Page 48 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

He was not taking her criticism well. Why had she spoiled the evening by bringing the subject up?

She wished she’d kept her mouth shut, but having started, she had to keep going. “I know you’re busy, Jethro. I’m not asking for your time, just for your permission. This is a project I can undertake to help you. It’s something we need to do to stop Mr Wade from seeing us as woefully unfashionable. May I?”

He let out a sigh. “This is your home, Cassandra. If you wish to make a few changes, you are at liberty to do so. Send me the bills. It will keep you occupied while I’m away.”

Her eyes jerked up to meet his. “Away?”

“I must visit my agent in Guernsey. I leave first thing in the morning.”

Cassandra’s spirits plummeted. Now, the evening was well and truly ruined. Didn’t it occur to Jethro that his wife might want to know his plans in advance, rather than springing them on her like that, without notice? How could he offer her his mother’s desk as though he cared and then treat her with so little consideration?

“I see. How long will you be away?”

“A week. Maybe longer.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. Was he annoyed with her for asking?

“When will you be back?”

“Does it matter?”

What was he getting at? His face was a mask. Did he want to know if she would miss him, or was he angry with her for wanting him to account for his movements?

Yes. She would miss him. Though she had lived on her own in the rectory after her father had died and her stepsister had gone, the prospect of living here, alone, filled her with heaviness.

Their life together was far from ideal, but she was growing accustomed to it. It would be strange to live here without him.

If she had discerned the slightest tenderness around his eyes, any softening of his features, she might have dared to tell him, but there was none.

Jethro was a man who did not care to have his decisions questioned. Clearly, he did not feel the need to account for his actions—even to his wife.

His question still hung in the air. Did it matter when he returned?

No. She would not let it.

Cassandra forced her lips into a smile. “Not at all. May God give you travelling mercies. The household will be waiting for you when you return.”

Just for a moment, Jethro’s mask cracked, and something flickered in the back of his eyes.

Was that a touch of sadness she saw? It was gone as fast as it had come, and his face was as impassive as ever.

She must have been mistaken. Jethro could not want her to miss him—could he?

Chapter 27

It was ten days before Jethro concluded his business in Guernsey, but finally he got what he wanted. He’d negotiated a deal to buy two trading vessels. This would give him much more control over his cargoes and, he expected, a substantial increase in profits. It would also cause Frampton some grief, as he’d be forced to make new shipping arrangements.

With the signed agreement in his possession, Jethro was on the packet boat at last, making his way back to Weymouth, yearning for the comforts of home—and his wife.

How was Cassandra? Had she been content during his absence, or dare he hope she had missed him?

He had sent her word when he arrived in Guernsey, and received a short missive in return, informing him all was well in his household. But she said nothing about how she fared. It had all sounded so impersonal that he couldn’t bring himself to write again.

What would he have written about anyway? His entire visit had revolved around the negotiations. Cassandra wouldn’t be interested in that. Not even Crowley cared for the details. Only the result.

Jethro rubbed the back of his hand across his brow, which was beaded with sweat. The voyage seemed interminable. His normal sea legs had deserted him, and his stomach churned from the tossing of the waves. He couldn’t wait to get off the wretched boat.

Exhausted from his journey, he barked directions to have his luggage sent, and trudged down the Quay toward Devonshire Buildings.