Cassandra

Chapter Eighteen

Kit did not think he could move the morning after he'd seen Cassandra dance with his useless cousin at the ball the night before.

The moment she'd let him guide her to the dance floor, he wondered what had possessed her. He had not thought she'd ever want to be near the man again, let alone twirl around with him and talk with him as if nothing had ever happened, as if Kit hadn't punched him on her behalf.

He hadn't been able to watch longer than a few seconds before he was forced to make his excuses to his hosts and return home without a word to Jane, who'd been reluctant to leave his side since the events of two weeks before.

Her rejection of him had wrecked him. For days after, he found that he couldn't even leave his bed. He hadn't eaten a thing, to the extent that his servants had contemplated sending for the physician. They'd settled on sending for Jane, however, who'd thrown him out of his bed and had talked him into moving his melancholia to the dining room at the very least.

The saddest, most pitiful part of the entire affair was the simple fact that he still loved her.

Not only that, he even hold onto hope that she would come to him, that she would be capable of loving him in return even after she had spurned him so casually. He did not feel any bitterness at all, and found himself making excuses for her when Jane decided that badmouthing her would perhaps help Christopher get over her.

He felt as if his love for her was all-encompassing. There was nothing he could do without it reminding him of her. He couldn't eat without thinking of eating with her, he could not breathe without thinking of her breathing. He loved every little thing about her, even the displeasing things. There was nothing he wanted more than to be with her, even now.

Needless to say, he was miserable. Even his sister had given up. Mr. Thornby no longer stopped him when he wanted whiskey in the late morning. His valet did not speak to him much, sensing his mood. Jasper could do nothing better than offer him another drink in the hope that that would help him.

Through it all, all Kit could think of was the fact that Cassandra would know exactly what to do to make him feel better. Unfortunately for him, she was the source of his suffering and, therefore, couldn't help him through it.

He suddenly felt like throwing the glass in his hands against the wall.

There was a knock on his study door and, before he could answer, Mr. Thornby entered, a troubled look on his face. "There is a Lady Emily Carter here to see you, Lord Hawthorne, and she says it is a matter of utmost importance."

"By all means," Kit muttered cynically, "Send her in."

Mr. Thornby bowed before stepping aside and gesturing for someone behind him to enter. Emily walked in, wearing a simple dress of yellow cotton and a purposive look in her eyes. Her eyes were rimmed with breed, as if she had  just cried. He was immediately slightly apprehensive about what was to happen. Perhaps she was going to shout at him for propositioning Cassandra. They were incredibly good friends, weren't they?

As soon as she sat down and spoke, however, it immediately became clear that she was here for a different reason altogether, and not an unpleasant one. "And how are you doing?"

"I am well." Christopher lied through his teeth, attempting to hide the glass of whiskey that he was drinking well before noon.

"You and Cassandra are just the same." She commented, "Pretending that everything is perfectly alright when it is clearly far from it."

"Cassandra?" Kit straightened up at the mention of her name. Why was she bringing her into it?

"Yes, I was on my back from her house when I decided that I would come see you and speak to you about something important, something about both your futures." She spoke nonchalantly, but there was an underlying fire to her voice that told him she was anything but.