A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(67)

Arabella was not there, either. Cassandra had thought perhaps she might be, to frown her displeasure some more, if nothing else.

The stairs leading to the first floor were through a set of doors at the left of the hall. “There is a second stairway exactly like this on the other side of the main hall,” Mrs. Branwell informed her as they climbed.

“Very good,” Cassandra murmured. The honeyed, slightly resin scent of beeswax was in the air. No dog hair lingered in the corners. Mrs. Branwell ran a tight staff.

Their footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors. Or at least, Cassandra and Susan’s did. Mrs. Branwell seemed to float.

At Mayfield, it had been obvious by the rectangle discolorations of the paint that pictures had been removed, presumably to be sold off. Cassandra remembered thinking that Camberly should have seen to a good coat of paint.

In Pentreath’s halls, there were no discolorations because if pictures had been removed, it had been some time ago. However, paint would do wonders. The walls were a dirty, aged yellow. But the place was clean and Cassandra said as much, complimenting the housekeeper.

“Thank you, my lady. Lady Dewsberry is quite strict.” Mrs. Branwell stopped at the last door before the end of the hall. “This is the countess’s suite. Susan, fetch fresh cloths and water.” The maid hurried to do her bidding, taking the back stairs. Mrs. Branwell opened the door.

The countess’s suite had a canopied bed with burgundy drapes and coverlet. The walls were a shade of blue that was not to Cassandra’s taste at all. The furniture was nice, but heavy. Thinking of their financial state, she knew she’d make do—although she would encourage Soren to invest in buckets and buckets of paint when they could afford it.

Mrs. Branwell crossed the room and opened another door. “This is my lord’s set of rooms.”

How convenient.

The furniture in his room was as heavy and dark as hers. Burgundy again was the color of choice for bed clothing although the walls had been painted a creamy ivory. His room was also twice the size of hers, with a lord’s-sized hearth and a cozy chair before it. There was a writing desk by the window. Both rooms had large wardrobes.

“Susan will return shortly. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady, before supper? Would you like some refreshment?”

Cassandra thought of Soren out searching for his son. She could not sip sherry as if nothing was wrong. “No, I’m fine. I need a moment to take it all in.”

“The meal will be served at half past five.” Mrs. Branwell acted serene and as if there weren’t scores of men scouring the countryside for a lost boy. Cassandra found her attitude disquieting.

“Now, with your permission, may I leave, my lady?”

Cassandra nodded that she could leave, but then stopped her. “Please tell me, was Logan upset before he left? Had something happened?” Mrs. Edgeworth’s observations about the tender nature of children were fresh in her mind.

“If I may be candid?”

“Please do.”

“He is a wild boy, my lady. Almost like a wolf’s cub, he is. You can’t make him do what he doesn’t want to do.”

Cassandra protested, “He’s but a small lad.”

“He is the most remarkably stubborn child I have ever met. Now, if you will excuse me, my lady, I’ve said more than my share of words.”

“I do not mind plain speaking, Mrs. Branwell. Thank you.” Cassandra wondered how many of her strong feelings were shared by the staff.

The housekeeper left. Susan appeared with a pitcher of water and freshly laundered linen towels. The lad with Cassandra’s valise was with her. He also had Soren’s, which he put in the other bedroom.

“Do you wish me to unpack for you, my lady?” Susan asked.

“Yes, please.”

It did not take long to hang the dresses and line up the shoes. While Susan was busy, Cassandra carried the valise over to the small dressing table by the window. During the journey, Soren had managed to find simple hairpins for her. She set these out with her brush. She took the tooth powder and milled soap to the washstand.

“Is there anything else, my lady?”

“No, that is enough, thank you.” Cassandra waited for the door to close before lifting the valise’s false bottom. The garnet necklace and bracelet were there. She replaced the bottom and set the valise in the wardrobe. She didn’t know where this house kept luggage, but she wanted the valise close to her until she found another suitable hiding space for her jewelry.

Did she feel any pangs of dishonesty? Yes, especially with Soren out searching for his son. She didn’t know why she hadn’t told him about the garnets yet. It wasn’t that she had a distrust of him, not any longer.

However, the description of Logan as a wolf cub and Arabella’s lack of concern over his disappearance were not reassuring. Soren’s impression of his son was far different, and she wondered who was right. She didn’t know what she would do if Logan could not be found or harm had come to him. Soren would blame himself. She knew it.

Years ago, she’d heard of a family who had lost a child. They never found him until one day his body was discovered in a nearby lake. He had been trapped under some low-hanging bushes.

The thought was disturbing. Cassandra didn’t want that to happen to Logan.

However, the truth—ah, there was that word again—the truth was that a five-year-old boy was a complication to the life she thought she would have. And now that he was missing, well, she felt callous and stingy for her earlier selfish thoughts.