The Visitor (11 page)

Her sister was so right that Lizzy could only stare at her tired, pale face. She did see her as the little one, the one who needed to be protected, when in fact she’d proven over and over that she was a smart, capable woman in her own right, not just the baby of the Steele family.

“Don’t give up on me, Cassie. Please.”

The youngest Steele smiled warmly, albeit weakly.

“Never, Lizzy. Never.”

Chapter Five

Pembroke

“You have a visitor,” Harriet announced—as she enjoyed doing—to her nephew when Cassandra arrived on Saturday morning, causing Tate to smile and wait for Cassandra’s usual greeting.

“Hello, Mr Tate.”

“Hello, Cassandra. How are you?” Tate asked, truly wishing to know.

It had taken her a few days to get back on her feet—she was still pale and a bit thin but definitely on the mend and most anxious to be out.

“I’m very well, thank you,” Cassandra answered and then added, “you won’t catch anything.”

“That,” he said firmly, “is the least of my worries. Are you certain you’re up to this?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Shall we go ahead with
DeMitri’s Pomario
?”

“Please.”

It was much as it had been on other days, Cassandra reading and Tate relaxing, but that lasted for only 30 minutes.

“Cassandra?” he interrupted her.

“Yes?”

“Are you enjoying this book? We can pick another if you like.”

“No, I quite like it, but thank you for asking.” Cassandra began to go back to the page she had opened but stopped. “Do you like it, Mr Tate? Do you wish to change?”

“No, I’m enjoying it very much. It’s an interesting story, isn’t it?”

“Yes. At first I didn’t like Antonia, but she’s beginning to grow on me.”

“What didn’t you like about her?” Tate asked.

“Her expectation that nothing would go amiss in her life, almost as if a calm, well-placed life was her due. That’s utter foolishness, and she was naive to expect it.”

“But what of her station? Wouldn’t she naturally expect such a life with her father’s position?”

“As a child maybe, but when she was old enough to face the realities of life, surely she should have been able to see that things don’t always go as we assume, and that all the money in the world can’t bring back someone or something you love.”

Tate had such a thoughtful look on his face that Cassandra halted. Had she insulted him? Had she spoken out of turn? She determined then and there to find out.

“Do I need to apologize for something, Mr Tate?”

“No, I quite agree with you. Antonia has taken a long time to grow up.”

“Indeed. It was nice to even hear her admit it.”

“When did she do that?” Tate sat up a bit straighter.

“In the music room with her old nanny.”

“I missed that part.”

Tate listened as the pages turned and then Cassandra read from that scene.

“I must have faded off on those pages.”

“Are you tiring?”

“Not right now.”

“Shall I go on?”

“Please.”

Cassandra did without further delay. Several times she caught herself forgetting that anyone else was in the room. She sank into the pages of the story, and seemingly in an instant, more than an hour had passed.

“I should go,” Cassandra said, having glanced at the clock but for the first time not wanting to leave.

“Are you able to return on Monday?”

“Yes, I shall plan on it.”

“Don’t come if you don’t feel up to it,” Tate remembered to put in, wishing for the first time that he could see her in order to gauge for himself how she might be feeling.

“All right. Goodbye, Mr Tate.”

“Goodbye, Cassandra. Thank you.”

Not until Cassandra made her way from the room and climbed into the coach for home did she notice her fatigue. Wanting to be fresh for church in the morning, she decided to rest for the remainder of the day. A portion of her heart, however, lingered on Mr Tate. She wasn’t sure why he was on her mind, and that only caused her to wonder all the more.

Newcomb Park

“This week went by so swiftly,” Cassandra commented almost a week later as she and Lizzy took birthday gifts for Henry to the parlor.

“It rained all week, Cassie,” Lizzy reminded her. “I felt it dragged a bit.”

Cassandra looked surprised.

“I think it might have something to do with the fact that you go to Pembroke every day. I noticed that you even stayed longer a few times.”

“It must be the book,” Cassandra concluded. “We find it rather fascinating and can’t put it down. We’re almost done with it. I’m not sure what we’ll read next.”

Lizzy stared at her sister, but she didn’t notice. She couldn’t help but ask herself whether Cassandra had noticed how often she referred to herself and Mr Tate as
we.

“So do you think you’ll keep going back?”

“I think so. The whole point is for relaxation, and it seems Mr Tate is getting plenty of that.”

“And are you enjoying it?” Lizzy asked, but this time Cassandra heard something in her voice.

“What are you up to, Lizzy?”

“I’m not up to anything.”

Cassandra looked skeptical, especially when Lizzy turned to the glass above the mantel and checked her hair.

“I just can’t help but wonder,” Lizzy admitted, her back still to her sister, “if things might not get a bit personal between you and Mr Tate.”

Cassandra blinked.

“Lizzy, he can’t even see me.”

Lizzy turned to face her. “What does that matter?”

Cassandra opened her mouth to reply, but no words formed, at least not for several seconds.

“It just does!”

Lizzy laughed. “That was an interesting conclusion.”

“Come now, Lizzy, don’t be planting ideas in my head. You’ll make me uncomfortable in the poor man’s presence.”

“All right. I won’t tease you.”

Cassandra looked at her. “But you’ll be thinking it, won’t you?”

“Only what I’ve said to you; nothing more.”

Cassandra nodded. That was a fair enough answer, and it brought the conversation to a good close. And only just in time. Dinner was about to be served, and after that—the gifts. Both women were excited about the presents they had to give.

“Thank you, Lizzy,” Henry told her sincerely, looking again at the leather notebook. It was the type he always liked, and this time the leather had been dyed a dark green, just the color of his study.

“I have another gift to present to you,” Lizzy said, passing a small, unwrapped box in his direction.

Henry took it wordlessly, his brows rising when he saw the contents. Both women laughed when he brought out a bug—a huge, dead beetle to be exact—lying on a bed of straw.

“Edward sent it,” Lizzy put in, “and it wouldn’t hurt my feelings in the least if it stayed in your office.”

“I rather like it,” Cassandra offered, leaning close to have a look. It was the largest insect she’d ever seen, very black and thick.

Henry bumped the straw just then, and the bug appeared to move. Cassandra sat back in a hurry.

“Are you sure it’s dead?”

“Very,” Henry told her, but it was obvious he was amused.

“I think Lizzy might be right, Henry. I can see it gracing the shelves of your study.”

This actually wrung a smile from Henry, and after seeing it, Cassandra went for her gift. It was a bit cumbersome, but she didn’t ask for help as she set it near his feet.

“This one is from me.”

Henry tore back the wrapping, saw the name “de Witt,” and froze.

“What have you done, Cassie?”

“Benwick had just gotten it in. Are you pleased?”

Henry was silent as the rest of the wrap gave way, but every part of his being radiated pleasure. He opened the book slowly, as though it was already a prized possession, studying the detail and touching the pages with reverence.

Cassandra didn’t expect him to say very much, but she would have appreciated something. She looked over at Lizzy, who had just glanced her direction. Both women shrugged a little.

“Henry?” Cassandra finally tried.

He looked up to find his youngest sister smiling at him.

“Thank you, Cassie,” he said simply, smiling back at her and returning to the colorful pages that showed maps of the world.

Cassandra tried not to be disappointed. She worked at not carrying her heart on her sleeve but couldn’t quite pull it off this time. She had to ask herself at that moment whether she hadn’t come with more expectations than she should have. She was also forced to ask herself whether a small part of her heart had been trying to buy Henry’s love, or at the very least, his attention.

Pembroke

“Much as I’m enjoying the book, Cassandra,” Tate said when she arrived on Saturday morning, “would you mind terribly if we did something different this morning?”

“Not at all.”

Tate reached to the table beside him and found his Bible. He handed it to Cassandra.

“I would like to recite to you from Psalm 113. I’d like you to correct me if I get words wrong—but if I hesitate, give me a moment to find my place.”