Cassandra’s day was crawling by like a wounded snail. It was early afternoon and there was nothing to do but watch the servants prepare lunch. She stood there watching Lilly, her cook, wash the lettuce. “Lilly, is there something I can help you with?” she asked.
“No, all is under control, Mrs. Deavers.”
“That’s nice,” Cassandra said, taking a seat at the kitchen table and wondering what she was going to do with the rest of her day—and with the rest of her life.
As a young woman, being married to a rich man seemed the ideal life. Servants, a large mansion, a wardrobe that needed three closets. Who can ask for more?
But Cassandra asked for more every day. Her life felt empty and her husband, Desmond made no effort to fill the emptiness. He was a dull man who made his living in a dull industry—selling office supplies. As Cassandra sat at the kitchen table watching Lilly prepare lunch, she tried to recall moments of true intimacy she’d ever shared with her husband. She couldn’t think of one. She had simply made the decision to marry this horribly uncharismatic man for his money. He was the man her family had always wanted for her. And that was all that mattered.
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