'A man has a right to discipline his wife when she is disobedient, Wesley,' she said.
He looked at her, frowning and troubled.
'I wish,' he said, 'you would talk in your real voice, Cassie, not in that… sarcastic one. /Did/ he?'
She stared at him for a long time.
'He was an infrequent drinker,' she said. 'When he /did/ drink, he did so for two or three days without stopping. And then he would – turn violent.'
'Why did you never let me know?' he asked her. 'I would have – ' He did not complete the thought.
'I was his lawful wife, Wes,' she said. 'And you were a boy. There was nothing you could have done.'
'And you killed him?' he said. 'Not with an axe, but you /did/ kill him?
Was it self-defense – when he was beating you?'
'It does not matter,' she said. 'There were no witnesses who will ever talk, and so there will never be proof. He deserved to die, and he died.
No one deserves to be punished for killing him. Leave it.'
'It /does/ matter,' he said. 'It matters to me. Just to know. It makes no difference to anything, though. I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. I hope you will believe that and forgive me. I have been thinking only of myself, but you are my sister, and I love you. You were my mother too when I was a child. I never felt alone and unloved even when Papa was out gambling for days on end. Let me – Let me at least /be/ here for you, Cassie. Late enough, admittedly, but not /too/ late, I hope.'
She rested her head against the back of the chair.
'There is nothing really to forgive,' she said. 'We all do selfish, despicable things from time to time, Wes, but they do not have to define us if we have a conscience strong enough to stop us from /becoming/ selfish and despicable. I did /not/ kill Nigel. But I am not saying who did, not to you or to anyone else. Ever. And so I will always be the prime suspect even though his death was ruled an accident. Most people will always believe I killed him. I can live with that.'
He nodded.
'The lady in the park,' she said. 'Are you still courting her?'
'She was a shrew,' he said, and pulled a face.
'Oh.' She smiled at him. 'You had a fortunate escape, then.'
'Yes,' he said.
'Come and sit down,' she said. 'It is giving me a stiff neck to keep looking up at you.'
He sat in the chair beside hers, and she held out her hand to him. He took it in his own and squeezed tightly. Heavy rain was beating against the window. It sounded almost cozy.
'Wes,' she said, 'do you know any good lawyers?'
/16/
STEPHEN had suffered another night of disturbed sleep. He really ought not to have interfered in business that was absolutely none of his concern. He ought not to have called upon Wesley Young, and he certainly ought not to have questioned the maid even so far as to ask what had happened to the dog.
It was not in his nature to interfere in other people's business.
He half hoped he would not see Cassandra again. He wanted his old, placid life back.
Had it really been /placid/?
Was he that dull a dog – at the grand age of twenty-five?
He only half hoped never to see her again, though. The other half of himself leapt with what felt very like gladness when he did.
He was walking down Oxford Street with his sister Vanessa, since when he had called on her earlier she had complained of being in the mopes because the children were still sleeping and Elliott was out of town for a couple of days and would probably be home only just in time to dress for the evening's ball, for which she desperately needed a length of lace to replace a torn frill on the gown she wanted to wear.
The errand had already been accomplished when Vanessa exclaimed with pleasure and Stephen, following her gaze, saw Cassandra approaching on the arm of her brother.
That was when half of some part of his being – his heart? – leapt with gladness. She was looking elegant and lovely in a pale pink walking dress and the straw bonnet she had worn to the picnic. She appeared flushed and rather happy.
Stephen swept off his hat and bowed to her.
'Ma'am?' he said. 'Young? A lovely afternoon, is it not?'
Young, seeing him, looked suddenly embarrassed.
'Indeed it is,' Cassandra said. 'How do you do, your grace, my lord?'
'I am extremely well,' Vanessa said. 'Sir Wesley Young, is it not? I believe we have met before.'
'We have, your grace,' he said, inclining his head to her. 'Lady Paget is my sister.'
'Oh, how wonderful,' Vanessa said, smiling warmly. 'I did not realize you had relatives in town, Lady Paget. I am so glad you do. Are you planning to attend Lady Compton-Haig's ball this evening?'
'I believe I will,' Cassandra said. 'I have had an invitation.'
She had accepted it, then. Stephen had not known if he hoped she had or if he would have preferred it if she had not. Now he knew. He was glad she was to be there.
Was the happy glow on her face a result of her brother's being with her?
If it was, then Stephen no longer regretted having interfered.
'Perhaps, Lady Paget,' he said, 'you would be so good as to reserve the opening set for me?'
She opened her mouth to reply.
'I am afraid, Merton,' Young said stiffly, 'that is /my/ set.'
'Then another later in the evening,' Stephen said.
A smile played about her lips. Perhaps she was thinking that she had come a long way in a week.
'Thank you, my lord,' she said in her velvet voice. 'It would be a pleasure.'
Sir Wesley Young clearly had no wish to prolong the encounter. With another half-bow he bade them both a good afternoon and continued on his way along the street with Cassandra on his arm.
'I do believe,' Vanessa said as they resumed their own course in the opposite direction, 'that Lady Paget could wear a sack and still look more beautiful than anyone else in London. It is most provoking, Stephen.'
'You are quite lovely enough to turn heads, Nessie,' he said, grinning at her.
She had always been the plainest of his sisters – and the most vivacious.
She had always seemed beautiful to him.
'Oh, dear,' she said. 'It /did/ seem as though I was fishing for a compliment, did it not? And I got it. How very gallant of you. It is time I went home, Stephen, if you do not mind terribly. What if Elliott has come home and I am not there?'
'Would he have a fit of the vapors?' he asked.
She laughed and twirled her parasol.
'Probably not,' she said. 'But /I/ might if I discovered I had missed ten minutes or more of his company.'
He maneuvered her about a noisy group of people coming in the opposite direction without looking where they were going.
'/How/ long have you been married?' he asked her.
She merely laughed.
'Stephen,' she said a little later, 'do you like her?'
'Lady Paget?' he said. 'Yes, I do.'
'No, but I mean,' she said, 'do you /like/ her?'
'Yes,' he said again. 'I do, Nessie.'
'Oh,' she said.
There was no interpreting that single syllable and he did not ask for an explanation. Neither did he ponder
