Page 7 of An Unwitting Alliance
Cassandra picked up her three-year-old sister just as Beth, at two years Janie’s senior, tried to climb Cassandra’s other side. “Girls, you are much too big to climb on me.” She shook her hand so Beth would release it. “And the stairs are hardly the place to do so.”
Their nursemaid, Nancy, came down the stairs, her dark hair pulled tight under her mobcap and her thin frame moving quickly. “There you are, girls.” Her Bengali accent punctuated her English, makingtheresound likedare.
Cassandra handed Janie to their nursemaid. “I think a short walk before their lie-down would be useful. They’ve a great deal of energy today.”
“Yes, miss. That they do.”
Thank heavens for Nancy. Five years previously, she had been abandoned after her employment as a traveling ayah on a ship from the East Indies to England. Cassandra’s parents had met her by chance when Nancy had rescued Cassandra’s brother Robert from being run over by a carriage. Her ability to soothe Robert’s tears had impressed Cassandra’s parents, and since they were in need of a new nursemaid, they’d hired Nancy on the spot. Now Robert had outgrown the nursery, but Nancy had been a wonder with the girls too. If only every part of life fell into place as easily as it had with the transition of bringing Nancy into their home. Cassandra had been back a week from Bradford and was no closer to securing her future than she had been when she had left to visit her aunt.
As soon as she entered her shared bedchamber, her sister Megan came up behind her. “Mama requests to speak with you privately in her bedchamber.”
Odd. “What is the matter?” Her mother had no problem sharing everything with everyone, so a secluded meeting did not bode well, but Mama must’ve hinted at something.
Megan caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above their shared dressing table and frowned. With nimble fingers, she added an extra pin to hold her coil of nutmeg hair to her head.
“Megan?” Cassandra prompted her distracted sister, who shrugged.
“She probably wants to ask where it is you keep disappearing to in the afternoons.”
Cassandra had grown used to having time to herself while staying with her aunt, and stealing away for an hour or so during Mama’s naps was hardly a concern. “She would have no reason to ask me about that in private.” Cassandra stepped to the door but paused. “You do not think it is about Mr. Gibbons, do you?” As predicted, her parents had been utterly disappointed to learn that nothing had come of her courtship. Would they encourage her return to her aunt’s house to pursue him? No matter how she’d tried, Cassandra had yet to discover a brilliant plan that would deliver all her hopes and dreams and still help her family.
Satisfied with her hair, Megan turned and leaned against the dressing table. “If Mr. Gibbons has written and asked for your hand, I hope you spurn the useless man. I certainly would. But no, it is more likely she will ask you to be nice to Miss Perfect Patricia Pollard.”
Megan had a point. Since Society here revolved around the Pollards, Cassandra’s best opportunities would likely include them—as revolting a plan as that would be, it was a place to start. “I suppose I had better get it over with.” Cassandra slipped into the corridor and passed two doors to Mama’s bedchamber. She knocked and let herself in. Mama perched on the edge of her bed, her rose-colored duvet bunching beneath her and her protruding stomach nearly reaching her knees.
“Come in, Cassandra, and close the door behind you.”
“What is it?”
“There is no use dancing around what has to be said, although you will not like it.” Mama’s high cheekbones were pink, as if the room were warmer than it was.
“Are you ill?”
Mama shook her head. “I am in my eighth month of pregnancy with my eighth child. It is expected that I do not feel well. But it is nothing like that. It pertains to you. There is no easy way to say this, so I will just have it out. Your father and I spent years contemplating this decision, and we both feel strongly the time is right. Dear, you are to be married.”
Cassandra gaped. Married? “Did Mr. Gibbons write to Papa? Did he ask for me?” For her family’s sake, would she be tempted to put aside her personal desires and accept him?
“No, he did not write. We have arranged a marriage to someone else.”
Cassandra must have imagined the words. She could hardly formulate a reaction before her mother continued.
“You met him but were too young to have any memory of it; he was but seven when you were born. His mother was the one to rescue me on the side of the road when you came into the world. The two of us have corresponded for years and have become the dearest of friends. It was only natural that I look to her for guidance regarding your marriage.”
Cassandra stared in shock. How was one to react when learning of a betrothal of marriage? Faint? Have a fit of temper? Throw a book or a priceless heirloom? Run away? Cassandra could not decide which appealed most. A single-syllable word formulated on her tongue. “Why?”
Mama put her hand on her large stomach that encased the next Vail child. Was this her answer? There were too many mouths to feed? Not enough room in the already crowded house? Cassandra knew their finances were tight, but had it come to this?
“You must satisfy yourself that it is the right time,” Mama finally said. Her coarse brown hair lacked its usual luster, and her large eyes drooped with fatigue. In contrast to what could be a depressing physical state was an oddly contented smile. “It is time for you to blossom in a new home with a family all of your own. I can assure you they are the best sort of people in both their manners and their genuine kindness. Not to mention they are quite affluent. I hardly dreamed of such a connection for any of my children. We are most fortunate they’ve agreed to such a union.”
Cassandra’s mind seemed to come back to life as thoughts and arguments fired like dueling pistols inside her. “And because I am a woman, I must accept what my family has arranged without further questions?”
“Papa and I have plenty of reasons for taking this course, but nothing we say will convince you. Sometimes you must simply have faith that your parents know best.”
Cassandra folded her arms across her chest. “I have faith in my ability to make a decision for myself.” She opened her mouth to share her plan, only to remember that she hadn’t made one—yet.
“And I have faith in the both of us—our decisionandyour ability to trust us.”
Cassandra’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “I regret that nothing came of my trip to Aunt Evans’s, but certainly I could meet another young man in coming months. Certainly we are not so desperate that I must marry a stranger.”
