But, Mama, my errand—"
" Never mind, Psyche and I will attend to it. Just go!"
Cassandra hurried up the stairs, wondering why her mother seemed so impatient of late. Her mother rarely dictated what she wore, for she trusted that Cassandra would choose her clothes carefully, and with an eye to modesty. Well, she would be careful to do just that; surely Mama would be pleased.
But she was quite wrong. She had chosen a simple walking dress with a light woolen pelisse, which covered her from chin to toe, very pretty, too. But the moment Lady Hathaway caught sight of Cassandra's clothes, she frowned.
" No, no, Cassandra, not that one! You must wear your new walking dress, the one with the frill at the collar." Cassandra glanced out the window at the partly cloudy sky and looked at her mother doubtfully. "But, Mama, I thought that one might be a little light for this weather."
" Nonsense!" Lady Hathaway said firmly. "You can see the clouds disappearing. And if you think you will feel a chill, you may wear this black velvet spencer on top of it."
" But it buttons only underneath the bosom! What if a wind should come up?"
" If a wind comes up, you may wrap yourself with your shawl."
" Mama, I do not think the dress quite matches the spencer," Cassandra replied, gazing at her mother and feeling very puzzled. How odd! She could not account for it. Mama had told her all her life to wrap herself up warmly in case a chill breeze should arise, but now she was insisting on a dress and spencer that was not as appropriate as what she had been wearing.
" Well, then, you shall start a fashion," Lady Hathaway said firmly.
Cassandra cast her mother another puzzled look, then sighed and turned to her maid to change her dress.
At last she was done dressing, and Cassandra could not help glancing at her mother a little suspiciously. The green walking dress was well enough; it had a large white frill that draped around the back collar of the dress and outlined the low neckline in front. But the spencer was a little smaller than she remembered it to be and felt tight about her chest. There must be a reason she was told to wear these clothes, but Cassandra could not tell what it could be from Lady Hathaway's proud and satisfied gaze. She smiled at her mother. Surely it was nothing, and surely she must appear quite well; her mother would not look so proud, else.
But then they entered the parlor, and after Lord Blytheland smiled, stood, and bowed over Lady Hathaway 's hand, he bowed over Cassandra's as she curtsied . . . and he seemed to stop breathing for a moment before he rose, slowly. Then he met her eyes.
His eyes should not be blue, Cassandra thought as she looked into them. Blue was a cold color, and the emotion that showed in his eyes was hot, and caused heat to rise from the pit of her stomach to her face. It frightened her a little, for she did not want to turn away; she wanted to stare and stare at him, and it was a strange, unfamiliar feeling. His smile faded, and his gaze traveled slowly down from her face and up again.
Cassandra looked down as well, and her face heated even more. He was still holding her hand and—oh, heavens! Her spencer, which had seemed perfectly respectable when she had first put it on, had shifted her dress about during her descent to the parlor, and now gaped open more than it ever used to. She shot an agonized glance at her mother, but all she received in return was a smile and a nod, as if Lady Hathaway was oblivious to her state of dress.
" Please . . ." she whispered and tugged at her hand. A startled look crossed the marquess's face and he hastily released her. Lord Blytheland smiled again, but his mouth looked a little strained at the comers. He took a step back, putting his hands behind him.
He cleared his throat. "I am happy, Miss Hathaway, that you were able to accept my invitation on such short notice."
Cassandra made herself smile. "Yes, I was going to run an errand, but Mama told me she
" Never mind, Psyche and I will attend to it. Just go!"
Cassandra hurried up the stairs, wondering why her mother seemed so impatient of late. Her mother rarely dictated what she wore, for she trusted that Cassandra would choose her clothes carefully, and with an eye to modesty. Well, she would be careful to do just that; surely Mama would be pleased.
But she was quite wrong. She had chosen a simple walking dress with a light woolen pelisse, which covered her from chin to toe, very pretty, too. But the moment Lady Hathaway caught sight of Cassandra's clothes, she frowned.
" No, no, Cassandra, not that one! You must wear your new walking dress, the one with the frill at the collar." Cassandra glanced out the window at the partly cloudy sky and looked at her mother doubtfully. "But, Mama, I thought that one might be a little light for this weather."
" Nonsense!" Lady Hathaway said firmly. "You can see the clouds disappearing. And if you think you will feel a chill, you may wear this black velvet spencer on top of it."
" But it buttons only underneath the bosom! What if a wind should come up?"
" If a wind comes up, you may wrap yourself with your shawl."
" Mama, I do not think the dress quite matches the spencer," Cassandra replied, gazing at her mother and feeling very puzzled. How odd! She could not account for it. Mama had told her all her life to wrap herself up warmly in case a chill breeze should arise, but now she was insisting on a dress and spencer that was not as appropriate as what she had been wearing.
" Well, then, you shall start a fashion," Lady Hathaway said firmly.
Cassandra cast her mother another puzzled look, then sighed and turned to her maid to change her dress.
At last she was done dressing, and Cassandra could not help glancing at her mother a little suspiciously. The green walking dress was well enough; it had a large white frill that draped around the back collar of the dress and outlined the low neckline in front. But the spencer was a little smaller than she remembered it to be and felt tight about her chest. There must be a reason she was told to wear these clothes, but Cassandra could not tell what it could be from Lady Hathaway's proud and satisfied gaze. She smiled at her mother. Surely it was nothing, and surely she must appear quite well; her mother would not look so proud, else.
But then they entered the parlor, and after Lord Blytheland smiled, stood, and bowed over Lady Hathaway 's hand, he bowed over Cassandra's as she curtsied . . . and he seemed to stop breathing for a moment before he rose, slowly. Then he met her eyes.
His eyes should not be blue, Cassandra thought as she looked into them. Blue was a cold color, and the emotion that showed in his eyes was hot, and caused heat to rise from the pit of her stomach to her face. It frightened her a little, for she did not want to turn away; she wanted to stare and stare at him, and it was a strange, unfamiliar feeling. His smile faded, and his gaze traveled slowly down from her face and up again.
Cassandra looked down as well, and her face heated even more. He was still holding her hand and—oh, heavens! Her spencer, which had seemed perfectly respectable when she had first put it on, had shifted her dress about during her descent to the parlor, and now gaped open more than it ever used to. She shot an agonized glance at her mother, but all she received in return was a smile and a nod, as if Lady Hathaway was oblivious to her state of dress.
" Please . . ." she whispered and tugged at her hand. A startled look crossed the marquess's face and he hastily released her. Lord Blytheland smiled again, but his mouth looked a little strained at the comers. He took a step back, putting his hands behind him.
He cleared his throat. "I am happy, Miss Hathaway, that you were able to accept my invitation on such short notice."
Cassandra made herself smile. "Yes, I was going to run an errand, but Mama told me she
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