by Jocelyn Kirk
“I have called this meeting,” I continued, “to have the benefit of everyone’s ideas. How can I bring Charles to realize our marriage is over and it would be for his happiness, as well as my own, to seek a divorce?”
“Could a letter from you not influence him?” inquired Deirdre.
“I do not think so, as long as his mother holds such sway.”
John spoke. “Perhaps a letter to Mrs. Stanfield would convince her that her interference will be fruitless. If you make it clear that you do not intend to return to Charles, she might relent.”
“There is merit in that,” agreed Lila.
Georgina rose and walked to the fire. She poked some ashes and threw on a few more logs. When she turned to us, her face was pink from the heat, and for the thousandth time I thought, How pretty she is.
Georgina addressed the group. “In Bath, this brave lady—my friend Cassandra—came to my rescue when I became entangled in the harnessing of two horses attempting to bolt. No doubt she saved me from injury and perhaps saved my life.”
Georgina waited until the cries of amazement and my answering disclaimers died down.
“I have an idea,” she continued, “as to how I might repay her. But my plan could conceivably cause some pain to Mr. Stanfield.”
“What on earth do you mean?” cried Lila.
Georgina smiled. “Although you are all accustomed to seeing me in a paint-splattered gown and smock, as a matter of fact, I can dress fashionably and present myself as a lady when I choose.”
“Georgina,” said John, “Do you mean—are you forming some plan to engage the affections of Mr. Stanfield?”
Everyone spoke at once, and Georgina quietly stood and waited for silence, one hand resting on the back of a chair and her head tilted pertly. Her dark hair and emerald eyes were gleaming from the firelight. I could suddenly see her as a coquette—a most charming coquette!
“Pray, let me continue,” Georgina proceeded, raising a hand for silence. “Indeed, John, you have guessed my idea. If I am able to engage the love of Mr. Stanfield, he might be cajoled into standing up to his unreasonable mother—he might divorce Cassie in order to marry me. It sounds quite cruel, to be sure, because I would then be obliged to hurt him by dismissing his suit. But Cassie can lessen the evil by writing to her husband and respectfully requesting he divorce her. If she explains that her heart is no longer his, perhaps he will comply.”
“Yes!” agreed Lila. “His refusal would give us a sort of ethical permission to fight fire with fire. In effect, to use another cliché, Charles will have made his bed and must lie in it.”
“How generous of you, Lady Lovell!” Aleta cried.
We all began to talk and speculate, when a knock on the door interrupted us. A frightened-looking boy stuttered out his need for Dr. Carter to “come quick, sir!” John rose and briefly looked about the room. “Lest anyone fear I disapprove, let it be known that I like the plan—with the proviso that Mrs. Stanfield first appeal to her husband by letter.” He then followed the boy and a few moments later cantered down the lane with the lad riding double and hanging on tight.
Over the course of the next two weeks, Georgina and I had many discussions of the best approach to instituting the romantic attack against my husband. I wrote him immediately but received no reply. Lila considered that a good omen, for she opined that Charles might yet agree to a divorce.
One late afternoon, with the day quickly darkening, Georgina was taking leave to return home when a carriage appeared out of the gloom. The driver reined in the horses in front of the cottage and opened the carriage door. As soon as the step went down, a lady appeared, followed by a gentleman.
My skin prickled. There was something familiar about the two persons, although I could not see their faces in the near darkness. Georgina and I stepped from the window, and I waited in trepidation for a knock on the door. Percy and Paulie were playing in one corner of the room, and I bade them to “find sister Lila, for we have visitors.”
The knock came. I opened the door and beheld to my great shock—Rosamund.
Courtesy failed me. “Rosamund!” was all I could utter.
The gentleman stepped forward. Seeing his visage for the first time, I gasped and seized the door frame to remain standing. Bartholomew Loch stood before me.
“Cassie, may we come in?” inquired Bart.
I was still speechless, but I flung open the door. Lila and Miss Little appeared, and they, along with Georgina, stood motionless as the visitors entered.
“You dare to show your face here, Bart!” Lila cried. “I cannot believe even you would have the temerity!”
I seized the back of the sofa to steady myself. “Lila, let it be, I pray you.” I ushered the visitors to seats. Aleta and Georgina hastened to make tea, for Mattie had gone home. Lila sank into a chair and stared.
Rosamund turned to me. “My dear Mrs. Stanfield, please forgive our arriving with no notice. Such events have passed! I knew I must see you. I…I had a great desire to see all of you. You will understand when you hear our news.”
“Frederick!” I cried. “He is ill again!”
“No. He is well…in his body. His mind is rather deranged at the moment.”
I pulled in a deep, calming breath and appraised the two strangers. Rosamund was as lovely and blooming as ever and had not lost her quiet, gentle manner of speaking. And yet, something was different. She had an air of confidence, holding her head high and regarding us directly. Bart appeared well and robust, lacking the languid, careless look of the past. He sat upright and smiled gratefully at Aleta as she handed him tea. I introduced Lady Lovell, Miss Little, and the children. A few moments were spent in talking to the children, stirring tea, and passing a plate of biscuits.
Rosamund set down her cup and faced all of us. “Mrs. Loch, Mrs. Stanfield, Miss Tenley, what I must inform you may cause shock and perhaps unhappiness, although I hope not so.”
No one spoke. All eyes were on Rosamund as she gracefully pushed back a strand of chestnut hair and gazed at each of us in turn.
“As I wrote you, I was engaged to be married to Frederick. A few days before that event, an express letter arrived from my mother’s landlady in Lyme. My mother was ill and begged to see me. The landlady’s opinion was that all would be over in a few days, so I should come immediately.
“Sir Winslow put his horses and carriage at my disposal, and I was off in a few hours. I was with my mother when she died, but before her passing, she told me a secret—one she had entrusted to no one else.”
The ticking of the clock sounded loud enough to shake the earth.
Rosamund sipped her tea and fetched a deep breath. “She told me that her husband—the man I knew as my father until he perished in the war—was not my father.”
My respiration seemed to halt as an idea struck me, and I shuddered as I attempted to breathe. I glanced at Lila and saw from her wide-eyed expression that her suspicions were the same as mine. Lila uttered, “Who? Rosamund, who is your father?”
Rosamund’s response came as a whisper, but I heard every word. “Sir Winslow Tenley.”
“Good God!” cried Aleta. “Are you claiming to be our sister?”
Rosamund’s voice had recaptured its quiet firmness. “I am your half sister.”
Bart spoke. “When I returned from France, Rosamund had just arrived from Lyme. You can imagine her state of mind and your brother’s upon learning they were thus closely related. I confronted Sir Winslow with the story, for Rosamund and Frederick were too shocked and appalled to do so. Your father confirmed it. When I demanded to know how he could have given permission for Rosamund and Frederick to wed, he replied that he had not wanted to but had no good reason to withhold it without revealing the truth. The marriage would be harmless as long as the relationship remained a secret, said he to my great shock. When I repeated his words to Rosamund, she begged me to take her from North Commons—she could not bear to stay another day.”
“Wait!”
I cried. “Bart, you were in France? Your uncle and sister have been searching for you.”
“Yes. My voyage to France is a long story, but I will recapitulate. When you and I, Cassie, went our separate ways, so to speak, I undertook a long assessment of my behavior. I despised myself. I was nothing but a selfish dilettante. I had lost the woman I loved and hurt the woman who loved me. I was careless on all serious matters, disdaining the lessons religion might have taught me—or if not religion, the simple practice of kindness could have saved me from becoming a monster. I planned to hurry to North Commons and again plead with Rosamund to marry me—knowing my quest would most likely be fruitless—but I first traveled to the home of William Ecks—my oldest and dearest friend. I begged him to counsel me. He advised me to go abroad, to travel, think, consider, and reflect on my past mistakes, until my head and heart were clearer. ‘Do not inform your uncle or sister,’ said Ecks. ‘They have too much influence over you, and this you must break. They have often led you astray.’
“I left England and traveled a great deal on the continent, especially through the country villages of France. I stayed three months in a monastery and worked alongside the monks. I learned the lesson I was not taught in childhood—you know the saying—do unto others, etc.”
“And do you believe your mind is truly cleansed?” demanded Lila.
“I believe it is, and this is confirmed by the trust and faith confided in me by a woman so pure in her actions and thoughts—so far above me in humility and kindness—Rosamund.”
I stared at Bart. “Trust and faith! Are you saying…?”
“Yes,” admitted Rosamund quietly, “we are husband and wife.”
In the silence that followed, Bart rose and came to me. He took my hand and kissed it. “You deserved better, Cassandra. You deserved better than an unhappy marriage and a heedless rake who trifled with your feelings for his own amusement. I humbly beg your forgiveness.” He glanced about. “I beg the forgiveness of all of you.”
Georgina crossed the room. “Mr. Loch, as I told Cassie when first we met, young people are prone to mistakes and foolish actions. Although I met you only today, I have heard much of you, very little of which was positive, I regret to say. But I forgive you, and I strongly suspect that Cassie does as well, for she is now too happy in her own heart to withhold her pardon.”
Bart bowed and kissed her hand. Rosamund uttered a quiet, “Thank you, Lady Lovell.”
The tension having been broken, several noisy conversations began. I managed to get Rosamund to myself for a few minutes, for I had many questions to ask about her startling revelation. However, my first inquiry concerned her marriage.
“Rosamund, perhaps I am impertinent to ask, but how came you to marry Bart?”
“Your curiosity is natural.” She sighed deeply and fixed her eyes on the floor. ”How can I describe my state of mind when I learned the man I was about to wed—Frederick—was in actuality my half brother? I could not look at Frederick without picturing our wedding night—good God, if the knowledge of our relationship had come too late! How would either of us bear the remembrance of the crime against nature we would have unknowingly committed!”
“That is distressing indeed! One can hardly imagine sustaining life after such an event! I can certainly understand your wishing to leave the abbey immediately.”
Rosamund raised her soulful eyes to mine. “Yes. Bart arrived just as Frederick and I were in the first stages of shock. He spoke to both of us and did everything he could to mitigate our despair. The love I thought I had for Frederick dissipated, as you can well imagine. Unfair as it may seem, I could not bear the sight of him.”
“And this, of course, was a fine opportunity for Bart to step forward as the man deserving of your trust and affection.”
“Certainly, but he did not press his suit with me. He volunteered to drive me from Kent and deliver me to this cottage. I felt it to be my only refuge.”
“You had no chaperone for the journey?”
“No, but Bart behaved impeccably to me. I was the one who suggested we marry. I felt certain he still loved me, and his attempts to become a better man touched me deeply. I believe we can be happy together, and I am grateful to him for taking a penniless woman to wife.”
“Rosamund, I would never advise any woman to marry without love, but I cannot fault your decision. Bart’s love for you has stood the test of time, and your affection for him will grow.”
Rosamund nodded. She gently clasped my hand. “Thank you, Cassandra.”
My mind jumped to Rosamund’s other declaration. “Rosamund, you had no suspicion before your mother’s confession that your father was Sir Winslow?”
“No, indeed. My mother told me when I was a child that I must go to North Commons to be a lady’s maid because she could not afford to keep me. Apparently, she and Sir Winslow had made some sort of agreement. I give him credit for that; he cared enough to keep me in his household.”
“But he abandoned these children,” I declared, indicating Percy and Paulie, each perched on one of Deirdre’s knees. “I introduced them to you as my half brother and sister, and you made no inquiries about them; you showed no curiosity. I must ask—did Sir Winslow inform you of their existence?”
“He admitted their existence to Bart, after Bart demanded to know if Sir Winslow had sired others besides myself. But your father believed them to be well cared for. He is not heartless, Cassandra.”
Unable to help myself, I uttered a bitter laugh. “You can say that, after he turned me from his house and buried me in the west?”
Rosamund took my hand. “Forgive me, Cassandra. You have suffered, and I am sorry. But out of suffering sometimes emerges wisdom.”
Abruptly, I pulled her into my arms. “You have always been wise, Rosamund, and now you are my sister and I can love you as you deserve. But let me warn you of one thing—”
“Warn me! What do you mean?”
“If Bart hurts you, I will take up a sword and run him through!”
Chapter Twelve
Bart and Rosamund stayed only one night in Caemre. We saw them briefly the next morning before they began their journey to Bart’s uncle’s home in London. Bart had already written to his uncle and Bettina, I was happy to learn. As much as I disliked Bettina, I pitied the suffering of anyone who has lost a loved one, or at least feared that was the case.
During the ensuing days, Aleta, Lila, and I thoroughly discussed the circumstance of having yet another half sister. Georgina, John, and Jesse McCrae called often and joined the talk. Georgina was to leave at the end of the month for London and her pursuit of Charles Stanfield, and although I was rendered uncomfortable by such an attack—not for Charles’s sake, but for Georgina’s—she herself was highly amused and energized by it. She had her reckless side, and the whole affair provided her with a sense of excitement and an opportunity to thumb her nose at an entire panoply of social conventions. She promised to write often and give me the details of her actions and their results.
Once Georgina was gone, Lila and I laid a plan to visit North Commons Abbey. We desired to travel before the weather worsened. Aleta was beginning to show her pregnancy, and I charged Deirdre with her care. “Send for Dr. Carter immediately,” I cautioned, “if any slight thing seems amiss.”
Exactly one week later, Lila and I left Caemre Cottage and began our journey to Kent. We went post, but how different was this journey from the one seven months ago when I had been banished and she had gone with me to torment me further! We chatted and laughed all the way. We had much to discuss; Lila’s upcoming marriage was the main point. It would make a great change to both of us. We talked of the possible future marriage of John and myself, despite the improbability of such an event, and the need for a larger dwelling that would accommodate us, the children, and Miss Little.
As we drew near the abbey in the afternoon of the fourth day of travel, my heart began to beat with trepidation. I would have to face my father and make my demands, an
d the required courage had deserted me.
Lila took my hand. “Be brave. You are in the right. Father has shown himself to be a philanderer and hypocrite, and he had no right to banish you for a crime much lesser than his own.”
We trotted up the gravel drive to North Commons shortly before tea. Lila and I walked slowly under the bare branches of the elms sheltering the entrance, stretching our limbs after the long drive. At the door, we waited breathlessly as our driver knocked loudly.
Cratt, the butler, answered the door and stared at us before breaking into a smile. “Mrs. Loch! Mrs. Stanfield! You are a sight to gladden these old eyes.”
Obeying an impulse, I seized and embraced him. He stepped back, blushing, and I laughed. “Pray do not announce us, Cratt. We want to surprise the others.”
“Certainly, ma’am. They are all in the winter parlor. Come this way.”
We followed the familiar great hallway behind the stiff back of Cratt. He flung open the door, and we walked in.
Several startled faces greeted us, and for a few moments no one moved or spoke. My mother was on the sofa, and she cried breathlessly, “Cassie! Lila!” I ran to her, and tears coursed down our faces as we embraced. Lila followed me, and mother and daughter greeted each other with alternate smiles and tears.
To my surprise, my brother Winslow John stood by the fire, and I quickly joined him. Before the first pleasant chat was over, Bettina Loch entered the room. As beautiful as ever, she wore a violet tea gown and woolen shawl of the same hue. Her dark curls haloed her perfect face, and she approached me with outstretched hand and a smile that would have done justice to an accomplished actress.
What on earth is she doing here? I fixed my face in a grin and joined my hands to hers.
