| |
Cassandra Bell leaned her head against the cold window, staring out at the bleak and colorless December landscape outside their coach. Well, not colorless, exactly. But the bare trees and dead, dry grass did not inspire any great appreciation for nature at the moment.
A moan came from beside her, and Cassie winced as she turned to her sister. The constant bumping and swaying was enough to make anyone feel ill, but Vivian never traveled well to begin with. She slumped against the side of the coach, eyes glassy and unseeing.
“Are you certain you do not wish to stop?” Cassie asked yet again. Her twin sister’s face was as green as the pea soup they’d eaten at the inn while their horses were changed. Though people often had difficulty telling the sisters apart, Cassie doubted anyone would have that trouble today.
Vivian only shook her head, gripping the bench beneath her so tightly that her hands turned white.
“You must know that stopping to rest an hour will hardly hurt your chances of marriage.” Cassie attempted a bit of humor—she could always make Vivian smile.
But Vivian did not smile. She gulped a breath and shook her head once again. “No, we cannot stop. We must arrive early.”
“Yes, of course,” Cassie said dryly. “Because Roland Hastings will surely fall in love with you the moment he sees you looking like a sailor who hasn’t yet found his sea legs.”
Now Vivian shot her a scowl, though her inability to move without groaning made her infinitely less threatening. “I am certain I will feel better when we arrive at Hartfield Court. But I’ll not stop now and lose any chance of spending time with Mr. Hastings before the other ladies arrive.”
“Ladies? Tabbies might be the better word.”
Vivian’s lips twitched. “They certainly will be desperate to sink their claws into poor Mr. Hastings.”
“I’m certain Mr. Hastings is many things,” Cassie said, “but poor is not one of them.” She did not bother to mention that Vivian was acting increasingly like a tabby herself. She was the one, after all, who insisted on arriving as early as possible for the Christmas house party at the Hastings estate, dragging Cassie with her. Now she was on her way to spend the holiday with a group of near strangers, when she would much rather be at home with Grandpapa.
Vivian sighed. “I only wish I knew what inspired the invitation. Was it solely from his mother, or did Mr. Hastings have a hand in it? I doubt he even remembers me at all.” She pulled the coach blanket tighter around herself. The warm brick the coachman had laid at their feet had gone cold hours ago, and the winter chill had begun to creep inside.
“Of course he remembers you,” Cassie insisted. “He danced with you twice at the Borlands’ ball, and took you in to supper.”
He would be more likely to remember Vivian than Cassie, at least. When Papa had introduced them to Mr. Hastings at the ball, Vivian had been ushered to the forefront, as was normal. Cassie had earned nothing more from the gentleman than a brief bow before he’d taken Vivian off to the dance floor. Her first—and only—impression of the man had not been terribly good.
Vivian had obviously not had the same impression, since she’d been pining after the gentleman since they’d returned from the Season months ago. When the invitation to the house party arrived, it had caused a celebration the likes of which had not been seen since Wellington’s victory at Waterloo.
Vivian looked unconvinced. “I hope you are right, but I am still determined to do what I can to claim his attention. I’ll not leave such a thing as love to chance.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. Did her sister’s ambitions toward Mr. Hastings truly run so deep? “I think the poets might disagree with that sentiment.”
Vivian flapped her hand feebly as she leaned back. “Oh, you know what I mean. I just think Mr. Hastings will need a bit of encouragement, and I should like to offer it first.”
“You’re more likely to frighten him off than encourage him, the way you’re looking now.”
Vivian sent her a mock glare. “Any slight about my looks is also against yours.”
“Nonsense,” Cassie said with a grin. “Everyone knows I’m the prettier twin.”
Vivian gave a weak laugh, closing her eyes. “Today that is certainly true.”
“Hush now.” Cassie tucked her sister’s blanket against her. “No more jesting. Try and rest.”
Vivian nodded, already half asleep, and Cassie blew out a breath. The next fortnight would be a bore, no doubt, playing her sister’s companion as Vivian attempted to entice a proposal from the ever-elusive Mr. Hastings. The invitation had been for Vivian and their mother, but since Mama had been forced to decline due to a younger sister being only weeks from childbirth, Cassie had been sent as a reluctant replacement.
“Do mind yourself,” Mama had said reproachfully as Cassie bid her farewell yesterday morning. “Your sister’s future depends on this house party, as does yours. If she can make such a conquest as Mr. Roland Hastings, surely you’ll soon attract suitors of your own.”
“Oh yes, because my foremost requirement for a husband is that he marry me for my family connections.”
Mama had not found that particularly funny. “That tongue of yours is precisely why I am uneasy sending you. But as I have no choice, I shall have to hope—nay, pray—you realize behaving yourself is in Vivian’s best interest.”
Cassie had sighed and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I will bite my tongue, Mama. You needn’t worry on my account.”
After all, Cassie hardly planned on bringing any amount of attention to herself during the next fortnight. She would do as she always did during social events: hide when she could and keep her mouth shut when she couldn’t. It wasn’t that she did not like people, or that she was particularly shy. But experience had proven that if Cassie found something interesting or amusing, society generally thought the opposite, and she had learned it was better to keep her thoughts to herself.
Cassie jumped as Vivian suddenly sat up straight beside her, grasping the sides of the swaying coach.
“Viv?” Cassie watched her anxiously. “What is wrong?”
Vivian did not answer. She lurched forward and fumbled with the latch on the window, pulling it open and sticking her head out. Then she expelled the contents of her stomach onto the moving scenery outside.
Cassie moved quickly. She snatched her sister’s curls back to keep them from blowing across her face, the only help she could offer as Vivian heaved again and again, the coach coming to a stop under the oppressive gray sky.
Lovely. They had yet to set one foot inside Hartfield Court, and already this house party was off to an excellent start.