Chapter 78
The morning had brought a pleasant reprieve from her duties in the palace.
Kingswood Park was already alive with people taking advantage of the clear weather, the paths crowded with gentlemen in morning coats, ladies accompanied by their companions, and the occasional rider passing at an unhurried gait along the wider avenue.
Cassandra walked beside Draven with one gloved hand resting in his, her other hand holding the handle of her parasol.
She had chosen a pale blue walking dress for the occasion, simple enough to suit a morning promenade. A narrow ribbon trimmed the high neckline, while the sleeves gathered neatly at her wrists beneath her gloves. Her bonnet, decorated with a modest arrangement of silk flowers, cast a delicate shadow over her face without hiding it.
She was conscious of the attention they attracted. It was impossible not to be.
The Duke was not a man who frequently appeared in public with a woman at his side, and the fact that Cassandra was that woman made their promenade considerably more interesting to anyone with an appetite for gossip.
A few people glanced at them as they passed. Others attempted to be less obvious and failed miserably.
Draven appeared entirely unconcerned by the eyes on them, occasionally acknowledging someone they passed with a polite nod of his head but otherwise paying little attention to their surroundings.
"We ought to know one another better." Cassandra began, finally voicing her thoughts. It was easier to do with him as an attentive audience.
"I thought we already did." He said.
"We do but it’s mostly surface level," she replied. "And that’s not quite what I meant. I can’t claim to know you as well as your sisters or even as well as your male friends. The same goes for you. There is a great deal you don’t know about me."
She had been thinking about it ever since their conversation at the palace. Once they were engaged, curiosity about them would be inevitable. People would want to know every little detail of their relationship—what they disliked about each other, which habits they had discovered, what they enjoyed doing together.
Every scrap of knowledge she possessed about Draven would be picked apart and scrutinized to heaven and back. If she meant to survive the scrutiny without exposing their deception, she needed to know him far better than she did now.
"Huh, let’s see. You were born on the seventh of July. Your middle name is Jane and you loath the taste of peppermint. Shall I continue?" He smirked.
"You are ridiculous." But it was out of her control and she felt herself smiling as well.
The conversation continued naturally from there, moving between small preferences and habits that neither had ever had reason to discuss.
Cassandra discovered that Draven liked to go riding first thing in the morning. He preferred coffee over tea and ale over coffee and that he had little patience for crowded dinners unless there was a purpose behind attending them. His favorite thing to do whenever he had time enough for leisure was fishing, it reminded him of his time with his father.
He might be a duke but he sometimes exhibited subtle contempt for his fellow aristocrats, particularly the insufferable ones.
In return, she offered pieces of herself she rarely had occasion to discuss. Some were insignificant, others less so.
Eventually, the conversation turned toward their childhood.
Cassandra found herself telling him about her grandmother.
"Grandmama Harriet was a dreadful woman," she said, though the affection in her voice weakened the accusation. "She had a temper that could frighten a grown man and a tongue sharp enough to make one wish for death rather than endure the humiliation of being its target. We called her ’the Dragon’."
Draven’s mouth curved up. "Affectionately, I assume."
"Entirely. She had earned it."
The memory warmed something inside her. Harriet Ashford was a difficult, cantankerous woman who was almost impossible to please, but she had also been one of the few people in Cassandra’s childhood who genuinely cared about her.
Harriet could be insufferable at times, but beneath it all was a generous heart and a remarkable capacity for love. Cassandra had never once doubted that she was loved by her.
"She barely liked anyone," Cassandra continued. "That was part of her charm, I suppose. If Grandmama approved of you, you knew you had accomplished something." Her smile faded a little as the memory moved further back. "She died when I was only nine years old. Afterward, Ashford House never felt quite the same. I don’t think I understood it at the time, but she had been one of the few people who truly saw me. Losing her was..." She paused, searching for a word that did not feel inadequate. "It was a strange kind of emptiness."
Her gaze drifted toward the path ahead, blinking away the sudden stinging in the back of her eyes she felt whenever she remembered her grandmother. "It was during the mourning period that I became acquainted with Princess Lillian. In a strange way, grief has been responsible for some of the most important relationships in my life. Losing Grandmama brought Lillian into mine, and losing Lillian brought me closer to the queen."
Draven sucked in a sharp breath, his grip tightening around her. Surely she couldn’t know. She simply couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. And yet her words struck somewhere deep within him, resonating with a truth he could never have imagined she understood.
"Perhaps grief has a peculiar way of leading us toward the people who understand us." He said and it was a miracle he managed to produce words.
Cassandra glanced at him after a moment.
"What about you? What was it like growing up in Norham?" She asked.
A flicker of emotion crossed his face. It was subtle, but she noticed it.
"Norham is beautiful," he said. "I may be biased, considering what it means to me, but I have never been anywhere quite like it. The capital has its attractions, certainly, but Norham is quieter. The land stretches for miles beyond the town, with fields and wooded hills running into one another until the horizon seems impossibly far away."
His ancestral house sat on a rise overlooking most of the surrounding countryside, and in the early morning the mist settled over the valley below until the whole landscape looked as though it had been covered in silver.
"There is a spring not too far from the Westmarch castle that has become something of a local legend. Children still go there to make wishes, despite the fact that no one has ever produced any evidence that the spring grants them." He continued and his eyes lit up as he spoke about something he cared deeply about.
"I used to ride there when I was young, usually when I wanted to escape trouble. The army is stationed farther north, and the training grounds stretch across surrounding fields. I spent much of my youth there as well, first watching the soldiers and later riding with them. It is a different world from the capital. There are fewer people, less noise and considerably more space to think. I have always preferred it."
Cassandra listened, picturing each place as he described it.
She could almost see the mist hanging over the valley, the distant hills. It evoked a strange type of longing. A longing to experience it for herself.
"It sounds like a wonderful place." She said truthfully.
"It is." He responded, feeling his chest swell.
"I hope I can see it someday."
"You will," Draven said, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for doubt. He meant it with every part of him. He wanted Cassandra to know everything that mattered to him, and Norham was no exception.