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Why on earth had she gone with Roland tonight? She had known it would only lead to more heartbreak, and yet she had followed after him without question. She had hurt him, and herself, in the process.
What was she to tell Vivian? How could Cassie face her, knowing she’d kissed the man her sister hoped to marry? Surely she had broken every rule of sisterhood. She was only meant to distract Roland, not fall in love with him.
Her eyes burned with tears, but she swiped at them angrily, refusing to let them fall.
“Miss Bell.”
Cassie came to a sudden halt. Mrs. Hastings stood in the corridor ahead, still dressed in her evening finery.
“Mrs.—Mrs. Hastings,” Cassie stammered. “Is dinner over already?”
“Quite,” she said. “Hardly reason to prolong such an event when my son did not even bother to show for it.”
Cassie said nothing, only tried to control her breathing. But Mrs. Hastings moved closer, her narrowed eyes roving over Cassie’s face.
“You were with him again, weren’t you?” she asked quietly.
Cassie clenched her jaw. She did not owe this woman any answers.
“I see.” Mrs. Hastings stopped an arm’s length away. “At least you are smart enough not to admit it.”
Hostess or not, Cassie was finished with this conversation already. She was finished with this entire evening.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hastings,” she said stiffly. “I am tired, and I am going to bed. Good night.”
She moved around the older woman, and she had nearly made her escape when Mrs. Hastings called after her. “Oh, Miss Cassandra?”
“Yes?” Cassie said shortly, spinning back.
A look of victory spread across Mrs. Hastings’s face, and Cassie realized her mistake.
“I knew it,” Mrs. Hastings breathed. “I knew you were the wrong sister.”
“No,” Cassie said weakly. Her mind would not work; her breath caught in her lungs. “No, you do not understand. My sister truly is ill, and she—”
“I do not care that she is ill,” Mrs. Hastings said. “I only care that she is not you. I haven’t the faintest idea what drove you to take her name in the first place, but Roland never need know.”
Cassie shook her head. The woman was making no sense.
“My son thinks he is in love with you.” Mrs. Hastings approached slowly, her eyes fixed on Cassie. “But of course, that is only an illusion. We both know you are not right for him, for this life. You could never be what he needs. Could you mingle with the highest of society? Stand beside him at balls and dinner parties, ready to help him make his way in the world?”
Cassie clutched a hand to her stomach, the roiling there so intense she thought she might be sick.
“No,” Mrs. Hastings said. “No, you could not. You would embarrass him, and yourself.”
“What do you want from me?” Cassie finally said.
“Switch places again.” Her voice grew cold. “I would prefer he marry into another family altogether, but Roland has shown no liking for the other young ladies I invited. He is already in love with who he thinks is Vivian Bell, so that is who we will give him.”
Switching back had always been Cassie’s plan, the goal from the start. But now that she knew her intentions lined up so neatly with Mrs. Hastings’s, she felt a forceful resistance to it.
“And me?” Cassie asked, gritting her teeth. “Shall I simply fade to the background, pretend as though nothing happened?”
The matron hesitated, then she set her jaw. “No. I would have you leave altogether. Your being here would only complicate things. We will say Cassandra’s condition was not improving and she wished to recover fully at home.”
Cassie turned away, hugging her arms tight around her chest.
“You know this is the right thing to do.” Mrs. Hastings almost sounded sympathetic. “I always intended your sister for Roland, not you. You were never more than a placeholder.”
Why did she have to be right? Cassie knew it to be true. But a voice inside begged her to reconsider, to imagine the possibilities. She could tell Roland everything, admit to Vivian what had happened. She’d never intended to fall in love, after all. It had been an accident. Could Roland love someone who had deceived him so completely? Could Vivian ever forgive her?
She took a shuddering breath. No. It was useless. She could never hurt her sister like that. And if Roland had begun to see her true self, and perhaps even care for her, Mrs. Hastings was right. Cassie could never be a proper wife to him. Not like Vivian could.
She had to give Vivian and Roland the best chance at happiness she could. She loved them both, so how could they not love each other?
Cassie turned back to Mrs. Hastings. “I will go,” she said softly. “In the morning. Roland will never know.” And Vivian would never know Cassie’s true feelings.
Mrs. Hastings nodded. “I’ll have a carriage readied for you at first light.”
Cassie nearly thanked her, an instinct from years of etiquette lessons. But she bit her tongue.
Mrs. Hastings took a step and then paused. “I did not want to hurt you,” she said. “But it is for the best.”
Cassie could not be there a moment longer. She spun on her heel and ran until she found the safety of her room, the quiet crackling of her fire.
She did not bother to call for Jennings to help her pack. After lugging her trunk to the base of her bed, she began tossing in dresses and shawls haphazardly. Everything would be dreadfully wrinkled, but that hardly topped her list of concerns at the moment.
After emptying her wardrobe, she moved to her desk. Upon seeing her package of cherry comfits, Cassie’s will nearly broke, remembering Roland’s gentle teasing. But she squared her shoulders and tossed the package into her trunk. She would throw them out when she arrived home.
When there was nothing left in her room save for a traveling dress for tomorrow, Cassie stood with her hands on her waist, breathing hard, fighting the tightness in her lungs. But she couldn’t fall apart now, not when one task still remained—the most difficult of all. She sat at the writing desk and pulled out a piece of paper.
So much had happened since she’d come to Hartfield, and soon this house party would be nothing more than a memory, bittersweet and inescapable.
* * *
“Leaving?” Vivian had been inspecting herself in the vanity mirror, but now she spun to face Cassie. “What do you mean, you are leaving?”
Cassie sat on the bed, one hand steadying herself on the bedpost. She had to be convincing. “I am tired, Viv. Of the pretense. And you know I have never enjoyed parties. Now that you are better, there is no reason for me to stay. I can go home for Christmas.”
Vivian shook her head. “But I need your help. What if Mr. Hastings mentions something you haven’t told me? What if—”
“Everything you need to know is in here.” Cassie pulled the letter from her reticule. “Read it, please.”
Vivian took the letter, but her eyes did not leave Cassie’s. “What happened?” she asked quietly. “Something has changed since last night.”
Cassie sighed. “I have simply had enough of this house party and want nothing more than the quiet seclusion to which we both know I am better suited.”
“You know I do not believe you in the slightest.”
Cassie gave a sad smile. “Of course. But I also know what I am doing, I promise.”
Vivian looked far from convinced, but Cassie stood and embraced her. “I wish you every happiness with Mr. Hastings,” she whispered. “He is a good man, and I know you will be happy together.”
Vivian pulled away, her eyes glossy with tears. “I hope so, but I do not think I shall ever be truly happy until you are settled as well.”
Cassie shook her head. She was quite cried out, having shed more than her fair share of tears during the long night. “You may be wishing for that a long while yet.” Vivian frowned, but Cassie did not want to prolong this conversation any more than necessary. “Goodbye, Viv. I hope to hear good news from you soon.”
Vivian kissed her on the cheek, and then Cassie hurried from the room, down the stairs, and out the front door, where a coach awaited her. The footman helped her inside and closed the door behind her, the thud echoing in her ears with resounding finality.
She looked back at the manor as the coach started away, as if she might catch a glimpse of Roland at a window, or riding from the stables. But she saw no one.
Cassie curled into the corner of the coach, her eyes unseeing as they drove through the snowy landscape. Surely Vivian was reading the letter now. Cassie had tried her best to explain all that had happened between her and Roland. She’d written of their late-night conversation in the alcove, the archery range in the ballroom—and their kiss on the roof in the snow. She could hardly keep all that a secret now, not when Vivian needed to know everything.
She’d written that she’d been too embarrassed to tell Vivian all this in person, and that of course Roland had only kissed her because he believed her to be Vivian. There was no doubt in Cassie’s mind, she’d said, that Roland Hastings loved Vivian Bell.
The only thing she did not tell her sister was how much Cassandra Bell loved Roland Hastings.
Cassie closed her eyes, remembering briefly those few moments of bliss from last night, when Roland had kissed her.
When she’d felt absolutely and completely loved.