Lady Marksworth softened at the sentiment. “We are glad to see you, Lord Hampton. It seems absolutely anybody might wander round the park bothering people these days.”
Lord Hampton nodded and said, “I will escort you on your way to ensure that none of Mr. Conners’ friends are so inclined to harass.”
At that, they made their way forward. Lord Hampton was silent, as was Cassandra. It was fortunate that Lady Marksworth was not so afflicted and nattered on about where society was going when young bucks took such liberties.
Cassandra was far too busy trying to work out what Mr. Conners had thought he was about. Was it really because he noted that she was not delighted with his conversation at the Montagues’ ball? It was a frightening thought, especially if there were other gentlemen who might think to insult her if they felt themselves affronted by her lack of interest. There might well be—Lord Hampton had cautioned against the gentleman’s friends.
But then, she was certain she had not shown her true feelings when Mr. Conners had asked her no end of questions about Surrey. She had been quite civil. At least, she thought she had been.
Finding herself unwilling to remain in the dark on such a matter, Cassandra said, “My Lord, is Mr. Conners in the habit of proposing such ludicrous things to ladies he hardly knows?”
Lord Hampton had taken time with his answer, and finally said, “I cannot claim to know his habits, Miss Knightsbridge. I am only very casually acquainted with him. Though, having witnessed it, I will make it my business to be less acquainted with him.”
It did not give Cassandra any real answer, but she found she was much complimented by the idea that the lord would cut Mr. Conners on account of an insult to herself. In truth, she was admiring of the way Lord Hampton had handled the entire situation. He had been masterful, and a lady could not be oblivious when a gentleman stepped in on her behalf.
“I applaud you, Lord Hampton,” Lady Marksworth said. “It’s all well and good to allow a mister or missus into one’s sphere, but only if they can conduct themselves creditably in civil society. We lords and ladies must lead the way and set the example.”
Lord Hampton seemed particularly struck by the idea and softly said, “Indeed, we must.”
A clatter of hooves behind Cassandra made her turn her head, almost dreading that it might be Mr. Conners’ friends. Instead, she saw Lord Lockwood and Lord Ashworth.
While she was glad it was not to be some other gentleman challenging her to a race, she found herself slightly alarmed to be in the company of three of the gentlemen of the pact.
The two men very civilly greeted her and Lady Marksworth. Lord Hampton said, “I was just escorting Lady Marksworth and Miss Knightsbridge. I discovered Mr. Conners acting less than a gentleman.”
The three men exchanged looks between them that Cassandra could not divine the meaning of.
Lord Lockwood said, “We might all have a mind to escort Miss Knightsbridge, if Lady Marksworth is not opposed.”
Cassandra knew her aunt could not be less opposed to anything. Lady Marksworth said, “We should be delighted to have your company, my lords. Though, we are nearly at the gate.”
“We should not mind going all the way to Marksworth House, should we not, gentlemen?” Lord Ashworth asked.
The gentlemen all nodded as if this were the most usual thing in the world. Lady Marksworth appeared delighted. Cassandra turned her head to hide her face. What they proposed was extraordinary. It was as if she retained her own cavalry. It had not gone unnoticed, either.
Every carriage they passed contained people looking fairly agog at their progress.
What was the meaning of it? Why should the three gentlemen escort them to her aunt’s house? Further, what should they do when they arrived? Invite them all in for tea?
She noticed, as she pondered it, that the three gentlemen had placed themselves into some kind of formation. Lords Lockwood and Ashworth rode ahead on either side, while Lord Hampton rode behind her.
Cassandra blushed. She might be a queen for all the care that was being taken. But why?
It sometimes felt constraining to keep oneself in the realm of polite conversation, and it certainly did at the moment. If she could have had her way, Cassandra would have said, “Gentlemen, what is the meaning of this? What is it you do?”
She could not say such a thing and was forced to ride forward as if this situation were not at all strange. That it was strange was evidenced by the various looks of passerby. Cassandra dearly hoped it would not lead to any unfortunate gossip.
Riding through the streets of London felt as if she were in the midst of some embarrassing procession. There was not much spoken, and the men appeared almost grim. It was only Lady Marksworth who seemed to enjoy the journey.
Though Cassandra had worried over what was to be done when they arrived at the house, she need not have. Lady Marksworth thanked the gentlemen for their consideration with such an air of finality that they tipped their hats and trotted off.
Now, she and her aunt sat in Lady Marksworth’s charming sitting room, warming themselves in front of the fire. As genial as the weather had been, the early evening had grown damp and cold.
“Aunt,” Cassandra said carefully, “were you not surprised at Mr. Conners’ audacity? Have you ever seen such before? And why would Lord Hampton mention Mr. Conners’ friends? Do they all conduct themselves in such a manner?”
“Goodness,” Lady Marksworth said, “that is a lot of questions. Yes, I was very surprised by Mr. Conners. On the other hand, I do not know the gentleman or his friends, nor do I wish to. I cannot say how they all conduct themselves or whether they are in the habit of such nonsense. People such as that may have gathered up enough coin to look the gentleman, but not enough sense to act as one.”
“I just thought it odd that Lord Hampton, and Lords Lockwood and Ashworth too, would view it in so serious a light as to escort us all the way home. It was as if they knew something that we did not. That there might be some further danger there, aside from the insult of Mr. Conners’ suggestion.”
“I had not viewed it in such a light,” Lady Marksworth said. She smiled and said, “You do realize that gentlemen may pretend all sorts of things when looking to converse with a pretty face.”
“But they did not converse much,” Cassandra said, pressing on.
“Ah well,” Lady Marksworth said, pouring the tea, “a young gentleman often wishes to converse, and then finds his nerves getting the best of him.”
Cassandra did not think any of those lords prone to nerves. Certainly, Lord Hampton was no worried flower.
“There were such looks at us as we passed,” Cassandra said. “It felt as if we made an unnecessary scene of it. I am afraid people will talk.”
“Of course, they will talk,” Lady Marksworth said. “Miss Knightsbridge escorted by three of the lords of the pact? You will be the talk of every drawing room. Really, Cassandra, you must become accustomed to receiving attention.”
Though Cassandra knew herself to be, in general, averse to attention of that sort, she felt there was something even more worrying about what had occurred in the park. Something she did not rightly understand. There had been some undercurrent of over-seriousness that rankled. Mr. Conners’ proposed race to the gate had been ludicrous and insulting, but when did ludicrous and insulting require an escort of three men? She only hoped the entire circumstance would be forgotten by all by the next sunrise, and that she never encountered Mr. Conners again.
Chapter Eight
The following morning, as they sat at their usual window seat, Cassandra wondered what ailed Sybil. They had grown so accustomed to one another that her friend’s demeanor felt markedly changed.
Lady Marksworth had gone out, and Racine had delivered a tea fit for a queen and resplendent with fairy cakes and almond biscuits. Cassandra knew Sybil had a particular weakness for almond biscuits. She had asked for them specially, and yet her friend had touched neither tea nor biscuit. So far,
Sybil had spent more time staring out the window or over Cassandra’s head than anything else.
“Come now,” Cassandra said. “I feel last evening must not have been to your liking. What happened at your dinner at the Smythes’?”
“Happened?” Sybil said in a nervous tone of voice. “Why should anything have happened?”
“Sybil,” Cassandra said, clasping her hands, “we are comrades in arms, remember? We go into battle together. You do not seem comfortable just now and you have not touched a biscuit—Racine will feel it a heavy blow if you do not enjoy them. Now do tell me what troubles you.”
Sybil quietly sighed and said, “As it happens, I had a very strange conversation at the Smythes’ dinner. Mr. Richards asked me if I were acquainted with Miss Knightsbridge. I said you were known to me very well, and then he said I ought not to continue the acquaintance on account of the three gentlemen.”
“Three gentlemen?” Cassandra asked.
“Precisely what I said,” Sybil said. “Then Lord Burke interrupted us and told Mr. Richards, strongly I might add, that he talked as much as an old woman and he better stop where he was. Mr. Richards turned red as an apple and moved to the other side of the room.”
“And what did Lord Burke say then?”
“Nothing,” Sybil said. “He would say nothing more about it other than Mr. Richards was an old woman.”
Before Cassandra could properly think through what Sybil had said, a street urchin stopped in front of the house and boldly smiled at them through the wrought iron fence. He stared in quite a determined and challenging manner, and Cassandra wondered if she should call a footman to chase him off. In a moment, the boy took something from his pocket and hurled it over the fence at one of the windows.
The glass from a window on the far side of the room shattered and scattered across the rug. Racine rushed in at the noise and stared at the window.
“It was a boy,” Cassandra said, gathering her wits over the sudden shock, “he’s just run down the road!”
Racine hurried from the room to galvanize his footmen and it was only seconds before Jimmy and Ben raced from the house in pursuit.
Cassandra rose and stepped carefully around the broken glass to the object that had been thrown. It was a rock, covered in paper secured with twine. She picked it up.
“Do leave it alone, Cass,” Sybil said from the window seat.
Cassandra untied the twine and removed the paper from around the rock, smoothing it out.
She stared at it, trying to work out what she looked at or why somebody would throw it through her aunt’s window. It was an illustration of a lady on horseback, raising a shotgun at three gentlemen floating in a cloudless sky.
“Really, Cass,” Sybil said, her voice frightened, “there may be poison on it or something equally dangerous about it.”
In a moment, Cassandra perceived what she saw. The lady was herself. Someone at the table at the Bergrams’ ball had repeated her claim to having used a shotgun. That, combined with the three lords’ escort of her out of Hyde Park and through London, had been enough to compose the scene.
“There is poison here, to be sure,” Cassandra said. “Just not the sort to damage one’s physical person.” She carried it to the window seat, careful to step around the broken glass, and showed it to Sybil.
Sybil stared at it, then looked up. “What does it mean? I do not understand it at all.”
“The lady is meant to be me. I did not mention, because I wished to forget, that during my initial encounter with Lord Hampton I was rather provoked and owned to having shot bird on my father’s estate. Clearly, I was overheard.”
Sybil laughed, though it was rather a small laugh. “Cass, shooting? Why should you say such a thing?”
“Because it is true, though I need not have laid claim to it.”
Sybil considered the idea for a moment. She said, “Taking up a shotgun is unusual, to be sure. Though, if your claim of shooting birds is the cause of this, why should the birds in the illustration be three gentlemen? Are they the three gentlemen mentioned by Mr. Richards? Who are they?”
“I am afraid they are the Lords Hampton, Lockwood and Ashworth,” Cassandra said. “I had not yet had time to tell you of my encounter in the park yesterday. Mr. Conners, who I met at the Montagues’ ball, approached me and proposed I engage in a horse race.”
“He did not!” Sybil exclaimed.
“He did. Then Lord Hampton came on the scene and chased him away.”
“That was very good of Lord Hampton,” Sybil said.
“Yes, it was,” Cassandra said. “But there is more. Not long after, Lord Lockwood and Lord Ashworth arrived. The three gentlemen insisted they escort us on our way home. All the way home. It was strange and there were no end of people staring at us. You see? The three gentlemen in the illustration are Hampton, Ashworth and Lockwood.”
“I do see,” Sybil said. “Goodness, that is unfair. You have not deserved this. As well, it does not entirely explain Mr. Richards’ comment on the three gentlemen. Why should one be wary of your company because three gentlemen of the pact did you a marked courtesy?”
“I do not know, nor do I fully understand why they did such a courtesy. I am perhaps most alarmed at the idea that something that occurred yesterday afternoon was so widely known that same night and a mocking of it is done today.” Cassandra paused, then said, “As well, who would be so determined as to throw it through my aunt’s window?”
“Lady Marksworth will know what ought to be done,” Sybil said. “I expect a ‘Chin up and ignore the gossip’ is what she will say.”
Cassandra took Sybil’s hands in her own. “But you need not ignore it, my friend. I would not like to see you tainted by talk involving myself. This will not be the only copy of this print and I cannot know how many others circulate. Perhaps Mr. Richards was right, perhaps it might be best for you to stay away for now.”
“Stay away?” Sybil said, with more vigor than she had displayed all morning. “I certainly will not. Lady Sybil Hayworth is made of sterner stuff than that, thank you very much.”
Cassandra smiled at her friend’s valiant loyalty, though she knew it might not hold. “Your mother may not feel the same,” she said.
“My mother comes from a long line of lady warriors,” Sybil said. “She will not retreat in the face of difficulty.”
Racine came in with the two footmen, who both worked to catch their breath. “The little blighter could not be caught,” he said.
“It is no matter,” Cassandra said. “I do not know what we would have done with him if we had caught him.”
“Knock the stuffing out of him is what I would do!” Racine said.
Cassandra smiled at the idea. It appeared Racine was from a long line of warriors too.
“I think,” she said, “the best thing we can do is send somebody to Mrs. Hanson’s house to retrieve my aunt.”
Racine nodded, though he appeared to experience some disappointment in not having the opportunity to knock the stuffing out of anybody. “Jimmy, you go. Say an important letter has arrived, nothing more until you are on your way. Ben, sweep the glass from the rug and cover the window with a cloth. I will arrange for a glazier to come and repair it.”
Cassandra felt a bit better, having settled on a plan of action and seeing Racine so competent in carrying out the details. She would feel both comforted and mortified to see her aunt. She had caused talk about herself! She would need to own that she had spoken so out of turn as to mention shooting. As for the three gentlemen escorting them home, she could not have done anything about that—Lady Marksworth had quite approved it.
It was simply that the two pieces of information, taken together, resulted in a humiliating picture. She supposed that was what the people who dreamt up such illustrations sought out—combining a few disparate facts into a scene that would amuse.
Though who would have felt it necessary to hire a boy to throw the thing through a window? That was not just amus
ement, there was real condemnation there. Further, her name was not even on the drawing. Were both circumstances so well known, and so quickly, that whoever had hired the boy had instantly perceived who the drawing represented?
Sybil wiped her eyes. “It is so unfair!” she said.
“Indeed it is,” Cassandra said. “Though I do not like to see you upset by it. You ought to go home, I know you attend the Blakeleys’ ball this evening and you will not want red eyes, particularly not with a mask on—you would appear a frightful specter.”
“Oh no,” Sybil said, her voice resolute. “I shall not go anywhere until your aunt arrives. I will not have you sit alone waiting for her. Though, I think we’d best move away from the window. Just in case another boy comes along.”
The thought of a second broken window sent a shiver down Cassandra’s spine and they moved with all haste to the other side of the room.
“You were to go to the Blakeleys’ tonight as well,” Sybil said. “Shall you attend?”
“I will do as my aunt suggests,” Cassandra said. “I very much hope she suggests we stay home, as I am in no mood for levity or for finding myself stared at. I can have no idea how many people have seen a copy of that print.”
“If you do go,” Sybil said, “I shall be right by your side. Let the starers note it all they like. I rather think you should go, my mama says Lady Blakeley takes a deal of time choosing the right mask for each person. I am rather terrified to see what arrives today but whatever it is, I will put it on and remain close by you.”
Cassandra smiled at her friend, much cheered to find her such a stalwart ally. Sybil might not gallop off without a groom or shoot birds, but she was as steady as any soldier. As for the mask, Lady Marksworth had told her of Lady Blakeley’s unusual way of going on. It was not a full-dress mask and those attending did not choose their own. Two masks of some sort would arrive for herself and her aunt before the day was through.
Cassandra had looked forward to the idea, but now she would just as soon forgo donning a mask of cheerfulness or anything Lady Blakeley might dream up.
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