Had she thought of him at all, dreamed of him, perhaps, in the intervening years? Had meeting him again two days ago been a momentous occasion in her life? Was hope now being reborn? Perhaps painfully?
Cassandra felt deeply ashamed that she did not know the answers to any of the questions. But she would do all in her power to see to it that a relationship had a chance to develop now if both parties wanted it and if there was anything she could do to facilitate it short of shamelessly matchmaking.
She looked forward to the picnic for Alice's sake.
Oh, and for her own sake too, she admitted reluctantly as Belinda told Lord Merton that she had a new bonnet and he declared that he had not seen anything more fetching for a long, long time. She ought /not/ to be looking forward to it. She ought not to allow him to befriend her when it was with young ladies like the one he had been with earlier that he belonged. Young ladies without the emotional baggage she dragged along with her.
But since she was committed now to spending the afternoon in his company, she was simply going to enjoy herself.
It seemed an age since she had last done that.
Had she /ever/ done it? Simply enjoyed herself?
He had promised her joy. He had promised her that there was such a thing as joy.
It sounded altogether more precious than happiness.
And more impossible.
But she was going to enjoy herself.
Oh, she /was/.
When they arrived at the house on Portman Street, Belinda stood quietly on the doorstep while Cassandra took the key from beneath the flowerpot beside the steps rather than use the door knocker. She opened the door, and Belinda took her doll carefully from Lord Merton's arm and went streaking off in the direction of the kitchen, shrieking loudly and talking so fast that her words tripped all over one another. But amid the excited jumble, Cassandra did distinguish a few words – pink icing and Beth and buttercups and bonnets and two grand ladies and a white wool blanket and a frill to stop her neck from getting sunburned and a gentleman who had carried Beth without waking her.
Poor Mary must be deafened, Cassandra thought, smiling as she withdrew the key and put it back in its hiding place.
And suddenly a terrible pain smote her, as it did occasionally, always crashing in on her without any prior warning.
She had no living children of her own.
Only four dead babies.
No one to come running to deafen /her/.
She drew a deep breath through her nose and let it out slowly through her mouth before turning to offer her hand to Lord Merton.
'Thank you,' she said. 'But do you see how extravagant I am, Stephen? Do you see how I have spent your money today?'
'To make a child happy?' he said, raising her hand to his lips. 'I cannot for the life of me think of a better use for it, Cass. I will see you this afternoon?'
'Yes,' she said, and she stepped inside the house as he went striding off down the street. A man who was charming and amiable and physically perfect. And very, very attractive.
Ah, yes, it would be very easy indeed to care for him as well as to lust after him. And perhaps he was genuine.
Or perhaps not.
She was going to enjoy this afternoon anyway. She had been extravagant with money this morning. She was going to be extravagant with feelings this afternoon.
She had hoarded feelings for so very long.
She was not even sure there were any left inside her to squander.
She would find out later today.
It amused Stephen later in the afternoon to hand Miss Haytor into his open barouche and watch her scurry to seat herself beside Cassandra rather than take the empty seat opposite. Now Stephen had to sit there with Golding. Miss Haytor, he could tell from her rather flustered manner, was very nervous.
Perhaps, he thought, this was the closest she had come to being courted.
It was a sad thought. But – better late than never.
Golding too seemed even more agitated than he had yesterday as he supervised the stowing of his large, very new picnic basket onto the back of the carriage. If the basket was full of food, it would surely feed an army.
Golding, dressed formally and smartly, was almost tongue-tied as the journey began. Miss Haytor, dressed immaculately in a dark blue walking dress and pelisse, was stiff and silent.
Cassandra, looking ravishing in pale spring green with a straw bonnet, seemed as amused as Stephen felt, though he guessed there was no malice in the smile she exchanged with him – as there was none in his.
The burden of conversation, Stephen decided, was going to be his for the time being, anyway. But making conversation had never been difficult for him. Often it was simply a matter of asking pertinent questions.
'You were once a teacher, Golding?' he asked as his barouche picked up speed. 'And you and Miss Haytor once taught together?'
'We did, indeed,' Golding said. 'Miss Haytor was Miss Young's governess, and I was Master Young's tutor. But his need of me lasted all too short a time, and I was forced to move on. I regretted leaving. Miss Haytor was an excellent teacher. I admired her dedication and her well-educated mind.'
'I was no more dedicated than you, Mr. Golding,' Miss Haytor said, finding her tongue at last. 'I once found you in Sir Henry Young's study at midnight, trying to devise a method of teaching Wesley long division that he would understand. And my own education was far inferior to your own.'
'Only in the sort of formal education that attendance at university can provide,' he said. 'At the time you were far more widely read than I, Miss Haytor. You were able to recommend several books that have since become my favorites. I always remember you when I reread them.'
'That is kind of you, I am sure,' she said. 'But you would have discovered them for yourself eventually, I daresay.'
'I doubt that,' he said. 'With so many books waiting to be read, I often do not know where to start and so do not start at all. I would like to hear what you have been reading in the last few years. Perhaps I will be inspired to try something new again that is not merely concerned with politics.'
Stephen met Cassandra's eyes. They did not smile openly at each other.
They might have been caught doing so and might have made the other two self-conscious again. But they smiled anyway. He knew she was smiling though her face was in repose. And he knew he was smiling back.
And even if he misinterpreted her expression, at least she was not wearing her habitual mask this afternoon. She had not been wearing it this morning either. Indeed, this morning he had been unwary enough to feel that he could fall in love with her if he allowed himself to do something so foolish. When Con had drawn his attention to the bakery, it was Cassandra he had seen. He had not even noticed Meg and Lady Carling for a few moments. And when he had walked home with her and the child, he had felt…
Well, never mind. They had been foolish feelings.
Stephen had brought only a coachman with him, and Golding had brought no servants of his own, having had a hackney cab drop him and his basket in Portman Street. When they arrived at Richmond Park after a longish drive, then, the gentlemen carried the basket between them while the ladies walked ahead to choose a decent spot for a picnic.
They found one on a grassy slope some distance into the park beneath some of the ancient oaks for which the park was famous, looking down upon lawns and across at rhododendron bushes with more oaks behind them.
In the distance they could see the Pen Ponds, which were always kept well stocked with fish.
A few other people were out strolling, though not very many, and no one else appeared to be picnicking. No one else was up on their slope. As Stephen had hoped, they were to enjoy a quiet, secluded afternoon.
After the two men had set down the basket, Golding opened it and drew out a large blanket – one
