Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  Cassandra counted herself fortunate that she had the liberty to hope for love, as not every girl did. It was not that her father had said she might marry for love, the Viscount was not of a very romantic turn of mind. However, he had made known his opinion that females were not idiots and were therefore capable of choosing their own destiny. He had also made it known that if she were to make an idiotic choice, she must live as an idiot forevermore. None of that came as a surprise to Cassandra—the Viscount felt commonsense to be the bedrock of every well-formed opinion and expected his daughter to carry on accordingly.

  Cassandra paused in her mental wanderings, an idea suddenly occurring to her. “How shall we know which gentlemen to avoid? I have not even heard their names.”

  Lady Sybil laughed and said, “I have. My mama and Lady Jemima spent an hour this morning working their way down the list and examining every candidate while I pretended to sew.” She counted off on her fingers, “The lords Hampton, Lockwood, Ashworth, Dalton, Cabot and Grayson.”

  Cassandra silently repeated the names. This was a list of names she had no intention of forgetting.

  Chapter Two

  Lady Bergram and Sir John were the sort of people that nobody could claim to particularly like or dislike, with the exception of Lord Lockwood, who had strong opinions about everybody. For most, they were neither here nor there, though one might not guess it upon viewing the enormous amount of invitations that arrived at their door or the enormous amount of people who came to their annual ball.

  Neither Sir John nor Lady Bergram were engaging, one a bore and the other looking as if she might go up in a puff of smoke at the slightest provocation. However, as was always the way in London, once a family had been established as being worthy of notice, they were forevermore worthy unless they did something shocking. The Bergrams were less likely than a vicar on a Sunday to do something shocking, neither of them having any ideas in that direction. Or many ideas at all, really.

  What the Bergrams did have was a large house with a cavernous ballroom and the funds to entertain lavishly. Their house on Grosvenor Square was just now lit up like noon sunshine with torches on the drive and hundreds of candles burning indoors.

  Cassandra had got in her carriage in Berkeley Square just as Sybil entered her own next door, and so she had taken some comfort that her friend followed behind and they would not be parted long. She might wish the trip had taken longer than it did, as she felt a sense of nerves that she had not felt upon attending her first ball at the Tremanes’. She’d had mild flutters over that one, but this was more of a foreboding and wishing to turn the carriage round and go home.

  She supposed it was the size of the ball, or perhaps the pact and the idea that everybody would be talking of it and looking for those gentlemen while she, herself, would attempt to avoid them. It all seemed too fraught. Though she had looked forward to her first season, there were moments when she wished herself back in Surrey, quietly reading by the fire and petting Mayhem while the dog chewed up something valuable. This was one such moment.

  Now, as their carriage waited in the line leading to the front doors, Lady Marksworth said, “You are very quiet, Cassandra.”

  Cassandra smiled. “Am I? I did not mean to be. I suppose the size of this ball makes me rather feel as if I might get lost and never be found again.”

  “Heavens,” Lady Marksworth said, laughing, “though I do enjoy a card table, you do not suppose I would leave you on your own in such a place? The Tremanes’ ball was a different matter; it was small and everybody there was well-known to me. But here, though I assuredly know many of the people and have at least heard of most, I will stay nearby.”

  Cassandra was both relieved and yet slightly worried. She would wish her aunt to forgo disappearing into a card room. However, Lady Marksworth had made no mystery of her favorable opinion of the pact and the gentlemen involved in it. While Cassandra would seek to avoid them, her aunt would be pleased to see just the opposite.

  “The Bergrams,” her aunt went on, “though they are generally dull, are clever in some respects. Their ballroom is so large that there are tables set round the dancing area. I and Lady Blanding shall occupy one of them.”

  Her aunt would have her in view all evening. It would not be so easy to refuse one of these pact gentlemen, were she asked for a dance.

  Cassandra paused. How exactly had she planned to refuse anyway? She and Sybil had determined that they would, but how was it to be done, precisely? If one of those gentlemen approached and asked for her card, was she to stare boldly at the man and say no? Then she must sit out, and in any case, others would have seen what occurred, including her aunt.

  It had all seemed easy while being discussed with Sybil in the safety of her bedchamber, but rather more difficult to achieve now that she’d nearly arrived. Particularly more difficult as her aunt and Lady Blanding would be happily watching from some nearby table.

  “Do cheer yourself, Cass,” her aunt said kindly, “you are absolutely stunning. You will not find yourself sitting out. In any case, if I remember correctly from last year, there will be so many gentlemen about that Lady Bergram will even have a master of ceremonies or two wending their way round to smooth over introductions. Who knows who you shall meet?”

  Though her aunt pretended at ignorance over who Cassandra might meet, she had an uncomfortable feeling that Lady Marksworth harbored hopes that at least six of those newly met gentlemen would be destined for a dukedom.

  The carriage jerked forward and they moved ever closer to the entrance. Two men on horseback reined in their spooked horses, those animals startled by the sudden movement of the line of coaches.

  Cassandra heard one of them curse as he wrangled with a large bay. He sat tall in the saddle and worked his horse as one with vast experience, most likely from the war. She’d seen for herself the difference when their neighbor Sir George had returned from the continent—there was a confidence and skill that could not come from daily rides through the countryside or the occasional fox hunt.

  The man on horseback turned his head and Cassandra noted his dark hair and strong jaw, his shadow illuminated by the torches lining the drive. His coat and cravat were elegantly simple—the coat cut well, and the cravat tied in a neat but unassuming fashion. He was what her father termed “a man’s man.” The Viscount could not abide a gentleman who appeared to have taken inordinate amounts of time to dress and thought Mr. Brummel should pitch himself off a bridge. That Mr. Brummel was rumored to have fled England to escape gambling debts only confirmed to him that dandies were useless.

  Lady Marksworth peered out the window and then sat back, smiling. “Well, well,” she said, “Hampton and Lockwood. Did I not say they would all turn up?”

  Cassandra’s heart sank. She did not know if all six gentlemen of the pact would arrive, but at least two of them already had.

  *

  Edwin had just experienced his first irritation of the night. Mercury, though well used to the sounds of war, was apparently less used to the sound of a line of expensive carriages all lurching forward together.

  It had been an embarrassment to struggle with his mount in such a fashion. One of the many embarrassments to come, no doubt.

  Of course, it had not gone unnoticed, he’d seen a curtain pull back and a pretty face staring at him. Damn pretty, in fact. He’d always had a weakness for a heart-shaped face.

  He reminded himself that the ball would be full of pretty faces, like so many jewels scattered across a velvet-lined box. That was precisely why his father would force him to attend such occasions—every English rose in the country had descended upon London for the season. His father was well aware that he’d not recently spent any time in places where a proper English rose could be found.

  After Waterloo and their narrow victory, Edwin had returned home and sought to forget what he’d seen that day, and all the days he’d followed Wellington. He’d been in the habit of haunting places proper ladies had never heard of, o
r if they had heard of them, would never own it. The women he encountered in those low places had helped him through many an hour, blotting out the uncomfortable pictures of war that still lingered in his memory. Where those women were all laughter and amusement and only demanding a few pounds payment, the ladies at this ball would be all discreet smiles cloaking steely determination to get their hands on all of his pounds, permanently.

  Edwin felt as if he prepared to cross the enemy’s line. He must be on his guard. He could not be distracted by a pretty face. He would accomplish the incursion—turn up, dance with a suitable number of ladies, encourage none of them, and slip away unscathed.

  He would buy time to develop a real plan of escape.

  *

  Lady Marksworth and Lady Blanding had escorted their charges through the chaos of being introduced to the Bergrams, depositing their cloaks in the cloak room, and collecting dance cards. The ladies had then settled themselves at a table and left Cassandra and Sybil to stand at the edges of the ballroom floor.

  As far as Cassandra was concerned, it was the most uncomfortable moment of any ball. The ladies must stand there, like so many apples in a grocer’s bin, and wait to be selected. This was even worse than the Tremanes’ ball, where she’d been swiftly introduced to nearly every gentleman by her aunt. Here, there was not one, but several, masters of ceremonies, who walked with every willing gentleman to provide introductions before a dance was claimed.

  No lady could begin to relax until the first had been taken. One might carry on with certain holes in one’s card, as long as it was not the first or before supper. No lady willingly sat out the first set and it would be clear to anybody who viewed such a thing that the lady had not been asked. To be unescorted into supper… well, she supposed if that ever happened to her, she would hide in the retiring room and hope her absence had not been noted.

  To Sybil, she said softly, “At such a moment, one lives in terror of being overlooked, and of not being overlooked.”

  Sybil laughed behind her fan. “You are in little danger of being overlooked, Cass.”

  Cassandra did not know if that were quite true. Though she had felt she had measured up well at the Tremanes’, she now realized that there had been far fewer ladies there and so they’d all measured up well. This ballroom was rapidly becoming a sea of beautiful faces. While she had no illusions about her looks, and judged them pretty in the usual way, they did not compare to some of these ladies. Where did they all come from?

  She spotted a master of ceremonies very determinedly heading in their direction, followed by the two men who’d made such a show on horseback.

  Softly, she said, “Oh no, it is two of them.”

  “What?” Sybil whispered hurriedly, “which two?”

  Before Cassandra could answer, the three gentlemen were before her. The master’s sonorous voice intoned, “Miss Knightsbridge, daughter of Viscount Trebly, Lady Sybil Hayworth, daughter of the Earl of Blanding, may I introduce Lord Hampton, son of the Duke of Carlisle, and Lord Lockwood, son of the Duke of Gravesley.”

  Cassandra curtsied, the gentlemen bowed, and the master walked off to search out new victims.

  As Cassandra rose, she could not but help admit to herself that Lord Hampton was the most handsome man she’d yet seen in London. His height, his broad shoulders, his dark hair and dark eyes, his tanned skin, as if he spent a deal of time out of doors. If only he were not to be a duke or involved in that ridiculous pact. How might she view him if he were only to live as a Viscount or Baron in some pleasant spot in England with a father not so much in a hurry to marry him off?

  She dismissed those thoughts, as they were fantasy and she must face the reality of this man. A reality she meant to keep herself well clear of.

  “May I?” Lord Hampton said, holding his hand out for her card. She handed it over and noted Sybil doing the very same to Lord Lockwood. She and her friend were a pair—they’d so boldly talked of avoiding the gentlemen of the pact, and here they were meekly handing over their cards. Still, she did not see what else they could do.

  Lord Hampton filled in his name for the first, bowed and walked off. Cassandra supposed she should be relieved that the first was claimed, regardless of who had claimed it. She could also be grateful that the lord had not lingered. She noted him tap another master and approach another lady. And then another. He was moving through the operation in a military fashion and it relieved her to know that she was not at all marked as singular. It was clear enough that Lord Hampton sought to do his duty and be done with it.

  After Lord Lockwood had moved on, and he had not taken himself off with the incredible speed of Lord Hampton, Cassandra said, “Our well-laid plans have crumbled to dust.”

  “I rather think,” Lady Sybil said, “they were not particularly well-laid to begin. I cannot imagine how we did not foresee that refusing a man a dance would be difficult. I suppose I had some vague idea of dashing from place to place so that none of them could catch up to me.”

  “Ah well,” Cassandra said, “perhaps we might comfort ourselves in the idea that it is only a dance. Neither of us will have to go into supper with them.”

  Cassandra watched both lords put their names on various cards and wondered who that lady would be that would find herself escorted into supper by a gentleman of the pact. She noticed that the ladies who were approached by the two gentlemen appeared rather delighted, but then she could not know their real feelings. They might only wear a mask of politeness, just as she did herself.

  As she glanced at the tables, she saw that her aunt and Lady Blanding wore no such masks. They were delighted, that could not be mistaken.

  Her attention was taken from her aunt by the stream of gentlemen approaching her. Some she had met at the Tremanes’, some were introduced by one of the masters. Lord Burke, who she’d danced with at the Tremanes’ and found very pleasant, took the dance before supper. He was to be a duke, which must go against him. However, he was not included in the list of names associated with the pact and that must be in his favor.

  The ballroom had grown crowded and Cassandra could not imagine that many more people were to be crammed into it. The musicians had been tuning for some minutes and so it could not be long before the first dance would begin. She would hurry it, as the faster it arrived, the faster it departed. She would dance with Lord Hampton with all good grace and then begin to really enjoy her evening.

  Lord Hampton came to collect her, and she shot Sybil a glance before her friend was led away, too.

  The musicians took their cue and began to play. The ball was to begin with a quadrille. Cassandra had been vastly relieved when she’d examined her card that there was no mention of an endless minuet. She had only danced the Quadrille for the first time at the Tremanes’, but she’d practiced with a dancing master endless times in Surrey. Her dear father might hold the purse strings tight when it came to frippery, but he would view it an abomination to send his daughter to a ball uninformed of how to execute the various steps.

  The lead couple, along with Lord Burke and his partner, the strikingly pretty Miss Daisy Danworth, began the dance. Cassandra stood next to Lord Hampton as a side couple, waiting for their turn.

  It would be customary, while one waited, to strike up some sort of common conversation. It would be customary for the gentleman to initiate such conversation. Yet, Lord Hampton stood stone-faced and said not a word.

  Cassandra was both gratified and irritated. It was well he did not wish to speak. On the other hand, was she deemed so uninteresting that he could not bother himself to make some comment on the size of the ballroom or the skill of the musicians?

  Le Pantalon having been completed by the first two couples, Lord Hampton led her expertly. Whatever his dour temperament, he’d certainly had the benefit of a dancing master.

  Cassandra was careful in her steps, and relieved to get through creditably. She found herself once again standing next to the silent man.

  Her irritation grew as s
he watched the other couples take advantage of those moments for conversation. A gentleman said something amusing, a lady laughed and replied. Just as it should be.

  Finally, to avoid looking a complete fool, and she would with so many eyes trained on Lord Hampton, she said, “The weather is particularly fine just now.”

  Rather than reply to this innocuous salvo, the lord only nodded.

  Irritation coursed through her. Now she was to appear an even bigger fool. She had initiated a conversation and been firmly rebuffed. It would be impossible to believe it had not been noted, and it would be discussed. If Cassandra had gained any slight understanding of London, it was that balls were minutely dissected in drawing rooms across the town. Every move, every overheard conversation, every look, was to be analyzed down to the last detail.

  “You might at least attempt some sort of civility, my lord,” she said.

  Lord Hampton appeared startled, though he quickly recovered. “I am sorry, miss?”

  The way he said the words left no doubt to their meaning. His tone fairly dripped with condescension. To call her miss, rather than Miss Knightsbridge, as if she were an inconsequential person whose name was not worth the effort of recalling. She supposed the lofty lord felt he conferred some mighty favor on a country girl like herself.

  She would not stand for it.

  “Do not feign ignorance,” she said. “And do not suppose that every lady you encounter is desperate to know you.”

  It was their turn to step into the square and so Lord Hampton did not reply. He did look fairly furious, however.

  While Cassandra had gone some way to shocking herself with her boldness, she found she was not overly sorry for it. She had wished to avoid the gentlemen of the pact, and she was certain she would never be opportuned by Lord Hampton again. That left just five more to insult into silence.