A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(31)

Tomorrow.

In her life, she’d never done anything rash or foolish. She was an heiress to be watched over and directed. The only choices she had ever had in life were for her reading material. Even her clothing had been carefully monitored by Helen and her father.

But they had left.

“Tomorrow?” she repeated, a bit dazed. She’d always thought she’d have a big wedding breakfast. She didn’t know what to expect now.

“Easily.”

She looked to Soren. He was going to be her husband. Her father’s words echoed in her ears—He’s like his father, secretive and conniving.

Soren didn’t appear as if he was plotting anything wicked. In fact, she didn’t know him well enough to know what he was thinking.

And she was hitching her future to his. “That sounds good.”

“Come,” he said, holding his arm out as if to shepherd her. “You need breakfast. And there are plans to make.”

Cassandra didn’t even know what plans needed to be made. Fortunately, the dowager did.

The entire female half of the company jumped into the wedding planning. “This will be grand fun,” the dowager assured Cassandra. “A wedding, especially a controversial one, will make my country party the talk of the year.” The other women agreed, and ideas and suggestions began flowing freely while Cassandra pecked at her breakfast.

Her stomach was uneasy. She felt as if she’d made a decision to walk off a pier. Her father had always been with her.

Willa took the chair next to hers. “Congratulations. This is exciting. I believe you are marrying a good man. He’s certainly a handsome one.”

“Our families are enemies.” Cassandra didn’t understand why she made the statement. Everything was jumbled in her mind. She’d disavowed such nonsense herself several times, but now, since she was severing all ties with her father, it sounded different.

Willa laughed. “Enemies? Isn’t that rather medieval?”

“Not in Cornwall.”

“Fortunately, you are not in Cornwall.”

This was true. Cornwall was the last place Cassandra wished to be. “I haven’t been there in years.” She thought a moment and then said, “We will live in London.”

“Of course,” Willa agreed, although she sounded a touch distracted, and Cassandra realized she’d been so wrapped up in her own problems, she hadn’t thought of anyone else.

“Is something the matter?” she asked Willa.

“Did you think the duke is interested in me?”

It seemed a lifetime since Cassandra had fretted over whether the duke paid attention to her or not.

“He sat with you at dinner. How many points would that be?”

“That silly game.” Willa looked away a moment as if needing to compose herself. “I told myself it was all right that I haven’t married. After all, you and Leonie were in your third Season. Now, well . . . my closest friends are gone.”

Cassandra abhorred hearing Willa, who was lovely and talented, talk this way. She also understood the feelings of being left behind all too well. “Camberly isn’t worth your interest.”

“Oh, I know.”

“You do?”

Willa nodded. “He is taken with Lord Bainhurst’s wife. He had me sit next to him at dinner as a ruse. What they were doing under the table with their hands was silly.”

“Under the table at dinner?” Cassandra was shocked. “With Lord Bainhurst at the table?”

“Can you believe? I had to pretend I didn’t notice anything. They were so rude. Meanwhile, my father has hopes up that I have attracted his attention.”

Willa frowned. “What sort of man takes up with another man’s wife? Especially when that man is a guest under his roof? My skin crawls to think of it. Oh, wait, Father is signaling me to join him. And he is standing by the duke.” Willa sighed. “I wish I was married. Then I’d be done with all of this nonsense.” She looked to Cassandra. “And scoring points is not fun without competition.” She left to see what her father wished.

Cassandra excused herself when the dowager and her friends had talked themselves out on the subject of her marriage and were, instead, discussing starting a game of cards.

Her valise sat on the bed. Maggie, the maid she and Helen shared, must have packed it. Cassandra was fortunate it had not been put on the coach. She removed her clothing and checked the false bottom. Her jewels were still there.

She began putting her things away. Only then did she reflect on everything she was losing. Abby, her personal maid, was at the London town house. Cassandra could contact Abby to see if she would accept a position with her once she and Soren decided where they would be living.

Where would they be living? Would Soren let her choose the house? What expectations did he have of her?

He’s like his father, secretive and conniving. She pushed her father’s words from her mind.

Instead, she stretched out on the bed and surprised herself by quickly falling asleep. A knocking on the door woke her. “Miss Holwell, the company is gathering for dinner,” a maid said.

Alarmed by how deeply she had slept, Cassandra called, “I will be down presently. Please give the duchess my apologies.” She hurried with her toilette, performing it herself. She shook a lace-trimmed dress in a light blue from the valise and styled her hair into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck with curls around her face. She wore the pearls again. She appeared fine in the looking glass.