by Archer, Kate
As much as Cassandra wished the day of the ball would either not come, or come and go as speedily as possible, time ground on as it always had. It would not be hurried, nor would it be late.
The day had dawned bright and Cassandra had forced herself to eat breakfast. It would seem an eternity before she was home again and the ordeal finally over and she must have the strength to face it.
Sybil and her mother and father had arranged to leave the house at the same time Cassandra and her party left, and they would follow her carriage closely. All would arrive a united army to Carlton House, the dowager leading them all as an undaunted general. It gave Cassandra some comfort to think of, though she still felt a nervous fidgeting she could not rid herself of. How many awkward conversations would be got through? How many stares must she pretend not to notice?
*
Edwin stared at Havoc, who had utterly destroyed one of his boots and now looked back at him as if he had no idea how it happened. Fortunately, he owned a dozen pairs, as he was well-used to losing a pair whenever his dog managed to get into his dressing room.
The ball was only hours away. He was to be humiliated, debased, and defamed in the worst manner. Though he could not say it was undeserved, he realized that he’d never been humiliated by anybody in his life. The eldest son of a duke was not often crossed.
He’d not really understood his own power until the moment he was stripped of it. It gave him pause to imagine what it must be like to always be subject to others’ whims. It gave him a greater understanding of how people like Lady Montague did their business—she struck terror into already terrorized hearts. If the ton were a great sea, it was uncomfortable indeed to find oneself an inconsequential lamprey surrounded by fearsome pike. One mistaken move and one might disappear into the pike’s jaws, never to be heard from again.
Of all those who would view his nearing humiliation, it was Miss Knightsbridge that preyed on his mind. Would she be satisfied that the debt was paid? Or would she simply find mirth in it and keep her anger as hot as it must now be.
His grandmother had written to say there was, at this moment, absolutely no chance of her agreeing to marriage. Miss Knightsbridge was still inclined to shoot his head off and, through lengthy practice, her aim was much improved.
He could wait, he could bide his time. Time might soften many a strong feeling. As long as she did not marry another, he could wait.
But might she not marry another? She had become the reigning queen of the season; she would be invited everywhere.
It would be a cold justice if he had ended up creating the very fame that led to numerous proposals for the hand of Miss Knightsbridge.
*
Cassandra had been in her dressing gown when the Dowager had entered her bedchamber. She’d been followed by Clara, carrying her dress wrapped in paper. Her maid Peggy had been sent elsewhere, as the Dowager found her an irritating sort of person.
“Now, my dear,” the Dowager said, “we have a gown truly befitting you.”
Clara laid the dress on the bed and unfolded the paper.
Cassandra took in a sharp breath. The gown was not materially changed from what it had been, with one striking exception. Small diamonds cut in an unusual square shape had been affixed by crosses of silver thread to a white gauze overlay. It sparkled in the candlelight like all the stars in the sky.
“Duchess!” Cassandra cried. “How can it be? I could not accept—”
“Of course you can accept my modest little changes,” the dowager said.
“But those are not real—”
“My late husband was an interesting gentleman and made many investments I found bizarre, certain he should ruin us. The one investment I never quibbled over was a diamond mine in Brazil. It has given me an endless supply of jewels and I have even employed a jeweler who invents new cuts. I’m very fond of this square cut.”
“It is far too valuable…”
“Trust me to have the sense to know where my own diamonds should go. Now, dear Miss Knightsbridge, it is time to dress for the most important ball of your life.”
Chapter Sixteen
As Cassandra rode in the carriage toward Carlton House, she felt almost in a dreamlike state. It was as if she existed somehow distant from those around her. Her dress sparkled in the darkness and all she could think of was that she sat on enough diamonds to buy her father’s estate.
The dowager very kindly held her hand, her father was a comfort across from her, and her aunt nodded, as if to say, “All will be well.”
Sybil and her parents followed behind in their own carriage and Cassandra occasionally glanced out the window to assure herself that they had not become separated.
Carlton House was lit like blazes from within, though the drive itself was only illuminated by a few torches. Cassandra could see a cadre of footman waiting at the ready in the dim light. She took a long, deep breath. The moment she had been wishing speedily gone had now speedily come.
The horses came to a halt, the door opened, and the steps were let down. The dowager was helped out first and Cassandra heard the lady say, “Quite fitting.”
Lady Marksworth went out next, and Cassandra was certain she heard her aunt whisper, “Goodness.”
As Cassandra took the footman’s hand to descend the steps, a deep voice said, “Miss Knightsbridge.”
Cassandra would have known that voice anywhere, and yet she must be confused. She glanced up at the footman as she stepped onto the drive.
It seemed as if all the air in the world had vanished and there was nothing left to breathe. The footman was Lord Hampton.
She said nothing, as she was incapable of words. Why was the lord dressed in livery?
As her father exited the carriage, Cassandra noticed the line of footmen standing stiffly on the drive. All six of the gentlemen of the pact were in livery.
Was it a joke? Was there some further joke to be played against Miss Knightsbridge?
In an instant, Cassandra realized it was not so. She remembered questioning the dowager about whether the lords would attend. The lady had been very precise in her answer—they would not be guests. Then, when the dowager had seen her grandson dressed as a servant she’d said, “Quite fitting.”
This was no joke on her, it was a punishment for the gentlemen.
Cassandra was not certain what she thought of it. She was at once pitying of their ridiculous state, and not at all sorry for them. Perhaps it was well they feel the sort of sting they had been so careless to inflict on others. She supposed it would sting—their dignity was just now thrown to the four winds.
“My dear?” the viscount said, holding out his arm, “shall we go in?”
Cassandra shakily took her father’s arm, realizing he would have no way to know that these footmen were the very men who’d caused his daughter so much grief. She did not know what other shocks might be ahead of her, but she would soon find it out.
The distinguished butler of Carlton House, a man starched from head to toe, announced them with all the pomp that only a royal household could carry off. Before her stood the Prince Regent and a line of six formidable-looking gentlemen that could only be the dukes.
Cassandra curtsied low to the prince.
He raised her up and said, “Miss Knightsbridge, the heroine of the hour. We are most grateful for your assistance on that terrible day when our dear Duchess found herself in peril.”
“It was nothing, Your Highness,” Cassandra said.
“You see,” the dowager said to the Prince Regent, “Miss Knightsbridge is not only brave, but modest, too.”
“Charming,” the prince said.
Cassandra felt the introduction had come off well and, as she made her way down the line, she kept an ear open for her father’s encounter. She was much relieved when nothing along the lines of “fat fool” came up in their blessedly brief conversation.
The dukes were all very civil and complimented her without directly mentioning what she had suffe
red at the hands of their sons. Did they know their sons were out of doors, dressed as footmen and helping guests from their carriages? Cassandra could not be sure, but it pleased her to think they did.
The last in the line was the Duke of Carlisle, Lord Hampton’s father. Cassandra could not but help feel more of a curiosity toward him than the others.
“Miss Knightsbridge,” the Duke said.
His voice was very like his son’s—low and deep, and only a bit scratchier from age.
“Your Grace,” Cassandra said.
“Address me as Duke, if you will,” he said.
Cassandra knew that to be the honor it was intended to be—she was in no way on an equal footing with a duke, but he would make it so.
“I am determined to be direct, Miss Knightsbridge,” the duke went on. “My son and his friends are idiots. They know it and we know it. I am not in the least surprised you rejected him. One cannot be expected to tie oneself to a gentleman with so little sense. Perhaps if he reforms himself you might reconsider. In the meantime, they are tasked with a role they highly deserve—may they be run off their feet this evening.”
Cassandra felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She was gratified that the duke condemned his son, and that he approved of their punishment. But, what did he mean, that she had rejected Lord Hampton? No offer had been made. No offer had even been hinted at. Surely, he was misinformed.
“Perhaps you are determined to be too direct, Henry,” the dowager said behind Cassandra. “Now come, my dear, we do not wish to hold up the line and I believe there will be quite a queue. Everybody lucky enough to be invited will attend.”
Cassandra was led off by the dowager, all the while attempting to work out what the duke had alluded to.
They passed a remarkable set of stairs that swept up as if floating in the air and were led to a cloakroom. Cassandra was handed her dance card and saw with trepidation that the prince had taken the liberty of filling in the first. She had thought her interaction with royalty would begin and end at the door, that a successful introduction would be all that was required. Now, she was to open the dance with the Regent?
A footman who was blessedly not one of the gentlemen of the pact led them into a large, rectangular room decorated in an ornate fashion. Its walls were red silk and its vaulted ceiling an ornate plaster done in cream and gold. For all it spoke of wealth and splendor, Cassandra could see the telltale demarcation where wood not protected by a carpet had been lightened by the sun. A royal personage might live a very different life from the rest of England, but they must roll up their carpets for a ball, just as the rest of the nation did.
The musicians were smartly dressed and looked as serious as undertakers while they tuned their instruments. Cassandra thought they must take their part in the evening to be a high honor.
All of Cassandra’s party had arrived to the room, and Sybil was not far behind. She joined her friend and clasped her hands.
Cassandra had much to say to her friend and so pointed at a picture on the far side of the room and led Sybil there.
“The dress, Cassandra,” Sybil said. “It is the most marvelous gown I have ever seen. Really, it is fit for a princess.”
Cassandra had almost forgotten it. She looked down and took in a breath once more. It truly was remarkable, the jewels catching the candlelight and shimmering at her slightest movement. Still, she had more weighty ideas than diamonds to discuss with Sybil.
“You have seen them?” Cassandra asked. “The gentlemen of the pact?”
“I have,” Sybil said, “Lord Lockwood helped me out of my carriage. I nearly fell over. What is the meaning of it?”
“I believe it is meant as a punishment,” Cassandra said.
“Ah! Yes, that would explain it. And richly deserved, in my opinion.”
“But Sybil,” Cassandra said, feeling in a rush to say all she would say before they were interrupted, “the Duke of Carlisle said he did not blame me for refusing Lord Hampton.”
“Refusing what?” Sybil asked. “Oh, refusing his apology, of course. But, has he made one? Was he so bold as to speak to you on the drive?”
“No, he has not apologized and that was not what the duke spoke of. He said I could not be expected to tie myself to a gentleman of so little sense.”
“Tie… you mean he thought Lord Hampton had proposed?”
“Yes. No. I do not know. It was a remarkable thing to say.”
“Indeed it was,” Sybil said thoughtfully. “Though if his father is not entirely mistaken, then perhaps Lord Hampton plans to. What shall you say? Would you consider it?”
“Certainly not,” Cassandra said with perhaps more finality than she actually felt.
“Well, then, I suppose it matters little what the duke thinks or what Lord Hampton plans to do. In any case, I suppose the lord will be too busy opening doors and taking coats to inconvenience you.”
“I do not know how we are to act,” Cassandra said. “Do we ignore them?”
“I plan to,” Sybil said, sticking out her chin, “they are nothing to me.”
Cassandra was inclined to agree with her friend, though she could not claim the gentlemen were nothing to her. Particularly not one of the gentlemen.
The idea that he’d planned to propose! If it were true, it was both thrilling and horrifying. How was she to agree to wed a man who had done such damage to her? If he had truly paid for his misdeed, she might soften somewhat. However, she did not believe acting as a footman for one evening would quite suffice.
And yet, there was that Lord Hampton that had lived so pleasantly in her imagination. What she would not give to marry that Lord Hampton, if only he were real.
No matter, she was at Carlton House at a ball given in her honor. She must do everything she could to get through it creditably and she would simply ignore any footmen milling about.
Now that she had resolved upon a point of view, she turned to look at the room. Lord Burke entered and made his way to her.
“Miss Knightsbridge!” he said, approaching them. “Lady Sybil. Miss Knightsbridge, I could not be happier to see you here and in good spirits.”
Cassandra said, “My aunt and I owe you quite the debt, Lord Burke.”
Seeing he looked confused while glancing at Sybil, she said, “My dear friend knows everything of that awful evening and the great service you provided.”
“Ah, I see. For my part, I have discussed it with nobody but my mother. She is delighted that you are to be honored this evening, and even more delighted that Lady Montague has been run out of town.”
Cassandra could not but help laugh at the notion. Though she had resolved to pity anybody coming under threat from gossip and further decided she would never be the means of spreading it, Lady Montague had been the lynchpin of her near destruction. Cassandra might wish to be good, but she did not aim to be a saint.
“May I?” Lord Burke said, holding his hand out for her card.
As he wrote his name in, he said, “I see you open the ball with the prince. An honor indeed, if your toes survive the experience.”
“I shall remain watchful of heavy feet coming in my direction,” Cassandra said, laughing.
In a lower voice, Lord Burke said, “I have heard the gentlemen who caused you such distress will not be among the prince’s guests this evening.”
Cassandra glanced at Sybil, who pressed her lips tightly together to hide a smile.
“Goodness, Lord Burke, did you not note the footmen lingering out of doors and helping guests from their carriages?” Cassandra asked.
“Footmen?” Lord Burke asked, clearly puzzled.
“Indeed,” Sybil said. “All six of them. There is one, just standing at the door.”
Lord Burked turned and took in Lord Dalton, scowl on his face and dressed in livery.
“Now that is a joke,” he said softly.
The room began to fill with chattering guests and it seemed as if Cassandra were their north star. All began to drift to
ward her and the next half hour was filled with conversation. Some complimented her dress, some referred obliquely to what had occurred, though they claimed now to have never believed a word of it, others congratulated her on her daring rescue of the dowager.
Cassandra felt as if she were surrounded by friends, though she did not forget how quickly they had once turned from her.
It was with relief and pleasure that Cassandra was approached by one she was certain she could count on as a real friend—Lady Blakeley.
“My dear Miss Knightsbridge,” she said. “How charming you look. If I must guess, I would say the dowager has been raiding her diamond mine again.”
“Indeed, she has,” Cassandra said, “though I did protest it was too dear.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Blakeley said. “The dress is fitting for the times, I think. An innocent has been washed clean and sparkles like the sun. Meanwhile, the cobras have turned on each other. I understand a certain snake in Yorkshire has been firing off letters in every direction, and yet most of those letters go sadly unanswered.”
Cassandra knew this to be a reference to Lady Montague and her precipitous loss of influence.
“One hopes, though,” Lady Blakeley went on, “that forgiveness can be found for some others. It is one thing to be thoroughly bad, and another to have done a bad thing.”
Though Lady Blakeley did not explicitly say so, Cassandra guessed this was in reference to the gentlemen of the pact. She supposed she would be expected to at least pretend that their having been forced to act as footmen had been enough. She was not convinced it was. When what had befallen her played out in her mind, she thought she might only be satisfied if they were all made footmen forever.