18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Jethro dragged his feet upstairs to his bedroom to change his clothes for dinner. His conversation with Mr Barnes had unsettled him as much as what he had overheard from the drawing room doorway.

The curate blamed him for hustling Cassandra into marriage, and it niggled him, although he knew the accusation was unfair. Jethro had offered her an escape from a future she didn’t want, and she had accepted. It was not his fault that Mr Barnes had not been in a position to ask Cassandra to become his wife, but it was lowering to think she would have preferred the curate’s suit rather than his own.

He needed to put it behind him. Whatever her feelings, Cassandra had accepted him. Had promised to love and obey him. Not Mr Barnes.

Jethro entered his chamber and was about to ring for his valet when he heard a sound coming from his wife’s bedroom. Nearing the door, he deciphered what the noise was. Crying.

He ached to think he had caused any part of her tears. Or was she weeping for her lost love? Should he go to her, or would his presence just make things worse?

The quiet sobbing continued, and at every whimper, his chest tightened. This was the woman he had vowed to cherish, and he was aware of a deep longing to comfort her.

After a few moments of indecision, he could bear it no longer. He rapped his knuckles twice on the door and waited .

The sobbing stopped, and in the silence, his longing increased. “Cassandra? Are you all right?”

It was a foolish question to which he already knew the answer. Of course she was not all right. If she was, she would not be sobbing her heart out.

“No.”

“May I come in and speak with you?”

“Yes.”

With a sigh of relief, he opened the door and entered her bedchamber. It was the first time he had been in there with her since he had shown her the room, on the day they had married.

The space seemed unmistakeably Cassandra’s now. On the top of his mother’s dressing table were his wife’s brush and comb. Beside them stood an elegant ochre-coloured vase, decorated with swags and columns, filled with yellow and orange tulips. And on the table against the wall lay the embroidery she was working on.

Cassandra sat on the bed, her eyes and nose red from weeping. She swiped her hands across her cheeks, as if trying to eradicate the signs of her distress.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” she said.

“May I?” he asked, indicating the place on the bed next to her.

She nodded, and he sat down beside her.

“I’m sorry I let you down,” he said, eager to make his apology. “I should have made a bigger effort to be with you this afternoon to receive visitors.”

Cassandra kept her eyes fixed on her lap. “You didn’t come back after showing Mr Barnes out. You seemed angry with me. Did I do something wrong? Shouldn’t I have seen him alone? I thought…I hoped…”

Jethro didn’t want to hear her confession. It wouldn’t help either of them. They were married to each other, and they needed to make the best of it.

“I should have been there. I’m sorry.”

“I wish you had been. They wouldn’t have said such things to me with you at my side.”

Jethro puckered his brow. “Is that why you are upset? Because of what someone said?”

Cassandra gave a huge sniff and nodded. “Of course. You didn’t think I was crying because you had let me down, did you? I would have run out of tears by now if I had cried every time we were at odds with each other,” she said, with the ghost of a smile .

He grimaced at her words, but his mood lightened. He had thought she was crying over Mr Barnes, but it seemed he was mistaken.

“What did they say to you?”

She shook her head wildly from side to side, her hands twisting round and round in her lap. “Don’t make me tell you.”

“I’m sorry if it’s painful, but I must know what someone said to upset you if I am to prevent it from happening again.”

She kept her eyes down, and the tears fell again, wetting the back of her hands. He longed to wipe those tears away—to put his arm around her shoulders and hold her tight, and tell her he would keep her safe.

But would she welcome his embrace? Not if she was in love with Mr Barnes.

His mother’s words came to mind. Never take advantage of those who depend on you.

And Mother was right. However much he wanted to wrap his wife in his arms, he would not exploit her current vulnerability. He would not offer what he felt would be unwelcome. He would have to care for her as best he could from afar.

“They hinted you married me because you had to,” she whispered. “Just like Sally did.”

Her words sunk in, causing his stomach to churn. He leaped up from the bed. “Who dared to say such a thing?”

“Mrs Frampton.”

“But why? Why would she blacken your character in such a way? Out of spite?”

“She resents the fact that my sister and I were supposed to go to her for help on our father’s death, and neither of us did.”

“And so, to prevent herself from being shown in a poor light, she undermines your rejection of her help by suggesting you had no choice.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry you’ve been caught up in the mess caused by the faithless woman who was once betrothed to my brother.”

“You are not the one at fault, Cassandra. No one who truly knows you would believe you would ever act that way. I certainly wouldn’t—and neither would Mr Barnes.”

“But others will listen to Eugenia. They will let her words affect their judgement of me. Of you.”

And Jethro knew it was true.

He paced up and down his wife’s bedchamber. There must be some way to eliminate the rumours before they became too ingrained. He needed a plan to combat the enemy .

A surprise attack. That was often the best way. Nip this stupidity in the bud before it could go any further.

“This is all my fault. If I had been present this afternoon, Mrs Frampton would never have dared address you like that. I would have thrown her out of the house before she had said more than two words.”

Cassandra let out a hysterical giggle and shuddered. “Then, painful though it was, I’m glad you were not there, for that would not have helped one jot. Can you imagine the rumours that would abound if you had ejected a respectable merchant’s wife from your drawing room? What was limited to the three ladies who heard Eugenia’s poisonous words would have spread over town in an instant.”

Jethro huffed. “There must be something we can do.”

“You could accompany me on some visits,” Cassandra said tentatively. “Make it clear you are supporting me. That you are not bored with me already.” She paused, and added in a whisper, “That I am not some plaything you have cast aside.”

Jethro winced at her words. The accusations were so far from the truth, they were ridiculous. But he didn’t feel inclined to laugh. How could anyone be so cruel to his wife?

He hated to see her cry and he would do his utmost to ensure it didn’t happen again. It was his job to put this right. Cassandra was his responsibility. If he needed to sacrifice some of his precious time to accompany her on social visits, then so be it.

It was what he should have been doing already. It was why he had married her, wasn’t it? To help him enter genteel society. To ensure he was gentlemanlike enough for Mr Wade.

If only the thought of such visits didn’t fill him with dread. Perhaps it was as well his wife needed his support. It gave him a greater incentive to dive into a world where he didn’t belong, and he would much rather avoid.

“Very well. We will accept the first invitation we receive and show the gentry of Weymouth we are no different from other newly married couples. The rumours will be routed before they become ingrained, and everything will be as it was.”

But he didn’t believe his own words.

Though he hoped to eliminate the gossip, something had changed in him when he had heard Cassandra crying.

It was as if her soul was calling, asking to be loved.

But she wasn’t calling out to him—and he wished she was.