Page 19 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

On Sunday morning, she rang for Sally as usual. She’d quickly become re-accustomed to the luxury of having a maid.

At length the girl arrived, a little red in the face, carrying a ewer of warm water, which she sloshed over the rim in her haste. Late again. Cassandra could not let it pass unnoticed. Sally needed to know she was accountable to her mistress for her actions.

“Please make sure you answer my bell more promptly in the future. Then you will not find the need to rush and soak my carpet in your hurry.”

Sally bobbed a curtsey. “Sorry, madam. The kitchen girl was awfully slow—”

“Don’t blame someone else for your tardiness. Be ready for my call next time.”

“Yes, madam. What gown shall I prepare?”

Cassandra sighed. Her wardrobe was limited at present, leaving her little choice. Nearly everything she owned that wasn’t falling apart was black, as she’d dyed the best of her garments after Papa had died.

It was rather early to go into half-mourning, but it didn’t seem right to make her first public appearance as a bride in black. As if she mourned her marriage, as well as the loss of her father.

The white gown she had worn for her wedding would have to do until she ordered some more gowns.

Once she had fastened her mistress’s dress, Sally brushed out Cassandra’s hair and pinned it up.

“There. What do you think, madam?”

Cassandra viewed her reflection in the mirror above the dressing table, tilting her head one way and then the other. A loose curl hung on either side of her face. She would never be a beauty, but the style was more flattering than any she had achieved herself.

“Thank you, Sally. I like it very well indeed.” The maid might be a tad sloppy in her timing, but she certainly had some skill in styling hair.

As Cassandra went downstairs, hoping to join her husband for breakfast for the first time since their wedding day, a horrible thought occurred to her. Jethro was a religious man. He wouldn’t expect her to fast on a Sunday morning, would he? She hoped not. If he did, he would have to endure her stomach growling throughout the service.

To her relief, she found him in the dining room. They greeted each other, but then sat in silence as they munched on slices of toast and marmalade. When she drank the last of her tea, Jethro rose, as if he had been waiting for her to finish.

“I like to arrive at church early, so I can spend some time in private worship before the service begins. Would it suit you to accompany me, or would you rather join me later?”

Alarm flowed through Cassandra. Of course she would accompany him. The thought of turning up at church alone but married was disturbing. The speed at which they had wed was bound to cause a few murmurs, and she had no wish to fuel the rumour mill even further.

“Let me fetch my bonnet and pelisse, and I’ll be ready to go with you.”

They left the house a short while later and Cassandra thought how strange it all seemed. She was walking along familiar streets, with the familiar sight of the sea, toward the church she knew, on the arm of the stranger she was married to.

The door was open when they arrived at St Mary’s Church, but the pews were mostly empty. Few turned up half an hour before the service for private devotions. She’d never thought of doing so. Whilst her father had been active as minister, she had ensured his sermon notes were at hand and that his robes were ready. Back then, Sunday had never been much of a day of rest.

All that had changed with her father’s sickness. At first, she had spent her energies getting him to service, but in the last few months, she had attended alone. Without her father, and without Julia, who had taken advantage of her stepfather’s bedridden status to attend church as seldom as possible.

Today was different. She took her seat in an unfamiliar pew beside the man she had married, wishing she felt as if she belonged there.

As the minutes ticked by, the pews filled, and then the reassuring figure of Mr Barnes assumed his position at the lectern, and led the congregation through the opening liturgy. Throughout the service, she was conscious of eyes turning toward her, some covertly, some openly, staring to see her sitting beside Jethro Hunt.

Cassandra was not prepared to cope with the questions of people who had known her all her life. Not yet, when she herself felt so uncertain about the wisdom of the choice she had made.

The service over, she longed to escape to the safety of her home and hoped Jethro would not expect her to face them all today.

As Eugenia Frampton approached, Cassandra’s body tensed, and she tightened her hold on Jethro’s arm.

The woman who had jilted her brother was the last person on earth she wished to talk to.

Chapter 10

Jethro felt the grip on his arm and sensed Cassandra’s alarm. A deep desire to protect his wife surged through his body.

His wife. If he said it often enough, perhaps he would believe it.