7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

A lump formed in Cassandra’s throat as the door closed behind her husband. The reality of the bargain she had made sunk in. There was no use pretending. Jethro’s behaviour was disappointing. How could he put her aside so quickly when, just a short while before, he had promised to love and cherish her until they were separated by death?

She inhaled deeply. It was pointless to wish for what could not be. She had agreed to a marriage of convenience, and that was what she’d got. How foolish of her to expect his promise to love her would result in more kindness than simply putting a roof over her head.

It made no difference to the vows she had made. Vows she intended to keep.

With renewed determination, Cassandra fixed a welcoming smile on her lips and turned to greet Mrs Timms. As if being shown around her new home by the housekeeper was what a bride expected on her wedding day.

The woman shot her a look of sympathy, but Cassandra ignored it. Above all, she must be loyal to Jethro. He deserved that from her, at least.

“I can think of no better person to give me a tour of my new home, Mrs Timms. I expect you spend far more hours here than my husband does.”

“Indeed, madam. The master is often out all day long, attending to his business. ”

“Perhaps we could start on this floor, seeing as we are already here. How many bedrooms do we have?”

Each chamber was simply furnished, not in the height of fashion, but comfortable enough. The furniture was sparse, but sufficient for guest rooms. Were they used? She was yet to learn of Jethro’s family. Did anyone ever come to stay?

She swept her finger along a mantelpiece and was pleased to find not a trace of dust. “Everything appears to be in excellent order, Mrs Timms. I commend your staff for keeping the house ready for visitors.”

They returned to her chamber, and she could see at once that her room was the exception to the rule. It had been decorated in a more feminine style, with flowers and frills everywhere.

“The master had his mother’s furnishings put in your chamber. He made sure she was surrounded by things that reminded her of the countryside she so loved.”

“Did she die in this room?” Cassandra asked.

“Oh no. You need not fear that. The house was not built when she passed away.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Three years.”

“How did she die? She could not have been that old.”

“Consumption. Mr Hunt tried every doctor in Weymouth, but nobody could save her. It hit him pretty hard, though he doesn’t show it.”

Mrs Timms recollected herself and put a hand to her mouth. “Pardon, madam. I shouldn’t have—”

“Do not apologise. You know my marriage to your master was only arranged recently. I am grateful for anything you can tell me that might help me understand the man I married.”

What she did not say was understood between them. That if Mrs Timms didn’t tell her, she would likely never find out.

“Mr Hunt said you hadn’t brought a lady’s maid with you, and asked me to assign someone to help you dress. I’ve chosen Sally. She’s a bit on the chatty side, so if she doesn’t suit you, let me know and I’ll send up one of the other girls.”

How thoughtful of Jethro. A sign of his somewhat impersonal care for her. She must remember to thank him. To keep the gratitude flowing. “I’m certain Sally will work out just fine.”

“Do you wish to view the master’s room? ”

Cassandra nodded and followed Mrs Timms into the chamber adjoining hers. It was probably the only chance she would have to see the room in which her husband had made it clear she was not welcome.

She should have talked to Jethro about the possibility of children before they wed. It was disappointing to find he was not interested in begetting an heir. To have a babe of her own was a dream she had buried long ago, along with her hopes of ever marrying. Now she had a husband, but it seemed her desire to have a child was still out of reach.

Cassandra examined the room and found it the exact opposite of her own. Whereas her furnishings were decidedly feminine, Jethro’s were starkly masculine. Everything was plain, from the carpet to the curtains to the uniform colour of the bedcovers. It even smelled masculine—the aroma of beeswax and leather.

It suited him. Stark. Businesslike.

And then she saw it. The portrait of a lady hanging opposite his bed. A golden-haired beauty with big, blue eyes, which shined as if filled by unshed tears.

Cassandra’s breath caught. Who was she? The woman must be dear to Jethro to have such pride of place in a room seen only by him.

She bit down on her bottom lip in an effort to suppress the wave of emotion that flooded over her as she stared up into the beautiful lady’s face. If this woman was the reason for Jethro’s coolness toward her, then she had no hope of ever winning her husband’s affections.

“Who’s that?” she asked Mrs Timms, pointing at the picture, praying she had not married a man who was in love with someone else.

“Mr Hunt’s mother.”

No sooner had Mrs Timms spoken the words than Cassandra took herself to task. Of course it was his mother. How foolish to imagine her unromantic husband had ever been in love. And if he had been captive to such an emotion, he would hardly have kept a portrait of the object of his affections in his room after his marriage to another.

“A beautiful woman, wasn’t she?” Mrs Timms said, interrupting her reflections.

“Yes, indeed.” But sad. Did Mrs Hunt already know she was dying when the portrait was taken?

Cassandra stored away what she’d learned, hoping it would help her understand the man she had married, and followed the housekeeper up another flight of stairs to continue her inspection of the house.

Mrs Timms seemed surprised she insisted on seeing the servants’ quarters in the attics, but the welfare of their employees was important to her. Cassandra was pleased to discover the rooms were well-ventilated and there was no evidence of vermin, even under the eaves.

It was to be expected. Jethro would take care of those who worked for him, just as he was taking care of her.

Most of the ground-floor rooms were adequately furnished, though there was plenty that could be improved upon. The table in the dining room was not big enough, but it was passable for now. Jethro must have brought it with him from his previous residence, rather than replacing it with one more suited to the space.

At the back of the house, there was a small sitting room with windows looking out over the harbour.

“What a lovely place to sit and sew,” Cassandra said to Mrs Timms. At least, it would be, if she could persuade Jethro to replace the cherry and cream striped sofa and chairs, which seemed too large for the room.

“Indeed, it is. Mr Hunt likes to have his coffee here in an evening, if he’s not in his study. The furniture was his mother’s—”

Cassandra immediately resolved to leave the space to her husband. She was certain the drawing room would prove just as pleasant.

But she was wrong. True, it evoked a stronger reaction, but it was not positive.

Nothing about the drawing room was appealing. The furniture was a hotchpotch of mismatched pieces. Individual chairs that looked far from comfortable with one another, whatever they were like to sit on, and a complete lack of sofas. There was no chaise longue, and the side-tables were of different heights from each other, and barren of all ornament. There were no screens in front of the fire to protect visitors from the heat. The carpet was plain and dreary, with drapes to match.

Though not fashionable, the rest of the house would pass muster, but this? She could just imagine the harsh comments her sister would make—and they would be justified. If Jethro wished to be accepted into Weymouth society, she must persuade him to implement some changes here.

In contrast, the kitchen was more up to date than the one Cassandra had left behind at the rectory. Pewter moulds and copper pans filled the shelves lining the walls. A rhythmic sound of chopping emanated from the far corner of the room, where a maid was busy cutting up vegetables for dinner.

“Mr Hunt installed the range just a few months ago,” Mrs Timms said. “It is most efficient. ”

“I am impressed. It is much more sophisticated than what we had at home.”

Her compliment drew a satisfied smile from the housekeeper. “The master always buys the latest equipment. He might not have an eye for decoration, but you cannot fault him when it comes to modernisation.”

“Where is the cook? I should like to speak to him.”

“I manage the kitchen, madam.” She nodded toward the source of the chopping. “I’ve a maid to help me, but I’m in charge of preparing all the meals. Mr Hunt does not entertain. It would be wasteful to employ a separate cook.”

Cassandra wasn’t surprised. “May I see today’s menu?” she asked, holding out her hand.

Mrs Timms stared at her outstretched palm and then shot her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, madam. Mr Hunt has never required me to write it down. We’ve got a boiled neck of mutton, a nice beef steak pie and a peas pudding.”

“Just the one course?”

Colour rushed to the housekeeper’s face. She folded her arms across her chest. “That’s all the master has ever required.”

Cassandra saw she’d ruffled the woman’s feathers and sought to smooth them back into place. “I quite understand. It is a great deal of responsibility for a single person to bear—running the household and being in charge of preparing the meals—even for a bachelor. I applaud you for managing so well on your own.

“But now that Mr Hunt is married, the demands on the kitchen will increase. Not only does he have a wife to provide for, but he’ll also entertain more. What do you think, Mrs Timms? Shall I ask my husband to employ a cook to help you?”

The housekeeper unfolded her arms and rested one hand on the keys that hung at her waist. “If you hired a cook, I would be most happy to relinquish that part of my role. I could supply the meals that Mr Hunt has required up to now, but I confess I would be at a loss to prepare a more elegant dinner.”

Cassandra glowed with satisfaction. It was a small step toward helping Jethro to be ready to entertain. Mrs Timms was willing to accept help. Now, she just had to convince her husband to do the same.

“I will talk to Mr Hunt about finding a cook. Until then, perhaps I might share with you some recipes I used at home.”

“I beg your pardon, madam. Did you say your recipes? ”

Cassandra’s eyes twinkled. “I’m afraid my circumstances were somewhat straightened in the last year of my father’s life. It was necessary for us to manage without a housekeeper or cook, and so I took on both roles and prepared all the meals.”

“Well, I never. And you a fine lady.”

“Fine ladies can cook too. It is a shame more women do not do so. I have always found it most satisfying to put a meal on the table that I have designed and cooked myself.”

Perhaps she could show Jethro the sort of dishes they would need to entertain. It was not how she would have chosen to spend her wedding day, but it would help to pass the time.

“I believe we can turn Mr Hunt’s dinner into something more elaborate, with just a few additions. One of my mother’s recipes for the most delicious onion soup you’ve ever tasted, a sauce to accompany the mutton, and maybe some macaroons. What time is it?”

“Four o’clock and we dine at five.”

“Then the macaroons will have to wait until another day, but there’s plenty of time to prepare the soup and the sauce.”

The housekeeper dug her hands into the pockets of her apron and stared at her. “I don’t know that I ought to let you, madam. I’m not sure what the master would say.”

But Cassandra was not to be deterred. She had to be doing something, and as it was beyond her to rip out the drawing room furnishings on her wedding day, that would have to wait.

“Nonsense, Mrs Timms. I’m certain Mr Hunt will be glad of the changes.” At least, Cassandra hoped so. “I’ll be back directly.”

She hurried up the stairs to her bedroom and rummaged through the contents of her trunk until she found her household book. It had been her mother’s, and she had added to it over the years. Book in hand, she returned to the kitchen and, putting on an apron over her dress, she set to work.

Cooking was something she was good at, and in the absence of someone who was competent to carry out her instructions, she would have to do it herself. She revelled in the possibilities that a well-stocked larder afforded. It would make a pleasant change from trying to concoct a decent meal on a meagre budget.

She would show Jethro she was keeping up her side of the bargain. That she was striving to be a good wife from the start. Maybe then he would soften toward her. It was too early to give up hope. They had only been wed a few hours, after all .

A voice inside her whispered that he’d spent even fewer of those hours with her. It was hard not to feel put out—rejected—but she repressed the negative thoughts. She would not let resentment eat away at her.

Cassandra had vowed to love her husband, and with God’s help, she would keep her promise. She would choose to act lovingly, though she didn’t feel like it. That meant becoming the very best wife she could.

Jethro was an upright man, but one who was used to living on his own.

She would show him how pleasant it was to have a wife—and make him wonder how he’d ever managed without her.