Page 68 of An Unwitting Alliance
“For the time being.” He pulled her hand closer to him and looked at it as he played with her fingers. Each touch elicited heat up her arm. “Hopefully, with a little interference, we can delay her passing as long as possible. Unfortunately, my efforts thus far have been met with resistance. I must see to this myself.”
At the thought of his diligence, warmth now traveled the length of her. Tomwas continually proving himself a better man than she had thought him to be. “I wish you luck today. For Alan’s sake.”
“And luck to you too. For you to survive Miss Pollard.” But luck was not what she needed. It was the smile Tom offered her. When he looked at her that way, she could face anything.
An hour later, she wished she could have brought Tom and his smile with her to sewing club. Patricia was in royal form. She played the part of a dramatic victim of a cruel robbery and, for some reason, was more vexed with Cassandra than usual.
Before the sewing was quite finished, Cassandra and Megan stood to fetch refreshment out of politeness so they could leave.
“These are not very sweet today,” Megan whispered, holding up a lemon tart. “A bit sour, much like our hostess.”
Cassandra elbowed her sister discreetly. “Swallow it down so we can excuse ourselves.”
“Done.” Megan popped the rest of the tart into her mouth and choked it down. “There. Let’s run while we can.”
Cassandra turned to see Patricia collecting their sewing things and their reticules. “What is she doing?”
“It appears she wants us to leave as much as we do.”
Cassandra set aside her plate and hurried to Patricia. “We are perfectly capable of seeing to our basket, Patricia.”
“I was merely trying to be helpful.” There was nothing remotely serviceable in her tone. “By the way, Mr. Gibbons said the strangest thing last night, and I could not believe him.”
There was no need to ask what it was Mr. Gibbons had said. “It is not any of my business what Mr. Gibbons says or whether or not you believe him.” Cassandra took the basket and reticules from Patricia and handed Megan her purse. “Thank you for the tarts, but Megan and I must excuse ourselves.”
They were not a foot beyond Patricia when she said, “I knew you could not be betrothed to Mr. Harwood. The very idea is absurd. I laughed when I heard it.”
Cassandra’s eyes went to the ladies still seated in the circle of chairs. Not a needle moved, their attention rapt on her. She sucked her bottom lip in as she debated whether to refute or agree with Patricia’s claim. In the end, she did not have to say anything.
Megan’s growl punctured the silence. “If it is so absurd, then I wonder why you have brought it up, unless of course, to make light of my sister, which would be in very poor taste indeed.” She hooked her arm in Cassandra’s and yanked her to the door. “Come, sister. I attended this club only so I would be invited to the ball, but who wants to attend a ball that ends early merely because of amisplacednecklace?”
Mama was not going to like this, but Cassandra was all too happy to have a reason never to attend one of Patricia’s sewing circles again. She and Megan left to the echoing sound of Patricia’s blusters.
When the door shut behind them, Cassandra burst out laughing. “Well done!”
Megan’s glower softened. “She had it coming to her, but Mama will never forgive me.”
They skipped down the stairs and made their way to the gate. Cassandra eyed her sister. “You love a ball. I cannot believe you said any of that.”
“I will not need any of Airewell’s balls once you are married. I shall come to Brookeside and stay with you and Mr. Harwood. I am sure my future brother will find me a husband.”
Cassandra’s smile faded. “Megan...”
“Hmm?”
She quickened her pace. “There has long been a mutual goal between Tom and me to end our engagement. I have no doubt he will speak with Papa upon his return.”
“What?” Megan caught up with her. “You cannot do that. You love him.”
Cassandra was not ready to admit that. Not yet. Her feelings were too new and the future too uncertain. “Whatever happens, I will help you find a husband, with or without Patricia’s balls.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the remaining span of their walk. Once they were in their room, Megan tucked away their sewing basket, and Cassandra dug into her reticule for her fan to put it away.
“What is this?” Her hand closed around several smooth beads. With a slow pull, a string of pearls slid out and dangled from her hand. Fear raced through her body. She recognized them, or at least she thought she did. They were terribly similar to the ones that had been draped on Patricia’s neck at the start of the ball.
“Pearls?” Megan stepped close, hovering over the beads. “They’re lovely. Did Tom gift them to you? I am so envious.”
“It’s Mr. Harwood to you. And no, he did not.” She swallowed slowly, willing her erratic heartbeat to steady itself. “If I am correct, these belong to Patricia.” But how had they come to be in her reticule? She glanced up at her sister. “Megan? Tell me you did not do this.”
