distasteful all of a sudden? Her foot stilled beneath the table. Worst of all, why did the idea of being kissed by him in public bring her an unbidden thrill?
* * *
Tom laughed out loud on his ride to the vicar’s. “All right, Charley. This one was on me. I will take complete blame. You won’t believe it, but she was staring at me. I know, I know. Don’t let it go to my head.” He couldn’t help his smile. “Not to worry; my course is still set. We still have time to undo everything, but I am depending on your help. I doubt Mama will be convinced by my letter, so you must use your angelic influence to persuade her. Don’t fail me now, Charley.”
With an unexplainable trust that his brother was watching out for him, Tom left the matter in heaven’s hands and rode on. It was not a quarter hour more and he was at the vicarage, a quaint cottage with an abundant garden and tidy interior. His visit to see Mr. Miner was informative, if nothing else. He learned that Mr. Longbottom was an ambitious man who listened to no one. Mr. Bartholomew, who had greater authority, was getting on in years and had recently taken an extended trip to London, leaving most of his tasks to his vicar. And, unfortunately, Mr. Miner had no control over the tithes and how they were distributed.
It seemed their options were limited. The tenants of the workhouse were hungry, overworked, and prone to illness. Tom was determined to visit the workhouse in Leeds and compare the institutions. There had to be a solution.
After bidding Mr. Miner goodbye, he mounted Zeus and urged him to a gallop. Oddly enough, Tom was anxious to get back to Fairview. He wanted to know if Cassandra was still blushing. She was beautiful when she blushed. It would take time to solve both the workhouse problems and to determine how best to end the betrothal, but he would not complain about the enjoyable view Cassandra provided him in the meantime.
When Mr. Buttars let him inside, the man’s frown immediately told him something was amiss.
“You don’t look well, Mr. Buttars. Did the rambunctious Robin set the house on fire while I was out?” He handed the butler his hat.
“It’s Mrs. Vail, sir. They’ve sent for the doctor, but the missus and I are concerned.”
“Is the baby coming?” Tom glanced to the top of the staircase. A wave of unease made his stomach pitch.
“It seems that way.”
“Surely that is something to celebrate,” he hedged. He knew so very little of this topic.
“Dates have been wrong before, but from what we can tell, it’s too early.”
Spots edged into Tom’s vision at the thought of the infant dying. He swayed, and Mr. Buttars put out his hand to steady him.
