Page 6 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

Cassandra returned home from her visit to Mr Hunt in something of a daze. She could hardly believe the speed with which her future expectations had changed. Instead of becoming a lady’s companion, she was to become a wife, with a house to manage and a husband to please.

It was not the love match she had dreamed of when she was a girl, but there was no doubt that retaining her status as a gentlewoman and the possibility of children did much to reconcile her to the change in her prospects.

She went out again almost immediately to visit Miss Seymour’s School, where her sister worked. To tell Julia about Mr Hunt’s proposal and to ask for her support at the wedding. Miss Seymour would spare her from her teaching responsibilities for an hour, wouldn’t she?

To Cassandra’s disappointment, Julia was not at the school when she visited. Bother. She wanted to share such important news face to face, and so she left a note begging her to call, as soon as was convenient.

It was not until after Cassandra had cooked and eaten her dinner that there was a knock at the rectory door. At last! But it wasn’t her stepsister. It was a servant sent by Mr Hunt. He handed her a letter from her future husband, and a purse containing thirty guineas. The terse note suggested she should use it to purchase a dress for the wedding.

Cassandra pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. It was an unlooked-for kindness, and most generous of him, but showed how little Mr Hunt knew of such things. How did he expect her to have a gown made up by Monday?

She let the guineas trickle through her hands. Perhaps Bridget could help her, if she were not too busy at her shop. She could even pay her for her services this time.

Cassandra visited Mrs Fisher’s dressmaking and millinery shop first thing the next day. She was fortunate to find the shop empty of customers.

“Cassandra—how lovely to see you. Is this a social call or are you here on business?”

“I need a dress.”

“Oh no. Have you torn your bombazine? I might be able to mend it for you.”

“No. I was hoping you had time to make me a new one. Something suitable for a wedding. A black silk, maybe. Or perhaps white.”

“Silk is expensive—”

“I have money.”

Bridget narrowed her eyes. “Who’s getting married?”

Cassandra couldn’t meet her gaze. “Me.”

“What!”

The response was not what she had hoped for and ate away at her confidence. “Don’t sound so horrified. Is it so unlikely anyone would ask me to marry them?”

“Of course not. I didn’t mean that—I’m happy for you—but you’ve taken me by surprise. You’ve shown no signs of a woman in love. Who’s the groom?”

“Mr Hunt.”

Bridget’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve fallen in love with Mr Hunt?”

Heat flooded Cassandra’s face at her friend’s incredulous tone. She had not anticipated the need to justify her decision. “It’s not a love match. He’s offered me a marriage of convenience, and I’ve accepted. Now, can you make me a gown by Monday, or shall I go somewhere else?”

Bridget took Cassandra’s hands in her own and squeezed them warmly. “Is this truly what you want? Are you sure you’re not making a mistake rushing into this marriage? If you need somewhere to stay, you are welcome here.”

Cassandra gulped hard and returned the squeeze. She appreciated her friend’s offer, but though she knew it was a risk, she’d made her decision. “Yes. It’s what I want. This will probably be my only chance of marrying, and having a home of my own, and I’m not throwing it away.”

“Then your dress will be ready. Now, let’s check your measurements and choose some material. I have a grey figured silk that might be suitable, or maybe a white gossamer net over a satin slip.”

Cassandra put herself into the dressmaker’s capable hands, relieved she was willing to help her. Bridget seemed to have accepted her choice, even if she didn’t agree with it.

But Cassandra could not easily forget the discouraging way her friend had received news of her imminent marriage, and it left her feeling uneasy. Because if that was Bridget’s reaction, she dreaded to think what Julia would say.

Sunday came, and her stepsister had still not called. As Cassandra found it hard to believe Miss Seymour was working her junior teacher so hard, she assumed Julia had forgotten—or chosen to ignore—her urgent summons.

Upon entering St Mary’s Church, she dismissed the ungracious thought from her mind. As she walked down the aisle, she noticed Mr Hunt kneeling down in a box pew to her right. She wondered if he would acknowledge her, but he must have been absorbed in his prayers, because he did not even raise his head as she passed.

She sat in her father’s pew for the last time. How strange to think that next Sunday she would take her place beside Mr Hunt—as his wife.