by Archer, Kate
Though Cassandra did hold a very low opinion of Mr. Longmoore, she was surprised at this turn of events. She had thought he would go on as he always had done—drinking to excess and importuning women. She had assumed at some point some woman would agree to his propositions, that lady likely to require the financial security of his situation and able to overlook absolutely everything else about Mr. Longmoore’s person.
She supposed she ought to pity the man out of simple Christian charity. She was determined she ought to. Though, she understood it would take some work on her part to see her way clear to accomplishing such a thing—he was an oaf of a man.
Her father had ended his letter more cheerfully.
I do hope you get on with your aunt and do not cause her too much trouble, though I doubt you do, as you have never caused any trouble to me. Feel free to give those young bucks roaming London a good deal of trouble, as they have no doubt earned it somewhere in their lives.
Cassandra smiled. She supposed she had given a young buck some trouble, though she’d not set out to do it. Of all people, her father would not be surprised at her interactions with Lord Hampton, though perhaps not wholly approving of her talking about her skill with a shotgun. Still, he would sympathize with how she had been provoked.
In any case, as gruff as her father could be, he was never harsh with his daughter. Her entire childhood had been one of racing up and down stairs and through rooms, breaking things as she went—the breaking of things only compounded when May came on the scene. Her father had watched the shattered porcelain and broken plates swept up in all good humor.
*
As the world turned on its axis and the days and hours passed, whispers of a certain Miss Knightsbridge spread throughout London like a monstrous sea creature with endlessly growing tentacles. The whispers began below stairs and slithered their way up polished staircases and down carpeted passageways to the hushed sanctums of lady’s bedchambers. From there, they hopped into carriages and skipped into drawing rooms, creating doppelgangers as they went, who then slipped into different carriages and made their way to new drawing rooms. One told one and two told four and four told eight and so on it went.
For those who knew each other well, the news was generally relayed forthrightly.
“Jemima, do come in. Have you heard the dreadful tale of Miss Knightsbridge?”
“Goodness, who has not? It appears she is the most determined flirt.”
“Flirt? My dear, a mere flirt does not take the thing all the way to an engagement. At least three engagements, none sanctioned by her father, and she jilted in every one of them, all the while firing a shotgun at anything that moves.”
“I did not realize it was as bad as that! I wonder she has the audacity to hold up her head.”
“Appalling. There is no other word for it.”
More distant acquaintances began the tale in a cautious manner. A lady might begin with something suitably vague such as, “Heavens, one hears such shocking things these days.” Of course, the lady would be pressed to reveal the shocking thing, which she would invariably do, looking prettily shocked all the while.
Mamas everywhere were only too happy to hear of the ghastly story that was told in hushed whispers. After all, one less female out husband hunting was always to be celebrated. It was the general consensus that there was one less female out husband hunting, as who would take such a lady on?
Perhaps no end of gentlemen might have taken the lady on, but as with all rumors and innuendos, the story had grown in its scope and seriousness. There was even talk of Miss Knightsbridge having engaged herself to five different men at the same time, with her father none the wiser, and having shot at a farmer she did not like for her own amusement.
That the tentacles had wended their way through London was not surprising, nor was it surprising that the person named in the story and those closest to her remained unaware of it. After all, it would be bad form to repeat the story to the person it concerned, and everybody knew who was connected to who. The Blandings and the Sedways and certainly Lady Marksworth herself were to remain blissfully unaware that something was afoot. Miss Knightsbridge would be the very last to hear of it, as that was part of the grand tradition of unfounded gossip.
Nobody in Lady Marksworth’s house had in the least noticed that invitations arriving at the door had begun to dwindle. Why would they, when so many invitations had already been received? A hostess did not wait until the last moment to secure her guests and so invitations to most of the season’s events had been received and accepted long ago.
As it happened, no hostess had yet had the nerve to rescind an invitation already given to Lady Marksworth and Miss Knightsbridge. They would not know how to go about such a thing and, in any case, Lady Marksworth was not a figure to be trifled with. Most of the ladies simply hoped that the offending persons would leave London and not trouble them further.
That, of course, was impossible. The offending person and her close circle had not yet any idea they offended.
Chapter Six
Edwin had finally heard from Dalton in response to his note to put a halt to digging up gossip against Miss Knightsbridge. He could not say it was a satisfactory response, as it had only said, “You had best come and see me.”
He supposed his friend would argue for going on with the scheme to cause talk about the lady, but Edwin was more determined than ever to put a stop to it.
Regardless of his opinions of Miss Knightsbridge, and those opinions had undergone a fairly radical transformation, it was not acceptable to toy with another’s reputation in such a manner. He need only think of explaining the scheme to his grandmother to acknowledge the ungentlemanliness of it, the very lowness of it. The dowager had ever been his moral compass and while he could not always predict what she would say to a thing, he could very well predict it in this instance.
He had arrived at Dalton’s house in all haste, in case the man was set on taking himself off to Surrey sometime soon. As he had dismounted his horse, he had surreptitiously glanced at Lady Marksworth’s house across the street, looking for any flutter of curtains to say that his arrival had been noted. He saw nothing and forced himself not to ponder the notion that any in that house would ever understand what his current errand was about.
Bellamy admitted him and showed him into Dalton’s library. One of the footmen came in with brandy, though it was well before noon. Edwin was beginning to think nobody in the house was acquainted with anything else. He could not remember ever being offered tea.
Hampton waved the fellow off just as Dalton entered the room.
“What now, Hampton,” Dalton asked, “your feet turning cold?”
Edwin could only assume this was in reference to his request that they forgo the idea of damaging Miss Knightsbridge. “I should never have allowed the idea to go forward,” he said. “In any case, it is fortunate that you decided to take yourself off to your father, rather than enact the scheme.”
“My father?” Dalton asked. “Why would I visit that old rotter just now?”
“I do not claim to know… wait, you did not go to your father?”
“Not a bit of it,” Dalton said, laughing.
“But Bellamy said—”
“Bellamy never says where I go. What sort of butler would he be?”
Edwin felt as if a block of lead was slowly settling in his stomach. “So then, you went to Surrey?”
“I did, and Tuttle has got a marvelous little document claiming Miss Knightsbridge was engaged to a local tradesman, but he broke it off. Can you guess why? It’s too amusing, really. The tradesman, and two other fellows, all turned up to apply to the Viscount at the same time. They discovered one another and they all broke it off with Miss Knightsbridge.”
Miss Knightsbridge involved in three engagements? One to a tradesman, no less? It could not be true. Aside from the unlikelihood of any lady engaging herself to three different gentlemen, the elements of the story itself were too convenient.
“Come now, Dalton,” Edwin said. “You know that’s a bit of fiction. Three gentlemen? Then they all conveniently turn up to see her father at the exact same moment? It’s absurd. That sort of contrivance belongs on the stage.”
“Possibly,” Dalton said. “But the fellow swore an oath on it.”
“Never mind what the fellow did,” he said. “I am certain he was well paid for his story and it is a story. We must put an end to this nonsense at once.”
“I am afraid it is too late for that,” Dalton said. “It would be rather like closing the barn door after the horse has been out for hours. Tuttle was given his orders two days ago in Surrey.”
“Good Lord, what have we done?” Edwin muttered.
Dalton clapped him on the arm. “All we’ve done is give the wags something to talk about. We don’t do real damage to the lady. She will be known as having too many suitors, I suppose that is not any real crime.”
“This is going to end badly,” he said.
Dalton shrugged. “It was you, Grayson and Lockwood that came up with the idea. You know me well—once I am given a mission, I carry it out. If you did not want it accomplished so quickly, you should have asked Burke—he’d still be in his library making jokes and telling stories about his ridiculous cook.”
“Come now, Dalton, you can recall Tuttle from his work, I am certain of it.”
Lord Dalton picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. “I do not claim to understand Mr. Tuttle’s methods, but he is all efficiency. Along with a shocking bill, he writes that the story has taken flight and no more need be done by him.”
“Blast,” Edwin said.
Dalton crossed his arms and surveyed his friend. “You seem to take an inordinate amount of interest in Miss Knightsbridge’s reputation. A suspicious amount of interest.”
“There is nothing suspicious in it, I assure you,” Edwin said hurriedly. “I simply do not like that we act in a less than gentlemanly manner.”
“Well if that’s all it is,” Lord Dalton said, “I would not worry your head over it. Nobody will know we had anything to do with it, Tuttle has seen to that.”
*
Edwin had left Dalton in a daze. He carried a deep sense of shame from the house and it was a feeling he was not accustomed to. He had done things in the past that he’d considered not quite right, but this! To be part of such a low scheme! And why? Because his pride had been stung. It had been childish and not worthy of a gentleman.
The only bright spot in the whole thing was that he was certain if he just had time to think of a solution, he would find a solution.
He’d sat all evening in his library, Havoc happily gnawing on his boot, as he thought of possible actions he might take. At least he’d tried to think of actions he might take. That none occurred to him had come as a shock—no matter how badly a thing unfolded, there was always something that might be attempted. His shock began to fade as he considered the nature of slander and gossip. It was an enemy that could not be caught. It wafted through the air invisible and all that could be seen of it were those who had been laid waste by it. It could not be subdued, nor struck down, nor chained. In that way, it was more deadly than any Napoleon.
Miss Knightsbridge was about to encounter a disaster she had not earned, and he was the author of it. It was unlikely anybody would ever discover he was behind the stories told of her, but what matter? He would know it, and it would sit on his shoulders like an uncomfortable friend.
But then, the story Dalton had related, an engagement to three gentlemen and one of them a tradesman to boot, was so outlandish. Might it not be taken as such and dismissed by all who heard it?
Edwin’s mood was buoyed by the idea, though the feeling did not last. It was just as likely that various gossipers would glory in the tale and gleefully embellish it. Only last year, Prinny had been reported on his deathbed when in fact he’d been jolly at the theater and Lady Cattrail was reported to have left her husband when she’d only gone off to care for a sick niece.
As the moon hung full outside of his window, he was forced to conclude that Miss Knightsbridge would not come through unscathed.
The only question left was what he could do about it.
Lady Montague’s ball was on the morrow, and if ever there was a condemning woman it was her. If Lady Marksworth and Miss Knightsbridge remained unaware of the tale that swirled around them, they might just attend and find it out there.
Edwin did not see how to stop it, but he was determined to go and do what he could.
*
Cassandra finally had the determination to challenge Peggy on which dress she would wear. She had been decided on wearing a cream silk with lovely rose-colored flowers embroidered around the hem. Peggy had been equally determined on the white satin with a pale-yellow gauze overlay, going so far as to claim the cream dress had been mysteriously misplaced.
After a half hour of arguing that dresses do not fly off on their own and then finally hinting that if the dress had really disappeared, Peggy would be responsible for it, the cream-colored gown had been produced.
Peggy had not accepted defeat with any sort of grace and for the hundredth time Cassandra thought she was the most confounded girl alive. She was certain other people did not wrestle with their maids in such a fashion.
Nevertheless, she was in the cream with the pink rosettes and in the carriage, on her way to the Montagues’ ball.
“Lord Montague is a friendly enough fellow,” Lady Marksworth said, “though Lady Montague is a bit of a beast.”
“A beast?” Cassandra asked.
“Do not be frightened by her,” Lady Marksworth said. “I knew her as Miss Harriet Wellburne in our youth. She was forever putting herself forward as the arbiter of how one should go about things, a bit of a prig, actually. I remember her whispering all over town about poor Miss Jumble and that lady’s lack of a wardrobe. It was Harriet’s opinion that if one could not afford a suitable range of attire, one should not come for the season.”
Cassandra felt very badly for Miss Jumble, as the lady reminded her very much of her friend Lily Farnsworth. Poor Lily thought a new ribbon would mask an old dress, but Cassandra supposed that was not to be when one entered the confines of London.
“Do not pity Miss Jumble, however,” Lady Marksworth said. “She is the Duchess of Somerston now and can have as many dresses as she likes.”
“The Duchess of Somerston?” Cassandra said, both glad and amused. “Is that not Lord Burke’s mother?”
“Just so,” Lady Marksworth said. “For all Harriet’s complaining on the subject, Miss Jumble’s very modest wardrobe did not show her to disadvantage. She was a darling girl and the duke could not have cared less about her dresses.”
Cassandra was much cheered by the tale and would be sure to tell it to Lily Farnsworth. Though, she did feel a flutter of nerves to encounter a woman such as Lady Montague, despite Miss Jumble’s success.
“As for Harriet and I, when I discovered she was impugning Miss Jumble’s right to a season, I told her in no uncertain terms that she’d gone wrong. I am not so certain she has ever forgiven me for that. Though we both invite each other to large parties, I have never been asked to dine here, nor have I asked her to Marksworth House.”
“Goodness,” Cassandra said.
“Never mind,” Lady Marksworth said. “It is the way of the world. One may not adore all of the ton, but they’re what we’ve got and so we must make the best of it. What else are we to do? Sail to Massachusetts and have tea with some awful Americans?”
Cassandra did not know, but she wondered if awful Americans might be a deal less frightening than Lady Montague.
*
The Montagues’ ball was to be a large one, but unlike the other large events they had attended, Cassandra and Lady Marksworth did not sit overlong in their carriage. As far as Cassandra could tell, it was not because there were less carriages lined up, but because the footmen were many and moved with military precisi
on. She supposed Lady Montague would not tolerate anything less than perfection.
They were helped down in good time and entered the house. Ahead of her, Cassandra could see the great Lady Montague herself. She was a regal-looking woman, wearing an intimidatingly high silk turban sprouting ostrich feathers. The headdress helped her appear seven feet tall; her expression was one of condescension, as if to say, “How fortunate you must feel to have been granted leave to enter my house.”
Lady Marksworth handed over her invitation. The butler intoned, “Lady Marksworth and Miss Knightsbridge.”
There was a sudden hush around Cassandra that she could not account for at all. Lady Montague looked down her rather long and thin nose. She curtly nodded and then turned away.
Cassandra heard her aunt say, “Goodness, Harriet, you might smile.”
As they passed the lady into the hall, Cassandra noted that Lady Montague pressed her lips into a hard, thin line upon hearing the comment. In fact, she appeared rather incensed. How extraordinary that the two ladies should maintain such a long-standing frostiness to do with poor Miss Jumble all those years ago.
*
Cassandra had got her card, and then been very happy to hand it over to Lord Burke for the first. Though he was such a genial gentleman, she got the impression that he might be somewhat under the weather. He looked more serious than was his usual mien.
Cassandra’s dance card filled up quickly, though she could not help but notice the glances she received from some of the other ladies. Why did they stare so? She surreptitiously checked her dress to ensure there was no stain or tear, but it looked well. Could it be jealousy? She did not see why it should be so, she was by no means the beauty of the evening and there were certainly enough gentlemen to go round.
Though she had been surprised at the looks she received, she was even more surprised to see Lord Hampton make his way to her so determinedly, and then take the dance before supper. He had filled in his name quickly and then departed with all haste.