A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(48)

Her father sneered in response. He looked to Mr. Brock and Mr. Lloyd and the bailiff, raising a hand as if to present Soren and Cassandra to them. “Can you believe this? Even after Penelope died on me, I did what was right. And look what it has earned for me? A faithless daughter who hops into the bed of my enemy.”

Soren lunged forward. Cassandra dug in her heels, to hold him back. She spoke, wanting, needing clarification. “You are not my father?”

The words said aloud answered many questions. In truth, they were not alike in looks, height, or temperament. And she’d never been able to please him, no matter how hard she tried . . .

MP Holwell lifted his chin in defiance. “I raised you, didn’t I?”

He had. He’d also kept her at an arm’s distance. He’d preferred her stepsisters over herself, and she’d never understood why. She’d thought the failing was hers. The only time he’d been happy with her was when her status as an heiress allowed them to attend the routs and parties of the titled and important. Otherwise, his abrasive personality would have shut him out.

“Is any of the money left?” she asked.

He started to answer and then closed his mouth as if he was a sullen clam.

“All my life I’ve been praised for my good sense and intellect,” she said. “I don’t feel clever now. Why didn’t you tell me the truth, especially after my grandfather died? Why did you go on pretending?”

“You have my name. That is the truth.”

“But you lied about any feeling for me.”

“Of course I have some feeling for you.”

“Do you? You were actually relieved I ruined myself at the Duchess of Camberly’s, weren’t you? You and Helen were anxious to ship me off and keep me unmarried because then no one would question where the money had gone.”

“Well, the knowledge is out now.”

More accurate words had never been spoken.

Cassandra looked around the hall at their audience—Bevil stood with pen and ink and a dumbfounded expression on his face. Mr. Brock and Mr. Lloyd appeared to have been fascinated by the unfolding of the story. The bailiff looked as if he wished he could just leave.

And then there was her husband, who had thought this marriage would save his family home.

“Cass? Are you all right?” Soren spoke close to her ear.

She looked back at him and wanted to burst into tears, but she wouldn’t. She had to be strong. The sympathy she saw in his eyes was not good for her resolve.

Indeed, her knees felt wobbly as a complete understanding of what her father’s faithless actions would mean to her. She had no money. She had no father. Everything she had thought about herself was a lie.

“You took my mother’s sapphires.” Her voice was quiet, but inside she had a strong desire to scream.

“What sapphires?” he said, looking right at her. He didn’t even hide the fact he was lying to her.

Her fingers curled into talons. She could claw the smug smile off his face.

Soren’s hold on her tightened as if he could read her mind. “He is not worth it.”

“I’m not,” MP Holwell agreed. “And you have other matters to worry over, such as where you and your penniless husband will live.”

“I must insist these papers are signed, my lady,” the bailiff said. He sounded regretful. “The court has ordered that His Lordship’s estate be signed over to Mr. Huggett.”

“Happy marriage, Cassandra,” MP Holwell said. “Enjoy the bed you’ve made for yourself as a York.” He turned and started back to his study, his step wobbly. “Throw them all out, Bevil.”

To his credit, the butler did not move. He appeared as stricken as Cassandra with the news. “I’m sorry, my lady. I did not know.”

“How could you?” she answered. Her gaze dropped to the gray marble floor. Her mind still struggled to make sense of everything.

Soren turned her around to face him. “We’ll manage,” he promised. “We will. Huggett isn’t a bad sort. He only wants his money. The day may come when I can purchase Pentreath back from him. Believe in me, Cassandra. We’ll come back from this.” He moved to take the ink and pen from Bevil. “I will sign the documents here.” He indicated a side table in the hall.

However, something he said struck her. Mr. Huggett didn’t want the castle. He wanted money. He wanted payment—

“Wait,” Cassandra said. “Will Mr. Huggett accept payment for the debt?”

“That is what he wants, my lady,” Mr. Brock answered.

“Then give him these.” Cassandra lifted the Bingham pearls from around her neck.

“No, Cass—”

“Yes, my lord.” She offered them to her husband. The pearls weighed heavy in her hand. Certainly they could cover whatever debt he owed. They were known for their perfection. “Pay the debt with them, please.”

He didn’t move. “They are yours. They are your mother’s legacy to you.”

“Do you have another way of paying our debt?” she asked.

Of course he didn’t. His silence was the answer.

“The man who claimed to be my father has wasted everything that was mine on his vanity and pride. At least I know that by giving you these, you will secure the future for our children. Save our son’s birthright, Soren. Do what must be done.”