by Kate Archer
Edwin waved, which Dreyfus knew to be a signal to show Lord Lockwood into his lord’s presence.
Lockwood, never one to wait to be shown in, strode past the butler and into the library. He was not as tall and lean as Edwin and his hair was a deal lighter, but he was powerfully built. The men of his regiment called him the pile of bricks.
Lockwood threw himself into a chair and pulled a letter from his pocket. “I suppose you got one, too? Blasted business.”
“I suppose I can thank your father for this,” Edwin said drily. “He’s been whipping the old boys into a frenzy for months.”
Lockwood had the good manners to flush, as he knew perfectly well that His Grace had been the instigator.
“Why could not some other unlucky gentleman have been swept up in this madness?” Edwin said. “But then I suppose it does not pay to be too well-acquainted with you.”
Lockwood peered at him. “I see you have not heard. We’ve all been swept up in the thing, with the exception of Burke. His father belongs to Brook’s and was well away from those conniving old schemers.”
“All?” Edwin asked.
“All. You, me, Ashworth, Dalton, Cabot and Grayson. You must have been living in a dressing room these past days to not have heard. Somebody in Grayson’s household copied his letter and it’s being sold all over town. Worse, word got out on who the letters were sent to, most likely by some curious ears at White’s. We are the talk of every drawing room, my friend.”
“Lord help us.”
Lord Lockwood had poured himself a brandy and now propped his feet on Edwin’s desk. “You might appeal to the Lord, though I am not expecting any particular help from our heavenly father. No more than I would get from my own not-so-heavenly father.”
“What are we to do?” Edwin asked, not that he thought Lockwood would have some brilliant plan. His friend’s style was more “fight one’s way through” than anything with finesse.
“Dashed if I know,” Lockwood said. “We’re all right for now, so I say we enjoy ourselves to the hilt and pay the price later. Let’s take ourselves off to some interesting hell and throw dice like madmen. We’ll live as if we head for the gallows in the morning.”
The idea was tempting, but Edwin thought it would not advance their cause. “For one thing,” he said, “we cannot afford to throw away vast sums just now, which you invariably do. We may need the funds to pay for a garret in Cheapside if it comes to it. For another, we must appear to play the game, lull the old fellows into a sense of complaisance.”
“Calm them down until we think of a way out,” Lockwood said. “It sounds dead dreary, but I suspect you are right.”
“I am right. Especially now, when they will be watching what we do like hawks circling a field mouse. In truth, all of London will be watching. The Bergrams’ ball is tonight and if we do not appear, it will be widely noted.”
“By God, I cannot countenance those people,” Lockwood said. “He’s a stuffy old thing and she’s a nervous slip of a creature. I always think he’s about to transform into a statue and she’s about to fly off like a bird.”
“Nevertheless,” Edwin said, “we’d better go. Best to stare down the gossipers now and get it out of the way, rather than allow the rumors to expand and take flight. If we arrive and appear as if nothing at all is the matter, we will take some air out of the talker’s lungs.”
*
Cassandra regarded Lady Sybil standing with hands on hips in her bedchamber. Sybil was petite and her cascades of dark hair charmingly framed her pert features. She was like a little doll, though a spirited one.
The evening before had renewed their acquaintance. Lady Marksworth’s dear friend, Lady Blanding, had hosted a small dinner. Lady Blanding’s house was the next door down from Marksworth House, and along with the lady and her lord in residence had come their only daughter, Lady Sybil. Cassandra and Sybil had met with each other here and there over the years, but their friendship had blossomed once they had confided in one another their trepidation of what was to come over the course of the season. They had become comrades-in-arms and vowed to go into battle together.
Lady Sybil examined the two gowns Cassandra had selected. Or rather, the two gowns that Cassandra’s maid Peggy had selected. Cass was certain she’d asked for the gowns with the pale pink and cream overlays, but what laid on the bed were the sky blue and pale yellow. Peggy was a confounded creature and had just decided for herself which dresses would be best. Cassandra had yet to work out how to manage her.
The Bergrams’ ball was that evening and Cassandra’s aunt had claimed that absolutely everybody would be there. Lady Marksworth would not be surprised to see six recalcitrant gentlemen who would more often be found gambling in some low place, but who had recently received stern letters from their fathers.
“The blue gauze is divine for your coloring, I think,” Lady Sybil said, “though they are both charming. You will conquer in either of them.”
“I am not certain I wish to conquer,” Cassandra said. “Sybil, have you heard of this pact everybody is talking of?”
“I could not hope to avoid it; it has been a regular topic in my house,” Sybil said laughing.
“Does it not give you pause?” Cassandra asked. “Does it not make you uneasy?”
Lady Sybil sat on one of the upholstered chairs and said, “At first, yes. But then, Cass, I thought about it and I believe it may be to our benefit. Neither of us wish to marry a man who is forced to do so by their father and this way we know who to avoid.”
Cassandra had not considered that aspect of things. “That is true. All that has gone on might have proceeded in secrecy and we would have no way of knowing. Should one of them have pursued one of us, we might have remained unaware that it was to be a loveless transaction. Unaware, that is, until it was too late.”
“Precisely,” Lady Sybil said. “Now that we do know, we shall not be caught. Let some silly girl who thinks of a lofty title with no care for anything else trade her life for a position.”
“Agreed,” Cassandra said, feeling lighter than she had all day. “We will find love, while some foolish girl discovers herself an unloved duchess left behind at some country estate, and lonely and bored all her life.”
Cassandra counted herself fortunate that she had the liberty to hope for love, as not every girl did. It was not that her father had said she might marry for love, the Viscount was not of a very romantic turn of mind. However, he had made known his opinion that females were not idiots and were therefore capable of choosing their own destiny. He had also made it known that if she were to make an idiotic choice, she must live as an idiot forevermore. None of that came as a surprise to Cassandra—the Viscount felt commonsense to be the bedrock of every well-formed opinion and expected his daughter to carry on accordingly.
Cassandra paused in her mental wanderings, an idea suddenly occurring to her. “How shall we know which gentlemen to avoid? I have not even heard their names.”
Lady Sybil laughed and said, “I have. My mama and Lady Jemima spent an hour this morning working their way down the list and examining every candidate while I pretended to sew.” She counted off on her fingers, “The lords Hampton, Lockwood, Ashworth, Dalton, Cabot and Grayson.”
Cassandra silently repeated the names. This was a list of names she had no intention of forgetting.
Chapter Two
Lady Bergram and Sir John were the sort of people that nobody could claim to particularly like or dislike, with the exception of Lord Lockwood, who had strong opinions about everybody. For most, they were neither here nor there, though one might not guess it upon viewing the enormous amount of invitations that arrived at their door or the enormous amount of people who came to their annual ball.
Neither Sir John nor Lady Bergram were engaging, one a bore and the other looking as if she might go up in a puff of smoke at the slightest provocation. However, as was always the way in London, once a family had been established as being worthy of notice
, they were forevermore worthy unless they did something shocking. The Bergrams were less likely than a vicar on a Sunday to do something shocking, neither of them having any ideas in that direction. Or many ideas at all, really.
What the Bergrams did have was a large house with a cavernous ballroom and the funds to entertain lavishly. Their house on Grosvenor Square was just now lit up like noon sunshine with torches on the drive and hundreds of candles burning indoors.
Cassandra had got in her carriage in Berkeley Square just as Sybil entered her own next door, and so she had taken some comfort that her friend followed behind and they would not be parted long. She might wish the trip had taken longer than it did, as she felt a sense of nerves that she had not felt upon attending her first ball at the Tremanes’. She’d had mild flutters over that one, but this was more of a foreboding and wishing to turn the carriage round and go home.
She supposed it was the size of the ball, or perhaps the pact and the idea that everybody would be talking of it and looking for those gentlemen while she, herself, would attempt to avoid them. It all seemed too fraught. Though she had looked forward to her first season, there were moments when she wished herself back in Surrey, quietly reading by the fire and petting Mayhem while the dog chewed up something valuable. This was one such moment.
Now, as their carriage waited in the line leading to the front doors, Lady Marksworth said, “You are very quiet, Cassandra.”
Cassandra smiled. “Am I? I did not mean to be. I suppose the size of this ball makes me rather feel as if I might get lost and never be found again.”
“Heavens,” Lady Marksworth said, laughing, “though I do enjoy a card table, you do not suppose I would leave you on your own in such a place? The Tremanes’ ball was a different matter; it was small and everybody there was well-known to me. But here, though I assuredly know many of the people and have at least heard of most, I will stay nearby.”
Cassandra was both relieved and yet slightly worried. She would wish her aunt to forgo disappearing into a card room. However, Lady Marksworth had made no mystery of her favorable opinion of the pact and the gentlemen involved in it. While Cassandra would seek to avoid them, her aunt would be pleased to see just the opposite.
“The Bergrams,” her aunt went on, “though they are generally dull, are clever in some respects. Their ballroom is so large that there are tables set round the dancing area. I and Lady Blanding shall occupy one of them.”
Her aunt would have her in view all evening. It would not be so easy to refuse one of these pact gentlemen, were she asked for a dance.
Cassandra paused. How exactly had she planned to refuse anyway? She and Sybil had determined that they would, but how was it to be done, precisely? If one of those gentlemen approached and asked for her card, was she to stare boldly at the man and say no? Then she must sit out, and in any case, others would have seen what occurred, including her aunt.
It had all seemed easy while being discussed with Sybil in the safety of her bedchamber, but rather more difficult to achieve now that she’d nearly arrived. Particularly more difficult as her aunt and Lady Blanding would be happily watching from some nearby table.
“Do cheer yourself, Cass,” her aunt said kindly, “you are absolutely stunning. You will not find yourself sitting out. In any case, if I remember correctly from last year, there will be so many gentlemen about that Lady Bergram will even have a master of ceremonies or two wending their way round to smooth over introductions. Who knows who you shall meet?”
Though her aunt pretended at ignorance over who Cassandra might meet, she had an uncomfortable feeling that Lady Marksworth harbored hopes that at least six of those newly met gentlemen would be destined for a dukedom.
The carriage jerked forward and they moved ever closer to the entrance. Two men on horseback reined in their spooked horses, those animals startled by the sudden movement of the line of coaches.
Cassandra heard one of them curse as he wrangled with a large bay. He sat tall in the saddle and worked his horse as one with vast experience, most likely from the war. She’d seen for herself the difference when their neighbor Sir George had returned from the continent—there was a confidence and skill that could not come from daily rides through the countryside or the occasional fox hunt.
The man on horseback turned his head and Cassandra noted his dark hair and strong jaw, his shadow illuminated by the torches lining the drive. His coat and cravat were elegantly simple—the coat cut well, and the cravat tied in a neat but unassuming fashion. He was what her father termed “a man’s man.” The Viscount could not abide a gentleman who appeared to have taken inordinate amounts of time to dress and thought Mr. Brummel should pitch himself off a bridge. That Mr. Brummel was rumored to have fled England to escape gambling debts only confirmed to him that dandies were useless.
Lady Marksworth peered out the window and then sat back, smiling. “Well, well,” she said, “Hampton and Lockwood. Did I not say they would all turn up?”
Cassandra’s heart sank. She did not know if all six gentlemen of the pact would arrive, but at least two of them already had.
*
Edwin had just experienced his first irritation of the night. Mercury, though well used to the sounds of war, was apparently less used to the sound of a line of expensive carriages all lurching forward together.
It had been an embarrassment to struggle with his mount in such a fashion. One of the many embarrassments to come, no doubt.
Of course, it had not gone unnoticed, he’d seen a curtain pull back and a pretty face staring at him. Damn pretty, in fact. He’d always had a weakness for a heart-shaped face.
He reminded himself that the ball would be full of pretty faces, like so many jewels scattered across a velvet-lined box. That was precisely why his father would force him to attend such occasions—every English rose in the country had descended upon London for the season. His father was well aware that he’d not recently spent any time in places where a proper English rose could be found.
After Waterloo and their narrow victory, Edwin had returned home and sought to forget what he’d seen that day, and all the days he’d followed Wellington. He’d been in the habit of haunting places proper ladies had never heard of, or if they had heard of them, would never own it. The women he encountered in those low places had helped him through many an hour, blotting out the uncomfortable pictures of war that still lingered in his memory. Where those women were all laughter and amusement and only demanding a few pounds payment, the ladies at this ball would be all discreet smiles cloaking steely determination to get their hands on all of his pounds, permanently.
Edwin felt as if he prepared to cross the enemy’s line. He must be on his guard. He could not be distracted by a pretty face. He would accomplish the incursion—turn up, dance with a suitable number of ladies, encourage none of them, and slip away unscathed.
He would buy time to develop a real plan of escape.
*
Lady Marksworth and Lady Blanding had escorted their charges through the chaos of being introduced to the Bergrams, depositing their cloaks in the cloak room, and collecting dance cards. The ladies had then settled themselves at a table and left Cassandra and Sybil to stand at the edges of the ballroom floor.
As far as Cassandra was concerned, it was the most uncomfortable moment of any ball. The ladies must stand there, like so many apples in a grocer’s bin, and wait to be selected. This was even worse than the Tremanes’ ball, where she’d been swiftly introduced to nearly every gentleman by her aunt. Here, there was not one, but several, masters of ceremonies, who walked with every willing gentleman to provide introductions before a dance was claimed.
No lady could begin to relax until the first had been taken. One might carry on with certain holes in one’s card, as long as it was not the first or before supper. No lady willingly sat out the first set and it would be clear to anybody who viewed such a thing that the lady had not been asked. To be unescorted into supper… well, s
he supposed if that ever happened to her, she would hide in the retiring room and hope her absence had not been noted.
To Sybil, she said softly, “At such a moment, one lives in terror of being overlooked, and of not being overlooked.”
Sybil laughed behind her fan. “You are in little danger of being overlooked, Cass.”
Cassandra did not know if that were quite true. Though she had felt she had measured up well at the Tremanes’, she now realized that there had been far fewer ladies there and so they’d all measured up well. This ballroom was rapidly becoming a sea of beautiful faces. While she had no illusions about her looks, and judged them pretty in the usual way, they did not compare to some of these ladies. Where did they all come from?
She spotted a master of ceremonies very determinedly heading in their direction, followed by the two men who’d made such a show on horseback.
Softly, she said, “Oh no, it is two of them.”
“What?” Sybil whispered hurriedly, “which two?”
Before Cassandra could answer, the three gentlemen were before her. The master’s sonorous voice intoned, “Miss Knightsbridge, daughter of Viscount Trebly, Lady Sybil Hayworth, daughter of the Earl of Blanding, may I introduce Lord Hampton, son of the Duke of Carlisle, and Lord Lockwood, son of the Duke of Gravesley.”
Cassandra curtsied, the gentlemen bowed, and the master walked off to search out new victims.
As Cassandra rose, she could not but help admit to herself that Lord Hampton was the most handsome man she’d yet seen in London. His height, his broad shoulders, his dark hair and dark eyes, his tanned skin, as if he spent a deal of time out of doors. If only he were not to be a duke or involved in that ridiculous pact. How might she view him if he were only to live as a Viscount or Baron in some pleasant spot in England with a father not so much in a hurry to marry him off?