Regency Christmas Box Set: Risking it all

by Regina Darcy

  The Duke spoke of the pearls as they rode in the carriage to the London home of the Earl of Endicott, who was hosting the ball. They were accompanied, as always, by a lady who was, apparently, the Duke’s aunt, for propriety’s sake. But the woman rarely spoke, and Cassandra knew, for a certainty, that she was simply another part of the Duke’s management of appearances.

  The pearls were, he explained, somewhat of a treasure in the family; all of the engaged future duchesses had worn them with a red dress. It was an Ogden tradition and one which was known throughout the city.

  “You appearing in them, in a red dress, will be as good as an announcement in the newspapers,” he said contentedly.

  He frowned at her silence, but then recalled that she was unaccustomed to such splendid presents and, of course, was reminded of her inferiority. She owed everything to him and an occasion like this, at a ball where the elite aristocrats of London would be gathered to dance and flirt and gossip, was further notice that she was so far beneath him and so indebted to him for her rise in society. He smiled in what he assumed was a reassuring manner.

  “There is no need to be apprehensive,” he assured her. “No one at the ball will expect you to behave as if you are already the Duchess of Cantenberg. It is enough for you to be beautiful and to show that you are mine.”

  The Duke was quite willing to allow her to dance with the other gentlemen, as long as he partnered her for the three dances which declared his intentions.

  They were engaged.

  There was no announcement, no ring, but all of the guests knew it.

  The men who danced with her regarded her with the reverence they would have observed had she been branded with the Duke’s insignia; the women who watched her and discussed her behind their fans envied her. She saw their jealousy in their tight smiles and narrowed eyes. They wanted to be the choice of Jeffrey Ogden, Duke of Cantenberg, and they did not understand how a nobody from the country had managed to steal him away.

  You can have him, she wanted to scream as they went in to supper, where she was seated between the daughter of a baronet and a military officer, neither of whom had anything to say to her. Yet both, because of her imminent rise in the pantheon of the aristocracy, felt obliged to address conversational remarks to her. She replied with an impassive expression and a circumspect response.

  Yes, she was wearing the Cantenberg jewels. Yes, London was very different from the country. No, she had not been to Scarsdale. The Duke’s mother and stepfather had retired to Bath. Yes, they would likely return to London for Christmas. No, she had not met them.

  “You have not met them yet,” the baronet’s daughter said knowingly.

  “No, not yet,” Cassandra repeated as if she had not understood the meaning underlying the words.

  “I am sure that you will meet them soon. Are you not anxious at the prospect? I am sure that the Dowager Duchess will be very exacting.”

  “I have not met her,” Cassandra said again, deliberately impassive in her response.

  She would spend the rest of her life this way, Cassandra realised. She would be the target of the pedigreed ladies of the realm who would always despise her for lacking what they regarded as the proper qualifications for a duchess.

  She would despise herself for living a masquerade which made her a woman married to a wealthy man who would exact his own payment for the transaction.

  It would be better, she thought miserably, to marry a humble man and live in honest poverty rather than the artificial entanglement of a title and wealth.

  She could not endure it.

  She would not endure it.

  FIVE

  “Sir?”

  James looked up from his desk. If Heaton were here, there must be trouble in the rooms.

  “Yes?” he inquired, putting down his pen. “What is it?”

  “It’s…” Heaton was never nonplussed, but he seemed so now. “It’s… there’s a woman, sir. A lady, I should say,” he corrected himself, well aware that the nuances of female description covered a vast range of possibilities for the gender, and it was necessary to convey precisely the correct term. “She is looking for you.”

  “For me?”

  James cast a swift sweeping net over his memory of the women with whom he had amused himself; ladies and trollops and actresses and widows, there was no one among them who would come here to find him. The relationships had been entirely casual and there had been no vows exchanged, no misunderstood intentions.

  He had emulated his older brother in that way; before his marriage, Michael Dalton had been a rake whose carnal conquests were the talk of London. Now he was married and committed to fidelity. James had undergone no such transformation, but like his brother, he had promised nothing to the women in whose beds and boudoirs he had been made welcome.

  “Who is she?” he demanded.

  “I cannot say, sir. She is veiled.”

  “Veiled?”

  That spoke of a woman who did not wish her identity to be known. Someone who would be recognised, then. Someone who was vulnerable. That was alarming. He thought of the private rooms. Had one of the assignations gone awry? But no, that would not involve him.

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  “I put her in one of the private rooms, sir. The one next to your office.”

  “Bring her to me,” James directed.

  “Yes, sir.”

  After Heaton left, James closed the ledger and locked it in the safe. While he doubted that his mysterious visitor was the irate spouse of a dissolute gambler who owed money to the club, the contents of the ledger were for no one’s eyes but his.

  He rose from his chair when the door opened to admit Heaton and a woman in a travelling outfit, a grey hat on her head, a veil concealing her features. She appeared to be in a state of discomfiture, which further attested to Heaton’s description of her as a lady.

  While a woman might have felt entirely comfortable in entering a gentlemen’s club, a lady certainly would not have.

  “Madame,” James said while Heaton waited by the door in case his services, whichever of them he needed to draw upon, should be required. “Is there any way in which I can be of assistance to you?”

  “I—” She gave a fleeting look at Heaton, then glanced away.

  The eyes of the men met. Heaton took his cue.

  “I shall be in the anteroom if you have need of me, sir,” he said, closing the door softly behind him.

  “I—” The woman raised her veil.

  James was not often taken aback, but when he found himself looking into the ravishing features of the young lady who, so very recently, had been an adornment on the arm of the Duke of Cantenberg, he was caught off guard.

  “Miss Bennet!” he exclaimed. “Is something wrong?”

  Hang it all, Ogden would have him in Hades for entertaining his fiancée, without a chaperone, inside a gentlemen’s club. What the deuce was Miss Bennet doing here, of all places?

  Something to drink. That was what she likely needed. A sip of wine might bring her to her senses, if indeed she was out of her senses.

  “May I offer you a drink?” he inquired.

  “No! I have no need of a drink,” she said. She sounded agitated, quite a contrast to the reserved, almost passive impression she had presented upon his first acquaintance with her. “I ought not to have come here, I know, but I had nowhere else to turn and I must—” She swallowed hard, her bright eyes beseeching him.

  After a moment, she went on.

  “You looked compassionate when we met and I thought that perhaps I could prevail upon your charity and your—” She looked around helplessly as she wrung her hands. “I daresay I am making a mess of this.”

  “Perhaps you do not need a drink, Miss Bennet, but I find that I do.” He moved from his desk to the decanter of brandy upon the table and poured generously. “Now, then, pray do sit down so that I may better understand your dilemma and what I can do to help.”

  “You will n
ot turn me away?” she asked in a piteous tone.

  James would have asserted that he had not a sentimental bone in his body, but when the fair creature before him spoke so beseechingly, he knew that he could not disregard her plight.

  “I will not,” he answered, hoping that he was not inviting himself into a dilemma by agreeing to help without having the slightest notion of what sort of help was needed.

  “I cannot marry him!”

  The silence that followed Miss Bennet’s statement was almost palpable. For a moment, neither of them spoke. James raked his hand through his hair. He could offer no help with her dilemma, and he was on the verge of telling her so when she went on, her words rushing forth like a surging wave.

  “I was at the ball last night, the Endicott ball. I knew that I would loathe it and so I did. It was dreadful, having to be there as if I were a landmark or a trophy to be assessed, not a guest at all, only the woman who, wearing red and pearls, must be the betrothed of an Ogden. I knew, when he fastened the necklace upon me, what sort of night it would be, and I was correct. I ought to have had the courage then to refuse to wear it, but he had already belittled my father and I did not wish—did not know how best to counter his rudeness. Poor Father looked as if he didn’t know what to say or do. In his own home! Rented, I should say; we are a comfortable family but we do not own a London home. We have—our property is in the country and while it is not smart or fashionable, it suits us very well and we are very happy there. I cannot marry him!” she ended defiantly.

  “My dear Miss Bennet,” he said, quashing the unfathomable spirit within him which rose at her words, “I am not a clergyman and I cannot pronounce the vows that would wed you to the Duke. But I confess… I am at a loss as to why you are here. I am not refusing to help, only I must ask you why you seek my help. Until we were introduced at the entrance of Rundell and Bridges, we were quite unknown to one another.”

  James stared at Miss Bennet. She was wringing her hands and pacing back and forth.

  “Would you not be more comfortable in removing your coat? Or are you cold? I can build up the fire.”

  “No—yes, I can…”

  She unbuttoned her coat and he noticed that she was dressed in a simple blue dress, nothing of the sort that Ogden would find impressive.

  Had she deliberately dressed so in order to unshackle herself from the sense of bondage to a man who sought her hand but not her heart?

  James wondered and then immediately chastised himself for such a romantic fancy. There was a dilemma here, and he had best find a way to solve it without a loss of reputation for Miss Bennet or a loss of standing for himself. He was a businessman, and while he conducted the Imperial according to his own design, he knew that the club owed its popularity to the men of influence who patronised it.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said. “Have you had anything of substance to eat or drink?”

  “I am not hungry. Nor thirsty. It was not easy for me to come here,” she revealed candidly.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I—I don’t know anyone in London, really. Only the Duke, and I could not go to him. When we met, I thought then that you seemed kind,” she stuttered.

  “Kind?” Their gaze locked briefly, then she looked away. It was strange to be spoken of as kind.

  “When the ball ended and I went home, I knew that I must do something. Something urgent. Something that would free me of this fate. I changed from my ballgown into this, I took off my pearls, and I came here.”

  “At this hour of the morning? How did you ever find a hackney cab to bring you? It’s just dawn now, and I am up because there are still men at the tables. My work, I confess, does not provide me with an orthodox schedule.”

  “I did summon a cab, and the driver brought me here. I have some money saved up, and I also have my jewels. Not the ones that Jeffrey has bought,” she said, trembling as if those jewels were the carriers of a toxin which would infest her with some illness. “I wish to stay here—only for a short while,” she said quickly, although James was quite sure that his face had not reacted to her words, “until I can return home to the country where we live. It will be embarrassing for Father and Mother, I know, but once I am home, they can leave the London house and return. It will perhaps be disappointing for my sisters, but in truth, Mr Dalton, I feel as if I am rescuing them as well, from a plight of which they are not aware.”

  “Your family… where are they now?”

  “In London, but Father is a vicar. He has a modest inheritance, as does my mother, and we live comfortably but not lavishly. And with five daughters to dower, you can understand, perhaps, my unwitting part in this affair?”

  James was enchanted by the beauty of her green eyes and her full-lipped allure, but he was not so lacking in his wits that he could not follow her narrative.

  “I see,” he said. That explained Ogden’s unflattering references to Miss Bennet’s lack of sophistication when he had spoken, in her hearing, upon introduction. “You are not the daughter of a duke or a marquess?”

  “No, indeed, and I have no wish to be.” Again, she trembled as if the thought was onerous.

  “I cannot say that I blame you,” he said openly.

  It was clearly not the answer she expected and she gazed upon him with relief. “You do not think me a fool?’

  “No, why should I? You are quite obviously not a fool, and though it might be a hazard to venture a guess as to your character, I should think that you are the opposite of a fool. You seem to be quite conscious of thought and entirely clear-headed. Ogden is, as you have indicated, a selfish, shallow, meretricious man who loves nothing so much as to see himself reflected in the adoration of those he cultivates. He is well-born and wealthy, and so he has no need of aspiring to another level of status. But he wants sycophants and lackeys about him, so that he may bask in their awe. It is a most unseemly manner, and I can quite see why you find it offensive.”

  “You can?”

  “Certainly. Marriage to suit the aims and objectives of anyone but yourself is naturally reprehensible to you.” It mirrored his own philosophy, which was perhaps why he responded with such alacrity to her words. “But in the meantime, you have had a long and gruelling day, and you have made a bold and perhaps rash decision. I should recommend that you take heed of the hour and your lack of rest. I advise you to take your rest here, on the chaise-couch. I still have duties to attend to, but when they are concluded, I shall take you to a nearby inn where you will be able to stay until you have decided on a course of action.”

  He could have allowed her to stay in one of the private rooms. Or he could have taken her to his own lodgings; he was so seldom there, owing to the demands of the Imperial, that it would not have impinged upon her privacy. But in either instance, her reputation would suffer if word got out that she had spent time, without a chaperone, in either establishment. The inn would be the best choice. The innkeeper and his sister who managed the place were kind-hearted, hard-working people who operated a respectable business. He would take her there himself, tonight, once darkness came and cloaked the city with cover for its secrets. The protection of the innocent was, in this case, up to him, but the night would be his ally.

  SIX

  Mr Dalton took care of everything, to Cassandra’s relief, for she was in uncharted territory now and had never procured a room at an inn on her own. She had tried to give him money to cover the expense of paying for a private room, meals, and baths, but he would not accept it.

  “Shall we instead be relieved that, this Christmas season,” he said with a twinkle in his piercing green eyes, “there is room at this inn and leave it at that?”

  She felt that she was compromised by allowing him to pay for her stay, but she could not voice this. He told her that he had told the innkeeper and his sister that they were to look after her. He had said only that she was a young woman fleeing an unwanted engagement to an unworthy suitor and that she was hiding in London until her family was
able to return and take her with them to the country. It was plausible and not entirely off the mark and, he added, it would be easy for her to remember if either Mr Higgins or his widowed sister, Mrs Anthrop, referred to the matter.

  “It is unlikely that they will,” Mr Dalton assured her. “They are decent people, and they work hard at their trade. If someone should come searching for you, they will have a ready answer for that person, and they will let me know of the matter. You are not to be troubled over any of this,” he said. “I am nearby, and I shall visit you daily. It will be tiresome for you to be confined to a room in an inn, I regret, but as it is so cold outside and the weather forbidding, you might as well stay by a warm fire.”

  There was the matter of clothing, something she was too abashed to bring up, but Mr Dalton seemed to be a pragmatic man and realised her dilemma. He promptly assured her that he could procure garments for her. She did not dare to ask how he would assess her size, but she sensed that he would be more than capable of judging her dimensions accurately.

  Which was ironic, she thought as she lay upon the bed in her room in the inn that night, as sleep began to claim her and the comfort of the mattress eased her tired body; Mr Dalton had only just met her. The Duke, who had spent quite a bit of time in her company, could not, she thought, have been relied upon to provide her with correctly sized garments, had he been asked. But then, she realised, Jeffrey would never have consented to procure clothing for her which failed to reinforce his own standing.

  The pleasing cocoon of sleep which was enfolding her could not shut out her fears when she thought of the Duke and how he would react when he learned that she had disappeared. And what of her parents? They would be frantic with worry. She had not even told Sarah of her plans, not wanting her innocent maid to suffer by being made an accomplice to Cassandra’s mad impulse to flee.

  Still, she thought drowsily as she relinquished her fears to the solace of the clean bedsheets and the quiet of the inn, it was such respite to be free of Jeffrey and his oppressive assumptions that, because she was of humble birth and standing, she must necessarily be beholden to him for desiring to marry her. She would have to deal with the unyielding realities of her situation soon enough. But for now…