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Chapter One
“God, are you there? Mama, Papa?” Cassandra looked at the sky and continued her one sided conversation. “I know it's probably sacrilegious to speak with you all at the same time, but I need any help I can get.”
She huffed out a sigh. “The Mortimer Ball was, as Aunt Gertrude put it, a complete social fiasco, demonstrating my total inability to conform to society rules.” Cassandra glanced over her shoulder and watched as the bejeweled members of good society mingled with each other, enjoying conversation and gossip, laughing with dainty ease. She didn't belong here in England in the midst of the ton.
“Mama, why are there so many rules governing what you can do here in England? I confess to being confused. I ask that you all guide me through tonight's ball. It's being hosted by the Duke of Sandringham's sister. If I spoil things for Sara with my inept colonial ways, things will not go well for me.”
Cassandra longed to be home in Charleston, amongst her friends. They didn't care if she sewed a proper line or sang like a songbird. The one thing she did excel at—dancing—wasn't an accomplishment that impressed her difficult-to-impress aunt. If anything, Aunt Gertrude saw it as a mark against Cassandra. In the beginning she tried to make Aunt Gertrude happy, but it seemed her dearly departed mother was correct. Her aunt was happy only when making other people sad or miserable. She worked tirelessly at finding fault and commenting upon it regardless of what it was or whom she addressed—within reason, anyhow.
It was time to return to the stuffy ballroom with equally stuffy people and pretend to enjoy the merriment. But, first she needed to plead her case one last time to God, her parents, and the stars.
“I know this won't be easy. Please, help me not to embarrass Sara or Aunt Gertrude. I've found the pinches Aunt Gertrude gives me are starting to leave marks. Oh, and if you help me, I also promise to quit trying to scare off potential suitors or find fault with the men Aunt Gertrude deems appropriate for a young lady of my situation and station. Whatever that means.”
A deep chuckle pierced the silence. “I have never heard such a sweetly spoken appeal for divine intervention in my life.”
Cassandra dropped her head. Already her request seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. Why was she forever forgetting there was no such thing as solitude amongst London society? Turning, she came face to face with one of the handsomest men she had ever seen.
The light from the ballroom illuminated his beautiful visage of chiseled perfection. This man had Lord stamped all over him. It was in the classic lines of his face, and in the way he held himself just so. His dark hair brushed his high brow, and his dark eyes, for she couldn't determine their color in this light, were smiling at her.
She racked her brain for the correct form of address when one was caught talking to themselves, or in this case her dead parents, the man in the moon and God. For some reason the correct words were lost to her. Should she bow? No, curtsy. Should she curtsy? Lord help her; she was about to say or do the wrong thing and she couldn't help herself.
“I'm sorry. I thought I was alone. I hope I am not interrupting your solitude.”
“Should I not be the one saying those things? Clearly, I am interrupting you, and for that I wish I could say I am sorry. But, I am not.”
“You're not sorry?” How confusing these manners of society!
“No, you have captivated me with your innocent chatter. It is seldom I find myself charmed when in the company of a lady. Normally I find myself inundated with coy smiles and false words. You are a breath of fresh air, my lady.”
“That is a rather backhanded compliment.” She offered a smile in order to remove the potential sting of the words.
“I must be losing my talent for compliments. A lady generally never has to question the veracity of my words.”
What should she say to that? She gripped her dress and bent into a low curtsy. “If you'll please excuse me, my lord, I'll leave you to the beauty of the evening.” She needed to return to the ballroom before her aunt realized she was missing and before she was forever painted as ruined for being in the company of this stranger.
“Please don't curtsy to me. How do you know I deserve the honor of such action?”
“Well...” She stood and felt herself begin to color. This was a silly conversation and yet she didn't feel compelled to dash away quite yet. “You are here at this ball and I have been told only the best of society garner invitations to this entertainment.”
The handsome man nodded in agreement. “You are correct to assume the crème of society will be in attendance this eve.”
She cocked her head and took measure of the man before her. There was something so ... different about him. An air of loneliness clung to him, and yet instead of this being a sad thing, it seemed to give him authority—a strange sort of strength.
“You are not comfortable at balls, are you?” The moment the words were out, she clasped her hands over her mouth. She tried to gauge his reaction, but she didn't know him. The shadows were playing over his face, and she couldn't tell if she'd made him angry. “I am terribly sorry, that was very rude of me. Please, please don't be offended. I promise to keep my thoughts to myself.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You are correct in your assumption. I find these sorts of gathering tedious at best.” He stepped closer, and her breath caught in her chest. He traced a finger down her cheek. “You are very pretty.”
Cassandra was too enchanted to say anything, let alone react by physically removing herself. She didn't feel threatened by him, but instead found herself intrigued. For it was the first time ever she noticed a man.
Her heart pounded, and her palms began to sweat within her gloves. She took a deep breath and pulled in the spicy scent of his cologne. It mingled nicely with the roses that bloomed in the garden directly below her.
“You are not from around here, are you?”
“N-no, I'm from—”
“You are from America.” His finger now traced its way across her lower lip, leaving the sensitive flesh burning from this touch. “There is a freshness and unpretentiousness about you. You have not tried to divine my rank and title, and I have a feeling that does not motivate you in the least.”
Cassandra tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. “No. You are a person, not a title. I confess to a complete lack of understanding of the rank system. What is higher than the other, and how I should address them?” She tried to smile. “I am going to make a hash of things tonight. I just know it.”
She leaned closer, compelled to share with this stranger her fears, which made no sense at all. Dropping her voice, she couldn't silence the words. “My cousin has informed me there will be a duke in attendance, and she wants to make a good impression on him so he will offer for her. In other words, I am to do nothing that will shine a poor light on my family.”
Her handsome stranger smiled. “A duke. You don't say. What do you suppose this paragon of peerage looks like?”
She nibbled her lip. Should she really share her thoughts on this topic? Well, why not? After all, he did ask. “I fear he is probably a bit thick about the waist and perhaps just as thick in the head.”
“Is that so? Why do you think this?”
“He's a duke. Isn't that the highest rank beside prince?” She waved her hand as if to silence any response he might offer. “Nevertheless, this is how I have pictured him. He is interested in a rather unlikable person. And most of the peerage I have been introduced to have complained of the gout and other ailments, have been rather portly, and all seem to think they are better than the other.”
The stranger smiled and bent lower. “What is your name, my lady?”
Without thought to the rule she was about to break, she whispered, “Cassandra.”
“A beautiful name.”
&nbs
p; Voices carried from the ballroom, and as if she were doused with cold water, she stepped back. What was she doing on the balcony with a man she didn't know in a rather intimate conversation? She felt chilled, even though the evening was warm. Instinct told her she had stepped away from something special.
“You should return to your family. I apologize for interrupting you.” He turned away from her, took a few steps and then stopped. “A word of warning, beautiful Cassandra. The well-dressed ladies and gentlemen of the ton will see your naïve freshness as a flaw. They will lash out and hurt you if you are not careful.”
With that, he disappeared into the shadows as if he were never there.
“Cassandra! What are you doing out here? Mama will be quite vexed if she finds you woolgathering when you should be inside.” Sara walked over to her and tugged her arm. “The duke should be arriving any moment.”
With a final look in the direction in which her mystery man had disappeared, Cassandra allowed Sara to lead her back into the ballroom.
* * * *
James slipped into his brother-in-law's study and directly over to the brandy. Another London Season already underway. This year the Season would end differently. This year it would end with a marriage announcement.
It was time. Most of his friends had already settled, if not into marital bliss, at least into a tolerable situation. He was the last holdout, it seemed.
Once again he was the highest ranking peer yet to marry for a third Season in a row. It wasn't because he didn't want to marry, it was his duty to do so and produce an heir—and he always did his duty. What he wanted to avoid at all cost was a cold and unfeeling marriage. He wanted to at least like his wife. Unlike a great many of the ton, he didn't hold with extracurricular marital activities. From his long experience, these affairs usually ended badly and were unfair for everyone involved.
He had already decided in his own mind on Lady Sara Bascomb, but had yet to offer for her. Something held him back, but what? She was beautiful and knew it. He'd watched her the year before and felt a reluctant admiration for her icy disdain as she negotiated the ebb and flow of those around her during her debut.
For all her controlled, self-confident air, something simply didn't feel right. Perhaps it was the lack of emotion on her perfect face, or mayhap the chill of her words when she spoke. Whatever the reason, James hadn't approached her father even though the whispers were making the rounds of the drawing rooms and ballrooms of the ton. It was his fault. James had paid her a great deal of attention, not his typical behavior when it came to young ladies of good family.
He took a sip of the fine smuggled French brandy his brother-in-law managed to obtain, enjoying the smoky flavor of the liquor. It burned his throat with its potent fire. He relished the quiet darkness. Yet, it was time to enter the ballroom, smile and mingle with the guests.
His sister had gone to a great deal of work putting this ball together, hoping he would finally enjoy what society had to offer. Placing the crystal snifter on the table, he moved to the door. A smile curved his lips. No, the night would not be a total waste. In truth, he looked forward to seeing his little colonial again. Perhaps he could initiate a proper introduction to Cassandra.
With this thought in mind, he turned the knob of the door, only to be met by his sister.
“There you are. Come, I want to introduce you to some new friends of mine.” Marissa grabbed his hand and led him into the ballroom. “I met someone the other night at the Mortimer Ball I think you will find entertaining. Nothing at all like her cousin.”
James frowned. “Whatever are you talking about, Rissa?”
“As if you really have no idea.” She stopped and faced him. “I am talking about your delusions in thinking Sara Bascomb will make you happy, let alone fulfilled.”
James resisted the need to roll his eyes. “Not everyone is looking for wedded bliss. Sometimes one must settle—”
“You are a Duke of the Realm. Dukes do not settle, and neither will my brother.”
Smiling, James turned his sister around and gently pushed her toward the sounds coming from the ballroom. “Why do you not let me worry about this topic and you go and be the darling hostess you were born to be?”
Marissa didn't say anything. Instead she held tight to his hand and continued walking slowly. “Just one more thing.”
Now he did roll his eyes. “Yes?”
“James, please heed me. A lifetime with someone you cannot enjoy spending time with or, worse yet, have nothing in common with, is not what you want.”
“I love you, darling sister, and I am thrilled your marriage is a love match.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “Do not worry about me. Everything is going to work out as it should.”
Together they stepped into the ballroom. The orchestra finished a reel, so many guests were departing the center of the dance floor.
Candles from the many chandeliers cast their golden light over the handsomely dressed men and women. It seemed like any other ball James had attended in the past, and yet there was something different. A sense of excitement mayhap.
He smiled again as the movement of the guests revealed the person responsible for his whimsical thoughts. Cassandra.
She stood off to the side with many of the chaperones watching as the next set started. A smile revealed dimples he hadn't noticed earlier.
Her impressions of what he would look like amused him. She was artless and beautiful, a rare combination within the circle of people he surrounded himself with. She made him want to laugh and he couldn't resist what he was about to do. It wasn't fair, but then again he did owe her a little bit.
“Rissa, who is that stunning creature beside Countess of Chester?”
“Oh, good eye, brother dear. It is she to whom I wanted to introduce you. Her name is Cassandra Davenport, recently of Charleston, South Carolina.”
“What brings her to England?”
“Such a sad story. Her parents were killed in a carriage accident, and the only family she has left are the Earl and Countess of Chester.”
“Yes, sad indeed.” He continued to stare at Cassandra as he spoke, “I wish an introduction.”
“Of course.”
Marissa began to make her way through the crowd, leading him to Cassandra. He couldn't wait to see the American's reaction to his introduction.
“Excuse me, your lordship, my lady. I would like to introduce my brother to Cassandra.”
James stood a little behind his sister and watched Cassandra pull her gaze away from the dancers to smile sweetly at Rissa. “Lady Marissa. This is a wonderful ball. Thank you so very much for including me in the invitation issued to my aunt and uncle.”
Where had the enchanted fairy gone? In her place stood a totally composed young miss. Never would he have guessed at her lack of self-esteem amongst the ton. She behaved as if born to this lifestyle. This was yet another intriguing facet to this woman.
“Oh, Cassandra. You need not give thanks. I am glad you attended. I would like to introduce you to my brother, His Grace Duke of Sandringham.”
The moment he'd been waiting for. He watched as she bent into a very graceful curtsy. “Your Grace.”
He helped her to rise. “The pleasure is all mine, my lady.” Then she looked at him and her calm composure melted away.
“Oh my goodness gracious. It's you!”
“Cassandra! That is no way to speak to His Grace. Your Grace, I am terribly sorry. I fear my niece is finding it difficult to adjust to our more refined ways.”
He turned to the Countess of Chester. “There is no harm, my lady.” He turned back to Cassandra. “I hope your dance card has not been filled.”
“What?” She fingered the item tied at her wrist.
“I would like to save a dance.” He glanced at the card and noticed no one had signed it yet. For some unaccountable reason, this angered him. His peers were terribly shortsighted at times.
“Your Grace, I am honored by the attention, but please do
not feel as if you must dance with me out of some displaced sense of duty.”
“Trust me, Miss Davenport that thought never crossed my mind.” He signed his name to a waltz and then raised her gloved hand to his mouth. “Until later.” He kissed the air above the satin and then winked.
He walked away with whispers following his progress. Oh yes. The evening was turning out to be much more entertaining than he ever thought it could be.
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* * *
Chapter Two
Cassandra watched in stunned disbelief. The Duke of Sandringham, the man she'd been mocking only a quarter of an hour ago to his very face, strolled away from her only after securing a waltz.
“Do you have any idea how supremely fortunate you are that His Grace did not react angrily to your thoughtless words?” Aunt Gertrude bristled beside her and gave her a vicious pinch on the back of her arm. “Need I remind you Sara is interested in him and that he is not for you?”
“No, Aunt. I am well aware of the situation, and I do apologize for my lapse of manners. Perhaps I should return to the townhouse.” She discreetly rubbed her abused arm. She had no doubt there would be a black and blue mark there come morning.
“Must you be so silly?” Gertrude pushed her into a corner away from anyone who might wish to eavesdrop. “I vow, how you can be my sister's gel is beyond my understanding. If you leave whilst you still have a dance pending with His Grace, the gossips will have enough to keep their tongues wagging for weeks!”
Cassandra looked down and sighed. No matter how hard she tried, she failed. She longed for the freedom she had enjoyed back in America. She missed her friends and the warmth she now realized she'd taken for granted. “I am sorry, Aunt. I will behave properly, Aunt.”
“You had better.” Without a backwards glance, Aunt Gertrude returned to her friends leaving Cassandra alone once again.
Her cheeks burned from a combination of embarrassment and anger. On more than one occasion, she tried to beg off from the evening's entertainments because eventually she would make a mistake. However, Aunt wouldn't hear of it. It seemed almost as if she relished Cassandra's inability to understand the ways of this world.
A Dance of Manners Page 22