62. Chapter 62

Chapter 62

When Cassandra awoke the next morning, her first thought was of Jethro.

She had stayed up waiting for him for as long as she could, but had finally given up and gone to bed. He still hadn’t returned home when she fell asleep.

She was not surprised Jethro had been reluctant to believe Mr Wade’s claim. It would be a tremendous change in his thinking to accept that his father had not died when he was an infant, but had been supporting him in secret all his life.

Cassandra was inclined to think Mr Wade was telling the truth. But what had happened between him and Jethro’s mother—why had he left them? Had it been a voluntary act, or had Mrs Hunt made him go? The separation must have been absolute, as Jethro did not bear his father’s name.

How long had the two men talked after she and Xander had gone?

Had Jethro followed her advice and visited the warehouse to examine the contents of his mother’s desk, which he had so readily dismissed when she’d first given them to him? Had the letters convinced him that Mr Wade was his father?

Poor Jethro. It must be so disconcerting for him.

Her heart ached for her husband, knowing the painful revelations he had been forced to confront. She longed to go to him—to comfort him. To ease that pain in whatever way she could.

She wanted to assure him she did not think the less of him because he was Mr Wade’s son. That she still cared deeply about him.

Cassandra’s chest tightened as the realisation hit her.

She didn’t just care for Jethro. She loved him.

Not because she should as his wife, but because somehow the irritating, controlling, totally wonderful man she had married had captured her heart.

Cassandra lifted a hand to her mouth as she remembered the kiss she had given him the previous evening, and a smile crept onto her face.

Jethro had not repulsed her embrace. To judge by the glow in his eyes, he had welcomed it. Perhaps she could wake him with another—on his lips. And perhaps he would kiss her back.

Maybe her dreams would come true, and she could have a proper marriage. With Jethro.

The thought warmed her to the soles of her feet.

It was not yet seven o’clock, but her newly discovered feelings fuelled her eagerness to see her husband. Pulse racing, she slipped her arms into her dressing gown and knocked on the adjoining door.

No answer. Jethro must have been late coming in. Was he still asleep?

She knocked again, louder this time, but there was no noise. Nothing to suggest he was stirring.

Cassandra pulled down the handle and eased the door open. She peaked inside and stared at the huge four-poster bed that dominated the space. The curtains were not drawn and the bedclothes unruffled. Jethro wasn’t there.

Her heart lurched. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come up to his room to sleep? Had Mr Wade’s revelations distressed him so much that he’d stayed up all night trying to make sense of them?

Cassandra didn’t know, but she needed to find out.

She returned to her bedchamber and reached for the bell rope, but before she pulled it, she changed her mind. It was well before her normal time and her maid would not be ready for her. She would probably have to be roused first.

Too impatient to wait for Mary Ann, Cassandra donned an old gown she could fasten by herself, and hurried downstairs.

To her surprise, the hall was empty. There was no sign of Rowson or any of the footmen. How strange .

She didn’t stop to investigate, but sped along the corridor to Jethro’s study. With a brief knock to warn him of her arrival, she threw the door open, but he wasn’t there.

Cassandra pressed her lips together, trying to tamp down the emotion that sprung to the surface. Where was her husband? Had he been too distraught to return home last night?

Could he have remained overnight with Mr Wade? Impossible. Jethro had only stayed because she asked him to.

No, it was more likely he had gone to the warehouse to read the letters like she had suggested. Perhaps he had fallen asleep over them.

She hurried back into the still empty hall. Where was Rowson when she needed him? She pulled the nearest bell rope and waited.

At last, she heard footsteps on the service stair and the housekeeper emerged.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Timms. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Where’s Rowson? I need Martin to accompany me to the warehouse. I must speak to Mr Hunt.”

The housekeeper paled. “I’m afraid Martin’s not here, madam.”

“Not here? Then I suppose one of the other footmen will have to do.”

“None of them are in the house, madam.”

Cassandra’s heart pounded. What on earth was going on? “Why aren’t they here?”

“They’ve all gone down to the Quay to help with the fire—”

Fire. On the Quay. The warehouse. Jethro.

“I must go.”

“That’s not a good idea, madam. You should stay here.”

Mrs Timms laid a restraining hand on her arm, but Cassandra was not about to be put off. She shook off the well-meaning servant’s hold and rushed out the door.

The smell of smoke assailed her nostrils as soon as she walked outside, but she was undeterred. She hurried around the corner and turned toward Jethro’s warehouse, where a ghastly sight met her eyes. The Quay was full of people, staring up at the most terrifying spectacle she had ever seen.

One of the buildings on the harbourside was on fire. Flames licked up the walls, and as she watched, they spread to the roof, spurting up into the air.

Men were passing buckets of water in a chain and throwing them on the conflagration in an effort to put it out. An engine was pumping water from the harbour and shooting it as high as it could over the burning structure.

Cassandra’s heart went cold as she realised which building was alight. Jethro’s warehouse—and he was inside.

With an agonised gasp, she lifted her skirts and ran toward the fire.

No one would know Jethro was there. She had to save him.

Cassandra tried to reach the door of the warehouse, but a sturdy pair of arms pulled her away. She looked up into the soot-covered face of her butler, Rowson.

“You can’t go in, Mrs Hunt,” he said. “The building’s about to collapse.”

“But I must—Jethro’s inside—”

“I’m sorry, madam. If the master’s in there, it’s too late.”

Cassandra refused to believe him. It couldn’t be too late.

“You should return to the house, Mrs Hunt,” said Rowson. “I need to return to the line. Help get this fire under control.”

“Not while there’s a chance my husband is still alive.” Cassandra put her shoulders back. She would not give in to despair. “Let’s get this fire out.”

Rowson did not try to dissuade her as she took her place next to him in the line of men, passing buckets of water from the harbour to the blazing warehouse.

Her arms ached as she passed bucket after bucket toward the fire, but she would not stop. All the while, she prayed. Please, God. Don’t let Jethro die.

Suddenly there was a loud cracking noise, and a shout went up. Everyone backed away from the building as the roof of the warehouse caved in with a tremendous crash, shaking the ground beneath her feet.

Cassandra’s breathing was coming so fast she thought she might pass out. If Jethro was inside, he could not have survived. He must be…

No. She wouldn’t let herself think about it. She would not go home yet. That meant she had given up hope. Hugging her arms around her middle, she stood her ground as silent tears streamed down her face, unable to take her gaze from the charred ruins in front of her.

A ripple of sound passed through the crowd. What were they saying?

A man exchanged a few words with Rowson, who hesitated, and then turned to address her in a low voice. “They’ve found a body, madam.”

A searing pain shot through Cassandra as the last flicker of hope was extinguished. She felt as if a part of her had been ripped out, leaving a gaping hole. The thought of a life without Jethro was unbearable .

In silence, she let the butler take her arm and support her stumbling steps as he led her back to the house.

How had she been so blind? She wasn’t sure just when she had fallen in love with her husband, but she loved him now—so very much—that it hurt, and he would never know.

If only the fire had taken her, too, so she wouldn’t have to deal with this burning pain inside that she feared would never go out.