The Visitor by Lori Wick

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