"Not belonging is a terrible feeling. It feels awkward and it hurts, as if you were wearing someone else's shoes." Phoebe Stone, The Romeo and Juliet Code

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Chapter Nineteen

Naturally, Cassian's arriving home and announcing to everybody that they were moving to Derbyshire had been a big surprise to everyone.

Cassian's plan was simple. He was now the owner of Finn Kelly's estate in Norwood. Of course, he had only been a "resident" of Norwood for a night, and that night had been spent in their jail, but he had found the place to be very lovely, quiet and secluded. It was out of the way, and gave off the impression that the people looked after one another.

"Faith Rowe" had been an alias. "Faith Kensington" could be one too.

Faith could not fake her death again, but by God Cassian would help her get away. Cassian would take her to Derbyshire where she would be safe. She and Lucy would live with the protection of Cassian's name. If he introduced them as his family then there would be no reason to doubt him.

It would not be legal, and it would be terribly sinful to live in such a way, but what was the alternative?

At this very moment Faith was travelling back to her barbaric husband. Cassian could not stand the thought of Faith being in that man's clutches for even a minute.

Cassian had explained to his household that he had purchased an estate in Derbyshire and had immediate plans to relocate. The house needed to be packed up and moved immediately. Those who could relocate with him would be welcomed. Those who could not leave London would be compensated while they looked for work elsewhere.

Cassian took his butler into his study after this conversation, under the guise of discussing the move. Cassian closed the door behind Mr Wade, who immediately lifted Lucy into his arms.

"Where is Mama?" Lucy asked him.

"I was going to ask the same question. Did not you and Mrs Rowe leave together, sir?" he asked.

"What I am about to tell you must stay between us. Do you understand?" Cassian asked seriously.

Mr Wade frowned and nodded his head. "Of course, sir. I always operate under the strictest confidentiality. Is this concerning Mrs Rowe?"

"Yes," confirmed Cassian. "Please, sit." Cassian gestured to one of the chairs before his desk.

Mr Wade tentatively sat down and sat Lucy on his lap. Cassian walked around to the other side of his desk and sat down. He took a deep breath and began.

"You know how I feel about Faith?" he asked.

The butler pursed his lips guiltily. "We had an inkling, sir," he admitted.

Cassian was not surprised. He had never made any deliberate effort to hide his feelings. "Do you remember the story that was in the newspapers a few years ago?" he asked. "The carriage accident that killed the Countess of Runthorpe?"

Cassian saw the recollection in the butler's eyes. He nodded slowly. "Of course. It was a tragic accident. She was very young."

"Yes, she was twenty years old," confirmed Cassian, "and she is three and twenty now."

Realisation dawned on Mr Wade as his jaw dropped. "I ... I do not understand," he stammered. "Mrs Rowe is –"

"Mrs Pendleton ... or Lady Pendleton. I do not know. I am not familiar with how to properly address peers." Cassian shook off the thought. "Faith is really Anne Pendleton, the Countess of Runthorpe. She faked her death three years ago to escape her husband's cruelty."

Mr Wade looked down at Lucy who sat absently on his lap, disinterested in the conversation. "Faith is the Countess of Runthorpe?" he asked is disbelief.

"Yes," confirmed Cassian.

"Does ... does that mean that Lucy is the daughter of an earl? She is Lady Lucy?"

"As far as I am concerned, Lucy is my child," Cassian said firmly. "Faith left her in my care and I will abide by her wishes. Faith never wanted that man to have anything to do with her daughter and I shall keep it that way. She is mine. That is final."

At the mention of her name, Lucy looked her. Her brown eyes found Cassian's and she smiled. Cassian could not help but smile back at her. Lucy was so innocent. Her mother had protected her from so much.

"I purchased the Derbyshire estate for Faith while I was away in the north," explained Cassian. "It is a sanctuary, or it will be a sanctuary for her. I want my household moved to Derbyshire so that I can bring her there for safety."

"Of course, I understand, sir. But what about the earl?" asked Mr Wade quietly. "I am sure he would not take too well to his wife leaving again."

"That is why I am telling you this, Wade," continued Cassian. He would not have dreamed of breaking Faith's confidence were it not important. "When I bring Faith home to my estate, it will be as my wife."

It took a moment for the information to sink in. Mr Wade's eyes widened. "Your wife? But –"

"Yes, I know." Cassian nodded. "It will not be legal, but this is how it has to be. I am telling you so that you can sell the story to the servants. Tell them that Faith and I are eloping and moving to Derbyshire and we shall all reunite in a short while."

"But you would be living in sin, sir," cautioned Mr Wade.

Cassian's eyes darkened. "Better to be living in sin than not to be living at all," he snapped defensively. "I am trusting you to organise this move, Wade. I want everything in Derbyshire within a week. Arrange transport. Arrange everything. Pay whatever. I care not for the cost." Cassian stood up from his desk. "Lucy and I are leaving immediately," he decided.

If Cassian could not intercept Faith on the road, he would find a way to steal her from her husband's home.

***

Ruth had commanded that the carriage take them directly back to the Runthorpe Estate. They stopped only to change horses and the drivers rested intermittently.

Faith, Ruth, and Olivia all slept in the carriage, sporadically and poorly. The jolt of the roads did not promote restful sleep.

Faith could hardly sleep anyway. She was too anxious. She watched out the window as more and more of the countryside passed her by. London was long gone, and she felt the ominous feeling of hell pulling her back in.

Her only comfort was that Lucy was safe. Cassian would protect her. That assurance was almost enough to mask the feeling of her broken heart. Almost.

"Aunt Anne?" whispered Olivia when Ruth was sleeping.

Faith turned her attention back to her young niece. "Yes?"

"You could really do it, you know, obtain a divorce," she encouraged.

Faith appreciated Olivia's optimism but she knew it was impossible. George would never consent to a divorce. The shame and expense would be far too much.

Faith produced Olivia's book from inside her cloak, at which point Olivia's eyes lit up. She accepted the book gratefully and held it to her chest.

"Why do you like it so much?" asked Faith curiously.

Olivia pursed her lips. "I suppose it started with my parents not being able to have a son," she said quietly. "My father's estate is going to a cousin and not to me because I am a girl. And so I started reading about other things I was not allowed to do. I cannot vote. I cannot own property. Whatever money I have will belong to my husband upon my marriage. I cannot attend university. My last lesson with my governess was how to curtsey in the presence of a royal." Olivia rolled her eyes, frustrated. "Have you ever heard of a locomotive?"

Faith frowned and shook her head.

"It is a new steam engine. Faster travel," Olivia replied. "Papa took us to see it last year. He and Uncle George are investing in them. But when I asked to ride in it I was told that "women's bodies are not fit for travel at great speed". Bah!"

Olivia spoke with such passionate disdain, all in a hushed whisper so as not to wake her mother. She was much changed since Faith had last seen her, a mere eight year old child who liked to read into the night.

Olivia had fire.

"I am going to change the world one day, Aunt. You shall see," Olivia said confidently.

Faith smiled slightly. "I hope you do." She truly meant that. Olivia's vision for the future surely was better than the one that awaited Faith.

Faith sat in exhausted terror for the duration of the journey. It was early Monday morning when Faith began to recognise Runthorpe land, and midday by the time the carriage was travelling through the gates and down the driveway towards the great house.

"Now, Anne. I am fully committed to the tale of memory loss. It will be your prerogative to tell your husband the truth, of course," Ruth said as the carriage came to a stop. "But none in our circle will know what really happened. Everything will be as it was."

That was what Faith was afraid of.

Faith peered out the window and she felt her stomach drop. The house seemed so familiar, as though she had only left it the day before. Had it really been over three years? And yet she still felt as though she was seventeen, and entering this harrowing house for the first time.

Faith was no longer seventeen. She had survived. She had survived here, and she had survived on her own in London with a little daughter to provide for. She was stronger now. She could survive anything knowing that Lucy was safe.

Footmen began to surround the carriage. They were servants Faith recognised from before. As soon as the carriage door was opened and the steps were lowered, they began to realise just who had returned.

One footmen fainted. The others looked as though they were seeing a ghost.

Faith took a deep breath and moved past them, climbing the steps up into the house. The house had not changed a bit since she had last been there. The same paintings of the people she had once used for company still hung on the walls. She could still see her reflection in the black and white marble floor. She looked tired.

"Your Ladyship?" gasped a familiar voice.

Appearing from nowhere was the Runthorpe butler, Mr Kirkham. He was old, traditional, and had served the last three earls.

"Oh, good, Kirkham," said Ruth, looping her arm through Faith's as though they were dear friends. "Tea, I think. And tell His Lordship that Lady Runthorpe has been found safe and well in a London hospital. We shall be in the drawing room."

Tea and one's undead wife. What an agenda for the day.

"Yes, Mrs Pendleton." Mr Kirkham, still clearly bewildered, nodded his head slowly and disappeared.

"Come along, dear," urged Ruth forcefully, as she pulled Faith towards the drawing room. Olivia followed along behind.

The Runthorpe drawing room was the type of setting one was afraid to be relaxed in. The furnishings were ornate and uncomfortable. The pianoforte was decorative, and the people who frequented it were insufferable.

"Mama, surely this is wrong," appealed Olivia. "Aunt Anne does not want to be here. We ought to leave."

Faith jumped when she heard the sound of skin forcefully meeting skin. Ruth had slapped Olivia's cheek. Olivia was now clutching her cheek and crying. Faith's heart broke for the poor girl.

"Quiet, you stupid girl," she snapped.

No sooner had Olivia sat down, the door of the drawing room opened again and the devil walked in.

He had not changed at all. He was still just as handsome as he had been the day Faith hair married him. His sand coloured hair was still perfectly coiffed and his clothing was just as spotless and expensive as ever, draped over his ever lean physique. And his eyes, his grey eyes were still just as cold.

George's eyes found Faith immediately. Faith saw the shock and confusion there. He was just as surprised as everybody else that Faith was alive. And then came the ire. The all too familiar ire. Faith had seen it many a time she had been offensive to him. That look had preceded many, many cruel acts.

But Faith was not as afraid as she had once been. Of course, she was terrified of what could happen, but she no longer saw it as definite. Faith took a deep breath and rose to her feet. This man was her husband, but that did not mean that he could have her like he once had.

"Get out, Ruth," ordered George. "I need to talk to my wife."

***

Kit could not contain his smile as he half skipped, half jogged, towards Cassian's house in Kensington. Kit's reading lessons were the favourite part of his week.

Kit had never really had anything to look forward to. As an orphan, he had had a cruel introduction to life. There had never been a surplus of food to go around. There was never adequate clothing, though nothing really ever fit Kit's long arms and legs.

And there was never any love. Kit would never admit it, but sometimes it was a nice idea to imagine someone putting an arm around his shoulders and uttering "I am proud of you" or "You can rely on me, son".

The "son" part was a particular fantasy.

Kit's name was just that. Christopher. Kit. No surname. No father to give him one. Kit was not really even his true name. Perhaps it was John. Perhaps it was Michael. He did not know the name his mother had given him upon his birth.

All he knew about his mother was that she had left him on the doorstep of an orphanage on the twenty-fifth of July fourteen years ago. St Christopher's Day.

Kit had never experienced the feeling of being wanted. Not until he had encountered Mr Kensington. Of course he had not liked the man at first. Kit had a horrible habit of being suspicious of adults.

The only adults that had ever been interested in taking him were those after a strong, young man who could provide free labour.

But not Mr Kensington. Mr Kensington cared. Mr Kensington was a rich man who cared about poor people. Mr Kensington wanted Kit to learn how to read. Mr Kensington wanted the best for Kit. Mr Kensington wanted Kit to make something of himself.

Kit knew it was silly to think so, but he could not help but look up to Mr Kensington as a father. Fathers cared about their sons in the way that Mr Kensington cared for Kit, did they not?

Too many people knew the embarrassment of illiteracy. Of course, Kit was not expected to know how to read. He was insignificant. He did not matter. School was not important for the likes of him.

Kit lived in a church and could not even read the bible. It was humiliating.

Kit could not understand that logic. School was for the rich, and not for the poor. And yet, how could the poor change their circumstances without a proper education?

Kit could not wipe the smile off of his face. He had such a surprise for Mr Kensington. In his pocket was Mr Kensington's copy of Utopia. Kit had been working so hard of a night time to learn the words on his own. He had managed to read the first page almost fluidly. He hardly stumbled. He could not wait to show Mr Kensington.

In his other pocket was a small gift. Insignificant really, but Kit had little to thank him with. Kit had always had the knack for whittling, and so he had whittled away making an ornate letter "F". The gift was twofold. To show Mr Kensington that he recognised the letter, and to represent Mr Kensington's affection for Faith.

Kit liked Faith very much. She was so kind and caring, and she always seemed to have time for him. In a church full of children less independent than him, time was scarce.

And then there was Lucy. Little Goose. Kit had always been around younger children, but he had never thought of them as siblings. Kit had an affection for Lucy, and he cared about her as an older brother.

Today was Monday. Monday had quickly become one of his favourite days.

When Kit saw Mr Kensington's house come in to view, he felt as though he was coming home. These people were good people. These people were the kind of family that he had always wished for.

Kit knew it was wishful thinking, but he could not help but hope. Hope that reading lessons would become frequent dinners. Hope that he would be included on significant occasions like Christmastime.

Hope that one day they might come to love him, too.

As Kit climbed the stairs, he furrowed his eyebrows. The front door was wide open and he could see the servants scurrying about inside, arms filled with different objects.

Kit pushed the door open and was nearly flattened by a maid carrying a painting that was quite nearly taller than her.

"Oh, mind out!" she exclaimed, huffing and puffing. "Are the paintings being wrapped in the drawing room, Hattie?" she called up the stairs.

"Yes, yes," confirmed Hattie, who descended the stairs carrying another painting.

Kit looked around the foyer with wide, confused eyes. Where was everything? The walls were bare, and the furniture pieces were gone. What was left was covered in large, white sheets.

"Oh, hello, Kit," greeted Hattie, who blew a piece of hair out of her face.

"What ... what is happening? Where is Mr Kensington?" asked Kit nervously.

Hattie rolled her eyes. "Oh, he is eloping," she muttered in an annoyed tone. "He has run off with Faith and left us to pack up the house in a matter of days."

Kit nearly choked on his tongue. "Eloping?" he gasped. "Packing up the house? I don't understand. Where are you going?"

"Derbyshire of all places!" Hattie exclaimed. "We are all leaving this week for Mr Kensington's new estate."

Derbyshire? Where on earth was Derbyshire? Why were they all leaving? Why had Mr Kensington not told him?

"Listen, Kit, either pick up some furniture or make yourself scarce. We have to be in Derbyshire within the week." Hattie moved past him with the painting and went into one of the rooms off the foyer.

Mr Kensington was gone. That was obvious. He was eloping with Faith and moving away to start his own family. Kit was not part of that life. Mr Kensington owed him nothing. He owed Kit nothing.

That was realisation sent a tremor down Kit's spine as a sob threatened to escape from his throat.

"Alright, then." Kit pursed his lips and turned on his heel. He marched out of Mr Kensington's house and left behind whatever hope he had once had for a family.