by Jocelyn Kirk
“Good heavens! Aleta’s child will belong to Ivan Wellerton.”
“It will,” agreed McCrea. “It’s possible Ivan might never learn of the child, but consider this: What if, in a year’s time or so, Ivan convinces his uncle to sanction his marriage to Aleta. How would she feel marrying him, knowing she had discarded his child? And if he learned of the circumstance, no doubt his anger would be extreme.”
My mind was racing. “We must convince them to marry right away! The child will then be legitimate, and surely the uncle cannot hold out when presented with a beautiful niece-in-law and an enchanting child.”
“I agree with you, Cassie. Someone must write to Ivan Wellerton and get him here without delay.”
As soon as an opportunity presented itself, I informed Lila and Aleta of my conversation with Jesse McCrea. I impressed on them the absolute necessity of an immediate marriage. Aleta gasped. She was certain Ivan would not marry her at the risk of losing his inheritance. I tried to extract a promise from her to inform Ivan of her condition, but she replied only that she would consider it.
The busy atmosphere of the cottage took an upward turn as we grew closer to Lila’s marriage. Jesse and his daughters arrived early the day before with a farm wagon to transport Lila’s belongings. I could not suppress a tear as I helped carry her gowns and sundries to the wagon, while rejoicing in the happiness of the couple.
The wedding in Caemre Church the next morning was a bittersweet spectacle for us, and when I said goodbye to Lila, I clung to her.
Chapter Fifteen
The weeks slipped away, and although winter still tormented us with icy lanes and freezing temperatures, spring was not far away. I had come to quietly accept my fate. I truly had no choice but to return to Charles. He would never divorce me, and I did not want to grow old in this cottage, watching the happiness of everyone else and avoiding John Carter, lest the pain of loving him overwhelmed me.
“I miss Lila,” declared Aleta one morning, easing her expanding body onto a sofa. “Let us hitch the pony and drive to the farm.”
“No, indeed,” I replied. “The roads are frozen, and you, my pet, are not going to take such a risk.”
Aleta nodded. “I suppose you are right. Thank heavens March is just a week away. Have you told John you are leaving in the spring?”
“Yes, but he made me promise not to go. Charles is expecting me to join him in Kent. I must break my promise to John, but I will write him from River Bend. Once I am gone, he will accept the situation.”
The day was very cold, and seeing Aleta shiver, I placed a quilt over her shoulders and built up the fire. “You are too thin, dearest. You must eat more.”
Aleta gathered the quilt about herself and eased her legs onto the sofa. She looked up at me, her azure eyes wide with anxiety.
“By my reckoning, Cassie, my child will be born in about two months.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “John and the midwife have the same opinion. April is a lovely month for a birthday.”
“I’m frightened, Cassie. You’re so strong and brave, but I am not.”
“You’ll be fine,” I assured her with a smile.
“What will I do if I cannot give the baby away? How will I take care of it?”
“Write to Ivan! It is his child, and he should be grappling with this problem, along with you!”
“Good morning,” said a voice. We turned as John entered the room. “I knocked, but no one came.”
I greeted John and offered tea, but my manner was stiff and cold. We settled in the parlor, and I stared into my teacup to avoid his eyes. To my relief, Mattie entered, followed by Georgina and Mr. Sparkman.
I had seen little of the pair since their return from London. They had called a few times and attended Lila’s wedding, but I had no cozy chats with Georgina. Fortunately for the lady’s reputation, Mr. Sparkman had taken a room in town. I had no doubt she would have lived openly with him if he had agreed to it, but he was enough of a gentleman to protect her good name.
I could not carry any animosity toward Sparkman, for he had warmly apologized upon first arriving in Caemre. Today, he was particularly friendly and attentive. He smiled broadly at all about him and took my hand in a gesture of sincere friendship. He appeared very well; his black hair was neatly combed and his morning outfit of olive green jacket, white shirt, and black trousers and boots complemented his wiry frame. He had the glowing visage of a man in love, and I could only hope dear Georgina would not tire of him and break his heart.
After the greetings had been made and everyone was settled in the parlor, Mr. Sparkman rose and cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Stanfield, Miss Tenley, Miss Little, Dr. Carter…it gives me great pleasure to make the following announcement. Yesterday, this wonderful, beautiful lady and I were married, and I can honestly pronounce myself the happiest of men!”
An uproar ensued, of course. Everyone began moving about and talking at once. John was first to reach Sparkman and shake his hand, and I crushed Georgina in my arms, expressing without words my delight at the event. Aleta summoned Mattie, and she and the children joined the impromptu celebration.
After a great deal of talk and laughter, I had an opportunity for a few moments’ tête-à-tête with Georgina. She seized my hand and spoke quietly.
“Cassie, dear, Eliot and I have not forgotten your dilemma, but he is certainly not in favor of my plan to make Charles in love with me! However, we have another idea.”
“Do you!”
“Yes. I believe we have been considering the problem from the wrong aspect. Now that Mr. Stanfield’s proclivities are public knowledge, I see no reason why a court would not grant you a divorce.”
“Me? Do you really believe it possible? The courts have a long history of granting a divorce only to men.”
“They do, but Eliot researched the issue and gathered several precedents. In all cases of a woman being granted a divorce, the husband was absolutely proven to be unfaithful.”
I gazed at Georgina, my mind working. “What you say makes sense. But…how does one go about this? How can I begin such an action?”
“Eliot can recommend an attorney in London to act for you.”
“And would I need to be involved? Would I appear in court?”
Georgina’s eyes widened. “Surely that does not frighten you.”
I placed my teacup on a table and leaned toward my friend. “It does frighten me, Georgina, because every gossip in London spread the tale that Bart Loch was my lover. What court would believe that I left my husband’s home in the middle of the night with him, stopped at an inn, but did not lie with him!”
Georgina nodded. “Yes, I do see your dilemma.”
“I must return to my husband,” I declared in a low voice. “It is best for everyone if I do so.”
Georgina glanced at John. “Have you told him?”
“Yes, but he did not accept my decision.”
“Cassie, I have a thought. Eliot, in his line of work, often becomes enmeshed in legal issues. I suggest you contract with him to be your go-between. Eliot and I can journey to London and consult with a solicitor. Eliot can then act as your agent with the attorney. We can say that you are ill and must spend a year in Italy for your health, or some such tale.”
Although I heard Georgina’s words, my mind had wandered. A shiver passed over my body, and the room with its noisy conversations faded away. I stepped away to a window and stared out at the cold, bleak day. I knew exactly what I must do.
At the first opportunity, I asked John to remain behind when the others departed, and he agreed. After bidding a fond farewell to my friend and her new husband, I sent Miss Little and Mattie to the village with orders to stay away until they had partaken of tea and biscuits, shopped for something pretty and frivolous, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
“Dr. Carter and I will care for the children. Do have a nice afternoon. You both deserve it.”
After the pony cart rattled away over the froz
en ruts of the lane, with Deirdre and Mattie well wrapped in sheepskin rugs on the bench seat, Aleta announced she would rest a bit and headed upstairs. I had a few precious hours to be alone with John, and they would be the last.
The children must be amused, so I pulled a trunk from a closet and told Percy to open it. He lifted the heavy lid surprisingly easily, and both children peered inside. The trunk was Aleta’s and was full of a hodgepodge of old gowns, toy rabbits and kittens from her childhood, and books.
“You may play with these items to your heart’s content,” I informed the wide-eyed twins. “Sister Aleta gave permission.”
They clamored their thanks and began pulling items from the trunk. I clapped my hands lightly to regain their attention. “Dr. Carter and I will sit by the fire. We must be undisturbed for some conversation; do you agree not to trouble us?”
“Yes, Sister Cassandra,” replied Paulie with an adorable little curtsy.
“Thank you,” I said gravely, with a curtsy of my own. John observed, smiling, and I took his hand and led him to the blue velvet chairs that stood before the hearth.
John kissed my hand as he seated me in the comfortable chair and placed himself opposite me. “You are a natural mother,” he said. “You know exactly how to manage children.”
“Before you compliment me,” I replied. “Pray remember that I have a great deal of help. The village mothers do not have a governess and two other women available.”
“Irrelevant,” he replied. “No amount of assistance could make you instinctively good with children. That comes from within.”
I nodded my thanks, and we were silent for a moment. I straightened my back and folded my hands in my lap. I must remain reserved and give him no hint of hope. For his sake, I must be a bit cold so that in time he could forget me. Tears prickled at the thought of his loving another, but I held myself rigidly and willed them not to fall.
“John,” I began, “I have one last scheme to enable us to be together. Will you hear me out?”
“Most certainly.”
“It involves someone dying.”
He laughed. “I will not murder your husband!”
“No,” I replied, “but you might, in effect, murder me.”
He stared at me, but his quick mind was rapid in its comprehension. “Are you suggesting—is it your thought to pretend to die?”
“Yes. I can then procure somehow—probably with the help of Elliot Sparkman—papers with a new name. We can then wed.”
John alternately smiled and scowled as this new notion took hold. I spoke again. “John, this suggestion would involve your signing your name to a false death warrant. That will not sit well with you, I realize.”
“No, it will not, but that is not my only reservation. Even with a new identity, you would still in reality be the wife of Charles Stanfield. Our marriage would be a sham, and if Stanfield did somehow wed again, his would be also. For him I have no consideration, but what of the young lady who married him if the story came out? Their children would be illegitimate. No, Cassie, this is a scheme I cannot consent to.”
I sighed as I dropped into hopelessness. I would return to Mr. Stanfield—there was no other choice.
John tilted my chin so he could see my face. “Could you not procure a divorce considering the licentious and depraved actions of your husband?”
“Georgina also suggested that possibility, but how am I to prove that Charles was unfaithful? Even if a witness were to agree to testify in court—very unlikely—Charles would simply claim he or she was a liar; whereas, I would be accused of having an illicit relationship with Bart Loch!”
John rose and paced the room, causing the children to look up from their play. “You promised you would not return to your husband.”
My deep unhappiness vented itself in anger. I pushed myself from my chair and faced him, hands on hips. “I said what you wanted to hear to prevent an argument. If you are unhappy about my decision, pray keep in mind you have foolishly allowed yourself to fall in love with a married woman!”
John glared at me. He stepped forward and uttered in a low voice, “You accuse me of foolishness, Cassie, when you fell in love with a blackguard who did not have the decency to leave you in peace once you were wed.”
The room tilted around me, but I did not swoon. I paced away from John and gripped the back of a chair. My tone was harsh. “Sir Winslow applies his notions of respectability only to women, not himself! My husband demanded obedience and adherence to marriage vows he violated! And the man I love—and who supposedly loves me—is angry because I must obey laws that men created and forced upon women!”
I despise all of you!
I marched into the hall and seized John’s coat from the rack. “John, you had better go.”
He snatched his coat from my hand and stomped out the door, slamming it so hard the windows rattled.
Percy and Paulie stopped their play at the noise and turned to me wide-eyed. I stared at their innocent faces and wondering expressions, and then I sat on the floor with them and began to make a word with their wooden blocks. The word was journey, and I was pleased and proud that they both could read it.
My thoughts were gathering as I played mindlessly with the children. I had already confronted my father and gained access to my family and financial support for Percy and Paulie. Now I had to face another man, and I vowed that I would face him—not by letters but in person. As soon as warmer weather made travel possible, I would go post to Kent, and no one would be allowed to stop me. I would walk into the dragon’s lair and make my demands, and if I failed, I would spend my remaining years making Charles Stanfield miserable!
And Aleta! Her lover, Ivan Wellerton, was in Kent at his uncle’s estate. I would see him, as well, and drag him to Caemre, if necessary. I would accept no nonsense from him about his inheritance or her dowry. He would marry Aleta, or I would give him a tongue-lashing he would never forget. If he had shown any manly courage when Sir Winslow ejected him from the house, Aleta would not now be in such a dire situation. He had a duty, and I fully intended to impress that fact on him.
I smiled at my little half brother and sister. My confidence must have shown in my expression, because Paulie climbed into my lap and whispered, “Sister Cassie, I love you. I am never afraid when you are here.”
Chapter Sixteen
The weather became snowy, and I saw little of John Carter for four weeks. It was just as well, for my plan to travel, if it became known to him, would surely lead to another dispute.
March brought fairer weather, and I planned my journey to Kent carefully, telling no one of my plan. On the day of my departure, I found a pretext to go to town with Mattie in the pony cart. I carried a valise ostensibly filled with old garments to give to the poor, but which in truth held my travel needs. I drove to the coach stop, pulled up the pony, and turned to my companion.
“Mattie, I am going post to Kent today.” I handed the startled girl a letter. “Pray give this letter to my sister.”
“Ma’am,” cried Mattie, “should you go so far alone?”
“I must. I will be fine, Mattie. You may expect my return in two or three weeks.”
Mattie, to my great shock, reached out and embraced me. “Do take care,” she whispered.
I patted her hand and climbed from the cart. “Please give Miss Aleta every assistance, Mattie, dear. She is very near her confinement.”
“I will, ma’am. May God be with you.”
The journey was long, muddy, and exhausting. It seemed the horses could travel no farther than a mile before we were told to exit the coach and walk because of deep mud or water or a rocky hill. But in four days we reached London, and there I hired a cabriolet and driver to take me to my husband’s estate. When we reached the environs and I began to recognize fields and cottages, memories flooded my mind. The misery of marrying a man when one loved another! I was glad of the pain these memories engendered, for it seared my heart and ensured I would never make such a mi
stake again.
The day was fair and quite warm for March. I could see signs of spring as we approached the iron gates—daffodils in bud, brambles with tiny new leaves, and evergreen shrubs with their color brightened by the strengthening sunlight. My heart beat fast as my driver urged his horse up the gravel drive, and then, as we rounded a bend and neared the entrance to the mansion, I saw an unexpected sight.
Two men jumped about on the lawn. One of them threw his arms about the other, and then they proceeded to jump about again. My carriage was still too far away for me to identify them, and it was another few moments before they turned toward us. They stood together watching as the carriage drew to a stop under the portico.
The driver opened the door for me, and I stepped out to face the two men. One of them was my husband, Charles Stanfield, and the other was a stranger. Charles was looking well, his normal stern and stiff expression now one of good-humored curiosity. His dark brown hair, usually swept back and lacquered into place, waved loosely about his face. His figure appeared upright and vigorous. He held a sheet of paper—a letter perhaps—and he dropped it as he recognized me, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Cassandra! I did not expect you until May!”
“I have come to speak with you, not to stay,” I replied. I glanced at the other gentleman, who had stooped to pick up the dropped paper. “You have a friend visiting. I can return at another time, if this is not convenient.”
Charles looked at his friend and then at me. “You had better come inside, Cassandra. Your appearance today is actually most convenient. Give me a moment to send your driver to the back entrance. I will give orders for his refreshment and care of the horse.”
“Thank you.” I waited while Charles spoke to the driver and pointed out the direction. The other gentleman approached slowly, displaying a friendly smile. He was a young, fair-haired man dressed in the garb of a Scot, with kilt and jacket. His accent proved him Scottish.
He bowed before speaking. “May I introduce myself. Robert MacDougall, Thane of Doneagan.”
