“I would be happy with that,” he said. “Superficial relationships are my favorite kind.”
A regretful smile lingered at her lips. “Mr. Severin, you couldn’t give me the life I’ve always dreamed of.”
“I hope your dream comes true, my lady. But if it doesn’t, I could offer you some very satisfying substitutes.”
“Not if your heart is frozen,” Cassandra said.
Mr. Severin grinned at that, and made no reply. But as they neared the last step, she heard his reflective, almost puzzled murmur.
“Actually … I think it just thawed a little.”
Chapter 3
ALTHOUGH CASSANDRA MAINTAINED A circumspect distance from Mr. Severin during the informal buffet breakfast, she couldn’t help stealing covert glances as he mingled with other guests. His manner was relaxed and quiet, and he made no effort to draw attention to himself. But even if Cassandra hadn’t known who he was, she would have thought there was something extraordinary about him. He had a shrewdly confident look, the alertness of a predator. It was the look of a powerful man, she reflected, as she saw him talking with Mr. Winterborne, who also had it. They were very different from the men of her class, who had been raised from birth in ancient traditions and codes of behavior.
Men like Severin and Winterborne were common born but had made their own fortunes. Unfortunately, nothing was so mocked and disliked in upper-class circles as the brazen pursuit of profit. A man had to acquire wealth discreetly, pretending it had come through indirect means.
Not for the first time, Cassandra found herself wishing “unequal matches,” as they were called, weren’t so deplored by high society. During her first Season, she had met nearly every eligible gentleman of her class in London, and after counting out the confirmed bachelors as well as those who were too elderly or infirm to marry, there were no more than two dozen worth considering. By the end of the Season, she had received five proposals, none of which she had accepted. That had dismayed her patroness, Lady Berwick, who had warned she could end up like her sister Helen.
“She could have married anyone,” Lady Berwick had said dourly. “But before the Season had even begun, she squandered all her potential by marrying a Welsh grocer’s son.”
Which was a bit unfair, since Mr. Winterborne was a splendid man, who loved Helen body and soul. He also happened to be extravagantly wealthy, having built his father’s grocery shop into the world’s largest department store. However, Lady Berwick had been right about society’s reaction. It was said in private parlors that Helen had been degraded by the marriage. In the most elevated circles, the Winterbornes would never be completely accepted. Fortunately, Helen was too radiantly happy to care.
I wouldn’t mind marrying down, if I were in love, Cassandra thought. Not at all. But unfortunately, true love never seemed to happen to someone who was looking for it. Love was a prankster, preferring to sneak up on people who were busy doing other things.
Lady Berwick appeared at her side. “Cassandra.” The older woman was tall and majestic, like a four-masted sailing ship. She wasn’t what anyone would describe as a cheerful woman. Usually she wore the expression of someone who’d just found crumbs in the jam. However, there was much about her to admire. She was a pragmatist, never fighting against what couldn’t be helped, but achieving her goals through sheer will and persistence.
“Why are you not sitting at one of the tables with the guests?” Lady Berwick demanded.
Cassandra shrugged and replied sheepishly, “I had a little spell of melancholy after Pandora left.”
The older woman’s keen eyes softened. “Your turn is next, my dear. And I intend for you to make an even more brilliant match than your sister.” She flicked a deliberate glance at a distant table where Lord Foxhall sat with companions. “As Lord Westcliff’s heir, Foxhall will someday inherit the oldest and most distinguished title in the peerage. He will outrank everyone, even St. Vincent. Marry him, and you will someday have precedence over your sister, and walk in front of her when going in to dinner.”
“Pandora would love that,” Cassandra said, smiling at the thought of her mischievous twin. “It would give her the chance to whisper insults behind me, while I couldn’t turn around to respond.”
Lady Berwick didn’t appear to share her amusement. “Pandora has always been resistant to my guidance,” she observed crisply. “Nevertheless, she has somehow managed to marry well, and so shall you. Come, we will converse with Lord Foxhall and his brother Mr. Marsden, who is also a fine marital prospect.”
Cassandra cringed inwardly at the thought of making stilted small talk with the two brothers under Lady Berwick’s watchful eye. “Ma’am,” she said reluctantly, “I’ve already met both gentlemen, and found them quite courteous. But I don’t think either of them would suit me, nor I them.”
“Whyever not?”
“Oh … they’re both so … athletic. They like hunting, riding, fishing, outside games, and manly sorts of contests …” Her voice trailed away, and she made a comical little grimace.
“There’s a wild streak in the Marsden brood,” Lady Berwick said with a hint of disapproval, “which undoubtedly comes from the mother. American, you know. However, they’ve all been respectably raised and educated, and Westcliff’s fortune is beyond calculation.”
Cassandra decided to be blunt. “I’m certain I could never fall in love with Lord Foxhall or his brother.”
“As I’ve told you before, that is irrelevant.”
“Not to me.”
“A love match has no more substance than one of those silly floating island desserts you’re so fond of—a bit of sugar-foam one chases all around the plate with a spoon until it collapses.”
“But ma’am, surely you’re not against marrying for love if the gentleman is suitable in all other ways?”
“Indeed, I am against it. When the marital union begins with love, it inevitably descends into disappointment. But a union of interests, aided by liking, will result in a stable and productive marriage.”
“That’s not a very romantic view,” Cassandra dared to say.
“Too many young women are romantic nowadays, and they are much the worse for it. Romance clouds the judgment and loosens the corset strings.”
Cassandra sighed ruefully. “I wish I could loosen mine.” She could hardly wait to rush upstairs after this interminable buffet and change into a regular corset and a comfortable day gown.
Lady Berwick gave her a fond but reproving glance. “Not so many biscuits at teatime, Cassandra. You could do with some slimming before the Season begins.”
Cassandra nodded, coloring in shame.
“This is a dangerous time for you, my dear,” Lady Berwick continued quietly. “Your first social Season was a triumph. You were acknowledged a great beauty, which excited much admiration and jealousy. However, turning down all those proposals could garner accusations of pride and vanity, and create the impression that you like to play with men’s hearts. Obviously, nothing could be farther from the truth—but the truth hardly matters to London society. Gossip feeds on lies. You would do well to accept some appropriate gentleman’s offer this next Season—the sooner, the better.”