Page 84 of Intolerable
She knew that because the flowers they’d brought were currently adorning the sitting room. “I will be home today. And the rest of the week.”
“Excellent.” He clasped his hands behind his back and went to inspect one of the floral arrangements. “Who’s this one from?”
“Brockton. I danced with him at the ball the other night.” He’d included a short but effusive message extolling the virtue of her hair color, likening it to the earth at his family seat in his beloved Warwickshire. “It doesn’t seem as though Glastonbury called.”
Her father’s mouth flattened. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was close. “No, which I find a trifle concerning. He’s certainly taking his time with courting you.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “I’d prefer the chance to get to know him, or any man, before I agree to marry them. I do think he’ll propose when he next calls.” Because he’d told Ruark that he planned to.
“Splendid.” He focused on her. “Are you ready to accept? This could happen today, in fact.”
“I suppose.” She poured chocolate into her cup.
Her father’s brow creased, and he moved back toward the table but didn’t sit with her. “You don’t sound enthusiastic. Is there something wrong with Glastonbury? Have you decided you won’t suit?”
“There’s nothingwrongwith him. He’s perfectly pleasant and charming. But I don’t love him, Papa.” She added the last in a softer tone, her gaze on her cup of chocolate that suddenly looked completely unappetizing. When had chocolateeverbeen unappetizing? She looked up at him then. “I wanted to fall in love.”
Her father stared at her a moment, seeming confounded. Then he slowly sat opposite her at the round table. “I would advise you to remember that love brings pain as well as joy.”
Cassandra knew that firsthand.
He went on. “It’s perfectly acceptable to be content with a warm, mutual affection. Can you have that with Glastonbury?”
She looked him in the eye. “Is that what you had with Mama?”
“No.” The word was barely audible.
“That’s why you find love painful. You loved her—and you lost her.”
“I don’t wish that on any of my children,” he rasped, looking away.
Cassandra had never seen him so emotional. It was at once wonderful and terrifying. “Wouldn’t you rather have known that love, even for a shorter time than you’d hoped, than to never have experienced it at all?” She couldn’t help but think of the rush of anticipation when she was waiting to see Ruark or the thrill of his gaze and his touch when they were together. Her world had seemed brighter, richer. It was agony to know she couldn’t have a future with him, but she still couldn’t regret the time they’d shared. She’d cling to that brightness, to that unparalleled bliss of being in love for the rest of her days. Even if she loved again—and she hoped she would.
It was a long moment before her father responded. “Yes, I would. I am thankful for your mother every day, even as I miss her beyond measure.” His voice had gone hoarse.
Cassandra left her chair to embrace him. It was quick but heartfelt, despite the fact that he only patted her shoulder. The touch was the most physical affection he’d displayed in a very long time.
When she sat back down, she folded her hands in her lap. “Is it absolutely imperative I marry this Season? I know you want me to, but I truly don’t wish to rush into anything I may regret.”
He exhaled. “You remind me so much of your mother. I could never deny her anything either. No, you don’t have to wed, but I’d prefer you did.” He hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the window. “I’m getting older. I want to see you settled.”
Cassandra’s heart squeezed. “You aren’t ancient yet. Don’t be so maudlin. I may wed this Season, but I’d like to know you won’t be angry if I don’t. In fact, I may even wed Glastonbury. I just haven’t decided.”
“I won’t be angry. I’ve been testy in recent months, I know, and it hasn’t been my intent. I’ll feel better when you’re settled.”
She could understand that. At twenty-two, she should have been settled already. That she wasn’t was due to her father’s kindness and understanding. Other fathers would have probably forced her to wed two years ago.
“Thank you, Papa. Now, let me eat my breakfast.”
He squinted at her a moment. “You look tired. Perhaps you should delay receiving calls until tomorrow.”
She’d never loved him more than in that moment. “Yes, please. And thank you,” she added softly.
He rose, straightening his frame and slightly elevating his chin so that he presented the figure of the duke who intimidated almost everyone. “Prepare yourself for tomorrow—and don’t feel as if you have to accept anyone. The right man is out there for you, my dear.”
She watched him go and pondered his words. Fearing she’d already met the right man at the wrong time, she returned her attention to her breakfast. And worked to push that man from her thoughts—forever.
Chapter 20
