A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(36)

Cassandra was shocked. A knot of unease formed in her belly. She looked to Willa, who appeared equally stunned and offended. She shook her head as if saying to Cassandra she didn’t know how to gracefully accept such boorish behavior, either.

The person who didn’t seem upset was Soren. Not an ounce of tension. He drank to the toast.

And then he stood to make his own.

Everyone quieted down expectantly. The man who had made his jibe wore a sheep’s grin across a face flush with drink.

Cassandra could not look at him. She felt shame. She was glad now her father was not here. The glow went off the day.

Soren raised his glass. “I first set eyes on my lady over a decade ago—Aye,” he said, noting the piqued interest of the women in the room, “this is a romantic tale.”

Romantic? Cassandra frowned at her lap.

“She and I met at the harvest day festival. It was held at the church. At one time, all would have come to Pentreath Castle, my family home. However, the bad blood between her family and mine had destroyed that celebration two generations earlier. We were warned as children to avoid each other.”

That was true. Cassandra raised her eyes to him. He was stood tall and proud. He could hold his own with any gentleman in this esteemed company.

“A York would walk on the other side of the road if he saw a Holwell coming. A Holwell would spit in a York’s direction.” He had the interest now of everyone in the room.

“So I was raised to look down upon the Holwells . . . and then at this festival—one my family was attending reluctantly because, after all, it should have been ours—” He paused and looked directly at Lord Drucker. “We may not have money but we have more than our share of pride.” Heads nodded. And why not? For many noble houses, their vices made money a priority.

“Well, we prideful Yorks were at the festival along with every man, woman, and child for twenty miles around. There was a band of fiddles and drums, two great steers turning on a spit, and more gossip and conversation than anyone could hope for in a year. I was happy to see my friends. I was home on holiday and would soon be sent back to school. And we had a high time of it. You know, the sort only boys can have when the grown-ups are not watching them closely. A group of us stole some meat pies off a table before it was time to eat. We went running off, and it was then that a girl arrived whom I’d never met before. Oh, please, let me assure you, as a lad of thirteen, I noticed but rarely paid attention to the fairer sex—”

“Something you changed years later,” Camberly shouted out with good humor, and the audience laughed.

“I have been a bit of a hound,” Soren agreed easily. “But this day, the lass who caught my eye was not just anyone. She was my family’s enemy. For the rest of that day, I circled and circled her, working up the courage to talk to her. In the end, she spoke first.”

He looked at Cassandra; his gaze could be construed as a look of love. And everyone was listening now. Even she almost believed what he was saying. Almost. She knew different. After all, she’d been there.

Soren continued his “tale.” “She told me she didn’t know why her father warned her against me. She said I didn’t look like such a bad sort.”

“I wonder what she’ll say after tonight?” Lord Drucker quipped. He was rewarded with a few chuckles, but the women in the room shushed him. They were caught up in the story.

“I told her I didn’t want to be her enemy, and I didn’t. She had curls like spun gold that fell all the way to her waist. Her eyes were bluer than any I’d ever seen before. My nan had told me stories of piskies, which are mischievous Cornish fairies who roam the hills, and she looked like one of them come to life. She also held a book in her hand. She was reading while the rest of us were looking for trouble.”

The book part was true.

His talk of piskies was pure nonsense. Piskies were actually tiny, naughty old men. But no one in this room knew that. Instead, they were picturing her as a glowing little thing with wings.

“I spent the afternoon at her feet,” Soren declared. “By the end of the day, we vowed to each other that we would not be enemies. That the feud our parents enjoyed was not ours.”

Another piece of truth.

“Nor, in all the ensuing years, has there ever been a woman who has captured my imagination so completely.”

His words formed themselves in the air over everyone’s heads. In that moment, he had elevated her from a bride of convenience to a lover of significance.

She could feel opinions changing all around her. Lady Bainhurst had raised a hand to her heart as if deeply touched. Willa appeared positively smitten. Even the men had been tamed.

The only one not pleased was Cassandra—because it wasn’t true, save a smidgeon. He’d made it all up. Easily.

“To my bride,” Soren declared, raising his glass. The company rose to their feet, albeit some unsteadily. They raised their glasses. “May we have a long and happy life together,” Soren said to her. He drained the glass.

She did not touch hers.

The dowager leaned toward her, her eyes misty. “I did not realize this was a love match. That he has pined for you all these years. I’ve not heard anything so romantic.” Lady Melrose nodded her agreement.

Cassandra had never heard anything so manipulative. Her temper began to build.