Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  Cassandra felt older, and wiser, too. She did not know if being who she was with no pretense would always be so approved of, but she was determined not to care. The ton had no more hold on her.

  As for Lord Hampton, she wished she could say he no longer had a hold on her, either. She was determined it be so and supposed only time would assist in that endeavor.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Edwin had felt as if his face flamed like a fire ever since he’d donned the livery. His valet had almost fallen over when he saw it. Mackly had picked up the coat and stared at it, then said, “You go to a mask, my lord?”

  “I wish it were so,” he’d answered.

  Of course, Mackly’s reaction was nothing compared to his butler. Dreyfus had looked positively offended when he’d descended the stairs. His own footmen had looked on in astonishment—he’d no doubt they’d laughed into their sleeves as soon as he’d left the house.

  He did not know what he’d expected to occur at Carlton House, he’d had some idea that they’d be paraded around, forced to serve something to somebody, and then allowed to go home. That had not been the case.

  Upon arrival, they’d not been greeted by the prince or their fathers. They’d not even been let in the front door. Rather, they had found themselves taking orders from a butler, a certain Mr. Grimes, who informed them in the most condescending terms possible that they were to assist with the carriages. For a start.

  He’d had to restrain Dalton from attacking the man, though Grimes had looked down his long nose with amusement and disdain. Whatever their standing in society had ever been, for this night they were nobodies that were to be lorded over by the prince’s butler.

  Miss Knightsbridge’s carriage had been the first to arrive.

  The dowager had descended and taken great pleasure in his predicament. There would be no sympathy from that quarter. The viscount had never set eyes on him and so took no more notice of him than he would any other footman in any other house. Though, he doubted that would hold through the entire evening.

  Edwin knew Miss Knightsbridge would see him eventually, he had thought to keep his head down and avoid being recognized by her as she exited her carriage. It was bad enough that he would be seen indoors, but to be seen standing on the drive?

  Though he had planned to avoid her gaze, he found he could not. When she’d been framed in the door of the carriage, as beautiful as ever and dressed in a stunning diamond encrusted gown, he had spoken.

  He wished he had not. Her expression told him all—the last person in the world that Miss Knightsbridge was interested in encountering was himself.

  He could, at least, be satisfied by her reception at Carlton House. The room was filled with admirers of Miss Knightsbridge. It seemed the damage had been repaired, though he could not take credit for it. His grandmother and father and the Prince Regent had seen it done.

  Edwin had almost got used to the humiliation of standing around in livery, having become a servant who had been used to being served. However, the dukes would not let it be so. His father, in particular, would not let it be so.

  The Duke of Carlisle could not let stand Graveley’s rather civil remarks. No, his father must pointedly call them idiots, down to a man.

  That they were idiots, he was already too well aware. He could easily ignore the laughter at his expense, it was Miss Knightsbridge’s serious expression that cut far deeper.

  Now, Miss Knightsbridge danced with the Regent as the rest looked on. She was glorious in that gown. Edwin could not be certain where all those diamonds had come from, but he suspected his grandmother. He would have gone to Brazil and dug them up himself if it pleased Miss Knightsbridge.

  Perhaps the only bright spot to think of was his tête-à-tête with Lady Blakeley earlier in the day. That kind lady had summoned him to her house and forced him to own all. She had guessed that he had a singular interest in Miss Knightsbridge and thought it just as bizarre as his grandmother had that he’d participated in the ridiculous scheme to create gossip about her. He attempted to explain as best he could, though he’d been well aware it had sounded ludicrous. Lady Blakeley had viewed the disaster with more humor than his grandmother had and seemed more certain that all might not be lost.

  Lady Blakeley was to hold a dinner on Tuesday next. Miss Knightsbridge had accepted the invitation, and one was then given to him too.

  *

  Cassandra had danced all evening, of course the lady the ball honored would have her card filled and many turned away.

  The supper had been lavish and might have been enjoyed immensely had it not been for the gentlemen of the pact bumbling their way through the service. It provided vast amusement to the onlookers, but it had only made Cassandra uncomfortable each time she became aware of some gaffe.

  Worse, Lord Hampton seemed always to be standing behind her and it made the back of her neck feel prickly to know it. She did not understand why he would persist with it, particularly because the butler kept berating him about it.

  Cassandra had been taken into dinner by the Duke of Carlisle, Lord Hampton’s father. She was aware it was meant to be a high honor, but she would have much preferred the easy jokes of Lord Burke.

  The duke spoke to her on a variety of subjects, but did not hit upon the one she was truly interested in. What had he meant when he said that she had rejected Lord Hampton?

  Though she searched her mind, there had not been any way to recall him to the subject.

  She did find, though, that the duke had a modern way of thinking, perhaps more modern than his son. He was not opposed to her shooting, and even hinted that the dowager had taken up a fowling piece here and there in her youth, though they had all forgone speaking of it.

  He had expounded on his opinions by saying, “I sometimes wonder if we do not put young ladies too much in a cage. They must at once come off as a delicate flower, and then when they run their own house, must transform themselves into a formidable lady with an iron fist.”

  The duke had concluded with, “Of course, our Miss Knightsbridge is in no danger of requiring a constant supply of smelling salts.”

  She did not know when she had become the duke’s “our Miss Knightsbridge” but could only agree on the smelling salt front.

  Now, happily, she was home, safe in her bedchamber with just a single candle to light the room. She had got through the ball and had been restored to her place. Her father could relax and dismiss forever any ideas of a duel—he’d been well satisfied with the gentlemen’s humiliation in their livery uniforms. In fact, he had been rather gleeful in his attempts to run them off their feet. Cassandra had noticed him accepting a cup of something, then frowning and sending it back, more than once.

  That she had not been entirely satisfied with the gentlemen’s humiliation Cassandra would keep to herself. There did not seem much point in demanding anything further, as she knew she would not get it.

  Cassandra was determined to enjoy the rest of the season. She would judiciously accept invitations from the pile that had continued to grow. She would only attend those events that struck her as genial. She would have a care for her person and not allow herself to become anybody’s trophy at a dinner or a rout.

  She had already accepted Lady Blakeley’s dinner invitation, but that was the only one she had answered with any eagerness. The rest could wait.

  Cassandra blew out the candle and drifted off to a well-earned sleep.

  *

  The following day should have been one of leisure, Cassandra’s party had not returned from Carlton House until after three. The morning hours were quiet and leisurely. Cassandra, Lady Marksworth, and the dowager breakfasted late on an enormous spread arranged by Racine. Her father, she knew, would stay abed with his breakfast and a proliferation of newspapers Jimmy had no doubt been sent out to fetch. He would leave for Surrey after he’d risen and he would not like to be rushed.

  Racine appeared to consider the prince’s ball a victory for the house and was in
quite the jolly frame of mind. More than once, Cassandra heard him softly say, “Yes, indeed.”

  Lady Marksworth said, “My dear Duchess, you do know you need not descend for breakfast. We can most easily have something sent up.”

  “No, Lady Marksworth,” the dowager said. “Once I was apprised of your own habit of coming down so that Miss Knightsbridge does not dine alone, I was determined to copy the habit. I find I rather enjoy it—it is ever so much more cheerful than staying alone in my room while Jates huffs and mutters over the state of my clothes.”

  “I am grateful for the company of you both,” Cassandra said.

  “For myself,” the dowager said, “I am grateful that the ball was such a success. Miss Knightsbridge is restored to her proper place and those gentlemen of the pact, including my own grandson, were put in their proper place.”

  Cassandra had studiously avoided any mention of the gentlemen who had caused her harm, and who were shown as ridiculous the evening before. She said nothing now.

  “Today is your day at home, Lady Marksworth?” the Dowager asked. “I expect you will have various visitors encountered at Carlton House coming to mark their approval of Miss Knightsbridge.”

  Cassandra had entirely forgotten that it was her aunt’s at home day. She hoped the Dowager was mistaken and they should only be visited by Sybil and some of Lady Marksworth’s closest friends. Though she had been out in the world once again, she was not in the frame of mind to be back out again so soon.

  *

  Cassandra had hoped to only see the most well-known acquaintances in her aunt’s drawing room and had worried that she should see more than that. However, she could not have imagined how many cards would batter the door like bats who had lost their way in the night. The street became choked with carriages as one person after the next was shown in.

  Cassandra tried her best to get through it in good humor, though she was rather hard-pressed when a lady would boldly inquire if Miss Knightsbridge had found time to examine an invitation recently sent. Sybil was of great assistance in that regard, as she invariably stepped in to explain that Miss Knightsbridge had only recently returned to town and was still getting settled.

  Cassandra was not flattered by the attention she received, as she knew all too well from whence it came. Those various ladies so eager to find Miss Knightsbridge at their table only ever sought to put another feather in their cap. She was another thing to boast of, no more important than a new china set.

  Racine took the chaos of the day in stride, pressing the cook to produce ever more tea and biscuits and announcing each card that arrived with such gravitas that he could trounce the prince’s own butler.

  The only aspect of real amusement was the various encounters of May and those visitors newly arrived. While one might have expected a dog of that size to be banished to another part of the house, the dowager insisted that George stay and as May was his faithful follower, she must stay too. Cassandra had the distinct impression that the various small shrieks emanating from ladies viewing her darling beast for the first time entertained the dowager as much as herself.

  Now, Racine had come into the drawing room again, card in hand, just when Cassandra had harbored high hopes of saying goodbye to the last of the callers.

  “Viscount Hampton, my lady.”

  Cassandra froze. Why should Lord Hampton come?

  In a moment, she divined why. He wished to show all the world he was forgiven and that it had not been such a great crime after all.

  The audacity of that man! All these people had turned up to use her for their own purposes, and here was one more. Here, in fact, was the worst of them.

  Cassandra glanced at the dowager and then her aunt and shook her head no. If Lady Marksworth would not refuse him entry, she would leave herself. She would not help him along in his rehabilitation. She was very sorry that she must treat the dowager’s own grandson in such a manner, but she felt rather iron-willed about it.

  The dowager picked up George and settled the dog in her lap. She said, “Quite right, Miss Knightsbridge. Bar the doors.”

  Cassandra breathed a sigh of relief. Lady Marksworth nodded and said, “Do tell Lord Hampton that, unfortunately, we are not at home.”

  The few callers remaining in the drawing room looked on, their expressions filled with fascination. Cassandra thought that was well. Despite the prince’s admonition to avoid gossip only the night before, they would talk of Lord Hampton’s refusal everywhere. It would be known that Miss Knightsbridge was not eager to reacquaint herself with the gentlemen of the pact.

  *

  Edwin brooded in his study, while Havoc slowly and quietly shredded the pages of a book at his feet. He’d seen the dog stealthily take the book off a shelf and should have roused himself to rescue it, but he’d not had the will.

  Lady Marksworth had refused him entry. She was not at home. He knew perfectly well that he’d been refused with his grandmother’s consent.

  He’d not even meant to go, but somehow had been led there. First, it had been the idea of visiting Dalton so he might look out the window to Marksworth House.

  Then, all of those carriages coming and going had seemed to beckon him. At that moment, Miss Knightsbridge was greeting people, just inside the doors.

  He’d resolved to go over, though Dalton had done everything possible to stop him, including threatening to tie him to a chair.

  Edwin had not been convinced that Miss Knightsbridge would even be civil to him, but he had expected to get inside.

  And then, that butler of hers! Folding his arms like a potentate and seeming very satisfied that Lady Marksworth was not at home. He’d said, “Sadly, Lady Marksworth is not at home.” The man had said “sadly” as if he’d never been happier in his life. He supposed servants held all kinds of opinions, though he’d never considered the idea until he’d found himself a footman. Apparently, this butler had developed very firm opinions on those who had nearly ruined Miss Knightsbridge. He supposed he shouldn’t condemn the fellow, as he happened to be right.

  All of these ideas prompted him to consider the rightness of attending Lady Blakeley’s dinner. The lady had fashioned it as a surprise, but would it not be more of an ambush?

  Still, he did not see when else he might have the opportunity to speak with Miss Knightsbridge. He’d already become aware that numerous invitations had been issued to her that very pointedly excluded him and his friends. If he could not speak to her, he would never be able to even attempt to soften her views.

  Those views, he knew, were hardened like lead at the moment. Though he’d placed himself nearby her as often as he could at Carlton House, he might have been an actual footman for all the notice she took of him.

  He’d stared at her lovely hair, ignoring the butler attempting to direct him, while she kept her back turned. She’d acknowledged him no more than she would a fly beating against a glass.

  *

  With very few exceptions, Cassandra had declined the dozens of invitations sent to her. She and the dowager had been through them together, Lady Marksworth happy to leave it in their hands and the dowager in agreement with Cassandra that she was not to be paraded about like a prize cow.

  Though the dowager had approved of her attending Lady Blakeley’s dinner, she would not do so herself. She had arranged for a quiet evening of cards with some old friends and considered that vastly superior to a formal dinner.

  Cassandra had broached the matter of the diamonds twice, certain they ought to be removed from the dress and returned to the lady. The dowager would not hear of it, rather, she said that every woman should have some sort of stockpile of her own. That way, no matter the winds of fate, she would not find herself entirely without means. The dowager had kept her own cache of jewels in a locked case throughout her marriage, in case her lord made one speculation too many and they found themselves fleeing to the continent to escape the debt. Cassandra was to remove the diamond encrusted overlay and tuck it away somewhere safe,
as her own little bank against financial difficulties.

  Cassandra still could not feel it was right, but faced with the lady’s fortitude on the subject, she’d personally wrapped the overlay in paper and stored it away. There would be time in future to determine what to do.

  Now, she was dressed in a charming pale pink silk with the palest overlay of blue gauze giving the skirt a lovely lilac color. Earlier, Peggy had begun to suggest the yellow satin dress but had stopped herself when she noted her mistress’s expression. Cassandra thought she had learned more than one thing from the dowager, she had finally learned how to quell her maid.

  She’d not been out since the ball at Carlton House and had rather enjoyed her time in. She, Lady Marksworth, and the dowager had grown very comfortable together and spent many an hour in the drawing room. She and Lady Marksworth sewed, but the dowager said she’d given it up long ago. Publicly, she blamed her eyes, but she admitted she just did not like it.

  Sybil had come every day, with various reports of her previous evening’s activities. Cassandra was still hailed all over town as the innocent victim of a plot and the heroic savior of the dowager. Sybil also mentioned that she had not seen any of the gentlemen of the pact and had the idea they were not yet welcome most places. Cassandra hoped that would hold, those gentlemen ought to go home to the country and trouble her no more. She willfully ignored the flutter inside of her when she thought of one particular of those gentlemen—her mind could not be held responsible for what her feelings insisted on doing.

  During this time of peace and quiet, Racine had been a veritable magician—always coming into the drawing room at just the right moment with biscuits and fairy cakes. The dowager was particularly fond of York biscuits and Racine made certain they were offered in abundance. It was well he did, as George appeared equally fond of them and had no compunction over stealing them off the tray.

  Racine had got in the habit of taking George and May out to the back garden for exercise. They followed him so dutifully that Cassandra was fairly sure there were York biscuits in his pockets. Cassandra sometimes watched them romp down the paths and around bushes, George attempting to run with an oversize branch in his mouth and May gamely trying to take it from him but rarely succeeding.