31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Cassandra returned home, feeling more vexed than when she had left. She sat in the newly completed drawing room, attacking her embroidery with a vigour mirroring the level of her frustration.

It wasn’t fair. Why did Jethro have so little faith in her? She’d done everything in her power to uphold her end of their bargain, but even her devoted nursing had failed to garner his trust. Now he was back at work, and his man was spying on her again. It was disappointing, to say the least.

She surveyed the new decorations, wondering if Jethro would appreciate what she’d done in bringing the room more up to date. The rich colours of the carpet exuded warmth and counterbalanced the lightness of the walls, whilst the seascapes she had commissioned fitted her scheme perfectly.

But her satisfaction at transforming the drawing room seemed hollow compared to the lack of harmony with her husband.

She longed for him to view the finished effect, hoping it might encourage him to sit with her after dinner again, as was his habit, before he’d been ill. Though perhaps she shouldn’t be in such a hurry to show it to him, as he would probably find something to criticise.

At a quarter to five, Jethro arrived home from the warehouse and Cassandra went into the hall to greet him. His shoulders sagged, suggesting it had been a long, demanding day .

Foolish man! If he pushed himself too hard, he would have a relapse. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if it meant nursing him again. But would it be the same now? She doubted it.

Cassandra waited for the footman to take his hat and cane before greeting him.

“The drawing room is finished. Would you like to see it?”

He raised tired eyes at her. “I’m famished.”

She bit back her disappointment at his lack of interest. “Maybe when you’re dressed for dinner?”

He nodded and went upstairs to get ready. After that first day, he’d never questioned the need to change his clothes before sitting down to eat. Though she could tell he still rebelled against it, he had learned what polite society required of him, and he did it without demur.

Jethro joined her in the drawing room a short while later.

He glanced around him. “So this is what a fashionable receiving room looks like, is it?”

“Yes. Do you approve?”

He shrugged. “I don’t suppose it will be as comfortable.”

“You’re wrong,” she said, hurrying to put him right. “Though the sofas are modern in style, I have made sure they are well-cushioned, and the backs are such that I think you will find them as pleasant to sit on as the old chairs.”

He huffed, glancing up and down. “You didn’t try to match the ceiling with the carpet?”

“No. I had no wish to replicate Eugenia’s design. I hoped, rather, to give the feel of the outdoors—the pale blue walls, the deeper blue drapes, and the swirls of blue and green in the carpet, to remind us of the sea.”

“You’ve done well. I’m sure Mr Wade will admire your efforts, though we’ll have to wait somewhat longer than expected to discover his opinion. Business matters have forced him to delay his visit again, and he won’t be coming here until July now. ”

Jethro walked over to the far side of the room and examined the wall above the fireplace, where a picture of Weymouth harbour hung. “Where did this come from? I don’t remember seeing a bill for it.”

“I didn’t want you to pay for a painting you might not like, so I bought it out of my pin money.”

“And these two as well?” he enquired, inspecting the other views of Weymouth she had commissioned. “Even with the generous allowance I give you, I am surprised you could afford three paintings of this quality. How much did they cost? ”

“They were not so dear as you might think. I asked Mr Barnes to paint them for me, and he refused to accept a proper price for them. Our curate’s a talented artist, as I’m sure you’ll agree. I hope you like them.”

Jethro’s expression hardened. “Take them down and I will buy replacements. I don’t want them in here. If you bought them with your pin money, they belong to you. ”

Cassandra gulped hard, trying to keep her emotions in check. Bother the man. Why was Jethro being so harsh? Was his wretched pride piqued because she had paid for the paintings herself?

She was tempted to argue. It was not fair. He had given her free rein with the redecorations, and yet he still wanted control.

Was it worth it? No. It had been a waste of time trying to get her maid reinstated after her abrupt dismissal, and it would be pointless to fight her husband over this.

Jethro didn’t trust her. The man he had employed to spy on her was evidence enough.

The pictures would come down tomorrow as he had requested. She would ensure he never saw them again.

The next morning, Cassandra went to the drawing room straight after breakfast. With a heavy heart, she watched as Martin removed the offending paintings from the walls.

How was she going to explain to Gilbert that her husband did not want them on display?

Perhaps it would be kind to break it to him gently, rather than leave him to discover it the next time he visited.

She would have a word with him after church on Sunday. Apologise for Jethro’s behaviour. It was insufferable, but there was nothing she could do. She knew better than to argue when he’d made up his mind.

Afraid the paintings would be a constant reminder of her husband’s displeasure, she thought it best not to put them up in her bedroom. They were too large for her chamber anyway. Instead, she hid them under her bed. There. No one would have to see them now.

She returned to the drawing room and stared at the empty walls. The naked hooks emphasised her loss, and it was such a shame. The sea views had fitted in so well with her colour scheme, it was too frustrating for words.

Jethro would probably select some heavy pieces—dead game or something equally repulsive. It might ruin all her hard work, by drawing the eye to a picture that jarred with its surroundings.

She was still standing there when a footman brought in a silver salver bearing a letter.

Cassandra took the note and stared at the handwriting—handwriting she knew so well.

Xander. What an age it was since she had heard from him. A missive from her brother was just what she needed to soothe her soul.

She moved over to Mrs Hunt’s writing desk and picked up the letter opener. With a single flick, she sliced open the seal, and spread the sheet out in front of her.

Cassandra tutted to herself. Typical. Six months without news and she only gets a few scrawled words.

But as she read, her frustration turned to joy. Xander was home on leave. His ship had docked in Portsmouth, and he would arrive in Weymouth within the week.

He would stay with them. Jethro wouldn’t mind, would he? He had said it was their home. What if he refused? Where would Xander go then?

What a fool she was to worry. Her brother would have his pay and maybe even some prize money by now. If Jethro didn’t want him here, he could rent some lodgings or put up at an inn.

But that was not what she wanted. Xander was family. He couldn’t reside with Julia at the school, so he must stay with them. If not, she feared how he would view her husband—and Xander never minced his words.

She stood looking out the window, waiting for Jethro to return from the warehouse, and as soon as he walked through the door, she hurried into the hall to greet him.

“What have you got to show me today?” he barked as he followed her into the drawing room.

That was not encouraging. “Nothing.”

He did not sit, but stood in front of the window, examining the walls, as if satisfying himself that she had done as he asked.

At length, he turned back to her. “Then what is it? Why this sudden attentiveness?”

“I’ve received a letter.”

“Not from a long-lost love, I hope, because you’ll have to tell them they’re too late. I got there first. ”

Cassandra flinched under his sarcastic tone. What had prompted him to speak like that? Was he still angry with her for hurting his pride?

“Who’s it from?”

“My brother.”

“Ah, the reprobate captain who did not make proper provision for his sisters.”

Cassandra winced again. His words seemed designed to hurt her. She had not thought her husband could be so unkind. “Jethro, please don’t talk in that way.”

He made no apology, but he continued in a softer tone. “Carry on.”

“Xander is coming home on leave. I wish him to stay here, in your house, please.”

Jethro screwed up his forehead as if he were in pain. “I am disappointed you need to ask, Cassandra. This is our home, not mine. Your brother is welcome here.”

A smile spread across her face. “You mean it?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I? Am I such an ogre that I would refuse you this when it means so much to you?”

Her head drooped. “You were so cross with me yesterday, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I worked so hard at the drawing room, and though you said you liked it, all you could see were the paintings I had bought out of my own money.”

“If you say so.”

She eyed him curiously. “Don’t deny it. Your pride was hurt because I had the temerity not to send you the bill. It is such a shame, because they fitted in so well with my colour scheme.”

“Yes, something like that. I’m sorry. Perhaps I overreacted.”

“If I let you pay for the paintings, may I put them up again?”

“You may. We can’t have bare walls when your brother arrives.”

“Truly?”

He nodded. “I didn’t know it meant so much to you.”

“It does. Can’t you see how dreadful the room looks without them? The empty hooks draw attention to the bareness of the walls.”

“You’re right. Perhaps we can commission a few more paintings. I had no notion Mr Barnes was such an artist. I will have a word with him, though, to make sure he deals with me in the future.”

“Of course. Thank you. I’m certain Gil…Mr Barnes would be most grateful. His wages as a curate are pitiful.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Too low to support a family with any degree of comfort. ”

“How sad.”

Cassandra scowled at her husband. Was that a touch of sarcasm in his tone? Why was Jethro so lacking in sympathy? Couldn’t he see how hard it was for those less fortunate than himself?

“It is sad. Mr Barnes will probably suffer for his commitment to his calling for the rest of his life.”

“You seem to know a great deal about Mr Barnes’s circumstances.”

“Is that so surprising? Have you forgotten he was my father’s curate for three years?”

“So he was.”

Jethro rose from the sofa and opened the door. He paused on the threshold and turned back to her. “Write to your brother and invite him to stay. Perhaps he can supply the sympathy I’m so clearly lacking. I’ll take dinner in my study.”

He stalked out of the drawing room, leaving the door wide open, and Cassandra staring after him.

Why was her husband so hard to understand? One moment he was apologising for his dictatorial behaviour the evening before, and the next he was being harsh and unfeeling all over again.

What had she done to push him away this time? If only she knew.