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Roland did not sleep.
To be fair, he did not really try. He sat before his fire for hours, poking at the ashes as his memories wound about in circles. Vivian, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright, looking up at him. The sweetness of her lips on his, her soft hair and skin. And then the look of utter panic that had overtaken her features as she scrambled back through the window.
Away from him.
And yet.
And yet he clung to what she’d said, that she did feel the same way toward him. Had he simply pushed too far, too fast? He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He’d only wanted to talk. But how was he supposed to resist her sitting there beside him in the snow, impossibly beautiful, unreasonably adorable?
He could not begin to explain his actions to himself, let alone to her. This house party was to have been a thing to endure, but he could never have anticipated Vivian. He’d fallen for her so quickly—though falling was not the right word. He’d plummeted into love. Plunged. Really, it was his own fault she’d run off. First his mother’s actions and now his impulsive kiss.
He needed to fix this. He needed to reassure her he did not expect such ardor in return, even if his heart was already hers. He would give her the time she needed to decide.
The ashes of his fire were nearly cold when sunlight began drifting through his curtains. Roland dressed and escaped for a ride, hoping to cool the fever that had taken control of his body since last night. When he returned, he paused in the entryway when he heard female voices coming from the parlor. Was Vivian inside? How might she react to seeing him?
He took a deep breath. They would see each other sooner or later, and perhaps it was better to do so in a group setting. He only wanted to show her that his affections remained unchanged despite her reaction last night.
Roland stepped inside the parlor and stopped short. Vivian sat across the room, dressed in a pretty pink gown, her fair hair glowing in the sunlight. But that was not why he stared. Vivian sat beside his mother, and both women were smiling.
Mother looked up. “Ah, there you are, Roland. We thought you’d deserted us again.”
Her pointed slight at his missing dinner last night barely registered in his mind. He focused instead on Vivian, who stood upon his entering. She clasped her hands tightly, her blue eyes fixed on his.
“Good morning, Miss Bell,” Roland said quietly. “I trust you slept well.”
She nodded. “Yes, very well, thank you.”
There was something strange in her posture—her shoulders were too stiff, her back as straight as the arrows they’d shot in the ballroom. But of course she would be ill at ease, considering their meeting last night.
“Won’t you join us?” Mother asked, smoothing her skirts nonchalantly. “The others are still eating breakfast, but I am sure they will come in soon.”
Roland glanced at Vivian, but she nodded without hesitation. “Yes, please join us. Your mother has been telling me amusing stories from your childhood, and I should so like to hear your side of them.”
Feeling somewhat reassured—she hadn’t run away, at least—he pulled a chair closer to them and sat beside Vivian.
“And what mistruths has my mother been telling you?” he asked. “Surely not the story about the grasshopper again.”
Mother gave a titter. “How can I not share that one? You decided my sewing basket would make the perfect home for the creature, and forgot to tell me before I discovered it inside!”
Vivian laughed, but it was not the unbridled, joyful sound he’d come to expect from her. No, this laugh sounded forced, practiced almost. But then, they were seated beside his mother. He could hardly expect her to act as she did when it was just the two of them.
“I would have been so affrighted to find a grasshopper among my thread,” Vivian said, leaning forward. “I admit I have no fondness for wildlife.”
“Save for cats,” he said with a grin, hoping to put her at ease.
“Cats?” she repeated.
“And parrots, of course.” A hint of his confusion found its way into his voice. Did she not want him to discuss such a thing before his mother?
“Oh. Of course, parrots.” Vivian gave a sudden nod, as if recalling a long-forgotten fact. “My grandfather has one, though I would not advocate it as a proper pet.”
“Decidedly not,” Mother said. “But I am glad to know you have a fondness for cats, considering my own.”
“Y-yes,” Vivian stammered. “I adore cats. They are quite . . . pretty.”
Something was not right. Roland squinted at Vivian. Nothing she had said was wrong, but it was more how she said it.
“Is your sister joining us today?” Roland asked, watching her closely. “I hope she has made a full recovery.”
Vivian blinked rapidly, as if she’d gotten something in her eye. “No. No, I’m afraid Cassandra has decided to return home. She is feeling better, but not yet up to enjoying the house party.”
Roland nodded. “Ah, a pity I did not get to spend much time with her. But perhaps I shall send her a package of cherry comfits to assuage her disappointment.”
“Comfits?” Vivian furrowed her brow. “An interesting gift. Very . . . thoughtful. I am certain she would be glad to receive it.”
He stared at the young lady before him, at her carefully folded hands, her pursed lips, and her guarded eyes. The golden curls and blue eyes were the same, but nearly everything else was different.
And then it all connected in his head, his thoughts flying faster than a sparrow on the wind.
“You are not Vivian,” he said slowly.
Her mouth parted, but she did not speak.
Mother gave a nervous laugh. “Of course this is Miss Bell. Who else would it be?”
But Roland shook his head. “This is not the woman I spent the last week with.”
Mother stood, face reddening. “Roland, you are being ridiculous, and quite rude to Miss Bell. I insist you apologize—”
“No.” The young lady stood as well, and Mother gaped at her. “No, please do not apologize. You have nothing to feel sorry for, while I have everything to regret.” She took a deep breath and looked Roland straight in the eye. “I am Vivian Bell, but not the one you came to know. That was my sister, Cassandra.”
Cassandra. Her name repeated in his mind, again and again.
“She pretended to be you?” he asked, perplexed. “Why?”
Mother sat again, holding a hand to her forehead, and Vivian’s cheeks grew pink.
“I . . . I am embarrassed to admit I formed an attachment to you during our time in London. When I grew ill during our journey here, I begged her to take my name and—” She closed her eyes tightly. “I asked her to ensure that the other young ladies did not monopolize your time.”
Roland leaned back in his chair, head spinning. His memories skimmed over the last week; he remembered all the little oddities and inconsistencies he’d noticed in Miss Bell—Cassandra. Her competitiveness with Miss Tindale, her struggling to appear more proper than she was. And her singing.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, including his own, a short laugh escaped him.
“This explains so much,” he said, shaking his head. “In truth, I cannot believe I did not guess it sooner. I simply assumed she acted strangely because she was nervous.” Another realization struck him, and he turned to his mother. “Nervous of you, Mother. Tell me you did not know about this.”
Her face paled. “No! Of course not.” She paused. “That is, until last night.”
Roland narrowed his eyes. “What happened last night?”
“I . . .” She swallowed. “I may have encouraged Cassandra to return home. I thought it best, considering her entire character was a deception from the start. But Miss Bell here—”
“That was not for you to decide, Mother.” Now Roland was on his feet. He turned to Vivian. “Miss Bell, I am certain you are all that is sweetness and gentility, but—”
“But you are in love with my sister,” she said softly, understanding growing in her eyes.
Roland hesitated. He did not want to hurt this lovely young lady, when she was guilty of nothing but setting her sights on the wrong man.
“It is all right.” Vivian looked down at her clasped hands. “After spending just a few minutes with you, it is quite obvious how you feel about her. I had my suspicions after reading Cassie’s letter this morning, but I wanted to see the truth for myself.”
“She wrote you a letter?”
“Yes, explaining all that happened.” She cleared her throat. “And now I must be clear about a few things. Cassie is my dearest friend, and I have no doubt it was her sincerity, her cleverness and compassion, that endeared her to you.” She took a steadying breath. “If there is any chance Cassie returns your feelings, then you must go to her.”
Roland forced himself to breathe, memories from last night on the roof slipping through his confusion. Miss Bell—Cassie—returning his kiss before running away. He understood now why she’d done it. She hadn’t wanted to hurt her sister.
He stepped forward. “Where is she now? You said she decided to go home.”
“Yes.” Vivian’s smile faded. “She left early this morning. It is a two-day journey.”
He strode to the window, inspecting the ground. It would not be easy traveling in the snow, especially once it began to melt and mud took its place. But surely he could make better time on horseback than by coach. If he hurried, perhaps—
“Roland.”
His mother’s voice snapped him back to attention. She stared at her hands, held tightly in her lap.
“Roland, I . . .” She shook her head. “I thought you were making a monumental mistake, and I saw it as my duty to correct you.” Mother finally raised her eyes. “Cassandra Bell is not who I would have chosen for you, but if she is who you want, I will resign myself to it. She is determined and intelligent, and that will have to be enough.”
That was as close to an apology as he had ever heard from his mother. He nodded, though far from ready to forgive her completely. “If she will have me.”
“You will never know,” Vivian said, “if you do not give her the chance.”
Roland inhaled an unsteady breath. Was he ready to propose? Not even a fortnight ago had he considered such a thing possible.
But Cassandra had changed all that. Her ringing laugh danced through his mind, her gentleness and her spirit, the ease with which they conversed for hours on end. And he knew this was what he had been searching for. What his father had wanted for him.
He looked at Mother. “Father would have liked her,” he said softly.
Her eyes misted, and she turned away. “Then what on earth are you waiting for, my boy? Go and claim your lady.”
He turned to Vivian, his mind racing. She raised her chin, though a flash of pain still echoed behind those familiar blue eyes. “You must go,” she said, her voice firm. “That is my wish for you, and for Cassie.”
He stood still, trying to grasp all that had happened in the last few minutes. If he knew anything about Cassandra, it was that she cared for her sister above all else. It would be no easy task to convince her to accept him when it might injure Vivian.
Roland looked at Vivian. “I do not wish to take advantage of your kindness, Miss Bell, but if you are willing, I would be grateful for your help.”
She pulled back her head in surprise, but then she nodded. “Of course, Mr. Hastings. Anything.”