by Archer, Kate
“Well said,” Lord Hampton said quietly.
Sybil beamed; Lord Lockwood appeared both taken aback and amused. As nobody had a retort to Cassandra’s very definite and determined statements, the conversation turned to more usual topics.
She and the lord briefly touched on the subject of dogs again, but then blessedly landed on literature. As it turned out, Lord Hampton read as much and as widely as she did herself. As they spoke of botany, architecture, the Romans, and astronomy, Cassandra found herself speaking to a highly educated man who did more than recite facts. He had not just taken in information—he had thought about it. It was frighteningly attractive. Despite her own mental discipline on the subject, her mind kept presenting opposing arguments. Was it really so awful to be a duchess, after all? Might not a man involved in the pact have an interest that was not forced by his father? Was there another man in London with those eyes? It was not so much their color, which was very dark, but their habit of examining her as if they wished to know her secrets. She was very glad nobody could hear her thoughts doing battle with one another.
Cassandra also found herself glad she’d made her opinion known regarding the gossip going round about her. Her aunt had said it would be the worst thing to cut and run. She’d not run, she’d challenged whatever ridiculous ideas circulated about Miss Knightsbridge.
She could not have helped but notice that couples around her had been over-quiet during her forthright speech. Let them repeat her words in every drawing room in town if they wished.
Cassandra found herself, in the end, well-satisfied with the evening. It felt as if the heavy weight of the rock thrown through her window had begun to lift.
That the familiar shiver went down her spine more than once before the supper was over, she was determined to ignore for now.
Chapter Ten
Hampton sat in his library, the dying fire the only light in the predawn hours. At his feet, Havoc gleefully shredded the mask of a clergyman.
He had been surprised to see Miss Knightsbridge at the Blakeley’s ball. He’d given contingency instructions to his friends on what to do if she did appear, though he never truly believed she would.
His surprise gave over to astonishment at her spirited defense of herself at supper. She’d not said it particularly softly either. Plenty at the table would have heard of the London gossipers likened to insignificant mice who might be chased off with a broom.
What courage the lady had! To arrive as if nothing were amiss, and then to proclaim her opinion so forcefully as to any talk that had made the rounds. He doubted there were many females who could have girded themselves for such a trial. Certainly, none he’d encountered during this blasted season.
Thanks to his father’s demands, he’d danced with and spoken to an unending list of unmarried ladies. Those females made every attempt to display their beauty and wit, and then somewhere in the conversation, shyly present an example of their over-refined sensibilities. He was to know that they were easily shocked, that aspect of their temperament supposedly meant to be some hallmark of good breeding.
The idea nearly made him laugh. His grandmother was not easily shocked and, in fact, sometimes did the shocking herself. His mother routinely dispatched all manner of circumstances that might cause a blush in a less determined lady. Only a year ago, the duchess had discovered a housemaid in her household had been compromised and was with child. She’d wasted no time demanding to know the culprit’s name and to her great lack of surprise it had been a footman. In one curt and speedy interview with the man she demanded he marry the girl, which he did, and now the foolish couple had some little shop in the village. The duchess had been no more affected by the circumstance than she would have been over viewing a cup of spilled milk. He did not quite understand how any of these young, unmarried ladies proposed to run a large house if they needed to fan themselves over every difficulty.
Then there was Miss Knightsbridge. She had no need of a fan.
What, though, did she really know about what was being said? It was likely that what Bellamy had witnessed being thrown through the window was a satirical print—he’d seen the one going round that showed her with shotgun aiming at three gentlemen floating above her, but he could not be certain that was what she’d seen. That she knew something was evident, else she would not have made such a pronouncement at supper. Whatever she knew, she did not know all. To know all would be to know his hand in it.
He’d felt such a fraud, sitting there so apparently above reproach while Mr. Conners’ inappropriate proposition had been alluded to. He’d done far worse. Far, far worse.
At the mask, he, Lockwood, Dalton, Ashworth, Cabot and Grayson had set out to quash any talk about Miss Knightsbridge, and there had been plenty to occupy them. The ridiculous story of three suitors still made the rounds, and sometimes four suitors or five. There was talk of her having shot a farmer she did not care for just for amusement. Now, there was even the suggestion that her own father was terrified of her and rued the day he’d allowed her to take up a gun.
One particularly acerbic little miss masked in dark feathers that very much resembled a magpie had even had the temerity to wonder aloud how a gentleman might be quite comfortable in marriage to such a lady. After all, she’d said, he might never know when he’d provoked her ire until shots rang out. He had informed that charming lady of her deficiencies in judgment and left her near tears. He’d not been sorry for it, though he realized that if such talk went on much longer, it would be no time at all before Miss Knightsbridge was known as a veritable Genghis Khan.
He’d hoped the words Miss Knightsbridge had spoken for herself might mitigate some of the worst ideas being passed round, as it had been clear enough that she’d been overheard. Rather, before he left the Blakeley’s he heard one lady say to the next, “Apparently, if she deigns not to shoot you, she will chase you with a broom. One wonders how there is anybody left alive in Surrey.”
That, in regard to a lady so composed, so stalwart, and so well-educated! He’d discovered that evening that she was well-read. Truly well-read, not like some others who claimed to be great readers and had nothing to show for it because all they read were French novels. Miss Knightsbridge had a deep knowledge of botany and architecture, two subjects dear to his heart. Then, of course, she had already displayed her marked good sense regarding dogs and their kennels.
He smiled ever so slightly as he recalled the first evening they had met, and her hint that not everybody in the world was eager to know him. He’d been in such high dudgeon over it! Now, he could see that he had deserved the comment; he’d been rather rude. In truth, he’d been in a bit of a sulk, no better than a ten-year-old boy discovering his favorite toy broken.
In repayment for his well-earned comeuppance, he’d been the source of the gossip that now plagued her. If only he could go back! He might have realized he danced with an exceptional lady. He might have put aside his aggravation with his father to behold what was in front of him.
Hampton paused. He did not like where his thoughts led him. It was one thing to admire Miss Knightsbridge, but his admiration could only go so far. As with any other lady, he did not wish his admiration to be in any way singular. He had already recognized he would be in danger if he did not keep himself in check—how any other gentleman had escaped the charms of that heart-shaped face he did not know. But, that was to be put in the back of his mind and not considered again. Still, when she looked up at him as she discussed Palladian columns, he could not help but be aware of its effect.
Ah well, it was most likely his guilt that made him more admiring than he should be.
*
It was both a week of quiet and a week of busyness and confusion. Cassandra and her aunt did not have many engagements. The Hedleys’ ball had been cancelled at the last minute as Lady Hedley had fallen ill. Cassandra could not say that she was sorry for it—sorry for Lady Hedley’s illness of course, but not sorry to have missed her ball. The lady was known to b
e great friends with Lady Montague and that particular person had instilled a dread in her.
They had made various calls, but their timing was invariably off and they did not find many of their acquaintances at home.
On the other hand, the preparations for the ball at Marksworth House were in full swing. Racine led them all with a cool head, even when facing certain disaster.
The musicians who had been hired months ago had underhandedly accepted another job for more money. They would not say by who, nor would they be swayed by an increase in payment. Replacement musicians had to be speedily procured.
The ballroom floor had needed polishing, but one of the footmen had poured so much linseed oil on it that it was temporarily as slippery as a frozen pond.
The merchant who supplied their ices suddenly died and his son knew nothing about the order.
While Cassandra felt an uncomfortable flutter and Lady Marksworth noticeably paled at each alarming development, Racine only shook his head gravely and said, “I will see to it, my lady.” Somehow, that remarkable butler did see to it, and each new disaster was speedily dispatched.
Sybil came to see Cassandra three days before the ball. The fear of any more flying rocks having left them, they cozied up on their window seat overlooking the garden. Sybil said, “I was certain I would see you at the Hedleys’, did you have some other engagement?”
“The Hedleys’?” Cassandra asked. “We did not go because Lady Hedley was taken ill.”
“She did not appear so,” Sybil said. “How would you have heard such a thing?”
Cassandra felt as if her insides had taken flight and fought to break free of her. “We heard it from the lady’s secretary,” she said quietly. “A note was delivered.”
Cassandra and Sybil stared at one another. Sybil said quietly, “As it was not Lady Hedley herself, perhaps the secretary made a mistake?”
“That would be very odd, would it not? A secretary is not likely to mistake her lady as ill and notify only one guest of it,” Cassandra said. “No, if I had to guess, we were disinvited by way of excuse on account of the rumors and that stupid print.”
“But who could believe any of it?” Sybil cried.
“Lady Hedley is much in the company of Lady Montague, and I suspect I am not held in high regard in that lady’s eyes. She maintains strict opinions of the comportment of young ladies. I presume being talked about will not be one of her approved attributes.”
“I do not like Lady Montague,” Sybil said. “Not at all.”
“I suspect neither Lady Montague nor Lady Hedley will make an appearance at my ball. I cannot say I am sorry for it.”
Sybil’s face grew an alarming shade of pink and she balled up her tiny fists. “If I were a man, I’d challenge them all! I’d throw down the gauntlet and meet them at dawn!”
While Cassandra was much disturbed at discovering that she and her aunt had been purposefully excluded from the Hedleys’ ball, she could only be admiring of her brave friend. “There now, Lady Margaret Beaufort, I should not like to think of you shot at sunrise on some lonely expanse of green.”
Sybil’s fists unclenched. “Goodness, I am a goose. No matter, whether that note you received was or was not a mistake, you did not miss anything extraordinary.”
Sybil paused, seeming to think of something. “Oh! I had meant to tell you before I began thinking of duels I will never fight, that both Lord Lockwood and Lord Hampton were at the Hedleys’. Lord Hampton asked about you very specifically.”
“Asked about me? Why? Why should he ask about me?”
In truth, Cassandra was not certain what she thought about that. She was flattered, she supposed, that he might inquire about her. On the other hand, why should a lord be asking about a lady who did not attend? Did it not point to some singular notice?
“He asked how you got on,” Sybil said. “Naturally, I said you were quite well. Then, he hinted that he had seen the print that had gone round. I said, it was such a lot of nonsense that whoever had so wronged Miss Knightsbridge ought to be drawn and quartered.”
“You did not say such a thing,” Cassandra said.
“I did,” Sybil said, nodding vigorously. “I suppose I shan’t be surprised if some print is made out of that.”
“What did Lord Hampton say to your rather bold pronouncement?” Cassandra asked.
“He appeared thoroughly shocked and only nodded in agreement,” Sybil said.
“Heavens, perhaps I am glad that I did not attend,” Cassandra said.
“And here is another thing,” Sybil said. “Lord Lockwood would insist on taking me into dinner again. I fear his attention was too marked and, if that was not uncomfortable enough, my father viewed it in a very dim light.”
“That is three times he has taken you in,” Cassandra said.
“Yes,” Sybil said, “though I hardly count the first as he only rescued me and had not much to say for himself.”
“Do you like him, Sybil?”
Sybil reached for an almond biscuit and chewed it determinedly before she answered. “Truly, I have not allowed myself to consider it. There is too much against it—he is a gentleman of the pact and even if he were not, my father abhors his own father.”
“That is true, and in any case, if you wish to be a duchess whilst avoiding that ridiculous pact, you might marry Lord Burke. He is not so burdened, and you would be very merry at table as he regales you with stories of his cook.”
Both ladies dissolved into laughter at the thought of it. Though, under Cassandra’s laughter, there was intense trepidation. She and Lady Marksworth had been snubbed by the Hedleys, and she feared there might be more snubs to come.
Cassandra began to get the sickening idea that perhaps more snubs had already come. When they had made their calls and found ladies not at home, had they been at home? Had some of Lady Marksworth’s acquaintance refused her card? The excuses they had been given had seemed reasonable, one lady had been called away to care for a sick aunt, another attended a wedding breakfast. But what if those reasons had been invented?
She could not know. She would never know. But the very idea was stinging. It was not so much for herself that it stung, it was for her dear aunt. The idea that she might have been a catalyst to causing her aunt pain and embarrassment was too awful to think of.
*
The day of the Marksworths’ ball had passed by in frenetic activity. Cassandra had felt a charge in the house, as if lightning had come through the windows and sparked its way through every room. Even the unflappable Racine had a look about him that she likened to a wary fox catching the scent of hounds. Cassandra had gone to no end of balls and had not had the first idea of what a hostess must go through. She would be more appreciative of their efforts in future.
Despite the atmosphere that had at times bordered on doom, all had been arranged. The musicians had arrived, the ices had arrived, hundreds of beeswax candles had been lit and the preparations for supper were well on their way in the kitchens. The ballroom itself, usually dark and empty, was ablaze with light and servants running this way and that while attending to final details.
Cassandra marveled at her dress. Lady Marksworth had spent a deal of time working with the dressmaker to achieve what she had in her mind and it was glorious. White satin, the skirt overlaid with the palest of pink gauze. Large white rosettes lined the hem of the satin and showed charmingly through the gauze. Smaller rosettes circled the sleeves and bodice. It was not overdone or overwrought, it was elegant in every respect. Having only so recently been a young girl racing round her estate and muddying up her clothes, she wondered at finding herself so attired.
Her nerves were at once heightened with excitement and trepidation. She knew herself to be an object of curiosity and so would be on display. But her own ball! At a ball such as that, the young lady would be the focus of the evening. Anybody wishing to stare might do so without risking disapproval. Of course, there were those who would likely not come because of the un
wanted attention she had received. She knew the dreaded Lady Montague had been issued an invitation and even indicated she would attend, but that had been weeks ago. Cassandra felt certain the lady would not come now. Not with the talk that had gone round. Not Lady Montague. She also expected that Lady Montague’s friend Lady Hedley would not appear. She could not say that she would miss either one of them. But then, there might be others who would snub her.
All the gentlemen of the pact had said they would attend, a fact that Lady Marksworth had not informed her of until that very morning. Her aunt saw it as a particular compliment—it was not every hostess who could claim that six would-be dukes attended their ball. In fact, seven, as Lord Burke had accepted too.
For Cassandra’s own part, she was not certain what she thought of it. She could not say she would be sorry to have further conversation with Lord Hampton. Their last had been truly engaging and felt more effortless than the usual conversations she’d had with various gentlemen. She’d convinced herself that she enjoyed talking with him so thoroughly because he proved himself well-educated. She’d nearly given up denying her attraction to him, though nothing would come of it.
Having heard from Sybil that he had asked after her gave her an unnamed feeling. Worse, that he had obliquely referenced the embarrassing print, which she’d prayed had faded into obscurity by now.
She had the highest hopes that it had fallen out of favor as the latest gossip. Lady Marksworth had told her that she’d heard from a friend that Lady Montague’s refusal to come as a snake to the Blakeley’s mask was on everybody’s tongues just now. Cassandra, having experienced it herself, could not wish anybody to come under such scrutiny. Though, if somebody must, she could not weep over it being Lady Montague.
Lady Marksworth met her at the bottom of the stairs and led her to the hall. There they would stand as the carriages rolled up, greeting each and every guest. She expected she would be exhausted by the end of it, though the dancing would not even have begun.