"If you want to know what a man's like, take a look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." J.K. Rowling

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Chapter Seven

"You are awfully chipper this evening, Kensington," murmured Hounslow.

Cassian smirked. "I am always chipper when I am taking your money," he retorted.

Weatherby swore under his breath as he folded. "So bloody lucky. Just once I would like some of your luck, Kensington."

Cassian knew his skill at cards was not luck. In order for him to survive his childhood, Cassian had to learn how to tell if a man was trustworthy. Now the skill helped him to win a very tidy sum every Tuesday evening.

"I need to stop playing with you, Kensington. You will clean me out," complained Townsend. "Then again," he said thoughtfully, "it would give my wife less to spend."

Both Weatherby and Hounslow laughed. Cassian put on a false smile.

"But seriously, Kensington, where has this mood come from?" persisted Hounslow.

All three gentleman, who were now between hands, stared at Cassian waiting for him to answer.

Cassian nonchalantly took a swig of his whiskey. "I suppose I am in a good mood because I made a friend today," he replied honestly.

His conversation with Faith had truly put him in a wonderful mood. Gone was the awkwardness that had lingered between them in the week that she had been in his home, and they could now move forward in friendship.

"A friend?" repeated Townsend. "That is it?"

"She is a very special friend," insisted Cassian. His club friends did not know the circumstances of Cassian's self-made fortune. All they knew was that he had not always been rich.

"Oh, she?" Weatherby said teasingly. "Correct me if I am wrong, gentlemen, but did not Kensington sit here last week claiming that he did not have any time for a woman?"

"Yes, sir, you are right," Hounslow chimed in. "Tell us, Kensington, who is she?"

Much to Cassian's humiliation, he could feel blood rushing to his cheeks. He only hoped the dim candlelight in the room hid his embarrassment.

Faith was a very special person to Cassian for reasons that would always remain between them. He was not about to talk about Faith's business with his club friends. It did not seem right to discuss someone as lovely as Faith in and amongst the company of tipsy gentlemen and scantily clad women.

To end the conversation, Cassian decided to say, "She is a maid in my household."

All three men fell silent.

"A maid?" Hounslow furrowed his brow. "You are friends with a maid?"

"Yes," snapped Cassian.

"But ... she is a servant." Townsend tossed back the rest of his whiskey. "Maids are only good for two things, Kensington. Cleaning and bedding." He spoke as if he stated fact.

Cassian recoiled at his words.

How many maids had the man bedded? Was his wife privy to this knowledge?

And what did her occupation matter? Cassian instantly knew that was a stupid question. Servants were poor. Servants were inferior. Servants were there to serve.

But Cassian did not think that way. He did not behave that way. Did he? For the first time in several dozen Tuesdays, Cassian looked up from the table and noticed his surroundings.

There were half a dozen other tables that filled the large, expensively decorated room. Impossibly rich men sat at each, sipping fine liquor and puffing on pipes, giving the room a smoky haze. Women were draping themselves over the drunkest of men.

He noticed Fanny, the prostitute that had propositioned him only last week. He knew her well, or at least, he recognised her each week, and spoke to her fleetingly. But he did not know her. Was she desperate? Did she have a child? What had brought her to this? Why was she draping her lovely figure over a drunk banker who had a wife at home?

Servants stood around the perimeter of the room as well. The men were quick to scurry over to a table as soon as fingers were snapped or a rude grunt was shouted in their direction.

"What makes you better than them?" Cassian asked all three.

"Alright, you are cut off," announced Weatherby, who took the whiskey bottle out of Cassian's reach.

Cassian had not had more than a finger. "I am not drunk," he snapped, glaring at Weatherby.

"Kensington, it is a fact of life. High do not mix with low," Townsend explained calmly. "There is a reason some people are rich and some people are not. Some people are meant to socialise in ballrooms, and some people are meant to clean them. There is nothing wrong with that."

Cassian could not comprehend the stupidity that was coming out of their mouths. "There is nothing wrong with being a servant. They are people trying to earn an honest living, and they deserve our respect."

"Kensington, we have all been there. I guarantee you every man in this room has fancied a housemaid in his lifetime. Just get it over with," murmured Hounslow. "The sooner you get it out of your system, the better."

Cassian's admiration for Faith went much deeper than merely fancying her. Of course he thought she was pretty. Pretty did not really do her justice. She was beautiful, impossibly so. But her character, her strength, and her selflessness, astounded him. Cassian thought that she was an angel. He always had. An imperfectly perfect angel.

It made him sick to his stomach that Faith was even associated with this conversation.

Cassian stood up from the table abruptly and gathered up his winnings in his fist. The speed in which he stood had caused his chair to topple over backwards. A servant had quickly rushed over to right it for him, but Cassian held up his hand. He righted the chair himself, and then proceeded to hand the man a pound, which was more than likely a month's salary for him.

The servant's tired grey eyes widened as he stared at the money in his hands.

"Thank you, sir," he spluttered gratefully.

Cassian smiled before turning to his table. "Good evening," he wished insincerely.

"Until next Tuesday, Kensington," muttered Weatherby.

Cassian turned his back on the table while uttering, "Not bloody likely," under his breath.

Cassian was immediately faced with the image of Fanny propositioning herself. Her dress was terribly inappropriate, and she was far too young and pretty to be wearing something like that. Her gown was red, and was covered in little white embroidered flowers. The work on the dress was to be admired, but one noticed Fanny's scandalously low bodice before they noticed her gown. Cassian attempted to avert his eyes.

He thought of his mother, his poor, desperate mother, who had once stood in places like this propositioning men, all for the love of her son.

Cassian huffed, marched over to Fanny, and seized her by her upper arm. Fanny gasped in surprise, and the drunkard she was sitting on complained about her sudden absence, but Cassian did not care. He dragged Fanny towards the entryway into the card room.

As subtly as he could, he placed his winnings in Fanny's hand. Fanny's large, blue eyes widened. Her full lips, which were stained red, opened, and she gasped. "What are you doing?" she asked.

Fanny's whiny voice had always annoyed him, but now it was clear it was put on. She sounded relatively normal.

"Go home," he instructed. "Go and get something to eat, and go to bed. You do not need to be here tonight."

Fanny closed her hand around the small pile of bank notes. A smile spread across her face as her eyes filled with tears. "You cannot know what this means," she whispered as she stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek. Fanny scampered off towards a door that only the servants used.

Cassian felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Was this how Faith had felt when she had helped him?

Not an hour later, Cassian had arrived home, and was lying in bed, his mind going over the events of the day.

What had transpired at the club sickened him. It sickened him to know that society fostered such disrespect for one's inferiors.

According to society laws, Fanny was dirt, nothing more than a common whore. But her reaction to receiving the money told him that it meant something. She mattered to someone, or someone mattered to her.

And according to society laws, Faith was below him. But Cassian knew she was superior to him in every way possible.

Faith had endured the loss of a child. The image of her holding out her hand as she described the size of her son would haunt him forever, Cassian was certain. Faith had survived that. She had survived the death of her husband. She had survived the transition into poverty.

And yet, she had found it in her heart to save a dying man, someone who was so obviously beneath her.

Every single one of those gentlemen in that room could stand to learn something from Faith.

Cassian had several errands to run the next day. He needed to go to the bank regarding his purchases of several wheels for his factories up north. He needed to visit his tailor. And he was completing the purchase of a new piece of art.

Faith would love it. It was another face to add to his collection. He wondered if she would like to see it with him.

That idea appealed to him. His day would be remarkably less boring if he had company. And perhaps, if they were alone, Faith would talk to him a bit more.

Of course, he would need an excuse to take Faith away from her duties for the day. Cassian would think of something.

Cassian barely touched his breakfast, took a few sips of tea, before he threw on his clothes for the day. He practically fell down the stairs, taking them three at a time, before he came to the foyer.

In the week that he had been awkwardly avoiding Faith, Cassian had memorised where she would be during the day. Each morning, she and Hattie, another housemaid, polished the already pristine and unused silverware in the dining room.

Cassian opened the dining room door without thinking to knock, surprising the women. Both were sitting at the dining table, polishing cloths in hand, with his entire collection before them. Cassian knew they were not supposed to sit at his table. It was a silly rule of Wade's, but he honestly did not mind.

Both Faith and Hattie were quick to stand up, though.

"Be calm, ladies," said Cassian. "Faith, I was wondering if I might borrow you for the day."

Faith's brows immediately furrowed. "Me?"

"Yes, I have need of a woman's opinion," he lied, for the benefit of Hattie. Where was he going with this? "I am buying a gift. I need a woman's eye." Hmm, believable.

Faith seemed to believe him as her frown deepened and her brown eyes narrowed. "Oh, is there to be a lady visitor?" she asked tensely.

It immensely amused Cassian that Faith felt threatened by his imaginary lover. It also flattered him that she knew that their relationship was more than master and servant. They were friends, and that was very important to him.

"Perhaps," he said, just to vex her. It did just that. He noticed Faith's grip on the polishing cloth tighten. "Hattie, will you please tell Wade that I have relieved Faith of her responsibilities for the day?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," replied Hattie, nodding.

"I cannot leave," Faith insisted. "Lucy..."

"We will watch her," Hattie offered. "She is still in bed, is she not? When she wakes, I shall take her down to the laundry with me. She can play while I fold."

Faith's eyes softened at Hattie's offer, but she still looked a little hesitant.

"Get your cloak," Cassian urged.

Faith did as she was told, albeit reluctantly. She returned wearing her cloak. She was no longer wearing her white cap. Cassian enjoyed being able to properly see her lovely brown hair. She looked at him with wary eyes and Cassian knew he was going to be in trouble for vexing her.

Mr Green was waiting outside Cassian's house, leaning against the carriage as he read the newspaper. As soon as he saw Cassian and Faith he folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm.

"Good morning, sir," he greeted. "Good morning, Mrs Rowe."

Faith offered Mr Green a kind smile. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Green. The bank first today," he instructed.

"Yes, sir."

Mr Green opened the door for him, just as Faith was doing her best to climb up into the driver's seat. Her skirts made it impossible. She needed help.

"What are you doing?" Cassian asked her.

Faith's head snapped to him. "Trying to climb up gracefully," she huffed. She was still annoyed at him.

"Just a moment, Mrs Rowe. I shall help you," offered Mr Green.

"No, you will ride inside with me," insisted Cassian. "How am I supposed to talk to you if you are sitting up there?"

Faith abandoned her efforts to climb up into the driver's seat and moved before him. "We are not travelling as companions, Mr Kensington. Servants do not share carriages with their masters."

Cassian had half a mind to purchase another carriage specifically for his servants to use after what he had experienced the night before. "You have ridden with me before," he said softly.

Faith's cheeks reddened. "That was different. I was not officially in your employ then, and I had Lucy with me."

Cassian relieved Mr Green of the door and he held it open for her. "In," he urged, motioning her inside.

Faith hesitated for a moment before ultimately giving in and climbing inside the carriage.

Cassian followed her inside and sat down opposite her. Faith's hands were knitted in her lap. He felt a tension in the air, and he immediately wanted to ease it.

"I would like for you to be my companion for the day," he said sincerely.

Confusion filled Faith's face. "I beg your pardon?"

"Faith, are we friends?"

Faith pursed her lips. "We ought not to be," she replied.

"But are we?" he pressed. Words could not be exchanged like they had been the day before without friendship blossoming.

Faith nodded. "Yes."

"Good." Cassian smiled. "Then we are going to do some inordinately dull errands together whilst enjoying each other's company."

"Are you not buying a gift for a woman?"

"Only if you would like one."

Faith laughed and relaxed into her seat, a look of peacefulness filling her face. Cassian wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, but before he spoke, he noticed something about her that he had not seen before.

As her head had turned to look out the window, her fringe had moved away from directly covering her hairline. Along Faith's hairline was a long, pink scar. It was healed, and it looked like it was a few years old, but where had she got that?