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Miss Bell was avoiding him.
Roland could easily tell, though she still smiled and conversed with the others that night after dinner as she always had. But when she looked at him, it was as though her eyes did not quite see him. Like he’d become an uninteresting painting on the wall or a statue gathering dust in the corner.
Had Miss Bell seen the risk they’d taken in the ballroom, and was she afraid to repeat it? Had her feelings changed? Or perhaps had the looming figure of his mother daunted her more than he’d realized?
The last was the likeliest. Mother was an intimidating figure even when one was not already in her black books. Roland wanted nothing more than to take Miss Bell aside and make her listen to him. She had to know that he did not care what his mother thought of her and that he only wished for her to be herself, forever and always.
But he did not want to push her. If she needed time, he would be patient.
When he awoke in the morning, the drizzle of rain had turned to spiraling white flakes that fell lazily to the earth, covering the grounds in a layer of snow. Mother was all enthusiasm, and she planned an entire day of snow-related activities: sleigh rides to the pond, ice skating, and hot tea when they returned.
Roland felt a lift in his heart. Snow was hopeful. Snow was renewing. And surely sometime in all the busyness, he would find a chance to pull Miss Bell aside and speak to her.
He waited at the base of the stairs as the party gathered in the entryway, all abuzz over the snow and the festivities. Miss Tindale found his side and chattered away, though he could hardly say what she spoke about. His responses were meager at best, and though he was sure he was being rude, he could not take his eyes from the top of the stairs.
But Miss Bell did not appear.
“Are we ready?” Mother adjusted the cloak around her shoulders. “Come then, the sleighs are waiting.”
Miss Tindale looked up at Roland, no doubt expecting him to offer his arm. But he only stepped quickly to his mother’s side, taking her arm before she could follow Mr. and Mrs. Marsden outside.
“What of Miss Bell?” he asked. “Are we not to wait for her?”
“She said she wishes to spend the day with her sister, who has been dreadfully lonely.” Mother looked far too smug about her news.
“And I am sure you did nothing to discourage her,” Roland muttered.
“What, dear?”
Roland sighed. “I only asked after Miss Cassandra. Is she nearly recovered?”
Mother nodded. “Yes, the doctor was by again today. He says she’ll be able to join us tomorrow.”
How strange that would be, to have Miss Bell’s identical sister at her side. Not to mention, it would be even harder to catch her alone.
Miss Tindale huffed as she moved past him and out the open door.
“You have other guests besides Miss Bell,” Mother said shortly. “You would do well to act as if you remember.”
She swept after Miss Tindale, and Roland rubbed his neck. What a mess this was. How could he give Miss Tindale or Miss Marsden the attention they expected when he knew his heart was taking another path entirely?
He could be kind, at the least. Polite, but nothing more.
Roland glanced up the stairs one more time, as if Miss Bell might suddenly appear, her lips quirked in that inviting half smile. But no one came. He took his hat from the footman and set it firmly on his head, determination growing inside him.
Miss Bell could try and avoid him, but he wouldn’t let her. One way or another, he would find a way to see her.
* * *
Cassie crossed her arms as she stared out the window, the twirling snow barely visible in the growing darkness. She’d watched the party return from their winter escapades not an hour ago, laughing and invigorated. In the twilight, she hadn’t managed to pick Roland apart from the rest. Was he also laughing? Had he missed her today?
“Are you planning to dress for dinner soon?”
Vivian’s voice stirred Cassie from her contemplation. She turned to her sister, wrapped in a blanket and seated beside the fire.
“No, I thought we could eat together, if you’d like.” Cassie took the chair beside Vivian. She had not the energy for dinner, not when she knew their charade was at an end. Dr. Duttle had come that morning, and he’d delivered the good news that Vivian had made a full recovery. Starting tomorrow, she was free to rejoin the party.
Cassie’s end of the agreement was fulfilled. She had played Vivian as best she could, and now her sister could return to her place come morning. There was no point in going to dinner tonight.
It would only hurt Cassie more.
Vivian eyed her curiously. “Are you so weary of pretending to be me that you prefer even more solitude after an entire day together?”
“Yes,” Cassie insisted. “Not only am I quite finished with this deception, but it has been too long since we spent any significant time together. And when you join the party tomorrow, I’ll lose you once again.”
Vivian reached over and took her hand. “You won’t lose me, Cassie.”
Cassie shook her head. “But I will. Or, at least, I’ll lose what we have now. When you marry Mr. Hastings”—she nearly choked on the words—“things will never be the same. And I understand that is the way of life, but does that mean I cannot mourn the change?”
Vivian squeezed her hand, a soft smile claiming her face. “I do not think I deserve to have you as a sister. I have been so focused on my future, on my own plans, that I think I have neglected you. But I shall try harder to show you I love you, no matter what may come. You have done so much for me.”
What had she done for Vivian, really? Made a mess of her reputation, abandoned her to spend time alone with Roland, and spun a web of lies.
“In any case,” Cassie said, clearing her throat. “Let us spend the evening together without thoughts or worries for tomorrow. Just like we used to.”
“Another round of backgammon, then?” Vivian suggested with a grin. “We are caught in a tie, and I should like to beat you soundly.”
Cassie forced a laugh and moved to set the pieces again on the table. But her smile did not reach the depths of her heart, which felt more like the storm outside.
After another two hours of games and talking, Vivian declared she needed to rest in order to make the most of the next day. Cassie bid Vivian good night and stepped out into the corridor, cold and lonely without the warmth of a fire. Hard as it was to pretend nothing was wrong, Cassie far preferred the distraction of her sister to an empty room and wandering thoughts.
“Miss Bell.”
She froze, her hand still on the doorknob. Not now. She turned slowly to see Roland stepping from the shadows, his dark, unruly locks falling over concerned eyes.
Cassie managed a quick breath, trying to reclaim her equilibrium. “Should you not be at dinner?”
“I pled exhaustion after the long day,” he said, crossing his arms. “And I did not want to miss my chance.”
“Your chance?”
“To intercept you before you hid away from me again.”
“I wasn’t hiding—”
He held up one hand. “I do not blame you in any way. I only . . .” He paused. “I missed you.”
Cassie’s heart thumped wildly, as if it might grow wings and burst from her chest. Roland had missed her.
He moved closer, the candlelight flickering over the lines of his face, his wide jaw and straight nose. “Come with me.”
It was not a question but not quite a command. “Come with you where?”
He smiled and held out his hand to her. “I believe it is my turn to surprise you.”
Cassie stared at him, then his hand. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. After what had happened yesterday in the ballroom, there was too much risk—both to her reputation and her heart. And what about Vivian? How could she think to—
“Please?” he said, his voice soft as the gently falling snow outside. She met his eyes once more, and the hope there destroyed all her defenses.
She slipped her hand into his.
His smile broadened. “I want to show you something.”
He tugged her with him as he started down the corridor, and she needed no further encouragement. His firm, warm hand in hers sent continuous tingles up her arm and straight to her chest. One more night, she reasoned with herself. After all she’d endured in the last week, she deserved one more night of happiness. Then tomorrow . . .
But she would not think of tomorrow. Not with Roland guiding her through the quiet, dark corridors, and her pulse racing like a colt at Newmarket.
“Here we are,” he finally said. She sent him a questioning look, but he only opened an unremarkable door and ushered her inside.
A fire sparked in the grate across the room, leaving most of the room in shadow. Cassie moved to the center, turning to gain her bearing. A little bed near the window, neatly made. A row of tin soldiers arranged on a low table, and a shelf full of books and blocks. “The nursery?”
Roland nodded. “My nursery, when I was a boy.”
“If you wanted to play soldiers, you only needed to ask.”
He grinned. “I did not bring you here to play soldiers, though the idea is tempting.” He moved across the room to the large window above a padded bench. He opened the window, and cold slipped into the room, surrounding her like the cool waters of the lake near Brightling.
She shivered as Roland turned back to face her. He grimaced. “I should have had you bring a cloak.”
“Then I might not have come,” she said dryly.
He chuckled, taking the blanket from the bed and coming to her. She inhaled a sharp breath as he wrapped the blanket snugly around her shoulders.
“Better?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “Yes. Good.”
He nodded and moved back to the window. “Come on.”
“Where are we—”
But he did not wait for her to finish her question. He climbed through, ducking under the windowsill, then turned and offered his hand once again.
She could leave. Return to her room with her heart still intact. At least, mostly intact.
But she needed to know why he’d brought her here. She needed to know what here was.
She took his hand and stepped up onto the bench, holding the blanket closed with her free hand. He helped her over the windowsill and onto the small ledge below the window, which extended at a slight angle a few feet before dropping off. The snow drifted around them, though they were sheltered by the angle of the walls.
Roland helped her sit and then took his place beside her, one elbow propped on his upright knee.
“I used to sneak out here as a boy,” he said, “to hide from my nursemaid, or whenever I felt particularly daring. I thought it might provide us an excellent view of the snow, since you did not go out with us earlier.”
He spoke with no hint of judgment, but Cassie straightened. “I could see it very well from my window.”
“That is hardly the same thing as experiencing it.”
“No, this is much colder.”
He laughed with a shake of his head. “You cannot hate snow so much,” he said, gesturing to the snowflakes, which swirled about in a complicated dance only nature knew.
“I do not hate it.” She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her blanket around them. “But it is wet and inconvenient, and generally I prefer to be inside near a fire.”
“And now?” he asked. “Would you rather be inside now?”
He was looking at her—she could see it from the corner of her eye. But she did not dare look back at him, knowing the strength of his gaze. “No,” she said, focusing on the snow gathering on the roof just beyond her slippers. “No, I am quite content where I am.”
They sat in silence for a long minute, the snow falling around them in a silent chorus. She could hardly feel the cold anymore, what with Roland’s arm brushing hers.
“Will you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?” he finally asked. “I’ve dared to guess that it involves my mother.”
Cassie bit her lip. She hadn’t thought she would see him again before tomorrow, and then only as Cassandra, not Vivian. She hadn’t begun to formulate a response to such a question.
“I admit your mother is part of it,” she said. “But it is far more complicated than that.”
“Complicated how?”
She shook her head. How could she tell him the truth, that she was not the girl he thought her to be? That she had been lying to him almost their entire acquaintance?
“I am sorry, I should not press you,” he said. “I only wanted the chance to . . .”
He paused, and then she did look at him. He stared steadfastly out into the snow, as if searching for the right words to appear.
“To what?” she whispered.
His eyes met hers, and Cassie had to gulp a breath. How could his eyes hold both such intensity and warmth?
“To tell you what I think,” he said simply. “And what I think is that you should not care one whit what my mother says or believes. Because the reasons she has decided to dislike you are the very reasons I do like you.”
Cassie did not move. Indeed, she couldn’t move, not with his words still lingering in the air around her.
Roland turned so he faced her directly, stray snowflakes clinging to his dark locks. He slipped her hand from where she clutched her knees and held it in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
“You are all a woman ought to be,” he said. “Compassionate. Sincere. Determined.” He offered a smile. “You surprise me at every turn, and not just with archery ranges in the ballroom.”
She gave a choked laugh, and he tightened both his hands around hers, warming them as if she held a fresh cup of tea.
“You mustn’t allow my mother’s voice into your head,” he said in a near whisper. “She has no place there, nor between us.”
“But you cannot pretend she has no influence in your life,” Cassie said with a catch in her voice. “I would not want to come between you in any way.”
Roland fixed her with a stern look. “I have yet to allow my mother to dictate my life, and I do not plan to start now. My choices are my own.”
“I did not mean to say they were not,” she said. “Only that . . . well, problems follow me wherever I go. I have not made your life any easier since I arrived.” It was the closest she could come to the truth. She had complicated his life, toyed with his emotions and desires. And he had no idea.
“No,” he admitted, “my life has not been easier. But that has everything to do with an unwanted house party and nothing to do with you. Because you . . . you have made it all worthwhile.” He raised her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. A shiver swept across her. “You have made me remember what is possible, in life and love.”
Love. Oh, he should not have said that word.
“Roland,” she whispered. “I cannot . . . you mustn’t . . .”
He silenced her protests with another kiss, this time on the soft skin inside her wrist. Her blood pulsed hot in her veins.
“Roland,” she tried again, weakly.
Then she could speak no more, because he was kissing her. He pulled her close, wrapped one arm around her waist, the other behind her neck. But his lips—oh, his lips. Why had no one ever told her how absurdly wonderful kissing was? Cassie’s arms wound about his neck, the blanket falling from her shoulders. She kissed him back, not stopping to think, to doubt. She only knew she wanted this, more than she’d ever wanted anything—she wanted his kiss, his gentle words, his love.
His hands moved to caress her cheeks, leaving a trail of fire behind. She leaned into him, needing to be closer, and he responded with a new intensity in his kiss, an urgency that stole the breath from her lungs. But she did not pull away, not until he drew his mouth from hers, breathing deeply as he kissed her nose, her cheeks, her closed eyes.
“Vivian,” he murmured.
Cassie’s eyes shot open, and she jerked back, staring at him. Vivian.
He stared back, his brow furrowed. “What . . . what is wrong?”
Everything was wrong. Everything.
“I have to go.” She scrambled to her feet, holding tight to the windowsill so she did not slip on the slanting roof.
“Let me help you,” Roland protested.
But she clambered back through the open window without his help, barely finding her feet before stumbling toward the door.
“Vivian, what did I do?” He caught her, taking her arm before she could disappear into the dark corridor. “I’m sorry, I should not have kissed you like that. I thought you felt the same.”
“I do,” she said, the words tearing painfully from her throat. “I do. But you must let me go. Please. If you care for me at all.”
He hesitated, still holding her arm. But she pulled away, and he let her go. She did not look back as she darted out of the nursery.