“Time? No, I would not think so,” the dowager said. “Rather, it is penance. I cannot claim to know what would be enough to appease your well-earned anger but did not think the prince’s footmen gambit would quite suffice. Though, it was most amusing to see. As for my grandson ambushing you in Lady Blakeley’s drawing room, that was doomed to fail.”
Cassandra did not answer, as she did not have a satisfactory answer. She could not imagine what penance the lord might do that she would deem sufficient. What could he possibly say or do that would wipe clean the anger and hurt that still roiled inside her?
“You are not to worry over it, my dear,” the dowager said. “My grandson has dug himself a deep hole and we will just see if he can crawl out of it. You should only think of enjoying yourself while he attempts to scramble up the sides of this ridiculous pit of his own making.”
Cassandra could not say that her feelings were any more clear than they had been through a sleepless night, but she could at least be soothed by the dowager’s views. The lady was stalwart in her defense of Miss Knightsbridge, though it must cost her dearly to throw down her own blood in such a manner.
After breakfast, they had made their way to the drawing room and settled down to Racine’s considerate rounds of service. They were never to be without cakes or biscuits. George was delighted, May was hopeful, and the two dogs divided their time between lurking round the tea tray, lounging on the far sofa, and racing to the windows at the slightest provocation. Should they hear the front doors being opened, they rushed headlong to the drawing room door to greet the unwary arrival.
Sybil was the first of those visitors to arrive, though she was not quite as unwary as anybody else. She had spent so much time in the house that she was quite good friends with George and May and happily allowed them to escort her into the room.
As she entered, Cassandra noted she carried a bouquet of flowers.
After curtsying to the dowager, Sybil said, “These were left on your doorstep, Lady Marksworth. They are addressed to Cassandra.”
“Heavens,” Lady Marksworth said. “Now we are to be pummeled by posies. I would not be surprised if it contains yet another invitation.”
Cassandra colored. She had grown tired of being celebrated and wished the ton would turn their faces to another subject. Worse, the flowers were red roses. There really was no need for such strong feelings—she had been lied about, now the truth was known. That was all and that must be sufficient.
“I suppose,” Lady Marksworth said, “that as a responsible guardian I ought to read the card. Though, no girl should be more trusted to manage such a thing than Cassandra.”
Sybil handed Lady Marksworth the card and crossed the room to sit by Cassandra.
Cassandra pretended indifference while her aunt unfolded the note. She could not, however, maintain her indifference in the face of Lady Marksworth’s expression upon reading it.
“I see,” she said softly, handing the note to the dowager.
The dowager glanced at it and smiled. “It is from my grandson, and not overly worded. It only says: ‘I am sorry.’ As he should be, mightily.”
Cassandra shrugged, as if she could not care one way or the other. She was in some part relieved that nobody mentioned the color of the roses. Did he really mean to press his suit? Why could not he go away, at least for a while, and allow her feelings to settle?
“Will you walk with me to the window?” Sybil asked her.
Everybody in the room, including Cassandra, knew the request for what it was. A simple escape so that the two young friends might have a private talk together. Lady Marksworth and the dowager pretended ignorance and Cassandra’s aunt helpfully began asking the dowager about various investments she had heard spoken of.
Cassandra rose and locked arms with Sybil as they casually made their way to the windows. Only George and May appeared to be the slightest interested in their progress.
Once they had put a distance between themselves and Lady Marksworth and the dowager, Sybil said softly, “I would have you look across the road.”
Cassandra pulled back the curtain and peered out.
Aside from the usual comings and goings on the street, there was one remarkable sight—Lord Hampton sat on Lord Dalton’s stoop like any street boy might have done when needing a rest.
Cassandra let the curtain drop. “What on earth does he do, just sitting there?”
Sybil suppressed a giggle. “Well,” she said, “let us see. He sits across from your house and he’s sent red roses and begged your forgiveness. I would say the lord has made his feelings known.”
“Does he really wish to cause talk, sitting there like a servant across from my house? Has he not already caused enough talk about me?”
“He is causing a great deal of talk about himself,” Sybil said. “It was spoken of last evening, before this latest gambit. It is said he is hopelessly in love with Miss Knightsbridge, but she will not have him. It was even said, though I hardly give it credit, that he approached you before Lady Blakeley’s dinner and was firmly rebuffed.”
Cassandra colored. “That part is true, and I suppose a compliment to the ability of the English to ensure that no news goes unadvertised. I did not wish to encounter him and urged him to go, which he did.”
“Goodness,” Sybil said, “and now he does watch the house like a soldier on guard duty.”
“It hardly matters to me what he does,” Cassandra said. “He might guard the Tower of London for all it signifies to me.”
Sybil glanced up at her friend. “If he had not been a part of what happened to you, would you look upon him differently?”
“Well, I would say, that is, as you know, I never had a wish to become a duchess. For one thing.”
“Putting that aside,” Sybil said, “if he had never injured you and was always to be a viscount, what would you think?”
“The idea is so far removed from what is true that I had not thought of what I would think. Why do you ask me, Sybil?”
Sybil bit her lip and said quietly, “We did so wish to marry for love, Cass. For all his faults, I believe he loves you. Truly loves you. While I, myself, could never forgive what those gentlemen have done, it strikes me that you are of a different temperament.”
“How can you say so?” Cassandra said, for lack of anything better to say while her thoughts were in such a jumble.
Sybil pulled the curtain back and peeked at Lord Hampton in his vigil on Lord Dalton’s stoop. “I say so because of that,” she said. “He’s making himself a laughingstock and I do not think Lord Hampton is accustomed to making himself the butt of jokes. It seems to me that he no longer cares for humiliation, he has a loftier goal in mind.”
“Ridiculous,” Cassandra said. Though she said it, she could not deny that something stirred in her. The lord had been forced to dress as a footman, but he was not forced to appear a lunatic sitting in front of her house.
Sybil was right—he was making himself a laughingstock. It would not be an hour before the gossipers got hold of the idea. One person would pass by in a carriage and off the report would fly over the city like a hawk dropping mice from its maw.
“He is entirely ridiculous,” Sybil said, “though I wonder if you hold it against him.”
“Sybil,” Cassandra said, “you have just said yourself that you would not forgive.”
“True, but my family has a long history of maintaining feuds until every party involved is dead. For all that, though, I will admit to having struggled against Lord Lockwood’s apologies—there have been so many of them! He is only a friendly acquaintance; I cannot say what I should do if there was something more there.”
“I did not say there was anything more than friendship between me and Lord Hampton,” Cassandra corrected.
“No, you did not say it,” Sybil said gravely. “And yet, I think it.”
Cassandra had no answer to that, so crossed the room to May and gave her a pet. She felt uncomfortably questioned and examined and at least her
mastiff had nothing to inquire about.
Chapter Nineteen
As far as Cassandra could tell, Lord Hampton finally decamped from Lord Dalton’s steps sometime after sunset. Throughout the day she’d found little opportunities to casually peek out a window, and there he’d sat. She’d even seen Lord Lockwood stop on his horse and been waved away. Lord Dalton had come out of his house and appeared to argue with his friend, before marching back inside and slamming the door.
She supposed she must now believe that he held a real regard for her. The question she could not firmly answer was what her own feelings might be. She was torn between her heart and her head.
Her heart, if she were to finally be honest with herself, was drawn to Lord Hampton. Had always been, really. Her clear heart, that did not give quarter to the stings of insults and the pricks of wrongs, beat faster for him. From that first moment of seeing him on his horse as he approached the Bergrams’ ball, to their rather uncomfortable start, to the various dinners in which they better understood each other. He stirred feelings in her that no other gentleman had.
If only those feelings were not intertwined with her feelings over what he and his friends had done to her. Her head appeared to be the master of those particular feelings and her head called her heart deranged for even entertaining any idea of Lord Hampton. Her head, while clear in its own way, could not ignore the stings and pricks. Like an old wound, she was healed on the outside but still ached on the inside.
She would be ridiculous to countenance him! Her head railed against looking the fool for giving way to him. In truth, considering him would not confer any favor on either one of them. If she accepted him, convincing herself that she had forgiven him, would not ugly feelings resurface sometime in future? Would she not experience some little irritation and find all those feelings flooding back?
No matter. He’d thoroughly debased himself by sitting outside of her house all the day long and got nothing for his trouble. She suspected she had delivered the message of her intent quite clearly. He would take her at her word and make himself scarce going forward.
If he suffered at all, it would not last. A man like that would never suffer long. There were too many who wished to entertain such a gentleman that he would soon be diverted and wonder why he had ever thought to pursue a lady who wished to have nothing to do with him.
He would likely consider it a lucky escape.
Cassandra could not ignore the sense of disappointment that settled over her upon imagining the lord walking away, never to turn his head back.
She sighed heavily.
Lady Marksworth and the dowager played a quiet game of cards at the table nearby. Cassandra noted the dowager’s glance.
She smiled and said, “I am only tired and think that even so I might have trouble sleeping. I wonder if I might take a glass of wine and retire?”
Lady Marksworth nodded. Before the footman had time to fetch it, the dowager said to him, “Make it Canary, and a large one. That is the most soothing, I find.”
The footman did as he was bid, and quite a full glass of Canary was brought to her. The dowager nodded her approval and Jimmy blushed up to his ears, always pleased and embarrassed when the dowager acknowledged him.
Cassandra suppressed a smile. Every servant in the house had fallen prey to the dowager’s charm and was determined to carry out her instructions to the letter. They were at once in awe of her and fond of her, as she was in the habit of showing her approbation generously.
Cassandra drank the wine rather more quickly than was her usual habit, hoping the effects of it would send her to sleep.
She rose and bid her aunt and the dowager good night.
“Sleep well, my dear,” Lady Marksworth said.
After she’d left the room, Lady Marksworth said, “I do not know what is to come of all of this.”
“Fear nothing, Lady Marksworth,” the dowager said in all confidence. “It is only two people discovering their own hearts. One, my idiot grandson, has discovered it first. Your niece will discover her own in time, though I am very encouraged by how often she looked out the windows this day.”
*
Cassandra did sleep through the night, the wine and her own tiredness helping her on her way. She might have woken later than she did, had it not been for the commotion both indoors and out that penetrated the walls of her bedchamber. She could hear May and George barking like mad below her, and noticed that her door was slightly ajar. May had finally discovered how to let herself out.
She slipped out of bed and pulled the curtain aside to discover the reason the dogs so enthusiastically raised the alarm.
It was only ten o’clock, and yet the street was congested with carriages. They were not tradesmen’s carriages, nor carriages for hire, but well turned out private carriages.
Though the branches of a tree blocked some of her view, she could see two things clearly.
Lord Hampton was back on Lord Dalton’s steps, this time ensconced in a chair as if he never intended to leave, and the various occupants of the carriages were pointing and laughing.
They laughed at Lord Hampton, who appeared entirely unconcerned. But they also laughed and pointed at her own house.
Somewhere far below, she heard Racine shouting, “Move along now! There is nothing to see here!”
Cassandra rang for her maid. She must be dressed in all haste.
*
Peggy had helped her mistress into her clothes with nary a complaint on her choice. Cassandra hurried down the stairs.
She found Racine appearing rather haggard in the front hall. He did not speak to her, but rather, pointed to the drawing room.
Cassandra hurried in and stopped short.
The drawing room was filled with bouquets of red roses. They were in every available vase, bunches were laid on tables, and some even propped up on windowsills. In the middle of it all, the dowager and Lady Marksworth sat at tea.
The dowager, appearing rather gleeful, said, “They are all from my idiot grandson and they all say the same thing—I am sorry. They were left on the doorstep in a pile so high that poor Racine had a time of it getting them all indoors.”
“That accounts for the mayhem out of doors,” Lady Marksworth said. “Racine tells us that some fellow informed him that Lord Hampton camping out across the road was talked of everywhere last evening. It has become some sort of event to rouse oneself and drive by to view the scene.”
“And now half of them have seen all of this on your doorstep!” the dowager said, waving her arm at the roses.
Cassandra sat down, furiously trying to comprehend what she saw, and how she should feel about it. She was both complimented and furious.
“Lady Marksworth,” the dowager said, “might I have a moment alone with your niece?”
Lady Marksworth nodded and rose, determinedly avoiding her niece’s eye. Cassandra felt a wave of trepidation. What could the dowager wish to say to her that could not be said in front of her aunt?
After the door had closed behind Lady Marksworth, the dowager hopped up in her energetic fashion and sat next to Cassandra, taking her hand.
“It is my understanding from all of this that my idiot grandson is prepared to stay where he is until the end of time if necessary. So I was wondering, will it be necessary? Or could you find some affection in your heart for him?”
“If I could give you an answer,” Cassandra said slowly, “I would. I do not care for any pretense between us, and rather think you do not either.”
“You are correct in that opinion, my dear,” the dowager said.
“Though I would prefer to give you an answer, I really cannot. My feelings are all in a jumble and I cannot say where they will settle.”
“Ah well,” the Dowager said. “If he is to remain out there until the end of time, I daresay it serves him right. I have a great affection for my grandson, but then I have a great affection for you, too.”
Before Cassandra could answer, May and George’
s ears had suddenly perked up and they leapt off their sofa and raced to the door. The drawing room door being closed might have once been an impediment to their progress, but May reached up and pawed at it until she turned the knob and they were out like a flash.
Cassandra heard Racine shout, “May! George! No! Come back!”
She leapt to her feet and ran to the window just in time to see a carriage bearing down on May. Her heart gripped in terror.
“May! No, May!” she cried.
The carriage wheels were nearly upon the mastiff. May turned, seeming to finally perceive the danger. Lord Hampton suddenly appeared on the other side of the road and threw himself upon her.
A horrifying sound reached her ears, a sound of collision.
Cassandra could not see either May or Lord Hampton. The carriage blocked her view. The driver, no doubt fearing trouble, whipped his horses and sped off with no care for what he’d done.
The carriages behind the accident had halted and an eerie hush descended on the street. May and Lord Hampton lay in a heap together on the cobblestones. Neither stirred.
The dowager joined Cassandra at the window, and they gazed at the lifeless bodies across the road. The dowager clutched Cassandra’s arm. “No,” she said softly. “It cannot be.”
Racine jogged across the silent street. He leaned over the two bodies. Cassandra felt her head swim. She held tight to the dowager’s arm.
May gave the smallest wag and raised herself up on her forepaws, looking dazed. George barked to her from the steps and she struggled to her feet. She limped toward the sound.
Racine was bent over Lord Hampton. Cassandra and the dowager stood still as statues, waiting to see what expression the butler would turn to them with. Cassandra saw him lay two fingers along the lord’s neck.
Racine suddenly stood and shouted, “He is alive! Ben, fetch a litter. Jimmy, run for the doctor!”
The dowager’s grip lessened on Cassandra’s hand. “Thanks be to God,” she said.
“Yes,” Cassandra said softly. “Thank God.”
George slinked back into the drawing room, with May limping behind her. Cassandra glared at them and pointed to their sofa. They willingly went to it and began grooming themselves furiously—a sure sign they understood the gravity of the trouble they’d caused.
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