by Archer, Kate
“It is rather remarkable that the dowager should have come personally to see you in Surrey and taken such a marked interest,” Lady Blakeley said. “It is not everybody who could inspire her to part with so many diamonds.”
“Oh,” Cassandra said, “well I suppose it is due to her friendship with my father—they have long been correspondents.”
“Ah, and that is all, you think?”
With that enigmatic question, Lady Blakeley drifted away without waiting for her answer and a new crowd circled round her.
What did the lady hint at? Cassandra did not know but had little time to think of it. She was besieged with questions on the happenings the day the dowager’s carriage had been attacked.
It was not at once that the people in the room began to realize that the gentlemen of the pact acted as footmen. It would perhaps have taken more time than it did, had not Lord Dalton’s scar and his obvious contempt for his situation given them all away.
If Cassandra had wondered about how the rumors regarding herself had made their way around London, now she had a direct view. Once the true identities of the six footmen were known, there were glances and whispers and subtle pointings out. There were heads together and stifled laughter and rushes to tell a newcomer who may not have heard. The news of the gentlemen’s fates blew through the room like a brisk autumn breeze.
Cassandra laid a hand on Sybil’s arm and whispered, “I’d best tell my father about the footmen before he hears it elsewhere.”
Sybil had nodded and Cassandra made her way across the room. “Papa,” she said, taking his hand. She leaned close to his ear and whispered the facts of the case.
The viscount’s brows knitted. “Serves them right,” he said. “They will be lucky if I do not run them off their feet this night.”
“Quite right you should do so,” Cassandra said. “It is just what the Duke of Carlisle hopes for.”
The room had now thoroughly filled and Cassandra watched as the Regent entered, followed by the six dukes. The newly-made footmen were lined up on either side of the door and their fathers appeared fairly contemptuous of them as they walked past.
The Regent and the dukes made their way to the top of the room, the prince kindly offering his arm to Cassandra. The footmen were left at the door, presumably to cater to anybody’s needs. Should fingers snap, they would be expected to come running.
The crowd hushed as the Regent stood facing them.
“Welcome, my dear guests,” the prince said. “It is my privilege to host a ball in honor of our own Miss Knightsbridge, accompanied by her father, the esteemed Viscount Trebly, and her always charming aunt, Lady Marksworth. One hopes, with this circumstance before us, that we have all learned a valuable lesson on the nature of gossip and will refrain from that unsavory activity. Though, if one should wish to natter on about the state of my footmen on the morrow, that particular subject has my royal approval.”
Laughter spread across the room. Cassandra noted the gentlemen of the pact appearing stoic at the jab, with the exception of Lord Dalton, who looked on his way to murderous.
Lord Hampton seemed the most stoic of them, and the least offended. Cassandra supposed he’d decided to take his lumps. Why should he not? It was a rather easy payment for having almost ruined a lady. He might flush a few times before the night was through, but he’d wake up as a lord, whole again as if nothing had happened. Society might laugh at his expense tonight, but they would give him his due on the morrow.
“Miss Knightsbridge embodies all the best of England,” the prince went on. “With courage and a true heart, a combination nobody can best, she prevailed over dangerous highwaymen to rescue our dear Dowager Duchess of Carlisle.”
“Hear, hear,” the crowd murmured.
“Now,” the prince said, “before we open the ball, I believe the dukes may have something to say.”
The prince led Cassandra to the side and the dukes stepped forward.
The Duke of Gravesley said, “I speak for all of us when I say that we are honored that Miss Knightsbridge has consented to be our guest this evening. We are grateful that the viscount does not cut us or plan to meet our offspring at dawn. We are embarrassed by the actions of our own sons and we propose to make amends at the Viscount’s convenience and preference.”
“Hear, hear,” the crowd said louder.
The Duke of Carlisle stepped forward and said, “The Duke of Gravesley has expounded on our sentiments eloquently. For myself, I am not gifted with speeches and so will only say a word to the ridiculous footmen in the back of the room—you are idiots, down to a man.”
Laughter and clapping rose up in the room and dozens turned to see how the gentlemen of the pact would receive the condemnation.
Cassandra could not help but look. That the gentlemen had been humiliated was not in doubt, even Lord Dalton had the good grace to stare at his boots.
“Miss Knightsbridge?” the Prince Regent asked, holding out his hand.
Cassandra took it and the musicians struck up.
It became apparent, as they began the steps, that she and the Regent would execute the first steps alone.
She felt her cheeks flame to see so many people with their eyes trained squarely upon her. She was comforted by the idea that this moment, which would pass, was likely the worst of the evening.
Remarkably, the prince was nimble on his feet. Though he looked ponderous, he moved with a lightness that did not seem to match his size.
As Cassandra danced, her eyes took in the surrounding faces. Her father, Lady Sybil, the Dowager, Lady Blakeley. And then, among them, the approving looks of the others. All of those others who had mercilessly laughed at her and pretended to be shocked by her. They were all her friends now.
She would accept their friendship for what it was, hollow and convenient. She thought she had learned two hard lessons from the trial she’d been through—one could not place one’s opinion of oneself in the hands of others, and society was comprised of frightened people terrified of losing their place. The terror ran so deep that it was a relief to them to understand that it was someone else in peril and not themselves.
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 sym
pathy 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.
Cassa
ndra 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.
