Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  It had been days of peaceful domesticity, but now it was time to venture out once more. Cassandra took a deep breath as she stepped over the threshold of Blakeley House.

  Lady Blakeley, dressed in a magnificent royal blue kimono, rushed to greet her and her aunt.

  “Lady Marksworth, Miss Knightsbridge,” she said, “I am so pleased you’ve come. We are honored, as I imagine your front hall filled to the brim with invitations.”

  “As it happens,” Lady Marksworth said, laughing, “but Cassandra wished to accept only a few and I happily obliged.”

  “I was determined only to see my real friends,” Cassandra said.

  Lady Blakeley nodded. “Indeed. Those that sway with the winds are not to be depended upon, though they may be pitied for their lack of internal fortitude. Now,” she said, taking Cassandra’s arm, “let me take you in. We are to be a fairly small party this evening.”

  At the drawing door, Lady Blakeley leaned close to Cassandra’s ear and said softly, “Remember what I said at Carlton House—there is a difference between those that are thoroughly bad and those who have done a bad thing.”

  At first, Cassandra did not know why Lady Blakeley should have chosen that moment to repeat her admonishment. She soon did, though.

  Lord Hampton stood in the drawing room, staring at her intently. In fact, he was the only person there.

  He made his way over to her. “Miss Knightsbridge,” he said.

  The lord was as handsome as he had ever been, and once more Cassandra felt a pang that he could not be that lord she’d invented in her mind—selfless, kind and brave. That melancholy feeling gave way to the simmering rage that was as a boiling pot of water. It was the burning rage that was always there, if sometimes lurking under the surface of her thoughts. She worked to keep her expression neutral. She would not allow him to discompose her.

  Lady Blakeley had disappeared back to the front hall. Cassandra turned to Lady Marksworth. “Aunt?” she said.

  Lady Marksworth, having got to know her niece much better over the season, and holding her own personal opinions of the gentlemen of the pact, said, “You do not need to speak to him if you do not wish it. I will inform Lady Blakeley that he is not to take you into dinner.”

  Cassandra nodded. Lord Hampton said, “If I might just have a word. That is all I ask.”

  While Cassandra knew the proper thing would be to say nothing and take herself off to some corner of the room, the anger that had festered for all these weeks would not allow it.

  “A word?” she said. “What possible word could you have to say to me that I would be remotely interested in hearing?”

  “Please, I ask you to only give me a moment. Lady Blakeley was kind enough to give you the time as a half hour early so I might accomplish it.”

  Cassandra was rather shocked that Lady Blakeley would be his conspirator. Rather shocked that she would have invited him at all.

  “You have no need to ever look upon me again, if you would just allow me this moment,” the lord said.

  Cassandra could see he was intent on being persistent. She could also feel that the lord might not be the only person with something to say. In truth, she thought she might have quite a few things to say before they parted forevermore.

  She allowed herself to be led to the far side of the room. Lady Marksworth called after her, “I shall be right here for you, Cassandra.”

  At the pianoforte, Lord Hampton said, “You must know how deeply sorry I am for what occurred. I have no excuse for it, except to say I had never imagined it would grow so serious and took every step I could think of to stop it.”

  None of this was particularly striking to Cassandra. It was precisely what she imagined he would say.

  “Before my grandmother went to you,” the lord went on, “I had resolved to go to Surrey and apply to your father… apply to you. You see, I had thought I might—”

  “You thought you might gain absolution and go on your merry way,” Cassandra said. “It is fortunate you did not arrive, my lord. I was much in the company of a gun and might have removed your head from your shoulders.”

  There. She’d said it. She’d got the opportunity to say what she really felt. All the burning rage that had sat in her like a stone, wrapped up in a very neat picture for him to consider. It felt as a great relief, as if she had been in danger of bursting if she did not give voice to it.

  Lord Hampton appeared taken aback and Cassandra suppressed a smile. She very much doubted anybody had ever spoken to him of removing his head from his shoulders.

  He quickly recovered himself. “I sought to propose marriage,” he said. “It would have restored you to your rightful place.”

  Cassandra’s breath caught. It was as the duke had hinted, though the duke had been under the impression his son had already asked and been declined.

  Still, as handsome as he was, and as genial as he had been in her imagination, the thought of tying herself to this villain… well, it was impossible. She would not be his alibi, his convenient exit from shame.

  “My lord,” she said quietly, “thanks to your grandmother, the prince and a collection of embarrassed dukes, I no longer need restoring. Furthermore, if I had needed such a service, I would no sooner tie myself to the author of my travails than I would throw myself off London Bridge. Your vanity and conceit know no bounds. I once informed you that not every lady is eager to know you; I am surprised you did not heed the idea. That is all that need be said on the subject.”

  Cassandra turned and marched back to her aunt, leaving the lord at the pianoforte.

  Lady Marksworth whispered in her niece’s ear. “If you wish to leave, I will make our excuses.”

  Cassandra said, none too quietly, “It is the gentleman who should remove himself.”

  Lord Hampton hesitated a moment, then he bowed, and left.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Having gained her aim and driven Lord Hampton from the house, Cassandra thought she should feel more satisfied than she did. She had made her point and forced the man out and yet… she did not know what she thought about it.

  The idea that he would offer himself up in marriage as a penance. It was precisely what she and Sybil had sought to avoid—becoming trapped in a loveless marriage and left behind in the country for all her days. Surely, that was what he’d intended. He might proffer his hand and then glory in the sacrifice he’d made and take congratulations all round while she idled alone in some cavernous house with no nearby neighbors.

  Shortly after Lord Hampton made his exit, Lady Blakeley came in. “He has told me everything. Please do not be angry, he is so heartsick I could not help it, though you find you cannot forgive him.”

  Cassandra stared at Lady Blakeley. Heartsick? He was not heartsick. Why should she say so? Lord Hampton, heartsick? No, certainly not.

  Was he? Had she misread his intentions? She really assumed that he offered his hand as some noble gesture he could think upon with pride. Had it been otherwise? Would it matter if it had been otherwise? That, she could not answer.

  “It is no matter, Lady Blakeley,” Cassandra said in the steadiest voice she could muster. “You did what you thought to be right, and so did I.”

  “Very well,” Lady Blakeley said more cheerfully. “I hope then, that you can forget the little encounter that has just occurred and manage to enjoy the evening. Lord Burke will come, and I will have him take you into dinner. If anybody can amuse, it is him.”

  Cassandra felt rather numb, as if she had fallen through the ice on a vast lake and somehow been pulled out. She sank down on a sofa, not particularly sure if her legs could hold her up at the moment.

  She scolded herself for it. She must recover her spirits. It was true that Lord Burke could not fail to amuse anybody who wished to be amused. She must make a very great effort to be amused. She could think of Lord Hampton later. Or preferably, not at all.

  *

  Edwin did not go immediately home. Rather, he trotted his horse thr
ough the dark streets, the gloom suiting his mood.

  Lady Blakeley had been so set on the idea that Miss Knightsbridge’s feelings must soften, but she had been mistaken. The lady’s feelings were as iron and included shooting off his head.

  His father was right, he was an idiot.

  He’d begun the season bemoaning the directive to choose a wife. He’d been determined to do everything in his power to outfox the old man and remain a comfortable bachelor.

  Edwin laughed bitterly to think of how hard he’d been willing to work to avoid falling prey to a lady. Now, he’d worked equally hard to gain one, all to no avail.

  His debasement as a footman had not been enough for Miss Knightsbridge. His apology had not been enough either. If he were honest with himself, there was likely not anything he could do or be that would be enough.

  Some other lucky gentleman would win the lady. Someday, he really would have to marry and then he would be forced to look upon that unwanted lady, always comparing her to what might have been. His wife would be an ever-constant reminder of what he’d destroyed.

  Still, he’d brought himself to this pass and could not blame another. He must just become accustomed to unhappiness. Perhaps it would fade to a dull regret over time.

  A rat scurried underneath his horse and it startled, sidestepped and then reared, nearly forcing him off. Regaining control and coming back to the present, Edwin looked about.

  He no longer traveled on cobblestone, but rather a wet clay squelched under his horse’s hooves. Narrow streets ran off in every direction, the houses that lined them seeming to lean toward one another as if ready to collapse. The air was heavy with the smell of refuse and smoke. No lamplighter had dared enter the neighborhood to shed illumination on his surroundings, though if they had Edwin was certain he would have seen gaunt figures huddled in doorways.

  He had wandered into the Seven Dials unarmed.

  To find himself so foolhardy was as cold water on his face.

  What was he doing, wandering into a thieves’ den as if he preferred to die by rusty knife? He was not a maudlin sort! He’d been through the war, for God’s sake. This was to be another war. He may have lost a battle, but he had not yet lost the war.

  Edwin turned his horse and cantered toward home, passing lurking shadows who no doubt admired his purse and wished he’d slow down. There was no time to accommodate those wretches—it was time to devise a campaign.

  *

  Cassandra had worked hard to regain her composure after Lord Hampton had left Lady Blakeley’s house. At least, to regain the appearance of composure. That effort had been helped along by Lady Blakeley herself.

  While the hostess may have mistakenly invited Lord Hampton to her dinner, the rest of the guests were all friendly faces to Cassandra. It was a small party and composed of those that she thought she could trust. Sybil and her parents, Lord Burke, and some others, in particular Miss Penny Darlington, that she did not suspect of glorying in gossip.

  They were a cozy party of fifteen sat round a circular table in a smaller dining room. Cassandra presumed a sixteenth chair for Lord Hampton had been hastily removed and the place settings adjusted to the new number.

  Lady Blakeley rose to make a toast.

  “My dear friends, I bid you welcome to my table,” she said. “When you look about, you will notice how few real friends I think I have, as nobody but a true friend is allowed in here. This is my favorite room in the house, for it is where my husband and I gather the people we truly like. We are at once delighted to receive Miss Knightsbridge back to her proper place in the world, and thrilled that a certain Lady M has found her own proper place far to the north.”

  Laughter overtook the table and Cassandra could not help but join in. It was spoken of widely that Lady Montague continued to fire off letters from Yorkshire and had taken to blaming Lady Blakeley for any slippage in her influence. Everybody was perfectly well aware that it was the dowager duchess that Lady Montague ought to complain of, though she did not dare it.

  “Let us all be merry this evening, for I have ordered a sinful amount of wine,” Lady Blakeley said before sitting down.

  After the “hear, hears” had died down, Lord Burke turned to Cassandra. “Might I depend upon our friendship to be so bold as to skip the pleasantries and ask you directly how you’ve fared through this trial?”

  Cassandra smiled. Lord Burke could always be depended upon to say something surprising. Further, it was almost a relief that she might speak honestly, rather than engage in another of the conversational minuets she had so often been having since her return to town.

  “I am both gratified to be exonerated and furious at the gentlemen who caused my need to be exonerated,” she said. “I suppose I should be more gracious and claim all is forgiven, but I have discovered I am not so gracious.”

  Lord Burke nodded. “It is a hard thing to forgive, especially considering that it all might not have turned out so well had the dowager and the Regent not stepped in.”

  “While I lived at my father’s estate in disgrace, I had decided not to marry and would run the estate myself after he passed. I was to become a hermit in Surrey and ignore all the fanciful rumors of Miss Knightsbridge. So you see, I was determined to survive, if nothing else.”

  “And now?” Lord Burke asked.

  “Now, I cannot claim to know,” Cassandra said.

  “I am certain you are weary of gossip; however, I think you should be aware that there has been some talk about Hampton,” Lord Burke said.

  Cassandra froze. “What sort of talk?” she said slowly.

  “They say he is smitten with Miss Knightsbridge. What else could account for him muscling his way into every drawing room these past weeks to proclaim your innocence and his own guilt? Then, his father was overheard to say you could not be blamed for rejecting him.” Lord Burke laughed and said, “Apparently, his father will not cease informing people that his son is an idiot, that is why the duke does not blame you for turning his son down.”

  Cassandra took in a deep and slow breath. Carefully, she said, “As always, the gossip is invented. Lord Hampton has not asked me such a question.”

  Lord Burke appeared thoughtful. “I had almost believed it true. I’ve known Hampton a very long time and he was most in earnest in proclaiming your innocence, even to me. I told him I had no need to be convinced and then joked that he did a fine job of looking regretful for what he’d done and would be forgiven by the ton in no time. He looked dark as thunder over it. I had begun to wonder.”

  “Surely, if the lord had ever an inclination to speak to me,” Cassandra said, “his motive would only have been to assuage his guilty conscience.”

  “Perhaps,” Lord Burke said. “Though, you might put aside that reason if he chooses to speak now or in future, as you no longer have need of rescue.”

  Cassandra had only nodded at that idea. Lord Burke had gone on to entertain with more stories of his cook. She worked hard to be attentive and amused at the idea that he’d survived a week on chestnuts in all their various forms—one day roasted, another day in a sauce, a third day ground into flour and made into a pancake.

  For all her smiles, though, her thoughts kept drifting back to Lord Hampton. Could it be true that he held real feelings for her? Could it be possible that she could ever forgive him enough to return those feelings?

  It was ridiculous. Of course she could not. Even if she could, she had no wish to become a duchess. She’d always said so.

  *

  Cassandra spent a rather fretful night, at once willing herself to sleep and getting up and lighting a candle. She would gaze out the window at nothing but the flickering of a nearby streetlamp valiantly doing battle with the darkness. Seeing nothing, she would blow out the candle and attempt sleep again.

  After Lady Blakeley had claimed Lord Hampton heartsick and Lord Burke told her of the rumors of his affections, it had been impossible not to think of it. She’d spent the remainder of the dinner with
her thoughts in two places at once—both attending to the people around her and considering Lord Hampton.

  Alone in her bedchamber, she had no need to attend to anybody and was left to herself. Lord Hampton remained still two gentlemen before her, the one who had nearly ruined her and the handsome and educated man that had existed so pleasantly in her imagination.

  Cassandra knew she ought to cease examining her confused feelings, as it would only lead to more confusion. She ought to dismiss him forevermore. Were there not a hundred pleasant gentlemen in town? Might she not meet and marry one who had never caused her harm?

  Of course she must. Not this season, but perhaps the next. At the end of this season she would return to Surrey and fire off her guns at her leisure and she would not care who said what about it. She would demand of herself that she stop brooding and wondering. She would compel herself to be happy again. She would take herself back to the time before she’d come to town. Life had been simple and enjoyable before she’d ever heard of the dukes’ pact.

  At breakfast, Cassandra had felt it her duty to inform the dowager that her grandson had briefly made an appearance at the Blakeley’s dinner. She said it, including all she had said to the lord, as quickly as possible and then waited uncomfortably to see how the dowager would react to it. The lady had been so kind to her, but Cassandra’s disdain of her grandson must wear thin.

  Much to her surprise, the dowager had laughed. “I could have told Lady Blakeley it was too soon,” she said.

  Amidst Cassandra’s consternation over the idea that time alone was to patch it all up, she said, “I must be honest, and I hope I do not offend, but I do not think time will heal this particular wound. In deference to you, I wish I could claim otherwise.”