A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(71)

It was the gentlest gesture Cassandra had ever seen a man perform—

“He dotes on the child.” Arabella’s disapproving voice startled her. Cassandra had been so caught up in her thoughts, she had not heard her approach. The older woman stood in the doorway of an adjacent room.

Cassandra walked over to her mother-in-law, not wanting Arabella’s words to carry into the library. “They have not seen each other for some time.”

“I have little patience with coddling,” Arabella said. She looked Cassandra up and down, obviously unimpressed. “You know why he went after you, don’t you? He wanted your money. And your land. It is the only way a York would ever marry a Holwell.” Her gaze went past Cassandra to the library. “His father married me for my money and my life has been miserable ever since.”

For the briefest of seconds, her directness unnerved Cassandra. Arabella was going to be unpleasantly surprised when she learned how little money Soren’s marriage had brought to Pentreath. Or, and this was a new thought, that Cassandra wasn’t truly a Holwell and therefore, wouldn’t inherit Lantern Fields. Who knew who she was? And in this moment, for the first time, she found herself glad of it.

Never again would she have to feel an invisible wall around her because of her father and his prejudices. Soren had been right, there was a measure of freedom in the acceptance of this new truth.

However, Cassandra decided it was not her place to enlighten Arabella.

In a moment’s clarity, she realized she did not want to be aloof or distrusting like either Arabella or Helen. These were women who had nothing but their place in Society to give them authority.

She wanted more. And Soren had been right, she wouldn’t have been happy resting on a title. Even when she’d dreamed of being a duchess, it was because then she could pursue her enjoyment of poetry and ideas . . . and Soren’s suggestion of her writing came to her mind. What avid reader such as herself had not imagined writing a book?

It still didn’t seem the most appealing thing she could do with her time and energy—but she now, with the acquaintance of Arabella, understood why Soren urged her to discover what she was passionate about.

“I shall see you at dinner,” Cassandra said, excusing herself and wanting to put distance between herself and this woman, who was one of many she’d met who had no life.

She went up to her room. She had no difficulty finding it.

Cassandra pulled the valise from her wardrobe, removed the false bottom, and took out the garnets. The stones were bloodred and the gold around them heavy. She seldom wore them. The pearls had been her favorite, and she was discovering the one pearl was enough for her.

Now she considered her true motive for keeping them hidden from Soren. Yes, her mother’s memory was involved, but so was her fear to trust, to act in good faith.

She went to search out her husband.





Chapter 19




It had been a long day. Watching his son eat as if he hadn’t had food in days, Soren struggled to keep his anger in check.

Toby, the head of Logan’s search party, had mentioned that life had not been good for the child over the month Soren had been gone. With a few quiet questions, Soren had learned that the nurse he’d hired, a grandmotherly Mrs. Williams with family in the area, had refused to lock Logan in his room on a daily basis and had been let go.

“Who asked her to lock him up?” Soren had asked.

He knew the answer even before Toby said, “Lady Dewsberry. She feels the boy is in need of discipline.”

“Has my son misbehaved?”

He saw that Toby did not wish to answer that question. “Go on,” Soren prodded. “Your loyalty means you give me the truth.”

“Your father never asked for that.”

“I’m not my father.” How many times had Soren reminded himself of that fact? The answer: Every time he’d attempted to overcome the host of almost insurmountable problems surrounding Pentreath.

And he’d vowed to never stop doing what he must.

Except Toby almost broke him when he’d told him of the war of wills between his mother and his son. Arabella had shown no kindness. She ignored that Logan was caught between two worlds. One had been the open freedom of not only his tribe but even the life Soren had lived around his shipping company and businesses.

And then there was this world, the one filled with his mother’s resentments and disappointments.

Her true grievance was with Soren. No, actually with his father, but Soren was starting to believe she was having difficulty telling the two of them apart.

Her weapon of choice apparently was his son.

He couldn’t imagine locking Logan in a nursery room and keeping him there like a pet. Apparently, Mrs. Williams had objected and had been given the sack.

“That kept the rest of us quiet,” Toby had said. There was a pause, a test, Soren sensed, and then the man added, “ ’Course some think him an odd child.”

Now there was a truth.

Logan had the blood of chiefs running through his veins. He’d not come willingly to Cornwall, especially with a father he barely knew.

He resisted this new life, just as Cassandra resisted.

In truth, there were times Soren didn’t wish to be here, either.

Why was he burdening those who mattered to him with it?

He touched his son’s hair. It was need of cleaning. The boy had been neglected, and it tore at Soren’s soul.