Page 8 of An Unwitting Alliance
“It is already arranged, Cassandra. We started the process before you returned, and Papa signed the appropriate papers this morning with his solicitor. We hope to have your betrothed join us in two weeks so you might get acquainted before the banns are read. You must prepare yourself.”
Cassandra took two steps closer to Mama. Her chest tightened and her airway began to constrict. “Two weeks?” She shook her head so fast her head spun. There would be no time to grow used to the idea. “You should have told me sooner.”
“Knowing how stubborn you can be, your father and I thought it best to wait until it was done before we told you.”
“I am not stubborn.”
Mama’s face softened, and she gave Cassandra an apologetic smile. “Determinedmight be a more appropriate word. And a little headstrong.”
Was it so wrong to know one’s mind? She frowned. “You must be eager to toss me from your side.”
“You know I depend on you, dear.” Mama reached for her, but Cassandra drew back. “You’re practically a second mother to the children. All of us will miss you greatly. But your absence with Aunt Evans showed me that I have been selfish to keep you so close to my side. You are a grown woman, and you deserve a chance like this.”
“A chance like what? You don’t even know this man.”
“Ihavemet him.”
“When he was seven!” Cassandra could hardly believe the unlikely story. Somehow, a chance meeting at her birth had irrevocably tied her to a stranger. She didn’t have to remember him to know for certain that they would never, ever suit.
“Yes, but I have followed his life very closely. You could not find a better man in all of England. I am sure of it.”
Cassandra began pacing, and her voice escalated. “And what if you are wrong? What if we discover he is nothing like you thought? Is there any recourse, or will I be forever leg-shackled to a man not of my choosing? Not of my taste or liking?”
“What isn’t there to like? With his money and position, your children will want for nothing.”
So now Cassandra was to be acharity case.
Mama’s face scrunched with concern. “Deep breaths, remember?”
She hated being told to calm down when she grew upset. Mother likely feared she’d faint from lack of air. It had been several years since the last incident, but the memory was strong enough to force Cassandra to listen.
In. Out. In. Out.
She folded her arms around herself and tried to squelch her emotions. Her parents were acting in her best interest. Another deep breath. They were not the kind to chase money. Two more breaths. As fortifying air filled her, one thing became clear. No matter her parents’ motives, she did not have to like it or even agree. She would show them she was capable of making and setting forth a plan that could work well—maybe even better than their own.
“I want to write to him.” It was bold—a little pathetically desperate too—but Cassandra was determined.
“A letter?” Mama frowned. “It would not be proper; you know that.”
“I have heard of engaged couples corresponding. What harm could a letter of introduction bring?” If she could dance with a man she did not know, surely she could bring herself to write to one.
Mama smoothed circles around her stomach in a soothing motion. “When Papa returns from seeing the solicitor, I shall ask his opinion. In the meantime, you may draft a letter and have it ready.”
“Thank you.” She would write an unforgettable letter that would halt the wheels of change. But for now, she needed to be alone. To think. To plan. To panic. “Excuse me, Mama. I will leave you now.” Anger, sorrow, disappointment, and despair fueled her steps from Mama’s room, through the short corridor and past her younger siblings, down the narrow staircase, and out into the muted afternoon sunshine. There was only one place to be alone, and it was not inside Fairview. She strode around the small manor to the back of it and hurried to the old gardener’s shed. Her refuge.
Chapter 3
Two weeks later
A meeting with the Rebelsgenerally meant one thing: someone was in need of help. Never would Tom have predictedhewould be the reason everyone had gathered at the Dome—especially on a day they should be celebrating one of their best friend’s nuptials. With a couple of old sofas and a few chairs lining the Palladian-style Roman temple built some distance from Bellmont Manor, they were afforded the privacy they needed. Even though Paul had just taken his bride and left, none of the Rebels had lingered with the guests at Paul’s parents’ home, Rothbrier Hall, after the wedding breakfast. Instead, they had gathered in earnest to discuss a most vexing topic: Brookeside’s musical club—a guise for the Matchmaking Mamas.
Louisa had overheard them plotting over their plates of cake. Only the truly meddlesome would use such a sacred, celebratory day to further their machinations as the Rebels’ mothers had. And, as typical, the only mention of music was the praises they sang as they congratulated themselves—taking full credit for Paul’s wedding. The fact that they could casually discuss their children’s futures as frankly as they could the weather quite disturbed all those present in the Dome. And now several pairs of concerned eyes rested upon him—the next misfortunate candidate to be matched to a stranger and coerced into a matrimonial prison.
“Relax,” Tom said for what felt like the tenth time, even though it was growing increasingly difficult to do so himself. “It is not like I am going home to be executed.”
Ian leaned forward in his putrid muddy-green chair they had dubbed his throne. “Are you certain? Is not marriage akin to death?”
“Hardly,” Miles said with a chuckle. “But I do think Tom’s smile too easy. He must not realize that Paul had no intention of getting married either, and now look at him.” He opened his prayer book on his lap and shook his head.
