'I have always had a weakness for picnics,' he said. 'Fresh air. Food and drink. Grass and trees and flowers. Congenial company. They are a powerful combination.'
'The company may not be very congenial,' she warned him.
He laughed.
'I am sure,' he said, 'I will like Golding very well indeed.'
She half smiled at his deliberate misunderstanding of her meaning.
'I meant myself,' she said. 'You must know that I do not want to go, that this new… relationship you spoke of last night is doomed to failure. We cannot be friends, Stephen, having once been protector and mistress.'
'Lovers cannot be friends, then?' he asked her.
She did not reply.
'I have a need to make amends,' he told her. 'Instead of bringing some joy back into your life, I did the opposite, Cass. Let me make amends.'
'I do not want – '
'We all want joy,' he said. 'We all /need/ it. And there is such a thing, Cass. I promise you.'
She merely stared at him, her green eyes almost luminous.
'Tell me you will look forward to the picnic,' he said.
'Oh, very well,' she said. 'If my doing so will make you feel better, I will say it. I will not sleep tonight for eager excitement to have the picnic begin. I shall say my prayers for good weather every hour on the hour.'
He smiled at her and flicked her chin with one finger before hurrying outside and climbing into the carriage to take his place opposite his sisters, his back to the horses.
'Oh, Stephen,' Kate said when the door had been closed and the carriage rocked into motion, 'I did not understand this morning. Or perhaps I /chose/ not to understand. Are none of us to have a smooth road to matrimony and happiness, then?'
'But it was a rough road that led three of us to happiness, Kate,' Meg said quietly. 'Perhaps a smooth road does not do it. Perhaps we should /wish/ this rough road on Stephen.'
But she did not smile or look particularly happy. Neither did Kate.
Stephen did not ask them what they meant – it was all too obvious.
They were wrong, though.
He was merely attempting to set right a wrong.
He was merely trying to bring some joy to Cassandra's life so that his conscience could rest in peace.
They rode on in silence.
/13/
CASSANDRA spent the following morning on Oxford Street. She was not shopping for herself, however. She had asked Mary if she might take Belinda with her in order to buy her a sunbonnet for the summer to replace the quaint hat that had once belonged to a stable boy. She did not offer to buy more clothes for the child. One had to be careful with Mary. She was very proud. She was also very protective of her daughter, whom she adored.
The task was accomplished at the very first shop they entered, and Belinda came out wearing a pretty blue cotton bonnet with a slightly stiffened brim and a frill to shield her neck and shoulders from the rays of the sun. It was tied beneath the chin with sunshine yellow ribbons, which were attached to the bonnet with clusters of tiny artificial buttercups and cornflowers.
Belinda was wide-eyed with the splendor of it and turned when they left the shop to admire her image in the glass.
They strolled along the street, hand in hand, until they stopped outside a toy shop. Soon Belinda's nose was pressed to the glass as she stared silently through it. She showed no visible excitement, no expectation that anything in the window or the shop would ever be hers. She demanded nothing. But she was obviously lost to the world around her.
Cassandra watched her fondly. Just having the chance to stand and gaze was probably enough to make this the high point of Belinda's day. She was a remarkably contented child.
She was gazing, Cassandra realized, not at everything in the window, but at one particular toy – a doll. It was not the largest or fanciest.
Indeed, it was just the opposite. It was a baby doll, made of china and wearing only a simple cotton nightgown as it lay on a white woolen shawl. After gazing and gazing, Belinda lifted one hand and waved her fingers slowly.
Cassandra blinked back tears. As far as she knew, Belinda had no toys.
'I think,' she said, 'that baby needs a mama.'
'Baby.' Belinda pressed her hand against the glass.
'Would you like to hold him?' Cassandra asked.
The child's head turned and she gazed up at Cassandra with big, solemn eyes. Slowly she nodded.
'Come, then,' Cassandra said, and took the child's hand again and led her inside the shop.
It was a foolish extravagance. She was no longer Lord Merton's mistress, was she? And she had already bought the bonnet. But food and clothing and shelter were not the only necessities of life. Love was too. And if love must cost her some money this morning, then so be it.
It all seemed worthwhile when the shop assistant leaned into the window and lifted out the doll and placed it in Belinda's arms.
Cassandra would not have been surprised to see the child's eyes pop right out of her head. Belinda gazed at the china baby with slightly open mouth and held it stiffly for a few moments before cradling it in her arms and rocking it gently.
'Would you like to take him home and be his mama?' Cassandra asked gently.
Again Belinda's eyes turned upward, and she nodded.
Behind them a smartly dressed little girl was petulantly demanding the doll with the long blond ringlets, not the stupid one with the velvet dress and pelisse. /And/ she needed the baby carriage because the wheels had come off hers. /And/ the skipping rope because the handles on the one she had had for her birthday last week were an ugly green.
The baby doll came without clothes, Cassandra discovered. She bought the nightdress to go with it and then, because Belinda kissed the baby's forehead and promised in a whisper to keep him warm, she bought the blanket too.
She had had no idea children's toys were so expensive.
But as they walked out of the shop she did not regret the extravagance.
Belinda was still virtually speechless. But she did remember something of the persistent teachings of Mary. She looked up at Cassandra, her baby held close in her arms.
'Thank you, my lady,' she said.
There was nothing careless about her gratitude. It was heartfelt.
'Well,' Cassandra said, 'we could not just leave him there without a mama, could we?'
'She is a girl,' Belinda said.
'Oh.' Cassandra smiled, and looked up into the smiling faces of Lady Carling and the Countess of Sheringford.
'I /thought/ that was you, Lady Paget,' Lady Carling said. 'I told Margaret it was, and we crossed the road to make sure. What a charming child. Is she yours?'
'Oh, no,' Cassandra said. 'Her mother is my housekeeper, cook, maid – my everything.'
'She is Belinda,' the countess said, 'and I see that she is wearing her smart new shoes. How do you do, Lady Paget? It looks as if you have a new baby, Belinda. May I see her? /Is/ she a girl?'
Belinda nodded and moved the blanket back from the doll's face.
'Oh, she is lovely,' the countess said. 'And she looks warm and contented. Does she have a name?'
'Beth,' Belinda said.
'That is pretty,' the countess said. 'Beth is usually short for Elizabeth. Did you know that? But Elizabeth is far
