A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(64)

He feigned concern. “Did no one tell Maria Edgeworth only males should write? Perhaps we should notify her. She must cease. And are there not a half-dozen women penning novels?”

“Not even that number. See what I mean? You challenge me to do something that is not easy.”

“Ah, so, it is the easy life you wish?”

She released her breath in a huff. “You are impossible. Look, the driver is signaling we are ready to go.” She spun on her heel and started back. He fell in step beside her. She braced herself for more of his “encouragement.”

He wisely kept his counsel to himself.

However, once they were back on the road, she touched the book beside her on the seat as if just the cover could give her insight.

She’d never considered writing herself. Important people wrote books.

Furthermore, now was not the time to start. Who would want to read anything written in Cornwall? London was the center of the world, and yet, Miss Edgeworth wasn’t from London. Neither were several other female writers.

Had it been Soren’s purpose to make her question herself? If so, he had succeeded.

And, yes, it would be lovely to accomplish as important a task as writing something that could make people’s hearts feel or their minds think.

She looked to her husband. He studied the view outside the window. “I’ve never seen Pentreath Castle,” she admitted.

“Ever? It’s a landmark.”

“Not to a Holwell.”

“Oh, yes, the dreaded feud.” He shook his head as he did whenever he thought she’d been overly sheltered.

“That and because I haven’t been back to Cornwall in years.”

“Fortunately, little of it has changed,” he assured her. “I was gone longer than you were and all was right as I’d left it. Especially Pentreath. Parts of it haven’t changed since the days when it was the guardian of the moors against invaders from the east and the north. I believe you will be well pleased with the house.”

“Do you think your mother will be pleased with our marriage?”

“I couldn’t say.”

When she was younger, Cassandra had often seen the Dowager Lady Dewsberry out and about, although they had never spoken. “I rarely saw you and your mother together. Are you close?”

“My mother is . . .” He paused, shrugged, and obviously changed his mind over what he’d been about to say. “Her family is from Hertfordshire. She doesn’t like Cornwall, either. The two of you will have something in common.”

She leaned against her corner. “Because we don’t embrace whatever you wish us to?”

“Cass—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Soren, be fair.”

“About?”

She made an impatient noise. “You are a survivor. You do whatever must be done whether it was going to Canada, giving up your commission, or marrying for money.”

“What does this happen to do with my mother?”

“It means that you may not be able to understand a person’s resistance to an idea.”

“Such as being trundled off to Cornwall?”

“Yes, exactly.”

He held up a hand. “Let me first say, you and my mother are worlds apart.”

“Or we may be more alike than you think.”

“Don’t even wish that in jest,” he answered, and he was serious. “We don’t stand on ceremony in Pentreath. Perhaps that is what Mother misses. Perhaps if she felt she was more important—?” He broke off with a shake of his head. “Who knows.”

“You aren’t painting an endearing portrait of her,” Cassandra observed.

“I can’t. She has spent her life waiting for a golden coach pulled by four snowy white horses to come driving up. Life has not been what she wished.”

There was a warning in there for Cassandra. She sensed it.

And then he said, “My father had a mistress.”

His statement caught her attention.

“Had you known?” he asked. When she shook her head, he said, “Then I had best tell you because everyone pretends it is a secret, even though it is common knowledge around Pentreath and beyond. Deborah Fowey is still in the area. She is married to the wainwright. However, before that, she and Father had three children. My half brother is in the military and my two half sisters are happily married.”

“When you say common knowledge, does that mean your mother knows?”

“If she doesn’t she is a fool, and Arabella York is no fool.”

Of course, Cassandra knew that men kept mistresses. But this was the first time she’d ever thought in terms of herself. What if Soren took a mistress?

“I’ll not tolerate any of that,” she informed him. “I won’t.”

“I’m not my father, Cassandra.” He reached for her hand on the seat. “I also don’t want you to become my mother.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll let you form your own opinions.”



The post chaise turned down the hardened dirt drive to Pentreath Castle. After a half mile or so, a portion of the stone castle wall loomed over the road. The gaping hole that had once been the entry gate was wide enough for a host of elephants to pass through. Their vehicle easily made its way.