Chapter Twelve

Bart and Rosamund stayed only one night in Caemre. We saw them briefly the next morning before they began their journey to Bart’s uncle’s home in London. Bart had already written to his uncle and Bettina, I was happy to learn. As much as I disliked Bettina, I pitied the suffering of anyone who has lost a loved one, or at least feared that was the case.

During the ensuing days, Aleta, Lila, and I thoroughly discussed the circumstance of having yet another half sister. Georgina, John, and Jesse McCrae called often and joined the talk. Georgina was to leave at the end of the month for London and her pursuit of Charles Stanfield, and although I was rendered uncomfortable by such an attack—not for Charles’s sake, but for Georgina’s—she herself was highly amused and energized by it. She had her reckless side, and the whole affair provided her with a sense of excitement and an opportunity to thumb her nose at an entire panoply of social conventions. She promised to write often and give me the details of her actions and their results.

Once Georgina was gone, Lila and I laid a plan to visit North Commons Abbey. We desired to travel before the weather worsened. Aleta was beginning to show her pregnancy, and I charged Deirdre with her care. “Send for Dr. Carter immediately,” I cautioned, “if any slight thing seems amiss.”

Exactly one week later, Lila and I left Caemre Cottage and began our journey to Kent. We went post, but how different was this journey from the one seven months ago when I had been banished and she had gone with me to torment me further! We chatted and laughed all the way. We had much to discuss; Lila’s upcoming marriage was the main point. It would make a great change to both of us. We talked of the possible future marriage of John and myself, despite the improbability of such an event, and the need for a larger dwelling that would accommodate us, the children, and Miss Little.

As we drew near the abbey in the afternoon of the fourth day of travel, my heart began to beat with trepidation. I would have to face my father and make my demands, and the required courage had deserted me.

Lila took my hand. “Be brave. You are in the right. Father has shown himself to be a philanderer and hypocrite, and he had no right to banish you for a crime much lesser than his own.”

We trotted up the gravel drive to North Commons shortly before tea. Lila and I walked slowly under the bare branches of the elms sheltering the entrance, stretching our limbs after the long drive. At the door, we waited breathlessly as our driver knocked loudly.

Cratt, the butler, answered the door and stared at us before breaking into a smile. “Mrs. Loch! Mrs. Stanfield! You are a sight to gladden these old eyes.”

Obeying an impulse, I seized and embraced him. He stepped back, blushing, and I laughed. “Pray do not announce us, Cratt. We want to surprise the others.”

“Certainly, ma’am. They are all in the winter parlor. Come this way.”

We followed the familiar great hallway behind the stiff back of Cratt. He flung open the door, and we walked in.

Several startled faces greeted us, and for a few moments no one moved or spoke. My mother was on the sofa, and she cried breathlessly, “Cassie! Lila!” I ran to her, and tears coursed down our faces as we embraced. Lila followed me, and mother and daughter greeted each other with alternate smiles and tears.

To my surprise, my brother Winslow John stood by the fire, and I quickly joined him. Before the first pleasant chat was over, Bettina Loch entered the room. As beautiful as ever, she wore a violet tea gown and woolen shawl of the same hue. Her dark curls haloed her perfect face, and she approached me with outstretched hand and a smile that would have done justice to an accomplished actress.

What on earth is she doing here? I fixed my face in a grin and joined my hands to hers.

“Miss Loch, I understand you have heard from your brother.”

“Yes, and I wrote him immediately and berated him for frightening me half to death. But he is still under the spell of your lady’s maid and cares for no one else.”

“Under the spell? Perhaps you have not yet been informed of their marriage.”

I must honestly admit that Miss Bettina Loch’s visage at that moment gave me a great deal of glee, and my smile—while pretending to be of joy over the marriage—was in truth my delight in seeing her expression of shock and disgust. “I am certain Bart will be angry at me for spoiling the surprise, but I cannot bring myself to leave you in ignorance of such an important event,” I declared sweetly.

Bettina shook her curls and twisted the fringe on her shawl until shreds of fabric drifted to the floor. “Bart will hear my opinion on this!” she hissed, and stepped away to join my elder brother. I could easily see by his smile as he looked down at her that she was using all her powers to engage him. Poor Frederick! He loved Bettina and lost her, and then he loved Rosamund and lost her! How would he feel if Bettina married his elder brother?

Lila joined me. “Poor Winslow John,” she whispered. “The harpy is after him, and I fear he will fall prey.”

“He is a wastrel, and she is artful and ambitious. I do believe they suit each other quite well.”

As it happened, Sir Winslow and Frederick had gone a-shooting and were engaged to dine afterward with a family in the neighborhood. We would not see them until the morrow, so after a great deal of chat with our mother and an enjoyable tea, Lila and I repaired to our assigned chambers to rest.

I awoke next morning in my old room at North Commons Abbey and at first had no idea where I was. A young maid was pulling the heavy blue drapes open, and I stared at her in a daze. She smiled and curtsied.

Remembrance returned in a moment, of course, and I lay back on the pillows and stared about the room. The wall hangings and draperies were the same, but all my books and little treasures had been cleared away. The room held nothing of me, and in truth, I realized, I held nothing of this room. My life here was over.

Reaching the breakfast room, I found my mother, Lila, and Bettina sipping tea and chatting. The butler came in carrying a tray laden with a variety of breads, fruits, boiled eggs, and meats.

“Where is Sir Winslow?” I asked him.

“In his study, ma’am. I dare say he will be here shortly.”

I slipped out of the breakfast room and ran through the halls to my father’s study. I gave a brief knock on the door and entered. Sir Winslow was seated at his carved oak desk, a quill in hand and papers before him. He slowly raised his head and fixed his cold, angry eyes upon me. I paused in the doorway, and we stared at each other. He looked hale and well, not as if he had been suffering in his conscience. His dark gray hair was neatly groomed, and he wore a burgundy morning coat that highlighted the healthy ruddiness of his face. But the iciness of his gray-blue eyes made me shiver.

My voice quivered as I greeted him. “Hello, Father.”

His lips turned in the ghost of a smile, and he half rose. I thought he would embrace me, but then his normally stern expression overtook his visage. “What are you doing here?”

The fear I had always felt for him returned, and I looked about for a chair, unable to face him in a defiant pose. But I stopped. No! I must not appear weak! I stepped forward and placed my hands on his desk. I forced myself to face him, even to meet his eyes.

“I have come to inform you that I recently learned the truth about Rosamund and about my half brother and sister abandoned by you in Bath.”

He stared at me. “Bartholomew Loch has been telling tales, I see. It is what I would expect from such a blackguard.”

“He informed us about Rosamund, yes. But the children in Bath I discovered through an odd quirk of fate.”

“What does that mean? How on earth could you have known of their existence?”

“It does not matter how. What matters is that I rescued the children. Isabella died a few months ago, and the children were living in terrible poverty, sleeping in a hallway and begging for crumbs of food.”

“Dear God! I left a sum of money with a solicitor for the children’s care!”

“And did you never investigate to ensure that the money was being used that way?”

He said nothing.

“Father,” I continued, “I did not return to North Commons to berate you for your infidelity and irresponsibility. I came to inform you that I will no longer accept my banishment from my own family. I have no intention of returning here to live, but I will visit once or twice a year to see my mother. If you make any objection, the story of your dalliance with Isabella and your two bastard children will be spread all over Kent. I will inform my mother, also. And Frederick and Winslow John…what will they think of your hypocrisy in sending me away for a mistake that could befall any young person, while you yourself had committed a much greater sin?”

I paused for breath. Sir Winslow glared at me.

“Furthermore,” I went on, “you will place a substantial sum of money in an account for the upbringing of the children. I intend to marry a very fine man who would certainly do his best to give them a good education, but I do not want him burdened in that way.”

He sank back in his chair, and the quill fell from his hand. Ink splattered on his papers. “Very well,” he whispered, “but I must have your solemn word that you will not betray me.”

“You will have my word when all my conditions have been met. The last is that we draw up papers giving me complete custody of the children. You may visit them, of course, and in time they will need to be informed that you are their father.”

Sir Winslow clenched his fists and glared at me. “And how do you intend to prevent them from spreading their parentage across Kent?”

“They will remain ignorant of the connection until—”

“Until my death?”

Unbidden, pity for him swept over me. Was I taking a practical approach to the children, or seeking revenge?

I dropped into a chair. My father remained standing behind his desk, his eyes bright with anger. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I must allow myself to feel pity but not be swayed by it. I sat up straight and met my father’s eyes.

“Father, I have no desire to hurt you or create a rift between you and my mother. But I will not allow you to isolate me from my family. If you cannot forgive me for my past mistakes, consider the pain my banishment caused to your wife.”

“I will never forgive you for the disgrace you brought upon my head, but I will comply with your wishes. I need no further scandal to visit misery upon me in my declining years.” He picked up his pen.

“The details of our agreement can wait,” I said. “You and I are going to enter the drawing room and have breakfast together. You will show your pleasure in seeing your daughter Lila, and you will announce that you are highly pleased to have the family reunited.”

His eyes focused past me. I turned and saw Lila in the doorway.

“Father,” said Lila, “I came to say that I am completely in favor of Cassie’s determination to be admitted into her family again. This banishment was cruel and unnecessary, and I must be honest and tell you that your bastard child Rosamund corresponded with her in defiance of your decree.”

Lila stepped into the room, and I made way for her. My father glared at us as we faced him together. He appeared to be angrier with Lila for her compliance with my plans than with me for presenting them.

“Lila, I expected better from my elder daughter! The place of a woman is to obey. Both of you will please leave this room. I have heard enough of your complaints and accusations.”

“No,” said Lila. “You will accompany us to the breakfast room, or we will go straight to our mother.”

I nodded. “Indeed you will, Father. After breakfast, we can summon your steward and draw up the necessary papers. But for this one meal we will be a family. We have all made mistakes, and we must all forgive each other.”

I thought he would refuse, but he did not, although his air expressed stubborn pride. We walked together to the drawing room and found the others—even Frederick—immersed in food and chat. After embracing Frederick and sympathizing with his suffering, Lila and I took our places at the table, and joy rose in my heart to be once again among the people I loved.

We spent nearly a month at North Commons. With every passing day, my father became more used to our presence. Frederick took us to visit Candlewood, the village which he would serve as vicar. We examined the cottage he would soon occupy, a charming dwelling with views over a lake and woodlands. Bettina continued her pursuit of Winslow John, but Frederick did not seem to care. One morning when a mild day had allowed Frederick and me to ride to Candlewood on horseback, I broached the case.

“Frederick, forgive my raising a painful subject, but have you given over all hope of obtaining the affections of Bettina Loch?”

Frederick slowed his horse, and I followed suit. We ambled along the lane side by side. He smiled at me, and once again the thinness of his handsome face and the pallor of his skin struck me. His illness had rendered him gaunt.

“Cassie, I told you by letter that I no longer loved Bettina; have you forgotten? Perhaps you thought my obsession with her would return when I was accosted by the terrible news that Rosamund is my half sister.”

“Perhaps I did. A foolish assumption on my part.”

“You are not foolish,” he said with a fond expression. “Perhaps you once were but no more.”

“Thank you. I might say the same about you.”

Frederick halted his horse. He began to speak but then was silent, gazing across the meadow, now bleak in its winter brown. I waited, for perhaps he had something important to communicate. The wind was rising, and I pulled my cloak more tightly about my shoulders.

“I was a fool; there is no argument on that point. But my foolishness extended beyond my pursuit of Bettina Loch.”

“Meaning?” I inquired.

“Meaning I injured you, my sister. You have not spoken of that terrible day when I joined with Father in condemning you and sending you away.”

I reached across the distance between our horses and patted his arm. “My exile was painful but necessary. Your religious beliefs compelled you to support my punishment. My anger against you has long since dissipated.”

“I too learned from that experience, Cassie. I learned that religion has its place in the world but should not be all-consuming. Kindness and compassion are the true Christian values, and I will spend my life promoting them rather than extolling blame and punishment.”

“Your words give me great joy! You will be an excellent vicar—but, Frederick, will you remain alone? Is not there a young woman who could share your work and beliefs?”

Frederick’s serious expression changed to a grin. “The loss of Rosamund is still too new, but when I am healed in body and mind, I may well pay my addresses to Miss Gloria Wellborne.”

“Indeed! Is she not very young?”

“She is eighteen now, Cassie, and a modest, reading, thinking young woman.”

“Your smile tells me you are quite certain she cares for you!”

“Quite certain!” he replied and laughed out loud. I giggled too with the joy of the moment. We urged our horses to a canter and laughed all the way across the meadow and into the paddock at North Commons Abbey.