Lenora’s eyes were wide, and her countenance open, absorbing every word. Cassie could feel her sister’s determination to please their mother. Lenora wanted to do well. She wanted to succeed. This drive with Evan was Lenora’s chance to prove herself.
What have I done? Cassie screamed inside her own head.
Mama continued. “I shall have Young set out your blue muslin. It is just the thing for a fine day as this. Mr. Glenside will not be able to ignore your loveliness.”
Mama left the room, and Cassie reached out and took hold of Lenora’s elbow. Cassie closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to do what must be done.
“Cassie?” Lenora asked, a sharp crease in her forehead. She attempted to pull her arm away, but Cassie did not release it. She had to do the right thing, but, oh, she did not want to!
“What is wrong?” Lenora asked.
Cassie felt numb to her toes. This moment had been unavoidable, yet she had hoped. She blinked at her sister, her mouth dry, and then forced the words out. “I must tell you something.” She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “I must confess what I have done before you go on that drive.” A drive. Alone with Evan. Cassie’s stomach turned over.
Lenora’s eyebrows rose. “Confess?”
Cassie forced each word out like air from a bellows. “And before I tell you what I’ve done I must beg your forgiveness. I promise I only meant to help—to do for you what you had not the confidence to do for yourself. I never meant for it to be deceptive, though it was, and I never meant for it to go so long as it did.” That it had gone on so long tied Cassie in knots. Evan was no longer a stranger, no longer an unknown person in the village like he’d been when she’d began her campaign. She knew him now, but the connection she’d forged with him did not change the facts, nor did it change Lenora looking at her as though she’d lost her mind.
“What do you need my forgiveness for?” Lenora asked, carefully and cautiously forming each word with her pretty, sweet, and innocent mouth.
Cassie knew Lenora would never guess the truth. She did not have the capacity to comprehend what Cassie had done.
She released Lenora’s arm and turned toward the doorway. “Come with me. I’ve something to give you; something that should be yours.” The letters were meant for Lenora, she told herself, and yet she didn’t believe it anymore. It was Cassie who read the letters, Cassie who responded to them. It was Cassie who knew Evan better than anyone. But it didn’t matter. Lenora had been the motivation behind Cassie’s actions. The letters were hers because Evan thought they always had been.
Cassie’s steps were shaky as she lifted her skirts to ascend the stairs, and she had to concentrate on breathing evenly. This is what I’d always planned, she told herself again and again. Only there was so much she hadn’t planned, including the extreme regret she now felt. She should be glad to be done with the ruse, but she felt as though she were losing a friend.
Cassie led Lenora into her room and to her writing desk. She rested her hand on the knob of the drawer, and then took a breath and pulled it open, not allowing herself any more hesitation as she took hold of the letters. She turned and thrust the stack to Lenora, who took them and stared at them in her hand.
“Is this my ribbon?” she asked, fingering the purple satin ribbon that Cassie had used to tie the letters together.
“Yes.” Cassie swallowed and had to clear her throat before she could continue. She had all but forgotten the small theft. “I took the ribbon from your vanity, to use for the letters.”
Lenora glanced at Cassie before turning the packet over in her hands, as though only now realizing that the ribbon was not the focal point.
After inspecting the letters—but not releasing them from the ribbon—Lenora looked at Cassie, more confused than ever. “I don’t understand. These letters are addressed to Young.”
Cassie took a breath, which trembled slightly in her chest, and then told the whole story. Mr. Bunderson. The Dyers’ ball. The letters sent through Young. And more letters sent back to Mr. Glenside.
It was impossible to keep her emotions at bay as she laid herself at her sister’s feet. The waver in her voice was in part for the shameful confession, but the additional sense of loss was truly shattering.
Cassie finished with her eyes focused on the floor at her feet. There was the smallest sense of relief regarding her disclosure. She had fulfilled her original intention. Lenora would read the letters and know Evan as Cassie had always expected her to. Lenora could go on the drive with a full understanding of the man at her side. Cassie felt like hollow glass.
Hollow enough that the faintest hope rose up within that space inside.
Perhaps Lenora would be unwilling to be any part of the deception. Perhaps she would see that though Cassie had pretended to be Lenora, it was Cassie Evan had truly been writing to. If Lenora refused to go along with the deception, the false connection she had with Mr. Glenside would come to an end. Perhaps then Cassie and Evan could come to know one another in person, face to face. Somehow.
Lenora, after listening silently to all Cassie said, untied the bow and let the ends fall away, unbinding the letters in her hand. She picked up the first one, and Cassie tried to hide how desperately she wanted to take them back. They were her letters, not Lenora’s. But “Dear Lenora” was written on every one of Evan’s letters. Cassie’s hands tightened into fists, and she held them behind her back so Lenora wouldn’t see her whitened knuckles.
Lenora turned the letter in her hand before she looked up, her expression soft. “You wrote on my behalf?”
Cassie could not properly interpret the tone of voice. Was Lenora angry? Hurt? And she could not answer. The campaign had begun on Lenora’s behalf, but it had not remained that way. Cassie simply nodded in reply.
“And he wrote back?”
“For weeks now,” Cassie said, striving to remain calm. If Lenora knew how Cassie felt toward Evan, would she go on this drive? If she knew that Cassie’s heart had become entangled, would she relinquish any claim? “I had only intended it as a way for you to be introduced to him. But the correspondence grew to more than that.” She nodded toward the letters. “Mr. Glenside was remarkably candid in his responses, more than I expected he would be. He is a most interesting man, Lenora, and he came alive to me on these pages. Relocating to Leagrave and finding his place in the new society has been difficult. I had thought the letters would help you, but they were helpful for him too, and so I didn’t stop as I planned to.”
She watched Lenora’s face as she looked between Cassie and the letters, but she could not interpret what her sister was feeling.
“I had always planned to tell you, when I felt you were ready to continue in my place—in person, not in ink—and I made copies of every letter I wrote to him so you would have everything we exchanged. Only now . . . with his invitation . . .”
She couldn’t continue as the emotion rose up, and she blinked away the tears. She waved toward the letters and hoped Lenora would understand what Evan had come to mean to Cassie and that she would refuse the drive. Or perhaps send Cassie in her place. The fantasy was sweet, like sugar crystals on her tongue, and began to carry her away until Lenora wrapped her arms around Cassie’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” Lenora breathed, seemingly unaware of Cassie’s stiff posture. She pulled back and smiled. “You have done for me what I could not do myself, and I will never forget this kindness.” She held the letters—Cassie’s letters—to her chest. “I shall read every one before he comes for me!” Her smile widened even more. “I will not let you down. I shall be as I ought and justify all you have done. You truly are the best of sisters.”
Lenora hurried from the room, leaving Cassie to stare blankly at where her sister had stood.
Cassie looked at her hands. Empty. Traitorous.
What have I done?
After arriving at th
e vicarage, Evan was shown into the modest parlor where Mrs. Wilton awaited him. She welcomed him as if he were an old friend rather than a man she had only met twice. That Mr. and Mrs. Wilton had approved his invitation bolstered his confidence. He had never driven out with a woman—in London he had not had a carriage—however, Mrs. Wilton’s charm and poise put him at ease.
When he heard footfalls on the stairs, he rose and turned to see Lenora in the doorway. She wore a blue dress the same shade as a summer sky and the darker blue bonnet he had seen her wear in town on another occasion. The color of the hat matched her eyes, presenting a view equal to that of a portrait, where an artist weighed each shade and matched it to the others to create the most striking image. Evan wondered if Cassandra might have helped Lenora choose what to wear today. Then he told himself not to think about Cassandra.
“Good afternoon, Miss Wilton,” he said as he straightened from his bow. She had signed the last letter with only “Lenora,” but he thought he should abide by the formal address in the company of her mother.
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, her cheeks turning pink. She looked at the ground, fidgeted with the string of her reticule, took another breath, and then raised her head without meeting his eye. She stared at the knot of his cravat instead. “G-good afternoon, Mr. Glenside.” She let out a breath and licked her lips as though she had accomplished a great feat.
Evan tried to ignore his disappointment. He’d hoped the awkwardness he’d felt between them at the dinner party would be changed now. Determined to be optimistic, he hoped her nerves would be better remedied with their ride today.
“You look lovely, Lenora,” Mrs. Wilton said from behind Evan. He stepped aside as Mrs. Wilton moved forward and took her daughter’s hands. She gave them a squeeze, then leaned in and kissed her daughter’s cheek, whispering something Evan felt sure he wasn’t supposed to hear, but he did.
“He is everything Papa and I would wish for you. Carry yourself well.”
Evan shifted his feet and looked away as the women parted, not wanting them to know he’d overheard. It was only a drive, was it not? But Uncle’s warning about conducting a secret affair rang back to him. His intentions did not matter nearly as much as the interpretation of his actions did, and at the moment he felt very caught. He looked at Lenora, hoping her loveliness would help him overcome his increasing anxiety, but she looked as nervous as ever. Still, he knew from her letters that there was more to her than she showed the world.
“Now,” Mrs. Wilton said, turning to look at him, “we shall have tea when you return; Mr. Wilton and Cassie will join us. Do enjoy the countryside this afternoon. It is a lovely day for a drive.”
Evan thanked her, then followed Miss Wilton out the front door. At the side of the carriage, he put out his hand to help her up, and she looked at it a few seconds before tentatively putting her hand in his. It was the first time he had touched her, and he had hoped to feel some positive physical sensation. His mother had met his father at a dance, and she said that when he led her to the floor, her hand had tingled like her nose did after her first glass of wine. Perhaps it was the white glove Lenora wore that interfered. He would have to ask his mother if she’d been wearing gloves the night she met Father.
Evan’s hand did not tingle when he lifted Miss Wilton into the carriage. His chest did not swell when she whispered her thanks, then ducked her chin sheepishly.
Surely not every couple has a physical sensation, he told himself as he crossed in front of the horse to the other side of the carriage and stepped up. He was grateful Uncle had taught him to drive the gig himself; it gave him something to do with his hands and eyes.
He flicked the reins, and the horse fairly jumped forward, causing both himself and Miss Wilton to fall back against the seat. He reached one hand out to steady her, and she flinched at his touch, prompting him to withdraw his hand quickly.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said. Nothing more.
After a few seconds, he attempted additional conversation. “It is a fine day.”
“Yes.”
“Is May always so lovely in Bedfordshire?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“The May Day social was a lovely event. Your family gave a great service to the community with all your effort.”
“Thank you.”
Another pause. Evan searched for something else to discuss.
“The piece you played at my uncle’s the other night—what is it called?”
Miss Wilton straightened in her seat. “La Pastorella by Franz Schubert.”
“I don’t believe I have heard of Franz Schubert, but then you know I am not well versed in music.”
“He is a new composer.”
Evan smiled at her, but it was lost because she was staring at the tail of the horse in front of them. “Well, that makes me feel a little better at least.”
“My aunt sent me three of his pieces a few weeks ago, but that is the only one I feel I have mastered.”
Finally, some substance to work with. “That you have mastered any piece of music in so short a time is an impressive talent. I enjoyed hearing you play very much.”
She shifted and ducked her chin again. “I did not mean to boast.”
Boast? When had she boasted? “I only meant to compliment your abilities.” Was he was out of place to speak to her so openly? Was there a rule about how to compliment a young lady?
“Thank you.”
They drove in silence for several minutes, Evan wishing he knew how to fix this awkwardness. How could he court a woman who would not talk to him? Could he hope for improvement if he rode out with her a second time? Or would a second ride signal an increased level of intention in the eyes of other people? He began to sweat.
Miss Wilton cleared her throat, and he almost jumped in response.
“It seems Leagrave has improved upon you these last weeks.”
Initiation of a topic—that was a good sign! “Yes, I believe it has.” He offered her a smile in hopes it would encourage her to continue. “The people have been very kind.”
She flushed pink and returned her gaze to the horse’s tail.
Evan faced forward again, wondering if that were all he would receive from her.
After another minute passed, she cleared her throat again. “Are the renovations of the Dower House still in progress?”
“Yes, we hope it will be finished in August.” He went on to tell her how excited her mother and sisters were to come, how they had been selling or donating the things they would not need in Leagrave. Lenora listened intently, and he thought she might ask a question to extend the topic, but when he finished she just smiled again.
Evan began counting through the silence and fifty-two seconds passed before she spoke once more. “Is your mother in good health?”
“Yes, she has always been very fit and energetic. I think she will enjoy the country very much.”
Fifty-eight seconds later. “And your sisters? Are they in good health?”
“Yes, they take after my mother.”
The conversation continued in fits and starts for the rest of the trip. Her asking simple questions every minute or so and him attempting to give an answer that would spark additional conversation but never seemed to. Several times he gave a lengthy answer, hoping it would prompt her to do the same, only to have it fall flat.
He commented on the wildflowers, the houses, the clouds, a bird, another carriage they passed on the road, London, her father’s sermon the week before, and even the ruts in the road until finally, he turned the carriage around and headed back to the vicarage. Either she was miserable and he should return her home out of courtesy, or this was how she always was. Either option left him with a decision to make.
Cassie was lying on her bed with one arm flung over her eyes w
hen there was a knock at her door. She didn’t want anyone to come in, but before she could say so, she heard the door open without her invitation. She propped herself up on her elbows as her mother entered.
“Oh,” she said, sitting up completely and getting off the bed. She attempted to put an easy smile on her face and clasped her hands behind her back. “I thought you were Young.”
“Are you ill, Cassie?” Mama regarded her daughter with her head cocked to the side.
“I am fine. Only tired, I suppose.”
“That’s not like you. You’re usually outrunning the lot of us.”
“Perhaps such exertion has caught up with me, then.” It was far too true a sentiment.
“That is unfortunate as I was hoping you would join us for tea.”
Cassie’s head came up quickly, and her muscles tensed. “Lenora is back from her drive?”
“Yes, they just returned. Your father is in the parlor already, but Lenora is not making much conversation. We would appreciate your company, if you feel up to it, of course.”
Don’t make me go, she begged in her mind, but some traitorous part of herself wanted to see Evan. “I am well enough. Only give me a few moments to freshen up.”
Mama smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I feel we have good reason to hope that Lenora may make a match, but she will continue to need our help a while longer, I think, until she and Mr. Glenside are more comfortable with one another.”
Cassie nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. Once Mama left, Cassie let her eyes fall shut as she stood in the middle of the room. Before she completely fell victim to her regrets, she forced her feet to move to the washbasin, where she splashed tepid water on her face and then patted it dry. She pinched her cheeks to bring out the color and pressed her lips together so hard they hurt, gratified by both the pain and the rosy bloom that accompanied the release. She stared at her reflection and lifted her chin, convincing herself that she did not appear to be pining.
The Vicar's Daughter Page 12
