The Visitor (16 page)

The service was starting. Lizzy sat on one side of her, Henry on the other. Cassandra forced her mind to attend, knowing she could learn much about trusting God from the book of Jonah.

The note from Harriet Thorpe had been an invitation. The day it arrived, Cassandra looked at the envelope before opening it, and when she did venture to remove the note, learned that the request was for the next day.

Cassandra,

Will you do Tate and me the honor of joining us for luncheon on Tuesday at noon? No reading on this day, just repast and fellowship to say thank you for your friendship and care. We’ll expect you unless we hear otherwise.

Warmly,                                    

Mrs Harriet Thorpe                  

Cassandra found herself rather excited. She was having one of the loveliest springs of her life getting to know this family. The experience had not been without its bumps, but she had learned a lot along the way. It occurred to her, even as the carriage took her toward Pembroke, that this might be their gentle way of telling her she was no longer needed, but she decided not to worry about that. If the time had come to an end, so be it.

Pembroke

“Are the flowers where she can see them?”

“Yes,” Harriet answered patiently, smiling a little. “They’re down the table, but they’ll be almost directly to her right.”

“And all is in order? Her chair is one with arms?”

“Yes, again.”

“You’re trying not to laugh.”

“This is true.” These words were punctuated by a chuckle.

“Why is that?”

“I’ve just never known you to be so fussy about the table setting.”

“This is not just any meal.”

“Why is that, Tate?” Harriet asked, her voice telling of her very real desire to know.

“It’s not something easily explained. I’ve become so accustomed to her visits that I fear she thinks I expect them. I want this meal to express how much I appreciate her time.”

“That was very nicely put. If you tell her that, she’ll understand just what you mean.”

“I hope I won’t have to say anything of the sort. Such words would probably ruin the party. I hope she’ll just understand.”

You sound like a man
, Harriet thought fondly but saw what he meant.

She glanced at the clock on the dining room wall and hurried to check a few more things. Their visitor would be coming any moment.

The carriage arrived, always making better time than Cassandra anticipated, and just moments later Hastings was opening the front door.

“Welcome, Miss Steele. Please come this way.”

“Thank you, Hastings.”

Cassandra was taken to a room in the opposite direction from the library. The door was closed, and when Hastings opened it, Cassandra was in for a surprise.

“Oh, my,” she breathed, taking in the huge windows that looked out to the garden and the walls that appeared to be painted in gold.

“I think she likes it, Harriet,” Tate said, bringing Cassandra’s gaze to the room’s occupants.

“Welcome, Cassandra,” Harriet offered.

“Thank you. This room is marvelous.”

“We like it,” Harriet said simply. “Don’t we, Tate?”

“Yes. Have a seat,” Tate gestured to the cushioned chair on his right. Harriet went to sit on the other side.

A servant was standing ready to assist, and in moments the three were seated. Food began to appear. Instantly Cassandra could see that she was being treated to a feast, with conversation to match. The three of them talked on all subjects, barely pausing to rest. Cassandra learned of Harriet’s travels and how she had met her husband. Some of the things she shared were very romantic, and Cassandra found herself captivated.

On a number of occasions, she was glad Tate could not see her. Throughout the luncheon she looked to him, working to gauge his reactions to stories he must have heard before but also to see if he was enjoying himself. Why that was important to her just now, she wasn’t certain.

Not even when the luncheon ended and she was headed for home did she understand exactly why Tate needed to have a good time. Technically he was the host, and it was his job to entertain her, but Cassandra wasn’t seeing it that way. All the way home in the carriage she asked herself if he had had as good a time as she had. She fell asleep that night still wondering.

“What does she look like?”

Cassandra was hardly out the door when Tate asked this of his aunt. Harriet stared at the man across from her, weighing her thoughts.

“I just realized something, Tate,” she admitted. “That’s not an easy question to answer.”

“Why isn’t it?”

“I don’t know exactly. I guess it has to do with the fact that looks are based on so many things.”

Tate took a moment to digest this.

“All right. I’ll question you.”

“Do.”

“Is she dark like Elizabeth, or blonde like Charlotte?”

“Neither. Cassandra is a redhead.”

Tate’s brows went up, but he was smiling.

“And her eyes?”

“Like brown pansies.”

“Is her hair dark red or light?”

“Quite dark. Russet.”

“Freckles?”

“She’s covered with them.”

Tate’s white teeth flashed as a full-blown smile lit his face.

“She’s not very tall.” Harriet became expansive. “I think you can tell that. Her eyes light up when she talks or listens, and if she’s feeling something, it shows on her face. ‘Pretty’ or ‘beautiful’ really doesn’t describe her.”

“What does?”

“ ‘Adorable.’ Like a child who melts your heart. But then she speaks, and her voice is that of a woman, almost sultry. I could listen to it for hours.”

Tate felt his heart turn over, his mind thinking,
I could too.

“Any more questions?”

“Yes. Does she have any awareness of me, or is she only being kind and polite?”

“She’s very aware of you and watches you closely, probably because you can’t look back. I suspect that if someday you are able to see her, Tate, she won’t be anywhere near so comfortable.”

“So you don’t think she cares for her looks?”

“She’s done nothing to indicate that. I just thought you should be warned.” Harriet was swift to add, “I’m not saying she’s bold, Tate—nothing could be further from the truth—but her eyes stray to you often. Could you see her, you would probably find it flirtatious, and I know she’s not that.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve watched her with some of the young men in the church family.”

“Is she seeing someone?” Tate couldn’t hide the note of anxiety in his voice.

“Not that I know of.”

With that, Tate was worn out. He’d enjoyed the meal tremendously and hearing about Cassandra had been like finishing a lovely painting, but it had taxed him emotionally. He thanked his aunt and retired to his room, reminding himself that he was supposed to be resting.

Blackburn Manor

“This is spectacular,” Walker said, his head bent over the de Witt atlas Cassandra had given Henry for his birthday. “And you say Benwick had this?”

“Yes. Cassandra found it for me.”

“She beat me to it, Henry, or it would be in my collection.”

Henry smiled and sat back, well satisfied with the comment.

Walker looked at him and laughed a little, but he hadn’t forgotten his assignment. He took a seat close by and leaned toward his younger friend.

“I’m glad you brought that so I could see it, Henry, but I have to tell you that I’ve asked you here today for a different reason.”

“All right.”

“We’re very comfortable talking about maps and such, but it has occurred to me that in all this time we’ve never spoken of spiritual things.”

“No, I guess we haven’t.”

“Why is that, do you suppose?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I for one regret that. I’ve never asked you about some of the most important things in your life.”

“Such as?”

“Such as your parents, and what they believed, and how it’s affected you.”

Henry stared at him for a moment.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Walker, what brought this on?”