They did not, of course, hear anything. And she did, of course, worry.
But life had become impossibly busy. There was a dinner party to attend at Wesley's one evening. Cassandra had not taken him into her confidence, as she had Stephen's sisters. He would not approve. And he would surely blame Stephen, which would be grossly unfair. He was delighted by the engagement. He saw it as a solution to all her problems.
"For even if you recover your money and jewels, Cassie," he said, "you will still be alone, and there will still be people who will think the worst of you. Merton will be able to protect you from all that."
She /had/ told her brother what William had said about Nigel's death.
She had also told him that William had been persuaded to say nothing to anyone else at least until her claim had been settled. Wesley reluctantly agreed that it was probably a good idea not to stir up the old scandal again just when people were beginning to lose interest.
There was another dinner party and small soiree to attend at Sir Graham Carling's, and a private concert to which Cassandra had received an invitation the very day notice of her betrothal appeared in the papers.
There was a garden party the day after that, and again she had received a personal invitation.
Every day Stephen took her driving or walking in the park. On the day of the garden party, he took her for a morning ride on Rotten Row instead, having hired a horse for her for the occasion. It seemed to be years since she had last ridden and probably was. She had almost forgotten how exhilarating it was to be seated sidesaddle on a horse's back, feeling its power and energy beneath her and controlling it all with the skill in her own hands.
But it was the preparations for the ball that consumed so much of her time that she even suggested on one occasion that perhaps she ought to give up sleeping until she had time to indulge in it again.
There were lists – endless lists – to be drawn up and acted upon. There were invitations to send and flowers to order and an orchestra to engage and a menu to be planned and a program of dances to be drawn up and… Well, the tasks were never-ending, it seemed. Stephen's sisters could have done it all very well without her, Cassandra knew. Indeed, even /one/ of them could. They might have grown up in a country vicarage, but they were now perfectly competent ladies of the /ton/. They insisted, however, that they work together and that Cassandra make one of their number.
"It is going to be such /fun/," Vanessa said, having chosen to ignore Cassandra's claim that she would never actually marry Stephen, "to have another sister. I have two sisters-in-law from my first marriage and three from my marriage to Elliott, but there is always room for more.
There is /nothing/ as wonderful as family, is there?"
Cassandra began rather wistfully to believe that indeed there was not.
Stephen's sisters did not live in one another's pockets. They had their own separate lives, and they lived in different parts of the country except during the spring, when they met in London for the parliamentary session and the Season. But there was a closeness among them that made her heart ache with envy and longing.
She met Viscountess Burden and the Countess of Lanting, sisters-in-law of Vanessa and Katherine, during the week and even they claimed to be eager to welcome Cassandra into their larger family.
Yes, family – and sisterhood – were precious commodities indeed.
And life was busy.
Even at home it was not tranquil.
William was a wealthy man. Even apart from his portion as Nigel's son, he was rich, having amassed something like a fortune in the fur trade during his years in America and Canada. Now he was ready to settle down.
He wanted to buy land, to become a gentleman farmer with Mary at his side and his family already begun.
But Mary had dug in her heels. She would have been out wandering the roads of England as a vagabond, or in jail somewhere as a vagrant, if it were not for the kindness of Lady Paget, who had little enough of her own, the good Lord knew, when she was sent away from Carmel but who had taken Mary and Belinda – not to mention Roger – with her when she went. Mary was /not/ going to abandon her ladyship now just because Billy had come home, not, at any rate, until she was married right and tight to the Earl of Merton, who was a proper gentleman no matter what he did when he first met her ladyship – though /that/, no doubt, was on account of the fact that he fell in love with her, as what man would not when she was so beautiful? He had more than made up for his sins since. And if Lady Paget chose /not/ to marry his lordship, though it would be remarkably foolish of her not to – /not/ that Mary had any right to judge her betters, especially to call /them foolish/ – then Mary would stay with her until she got her money and settled somewhere with proper servants.
Though Mary wanted to see those servants with her very own eyes first, because there was no knowing what riffraff there might be in London who thought they could cook and clean for a lady. Mary was staying, at least for now, and if Billy did not like it and wanted to go off looking for land before she was good and ready to go with him, then so be it.
Every time Mary delivered this lengthy speech or some variation on it, she ended up in tears, her apron up over her face, and William had to offer a shoulder for her to cry on while he patted her back and grinned and assured her that he had no intention of going anywhere before Cassie was settled. And Mary must be a goose if she thought he would go.
Alice was no better. She returned from her three days in Kent looking ten years younger. Her eyes glowed. So did her cheeks. So did her whole person.
"Cassie," she said before she had been back in the house ten minutes,
"they are wonderful people, Allan's family. They are a close-knit group and yet they opened the arms of friendship to me. More than friendship, actually. They treated me like one of themselves." /Allan/ now, was he?
"I am so glad," Cassandra said. "You are to see more of Mr. Golding, then?"
"The silly man wants me to marry him," Alice said.
"Silly indeed," Cassandra agreed. "Did you say yes?"
"No," Alice said, setting her cup in the saucer with a slight clatter.
The cup never had made the full distance to her mouth.
"No?"
"No," Alice said firmly. "I asked him to give me time to think about it."
Cassandra set her own cup and saucer down on the table beside her.
"Because of me, I suppose," she said.
Alice pursed her lips but would not deny it.
"Alice," Cassandra said with a severity that was not feigned, "if you and Mary between you force me into marrying Stephen, I will have the greatest difficulty forgiving either of you."
Alice merely looked mulish.
"Of course," Cassandra said, "both of you would deny that you had done any such thing. You are both postponing your futures or even denying them altogether just in case I do /not/ marry him. I will not allow such tyranny. I will give both of you notice – very /short/ notice. I will terminate both your employments."
"What employment?" Alice asked. "I have not been paid in almost a year.
I think that means I am no longer your servant, Cassie. I am only your friend. You cannot give your friends the sack. And if you try to get rid of Mary, she will only give you the length of her tongue and burst into tears and make you feel like a worm. And then she will stay and refuse to let you pay her, and you will feel like a giant worm. And Mr. Belmont will stay with her because, to his credit, he is besotted with her – and with Belinda. And you will be forever tripping over him as he mends everything in this house that needs mending – a never-ending task if ever I saw one. You will end up feeling like a /dragon/."