12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Jethro sat in the office of his warehouse, staring out the window at the harbour. His mind had strayed too often of late, and always in the same direction.

What was Cassandra doing? Was she visiting the dressmaker’s as he’d suggested, or was she sitting in the drawing room working on her embroidery? Was she curled up in a chair reading a book, or was she gazing out the window, thinking of the boorish man she had married?

Was she happy—or did she regret marrying him?

What a fool he’d been to suppose having a wife would affect him no more than taking on a new valet or housekeeper. Cassandra was dependent on him in a way his servants were not. They relied on him for their livelihood, but could seek another employer if he dismissed them, or they felt they had been treated unfairly.

Cassandra could not. She had tied herself to him for life and Jethro had thought he could keep her at a distance like everyone else—but he could not.

She might not share his bed, but she invaded his thoughts more often than was comfortable.

There was a knock at the door of his office, and without waiting for an answer, Crowley entered. He perched on the edge of Jethro’s desk, making it impossible for him to continue working—not that he had so much as glanced at the paperwork spread out in front of him for the past half hour.

“Why are you still here?”

The words niggled him. There were some disadvantages in employing your best friend as your manager. Crowley had a habit of stepping out of line, but their friendship gave him no right to question Jethro’s actions.

“Why shouldn’t I be here? It’s my business, or had you forgotten?”

“I’m not likely to forget. I trip over you all day at the warehouse. The question is, why did you hire me if you’re intent on being here all the time? Don’t you trust me to manage your business for you when you’re away?”

Did he trust Crowley? Yes. With his life, if need be. But if he wasn’t here, what would he do with himself?

“I do, but—”

“Then prove it. Leave your desk for a while. Go home and spend some time with your lovely wife. Take her for a walk, or drive out in that chaise of yours you hardly use.”

“Cassandra does not expect it of me. Our marriage is not like yours. I’ve told you before, it’s a business arrangement—nothing more. She needed a home. I needed a wife to smooth my way into polite society, and with Mr Wade coming to Weymouth—”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at him. “And love doesn’t come into it?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jethro snapped. “You can’t suppose I fell in love with a woman I hardly knew.”

“But you vowed to love her?”

“Yes. That is part of the marriage ceremony, as you are well aware.”

“And how are you showing her that love?”

“I’ve given her a home, security, more pin money than she could possibly need, a position of respect—”

“And I’m sure she’s very grateful, but that’s not love. What about tenderness, affection?”

His words made Jethro squirm as much as if he had just eaten a worm. Why couldn’t his friend understand that his marriage was different?

“We have mutual respect for each other.” That was the basis for their agreement. It was as simple as that.

Crowley shook his head in sympathy. “Heed my words, every woman craves affection. I hope you learn that before it’s too late.”

Jethro scowled. “What do you mean by that?”

“If you don’t give your wife the affection she needs, she’ll find it somewhere else. ”

This time his friend had gone too far. “You forget yourself. How dare you suggest Cassandra would be unfaithful to me?”

“That’s not what I meant. If you don’t satisfy her need for affection, she’ll look to other people in her life to supply it—her sister, her brother, her friends.”

However much Jethro wanted to dismiss Crowley’s words, they struck a chord within him, that resonated through his whole being. Did Cassandra crave his affection? It seemed unlikely, given the nature of their relationship, but just enough doubt crept in to chip away at his assurance.

The only thing he remained certain of was that he had to escape from his friend before he was consumed by guilt for paying his wife such scant attention since their marriage.

“Hmm. If you say so. Now, you must excuse me. I am going home. To my wife .”

Jethro ignored the smug look on his manager’s face as he slid off the desk, and left his office, whistling as he went. Let Crowley think he’d won his point if he wanted. As long as it kept his friend from making any more observations about his marriage.

Jethro arrived home more than half an hour earlier than usual, to the obvious astonishment of the footman who opened the door.

Perhaps Crowley was right, and he should spend more time with Cassandra. He could at least show willing. It couldn’t hurt.

“Where is my wife, Young?”

“Mrs Hunt has not yet returned from town.”

Jethro frowned. So much for showing willing. She couldn’t be pining for his company—she wasn’t even here. “Was she alone?”

“No, sir. She was with her sister.”

Crowley’s words came back to him. Was Cassandra looking to Julia for affection, rather than him? Perhaps. But what did it matter? As long as his wife was content.

It was reassuring she had her stepsister’s company, though he wished she had gone with one of her friends. Her sister had made no secret of her disapproval of their hasty marriage, and if Cassandra was dissatisfied with the bargain she’d agreed to, Julia would prove a ready listener to her complaints .

The thought made him uneasy.

Jethro climbed the stairs to his bedchamber and was surprised to find the door leading to his wife’s room ajar. The maid must have left it open when airing the rooms.

He moved to close it, but paused when he caught the sound of a female voice coming from the next chamber.

“I think she married him for his money.”

Jethro stiffened. He recognised the voice as belonging to Sally, the girl assigned to wait on Cassandra.

“Why would you say a thing like that? It’s not right to judge others.”

That was another of his maids—Mary Ann, he thought.

“Why else would she marry him?” Sally said.

“Mr Hunt is a good master. I won’t hear you say a word against him.”

“That’s as may be, but don’t you think it’s a wonder that it all happened so fast?” asked Sally. “One day he announces his betrothal and the next he’s married—and to the rector’s daughter, no less.”

“Rich folks have no need to wait. There’s nothing so surprising about that.”

“Ooh. Maybe she needed to get married—”

“That’s enough,” snapped Mary Ann. “I have work to do, and I haven’t got time to chatter when the master’s fire is yet to be made up. I’ll thank you not to slow me down, and if you have any sense, you’ll close your mouth before it gets you into trouble.”

Jethro chose that moment to make his entrance. He pushed the door back and stood glowering on the threshold. The two young women cowered before him as he addressed Sally.

“How dare you cast aspersions on my wife’s character or my own? Have you no respect for those who pay your wages?”

As he vented his anger in a barrage of harsh words, the maid’s face drained of colour.

“I will not have such disloyalty in my house. You may pack your things and leave. Now.”

Sally burst into tears, but Jethro was unmoved. “Go.”

She fled from the room as if afraid he would hit her, but he never lashed out with his hand. Only with his tongue.

He turned to the other maid. “Well, Mary Ann. What have you got to say for yourself? You should have squashed Sally’s gossip when it started.”

The girl nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. ”

“Hmm. Your own loyal words redeemed you, but remember this: it is better to stamp out such talk the moment it arises. Gossip is like a dandelion head, full of seeds. One breath, and the weed spreads, even if the original flower dies.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jethro paused. Sally’s departure left his wife without a maid. “Can you style hair?”

Mary Ann’s face brightened. “Yes, sir.”

“Would you like the chance to better your position and become Mrs Hunt’s maid?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Good. Now, make up my fire and then clean yourself up. I will tell Mrs Timms of the alteration, and she’ll give you a fresh smock. If my wife is satisfied with your performance, I’ll make the role permanent. If not, you’ll be back to being a chambermaid as soon as I can replace you. And don’t let me catch you listening to gossip again.”

Mary Ann bobbed a curtsey, grabbed her basket of kindling, and slipped through the door into his bedroom to make up his fire as fast as she could.

In the meantime, he needed to inform Mrs Timms of Sally’s dismissal. He hoped the girl would learn her lesson whilst she was young. Her mother would, no doubt, be disappointed, but he would ensure she received the full quarter’s wages, and she would gain another situation soon enough. There were always plenty of opportunities in Weymouth, particularly once summer was upon them.

He would not prevent Cassandra from giving the girl a reference if she felt so inclined, but Sally was no longer welcome in his house.

Jethro hoped his wife would understand.

He would not tolerate disloyalty.