A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(45)

Her father had purchased the London house when Cassandra was fifteen. Until that time, they had lived in rented establishments.

The house was in Mayfair and had been owned by a marquis who had sold it to go off on an excursion to Greece. Cassandra had enjoyed living there. Her father had purchased new furnishings and it was the very height of fashion and comfort.

However, Cassandra had never stood on her doorstep as a guest before.

“Be prepared for anything,” Soren warned.

“I am.” She hoped.

Soren lifted the knocker.

The family butler, and one of only two manservants since male retainers were taxed and females weren’t, opened the door. “Miss Cassandra,” Bevil said as if happy to see her. He was a slight man with an elegant air that her father greatly admired.

“Bevil, we are here to see Papa. This is my husband, the Earl of Dewsberry. Announce us.”

The butler’s attitude changed. His shoulders squared as if he was remembering himself. “We’d heard you married a York. But I did not want to believe it. A York, Miss Cassandra—?”

“She is Lady Dewsberry,” Soren announced in a voice that brooked no contradictions. Nor did he wait for Bevil to invite them in. He plowed forward into the marbled front hall, and the butler stepped back. Cassandra followed in his wake because she wasn’t about to be left behind.

“I wish to see MP Holwell,” Soren said.

Cassandra half expected Bevil to tell them, “He is not at home.” Instead, he answered, “The master has asked me to escort you to him. Lady Dewsberry”—he spoke as if the name was distasteful on his tongue—“I have been instructed to inform you that you are not welcome during this meeting.”

“Not welcome? To see my father?” Cassandra didn’t know what to make of that statement. She looked to Soren.

“It is probably for the best. I told you this might be a difficult interview.”

That was true.

“This way.” Bevil did not use Soren’s title. He was rude. He would not have behaved in this manner when she had lived here.

Then again, a York would never have darkened their doorstep.

Soren made no issue of the matter and so Cassandra kept quiet. She watched as Bevil led him down the hall toward her father’s study. After a moment, worry urged her to follow a few steps. She heard her father’s surly greeting when his door was opened, and then it was shut.

Bevil did not return to the front hall.

Left alone in the hall, Cassandra looked around. The house seemed different to her, as if she had not lived in it for years. She realized that it was no longer a part of her, which was puzzling. How could she lose an attachment to the familiar in such a short amount of time? Perhaps because her loyalties had shifted? The marriage bed had bonded her to Soren. Even now, she wished she stood beside him. She needed the comfort of his person and his perspective.

There were no other servants wandering about at this time of the day. The downstairs maids would be in the kitchen helping Cook. The other manservant was the driver, and he only came to the house when required.

Cassandra started up the stairs. She didn’t know how long the discussion over her inheritance would take but she had intended to collect a few things from her room, and so she should. She would also make arrangements with her maid, Abby, for packing some things for the Pulteney and the rest for storage until she and Soren purchased their home in Town.

The upstairs hallway was quiet. “Abby?” There was no answer. Cassandra wasn’t about to search out Helen. At this hour of the day, her stepmother was usually at the shops.

She went to her room and opened the door. Her bedroom was decorated in apricot and periwinkle blue. The colors appeared girlish to her now. Again, she was conscious of having crossed some invisible threshold.

When she first walked into the room, everything seemed fine. Her wardrobe was closed and her bed made. The room was as tidy as ever—except the top of her dressing table was bare. No perfume bottles or ribbons or brushes. No books on the bedside table. Cassandra always had a stack of books there and even a pile on the floor. All was gone.

A bad premonition took hold of her. She moved to the wardrobe and opened the door. It was empty inside. Her beautiful gowns and dresses, her smallclothes, her shawls, and her shoes had vanished.

“My lady?”

Cassandra looked to the door. Abby stood there, her face so pale her freckles stood out in stark contrast. She quickly closed the door behind her as if not wanting anyone to know of Cassandra’s presence. “My lady, I am so happy to see you.” She spoke in a whisper.

“Where are my clothes?”

“The master had me pack them all up to sell. He ordered that everything should be taken.”

“Even my hair ribbons?”

“He was a madman when he returned from the country. He tore everything out of your wardrobe and he was checking all of the drawers. He pulled them all out. Mrs. Holwell was shouting at him about everything being your fault. He kept saying he was ruined. What did he mean, my lady? It was frightening.”

None of this made sense to Cassandra. “Ruined?”

“He wanted to know where your jewels were. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t. He shook me so hard, my neck hurt but I didn’t tell.”

Cassandra went cold inside. “Did he find the sapphires?” She touched the pearls around her neck.