3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Cassandra returned home from her visit to Mr Hunt in something of a daze. She could hardly believe the speed with which her future expectations had changed. Instead of becoming a lady’s companion, she was to become a wife, with a house to manage and a husband to please.

It was not the love match she had dreamed of when she was a girl, but there was no doubt that retaining her status as a gentlewoman and the possibility of children did much to reconcile her to the change in her prospects.

She went out again almost immediately to visit Miss Seymour’s School, where her sister worked. To tell Julia about Mr Hunt’s proposal and to ask for her support at the wedding. Miss Seymour would spare her from her teaching responsibilities for an hour, wouldn’t she?

To Cassandra’s disappointment, Julia was not at the school when she visited. Bother. She wanted to share such important news face to face, and so she left a note begging her to call, as soon as was convenient.

It was not until after Cassandra had cooked and eaten her dinner that there was a knock at the rectory door. At last! But it wasn’t her stepsister. It was a servant sent by Mr Hunt. He handed her a letter from her future husband, and a purse containing thirty guineas. The terse note suggested she should use it to purchase a dress for the wedding.

Cassandra pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. It was an unlooked-for kindness, and most generous of him, but showed how little Mr Hunt knew of such things. How did he expect her to have a gown made up by Monday?

She let the guineas trickle through her hands. Perhaps Bridget could help her, if she were not too busy at her shop. She could even pay her for her services this time.

Cassandra visited Mrs Fisher’s dressmaking and millinery shop first thing the next day. She was fortunate to find the shop empty of customers.

“Cassandra—how lovely to see you. Is this a social call or are you here on business?”

“I need a dress.”

“Oh no. Have you torn your bombazine? I might be able to mend it for you.”

“No. I was hoping you had time to make me a new one. Something suitable for a wedding. A black silk, maybe. Or perhaps white.”

“Silk is expensive—”

“I have money.”

Bridget narrowed her eyes. “Who’s getting married?”

Cassandra couldn’t meet her gaze. “Me.”

“What!”

The response was not what she had hoped for and ate away at her confidence. “Don’t sound so horrified. Is it so unlikely anyone would ask me to marry them?”

“Of course not. I didn’t mean that—I’m happy for you—but you’ve taken me by surprise. You’ve shown no signs of a woman in love. Who’s the groom?”

“Mr Hunt.”

Bridget’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve fallen in love with Mr Hunt ?”

Heat flooded Cassandra’s face at her friend’s incredulous tone. She had not anticipated the need to justify her decision. “It’s not a love match. He’s offered me a marriage of convenience, and I’ve accepted. Now, can you make me a gown by Monday, or shall I go somewhere else?”

Bridget took Cassandra’s hands in her own and squeezed them warmly. “Is this truly what you want? Are you sure you’ re not making a mistake rushing into this marriage? If you need somewhere to stay, you are welcome here.”

Cassandra gulped hard and returned the squeeze. She appreciated her friend’s offer, but though she knew it was a risk, she’d made her decision. “Yes. It’s what I want. This will probably be my only chance of marrying, and having a home of my own, and I’m not throwing it away.”

“Then your dress will be ready. Now, let’s check your measurements and choose some material. I have a grey figured silk that might be suitable, or maybe a white gossamer net over a satin slip.”

Cassandra put herself into the dressmaker’s capable hands, relieved she was willing to help her. Bridget seemed to have accepted her choice, even if she didn’t agree with it.

But Cassandra could not easily forget the discouraging way her friend had received news of her imminent marriage, and it left her feeling uneasy. Because if that was Bridget’s reaction, she dreaded to think what Julia would say.

Sunday came, and her stepsister had still not called. As Cassandra found it hard to believe Miss Seymour was working her junior teacher so hard, she assumed Julia had forgotten—or chosen to ignore—her urgent summons.

Upon entering St Mary’s Church, she dismissed the ungracious thought from her mind. As she walked down the aisle, she noticed Mr Hunt kneeling down in a box pew to her right. She wondered if he would acknowledge her, but he must have been absorbed in his prayers, because he did not even raise his head as she passed.

She sat in her father’s pew for the last time. How strange to think that next Sunday she would take her place beside Mr Hunt—as his wife.

Cassandra’s frustration with her sister reemerged when she failed to attend the service. If she wanted Julia at the wedding, she would have to try harder to talk to her.

As soon as Mr Barnes had read the closing blessing, Cassandra hurried over to speak to Miss Day, a teacher at the school with whom she was acquainted.

“I was hoping to see my sister here today. Is she unwell?”

Miss Day shook her head. “No, just tired. We were out rather late last night with friends. ”

“Yet you still came to church.”

“As you know, I rarely miss a service, but I am not your sister.”

“No, indeed. I’ve tried to instil her with Christian principles since her mother’s death, but I fear it was too late by then. She was spoiled by her mama, and my father’s indulgence just encouraged the rot. At least if she’s with you, I trust she’s not falling into poor company.”

A rosy hue darkened Miss Day’s cheeks. “I fear you overrate my influence. Your sister has honoured me with her friendship, but she’s so headstrong I hold no hope of restraining her.”

“I’m grateful for whatever good you can do. And I have a favour to ask. Please can you impress upon Julia that it is imperative she calls at the rectory before nine tomorrow morning—otherwise I’ll be gone?”

“You’re leaving?”

“I must. The new rector has leased out the property from Lady Day, and his tenants arrive tomorrow.”

“And Mr Barnes?”

“Will continue to do all the work as his curate for his meagre stipend.”

“He would do better to take up the living his father offered him.”

Cassandra was taken aback at the vehemence in Miss Day’s tone. Though the younger woman had never confided in her, she had long suspected the teacher of a partiality for the curate.

Did she truly want him to leave Weymouth? If so, it seemed she had abandoned any hopes she might have had in that direction.

Poor Miss Day. Maybe it wasn’t such a dreadful notion to get married without love muddying the picture.

However, she did not feel equal to explaining that to Mr Barnes, who knew her better than any man, save her brother, having been her father’s curate for the last three years of his life.

Had Mr Hunt spoken to him yet? Had he agreed to marry them in the morning?

Cassandra glanced back down the church and saw her intended rise from his knees and open the door of his pew. He met her eyes and bowed his head.

The nod reassured her. He had not changed his mind.

But she would let him talk to Mr Barnes alone. She could not face any more questions today.

While the curate was talking to someone else, she slipped out of the door and made her way back to the rectory.

The next time Cassandra entered St Mary’s Church, it would be for her wedding.