Cassie’s heart felt heavy in her chest, but she could not make Lenora forgive her. Another consequence. She attempted to sidestep Rose’s obvious curiosity. “Is she enjoying Bath?”
“Quite a lot.”
Cassie was surprised for a second time. Lenora was not one to enjoy many things. “Quite a lot?”
Rose nodded. “She goes with Aunt Gwen for the waters every day, but you know it is as much a promenade as it is a health restorative. Everyone attends.”
Cassie held the folded sheet to her chest. “And Lenora likes it?”
Rose nodded, a soft smile on her face.
“And isn’t too nervous?”
Rose shook her head.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Cassie put the sheet in the basket. “I have feared she would feel as though she was in exile, cut off from the people she loves and the places where she was once comfortable.”
“Perhaps it is just as it needed to be,” Rose said.
Cassie unpinned the row of dishtowels on the line, disturbed by Rose’s comment. She sat in a chair across from Rose and handed her half of the towels, which Rose could fold sitting down.
“I heard that Mr. Bunderson danced with you twice at the Allen ball on Friday night.”
Cassie was glad for the change of subject. “He did,” she said, thinking back to the evening. It had been fun to get lost in the buoyancy of the evening, and Mr. Bunderson had been quite attentive. Only it was not what she’d expected her first ball to be.
“And did you enjoy his attention?”
“Of course.” Who wouldn’t enjoy the attention of a handsome and eligible man?
“He is very handsome,” Rose said. She balanced a folded towel on her swollen belly, making Cassie smile. “Do you not agree?”
“Of course he is,” Cassie said, trying very hard to keep her thoughts to herself. She narrowed her eyes playfully at her sister. “A married woman should not notice such things, however. Papa would never approve, to say nothing of Mr. Capenshaw.”
Rose laughed. “When you are a married woman, then you can tell me if you no longer notice handsome men. Of course, no man can hold a candle to my Wayne, but Mr. Bunderson comes close.”
Cassie laughed to see this playful side of Rose.
“Do you like Mr. Bunderson?”
“I don’t know.” Cassie exaggerated the fluster she felt in hopes it would deter the conversation. “He is fun and lighthearted and, of course, handsome.”
“But . . .” Rose prompted.
“But I do not know him very well.” It was true. She had known Ronald Bunderson all her life, he was a good friend of her brother Christopher, but she didn’t really know him. Deeply. Not the way she knew Evan. The pit in her stomach gaped wider. Why must every thought go back to him?
“Would you like to know him better?”
Why was Rose being so inquisitive? “I am not even officially out, Rose.” Cassie finished folding the dishtowel and picked up another. “Mama said I’ll get a new wardrobe next spring and then have my presentation.”
“Suddenly you are so hesitant,” Rose commented. “After pushing so hard to have your debut.”
Cassie felt heat creep up her neck. What did Rose know?
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Rose said in her gentle way. “I’ve been worried about you and simply asked Mama some questions.”
“Worried about me?”
“Did you love him, though, do you think? Or was it a simple fancy?”
Cassie locked her eyes on the fabric in her lap, overwhelmed by the rush of emotion brought on by Rose’s question. Though Rose hadn’t said Evan’s name, Cassie still heard it. She couldn’t talk about this. Not to anyone. That Rose knew Cassie’s part in the situation was humiliating, and the vulnerability she felt made her want to run for the vicarage. Cassie kept her eyes on the ground. “Mama told you?”
“It took me weeks to get it from her. I understand she wanted to protect the situation, but I should have been told. I should know what is happening between my sisters.”
Cassie said nothing.
“I am not asking after your feelings so that I might store up gossip,” Rose said. She hefted herself forward in her chair enough to put a hand on Cassie’s wrist. The gentle weight of it brought a lump to Cassie’s throat. “But while it seems you have gained . . . a foundation these last weeks, you have lost some of your light as well. Is it because of him?”
“It is because of me,” Cassie said softly, not daring to risk eye contact.
“But Lenora is happy, and you have put such effort into helping the Glensides find their place in Leagrave. You should be glad for those things.”
Rose knew about that too? How much talking went on behind Cassie’s back? Why did Mama insist on secrecy and then tell the whole of it to Rose? “I’m glad for both Lenora’s and the Glensides’ contentment. It brings me a great deal of comfort.”
“But?”
Did she dare reveal herself? Even as she wondered, however, the words began piling up in her mind and in her throat. “But Lenora has not forgiven me, and the Glensides would not have needed my help if I had left well enough alone. Never mind that had I never written that first letter, I would never have . . .” She couldn’t finish. Whatever words had wanted to be said had run for cover. Perhaps they sensed the danger of exposure.
“You would never have fallen in love with Mr. Glenside?” Rose supplied.
Cassie nodded.
“And you still feel the same?”
Cassie closed her eyes. She could only nod. She knew she should add that after what she’d done there was no chance for her to be with Evan—not ever—but her wicked heart could not give him up.
Cassie felt Rose’s arms come around her, offering solace and comfort, and Cassie could not hold back the tears any longer.
“Oh, my dear sister,” Rose said, smoothing her hair.
They sat that way for a handful of minutes, until Cassie finally pulled back. “There is . . . nothing to be done for it,” Cassie said.
“Perhaps Mr. Bunderson can replace the emptiness you feel.”
Cassie wiped at her eyes, embarrassed by her reaction and disappointed by Rose’s advice, though she couldn’t expect anything more. “I know that seems a reasonable remedy. Only I don’t see how.”
“Well,” Rose said, tottering back to her chair. She sat down with a loud exhale of breath. “I don’t know that there is a rule book for this sort of thing.” She smiled at her attempt at a joke, and Cassie tried to smile back, but she was sure Rose knew she didn’t mean it. “I think the first step would be getting to know him better. He may very well be as good a man as Mr. Glenside. He is more comfortable in our class, that is certain, and there would be no complications to a connection with his family.”
“That’s true,” Cassie said, though agreeing felt like betrayal. She focused on folding dishtowels again.
“He has an appealing nature.”
Cassie just nodded. Everything about Mr. Bunderson recommended him—everything except the fact that he was not Evan Glenside.
“Cassie,” Rose said, “you must look forward, not back. Mr. Glenside is a piece of your past, one through which you have learned a great deal. Take that knowledge and move on with your life. You will find no solace in your regrets.”
Rose was right. Living with regret would not change anything. And wasn’t Mr. Bunderson the very reason Cassie had forged those letters in the first place? Perhaps she should not dismiss him so quickly. If she could stop comparing Mr. Bunderson to Evan, maybe his own charms would shine more brightly.
“I will try,” Cassie finally said.
Rose smiled and patted Cassie’s hand. “There is joy yet left for you, Cassie. Do not miss it simply because you cannot see past what cannot be.”
“What a beautiful set of horses.”
Cassie sat next to Mr. Bunderson in his curricle. The seat was narrow, forcing her to hold on to his arm with one hand and the seat with the other. It was a handsome carriage—one of the finest she had ever ridden in—but the seat was very high, and he drove very fast and she felt very, very conspicuous so high above the ground. She’d had to use a ladder to get into the seat.
“I shall purchase a new pair at Tattersalls when I next go to London,” Mr. Bunderson said.
“And when will you next go to London?” Cassie asked, hoping her nervousness didn’t show in her tone. Perhaps if she told him she didn’t want to go so fast he would slow down. She feared he would simply find her discomfort amusing. He was so easily amused, and she didn’t want to encourage him.
Cassie had told Rose she would give Mr. Bunderson a chance, and he had visited her twice now at the vicarage before asking her on this ride. Any other girl would be glad for the attention. How she wished she were one of those girls. Instead, the more time she spent with him, the more her former irritation grew. In fact, she worried there was little more to him than a pretty face and pretty manners, and she found those two things less and less appealing all the time.
“Next month, I think.” He finally began to slow down as they approached the center of town. “I like to go every month or so.”
Cassie eased her grip on both his arm and the seat. She had pointed out a shortcut to the vicarage that bypassed the heart of the village, but he had wanted to take her down Main Street. Of course he did.
“What do you do in London?” Cassie asked. “I’ve only been when my sisters were buying wedding clothes.” Lenora’s engagement had been called off before they’d shopped for her trousseau. At least the money they had saved was one thing Cassie didn’t feel guilty about.
“Oh, I’m certain nothing I do would be of interest to you. Mostly I have . . . business to attend to. Lots and lots of business.”
“We went to church at St. Dunston’s the last time we went to London,” Cassie said. “Such a grand church. It put our little village chapel to shame.”
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Bunderson said. “St. Dunston’s is remarkable. I am always sure to go to church when I’m in Town.” He offered her a teasing grin and a wink. She wasn’t sure what he meant by the gesture. He nodded ahead of them. “Ah, look, there’s Glenside.”
Cassie’s heart flipped in her chest as her eyes met Evan’s blue ones. Evan had been leaning against the wall of a shop, apparently watching them from beneath the brim of a black hat. He straightened as Mr. Bunderson maneuvered the carriage toward him. Was it her imagination that his gaze lingered on her? She had better convince herself of the opposite. What good was it to think he might have interest? It only made everything harder.
“Ho there, Glenside,” Mr. Bunderson called out.
Cassie swallowed and busied herself with the strings of her reticule.
“Bunderson,” she heard Evan say. “Miss Cassandra.”
She couldn’t ignore him. Surely Papa would understand the need to uphold her polite manners. She glanced at him quickly and inclined her head before looking back into her lap like some simpering green girl. She felt ridiculous.
“I hope they are paying you well for holding up that wall,” Mr. Bunderson said, nodding toward the storefront behind Mr. Glenside.
“Quite the opposite,” Evan said easily. “My sisters are doing a very fine job of buying out the stock of this fine shop so that they might make over every bonnet they own.”
Mr. Bunderson shuddered dramatically. “Sounds like horrible sport. For my part, I have been gallivanting through the countryside with Miss Cassandra and telling her about London.”
Evan tensed, drawing Cassie’s attention. “Have you now,” he said with what Cassie thought was forced calm. Was he angry? Jealous? What did it mean if he were?
“I’ll be going again next month. My cousin and I would love for you to show us around your part of town, if you’ve reconsidered.”
“Thank you, no,” Mr. Glenside said, again with that forced calm.
Cassie watched him from beneath the brim of her bonnet. What was she missing in this exchange? Why would Mr. Bunderson want to go to East London? She had never heard anything particularly remarkable about that part of the city, but then she didn’t know London well.
“I’m afraid I haven’t plans to go to London any time soon, Mr. Bunderson, and there’s nothing in my part of town that would factor in if I were. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He finally smiled, and it softened when he looked at Cassie. She held his eyes a delicious few moments, and then looked away as she should. “I had better see that my sisters don’t truly buy out the shop.”
He nodded to them both and then disappeared inside.
“Odd fellow, Glenside,” Mr. Bunderson said, snapping the reins to get the horses moving. “Don’t know that he’ll ever find his place in the world of gentlemen. Do you know he’s fashioned himself a wood shop in his uncle’s barn? Really, I would think his uncle would steer him better.”
Cassie’s defenses rose. “I think he seems to have found his way rather well.”
“Aside from his blunder with Lenora, you mean.”
“It was not his fault. They were ill suited.” She wished she didn’t have to hold on to Mr. Bunderson’s arm to keep her seat. “But I am glad that he seems to have risen above it.”
“If you ask me, he may have bungled his best chance to make a match here in Leagrave.”
Cassie looked at his profile. “Why is that?”
He gave her a sidelong look, with that same teasing grin. “He’s common—never mind his inheritance. And he’s terribly dull. He can’t shoot, only barely manages a horse, and doesn’t . . . Well, he’s just not a gentleman. Not really.”
“I thought he was your friend.” Did Evan know that Mr. Bunderson thought these things of him?
“He is my friend,” Mr. Bunderson said with a shrug. “But enough about him. Will you be attending the Sorenson party next week? I wonder if I might sneak you away on a walk through their garden—overgrown trellises, lots of corners where we can talk privately. What do you think of that?”
Evan strode quickly to the side door of the church, stopped, turned, strode away and then stopped again. He shook his head and then looked over his shoulder toward the vicarage. Maybe Cassie wasn’t even planning to ride out with Bunderson again. But if she did, would today be the day she’d fall in love with the cur? Evan turned back to the door and reset his determination. Before he could second-guess himself—or rather, third-guess himself—he lifted his hand and rapped three times.
He stepped back and took a deep breath he hoped would calm his heart rate. Meanwhile the shouting in his head got louder.
What are you doing here?
This is none of your business.
Things are bad enough as they are, must you stir up trouble?
Just as he’d begun to turn away, thinking that Mr. Wilton was not in his office and perhaps that was a sign that his visit was a mistake, the door opened.
“Mr. Glenside.” The vicar quickly hid his surprise. “Did we have an appointment?”
“No, sir, but I wondered if I might speak with you.”
“Uh, well, certainly.” Mr. Wilton moved aside, and Evan entered, removing his hat. The room looked exactly as it had when he’d been here—had it been two months ago? In the course of those two months, Evan had kept his word and had no private communication with Cassie in any form. Yet his awareness of her had grown more acute in direct proportion with Bunderson’s increased attention toward her.
Mr. Wilton shut the door. “Please have a seat,” he said, waving toward the chair and settee.
“I’m sorry to have not made an appointment,” Evan said. “I thought about it—sending a note or whatnot. I’m sure I am operating in a most ill-mannered way.”
“That you chose against
those courses must mean your reason for calling is rather urgent.”
“Yes,” Evan said, then thought about it. “Or perhaps no. I simply cannot get it out of my mind and concluded that I could have no peace until I had spoken with you, sir.”
“Very well,” Mr. Wilton said. “It is fortunate that I have the time, then. What can I help you with?”
Evan had organized the words in his mind at some point—he had been very concerned with how he should approach such a delicate topic on his way over here—but he could find no recollection of articulation now that he needed it.
“My uncle says that gentlemen do not . . . gossip about one another.”
“Gossip, I have found, means that the information being imparted about someone is intended to harm them or their reputation. Is what you have to say detrimental to someone’s reputation?”
Was it? Evan couldn’t decide. What he had to say would harm Bunderson’s reputation, but he didn’t feel that was a bad thing. “I am here for Cassie.”
Mr. Wilton’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead, prompting Evan to review what he’d said and realize how it sounded.
“Not for Cassie,” he fumbled. “For her sake . . . her well-being.”
Mr. Wilton was on his guard.
Of course Evan would make a shambles of this. But he was too far in to back out now. “I have noticed that Mr. Ronald Bunderson is paying Cassie a great deal of attention.”
“Yes, Mr. Bunderson is an especially good friend of the family. I have no objection to his interest and, I daresay, neither does Cassie.”
There was a challenge in his voice, and Evan swallowed hard, feeling his neck heat up with embarrassment. Of course this would sound as though he were defaming Bunderson in hopes of increasing his own merit, but he wasn’t. And that reminder helped calm him. He was not here to hurt anyone, not even Bunderson, only to spare Cassie potential pain. His motivation was pure; he must take confidence in that.
“Mr. Bunderson is a very amiable man,” Evan said, his voice calmer, his motivation clear. “And I consider him a friend, which makes this meeting difficult.” He paused for a breath and then told Mr. Wilton of Bunderson’s request for information regarding the more questionable areas of London, as well as a summary of the conversation they had had while Cassie had sat beside Bunderson in his curricle. She wouldn’t understand the references Bunderson made to Mile End, but it was vulgar all the same. Evan looked at his hat while he spoke, not wanting to see the vicar’s expressions as he unburdened himself. “I hope I have not acted so out of place that I lose whatever respect you might have left for me. I assure you that I would have said nothing if not for concern for Cassie.” The brim of his hat was bent completely out of shape.
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