Cassy regarded each of the sets of pleading eyes in turn and wondered why she was even trying to thwart either lady. She owed Godmama so much. She had been the only person connected to her family who had loyally stayed in contact with her through all her years of exile. And had brought her to London so that she could restore her reputation.
True, she had done it to further her own schemes as well, but still...
And then there was Rosalind. In the short time they’d known each other, they’d become closer, truer friends than ever she’d known before. Rosalind had never looked down her nose at her for being penniless, the way Miss Henley had done, back in Market Gooding. She hadn’t turned her back when she’d confessed to committing her Fatal Error, either, the way Agatha had done, even though Agatha would have become her sister had Guy’s plans come to fruition.
And Rosalind was always so generous. She’d been glad when Cassy had agreed to start spending some of her father’s money, saying she would enjoy shopping far more if Cassy could join in, rather than just watching. When Cassy had pointed out that it made her a touch uncomfortable spending someone else’s money, she’d waved her qualms aside, pointing out that Papa expected her to run up enormous bills in Town and would be disappointed if she didn’t. Even when Cassy had suggested he wouldn’t expect to pay her bills as well as Rosalind’s, she’d just waved a dismissive hand in the air, saying he wouldn’t mind in the least. ‘Because,’ she’d said, squeezing her hands, the way she was doing right now, ‘you have always treated me as an equal. You’ve never once made remarks about me smelling of the shop, or anything of that sort. And you are a true lady, even someone as ignorant as I was when I came to Town could see that,’ she’d said as if that was the end of the matter.
Money truly didn’t matter to Rosalind. She had never treated Cassy like a poor relation, which she could easily have done. After all, it was how Miss Henley had behaved, in spite of all her protestations of friendship. Miss Henley has bestowed that friendship on Cassy from a lofty height and fully expected Cassy to be suitably grateful.
Which was why she’d been able to swan off to London without so much as a word of thanks for all the work she and her aunts had done.
Rosalind didn’t expect Cassy to be grateful for all the bills she was getting her father to pay. She just wanted Cassy to have as much fun in London as she was having and shopping was part of it.
So how could she deny her, deny either of them, what they wanted?
‘Very well,’ she said with resignation, and was rewarded with a pair of beaming smiles.
Chapter Eight
It took a great deal longer to prepare for the ball they were to attend that night than usual, because Rosalind and Godmama had decided to get involved.
‘If you are going to make him appear thoroughly besotted,’ Godmama declared, flinging open Cassy’s wardrobe, ‘then you need to look a bit more...’ She paused. ‘Well, I know you have started choosing much prettier clothes lately. Only they are still rather on the modest side.’
‘I have no wish to parade around looking like a...trollop!’ She’d never been comfortable with dressing for the express purpose of attracting a man’s notice. She’d never been comfortable with the kind of attention that might follow. Her mind flew back to that assembly she’d gone to with Lady Agatha and her family. Agatha had been flushed with excitement to see so many scarlet-jacketed officers present and thrilled by the fulsome compliments they’d uttered as a prelude to asking for a dance, whereas Cassy had shrunk from them. For she’d known only too well how insincere such flattery could turn out to be. She’d watched her stepfather court her own mother with such smiles and protestations of ardent admiration, all of which had turned out to be false.
The only one of them who hadn’t turned on the charm that way had been Guy. He’d simply carried on treating her with the same brotherly sort of manner he’d always done.
And Colonel Fairfax, who’d been stern, though polite, when he’d escorted her back to the stuffy, crowded ballroom after she’d foolishly gone outside on her own.
‘You may trust me,’ said Godmama in that regal way she sometimes adopted, as though to remind everyone that she was every inch a duchess, ‘to know where to draw the line.’ She turned back to her perusal of the contents of Cassy’s wardrobe.
‘Now, what about this?’ she said, drawing out Cassy’s latest purchase. Cassy relaxed at once. The dress was of filmy white silk, embroidered about the neckline and hem with white flowers. The gauze overdress that went with it was liberally sprinkled with spangles, making her look, she thought, both pure and untouchable.
‘Blount!’ Godmama summoned Rosalind’s dresser, who’d been standing at a respectful distance. ‘Is there anything we can do with this gown, before the ball, to make Cassy look a bit more...tempting?’
‘Godmama,’ Cassy protested, rather feebly, before turning an imploring look at Blount.
Blount tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips. ‘We should start with the underpinnings,’ she said, casting an assessing look at Cassy’s figure. ‘The style of corset currently employed by Miss Furnival, if you don’t mind my saying so, does not make the most of her assets. Once those are better supported, this gown will provide a natural, and lovely frame, which is what I am sure Your Grace suspected.’ She drew the innocent gown from Godmama’s arm and draped it across her own.
‘But it is still rather...virginal,’ said Godmama.
‘But I am a virgin!’
‘Yes,’ said Godmama with a touch of exasperation. ‘But you are not exactly a debutante fresh from the schoolroom, are you? You could show a little more of your...assets without looking fast. And you could wear stronger colours, too.’
Blount nodded. ‘I have a length of scarlet ribbon I could attach to provide that splash of colour. That, and a more flattering corset, and possibly just a snip and a tuck here and there, would make the world of difference.’
‘Ooh,’ said Rosalind, practically bouncing up and down on her chair. ‘How about wearing some of my jewels, Cassy? I know it is vulgar for me to flaunt them,’ she said, shooting a look tinged with resentment in Blount’s direction. ‘But if you no longer want Cassy to look as though she’s straight out of the schoolroom that would be different, wouldn’t it? And it seems such a shame for them to stay locked up in my jewellery box all the time. It would be lovely to see some of them getting an airing, even if it isn’t on me.’
‘I couldn’t possibly...’ Cassy said. But Godmama was clapping her hands and beaming at Rosalind as if she’d just recited a forty-verse lyric ballad off by heart.
‘You have some gorgeous rubies in your jewel box, I seem to recall,’ said Godmama. ‘They would set off the scarlet sash that Blount means to use to replace this insipid white band of satin.’
Cassy looked from Godmama to Rosalind to Blount in stupefaction. All three were clearly bonding, in a way they’d never done before, in their enthusiasm for transforming Cassy into the very kind of woman the Colonel had accused her of being.
‘He will think I look...’ Cassy began saying.
‘Do not tell me you mean to back down now,’ said Godmama, indignantly. ‘You said you would do whatever you could to distract him so that he will not be able to spoil Rosalind’s chances of making a good match. But that sounds to me as if you are afraid of him. You are not going to let him intimidate you, are you? I never thought you lacked courage.’
‘I did say I would do what I could, yes, and I am not afraid of him.’ Of course she wasn’t, no matter how many threats he uttered, or how angry he seemed, because he wasn’t a cruel man, not at heart. He wasn’t threatening her for his own twisted pleasure, the way her stepfather so frequently had, but because he really believed she posed a threat to his fellow man. ‘I just don’t want to look...cheap.’
‘Don’t you worry, miss,’ said Blount. ‘I have been turning out society lad
ies for the best part of twenty years. And never in all that time has anyone had any cause to think they looked cheap. And nor will you.’
‘Not with my rubies round your neck,’ chortled Rosalind.
By this time, Cassy was beginning to see that, if she kept on making objections, she was going to deeply offend all three of them. Which would be so ungrateful, considering how much they were enjoying attempting to transform her. And really, was there that much harm in adding a splash of colour to her gown? And making it a touch more daring? It wasn’t as if Blount was going to be able to alter it all that much in the few hours remaining before they needed to set out. She wasn’t going to end up with bared shoulders, or, worse, a neckline so low that her nipples became visible. And even if her gown did cause men to look, that didn’t mean she needed to give them any encouragement, did it? A man could only really harm a woman if she fell for his charm, if she believed his lies. And she was too wise, now, to repeat the mistakes she’d made as a schoolgirl.
So she agreed to having a different style of corset fitted and Rosalind’s maid, Hetty, promptly produced one from somewhere. Once it was fastened, the corset pushed her bosom up so much that she looked far more generously proportioned than she’d ever imagined possible so that, when Blount finally draped the gown over her head, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. Because the neckline, which had looked so pretty and modest before, now did, indeed, frame her assets in a rather provocative manner. Unless it was the splash of scarlet provided by the sash which now drew attention to those same assets from beneath. For Blount had tacked on the length of crimson satin immediately below the bodice and secured it in a rather saucy bow.
Meanwhile, Rosalind had run off to fetch her jewellery box herself and she and Godmama picked out a stunning necklace made from a triple row of pearls, gathered up in the centre by a single ruby, as well as some earrings and bracelets to match. Hetty had supplied some little artificial roses which she fastened into Cassy’s curls with pearl clips. By the time they’d all finished with her, Cassy scarcely recognised herself.
‘Stunning.’ Godmama sighed, just as Cassy was wondering whether it was all a bit much. Not that she looked the slightest bit like a trollop. Blount did indeed know her business well. In fact, if she was married, and had been out for several years, there would be nothing the slightest bit remarkable in her appearance.
But she wasn’t married.
‘You will take his breath away,’ said Godmama.
‘Will I?’ An image of Colonel Fairfax, gasping with admiration, flitted into her mind, swiftly followed by one of him casting aside his misguided notions and declaring that he didn’t care what anyone else might think, he adored her. She fingered the necklace uncertainly. ‘You don’t think this is all...’
‘You look beautiful,’ said Rosalind. ‘Never mind that old Colonel—’
‘He isn’t old,’ Cassy protested.
‘You won’t sit out a single dance, looking like that,’ Rosalind continued as if Cassy hadn’t said a word.
‘Do you really think so?’ She did like dancing. And it would be lovely to be a success at Lady Bradbury’s ball.
‘I should have made a push to get you dressed like this from the start,’ said Godmama, with a vexed expression.
‘No, I don’t think you should,’ said Cassy. ‘I mean, the aim was to restore my reputation, wasn’t it? And show people that, far from being ruined, I am still innocent. If I’d gone about dressed like this, from the start, the rumours would have resurfaced with a vengeance and I’d probably have received all sorts of unpleasant attention from the worst kind of men.’
‘That may be true, dear, but I could at least have dressed you to show off your dark colouring a bit better. But there,’ she said, clapping her hands and nodding her head as though she’d come to a decision, ‘some good has come of our plan to confound that silly Colonel already. From now on we shall dress you in colours to set off your striking, dark sort of prettiness, rather than trying to make everyone believe you are next door to being a schoolgirl.’
Cassy took one more look at her reflection. She’d never looked so...well, she wasn’t sure what the correct term was. But there was definitely nothing of the schoolgirl about her.
She glanced round at Godmama, Rosalind and the two maids, who all looked jolly pleased with themselves. And from the fondness in their smiles, she could tell that it hadn’t all been about trying to thwart the Colonel. They all, she realised on a surge of emotion so overwhelming that she had to gulp it back, wanted to help her cast off the cloud of shame and sorrow that had been hanging over her since the day her stepfather had slammed the door shut in her face. And wasn’t it about time she stepped out from under it? Didn’t she owe it to these women who had become her friends, and who had gone to such efforts on her behalf, to try?
And what, when all was said and done, did she have to feel ashamed about, anyway?
And so it was with her chin held at a defiant angle that she turned away from the mirror, swept out of her room and strode along the landing.
Captain Bucknell, who was waiting at the foot of the stairs, let out a low whistle.
‘Turning this one into quite the beauty, ain’t you, Your Grace?’ he said to Godmama with an appreciative grin. ‘No chance,’ he then said, turning to Cassy and addressing her directly, ‘of you fading into the background any longer, eh?’
No, she realised with a sigh, even though that was what she’d been trying to do so far. Because she’d only agreed to come to London to help Godmama in her quest to thwart her stepson. She most certainly hadn’t wanted to find a husband for herself. After her experience at the hands of men, she had no wish to surrender her whole life to just one, who could easily turn out to be either as cruel as her stepfather, or as inept as Lieutenant Gilbey, or as...well, she couldn’t think of a reason why no woman ought to marry a man like Colonel Fairfax. His hardness, perhaps. Except, she couldn’t help thinking that, in certain circumstances, that rock-like hardness was a good quality. And what was more, if she wasn’t the person he was persecuting, she would most definitely admire him for the loyalty he was showing to poor Guy’s memory, even if it was more than a touch misguided.
* * *
However, it wasn’t just the men who took more notice of her that night. When they got to the head of the receiving line, the hostess, Lady Bradbury, actually held out her hand, took Cassy’s and gave her a welcoming smile, rather than looking straight through her and greeting whoever it was who happened to be next in the receiving line, which was what Cassy had come to expect.
‘Miss Furnival,’ she said, causing Cassy a moment of shock. She hadn’t expected to be greeted by name, even though this lady had been, according to Godmama, a close friend of her mother’s. ‘I am so glad you have come. And looking so...’ She ran her eyes up and down Cassy’s gown, pausing at the pearls clasped about her neck. ‘I shall await developments with bated breath,’ she said with what looked like excitement, before turning to Godmama and whispering something in her ear.
‘What,’ Cassy hissed out of the side of her mouth, the moment they stepped away, ‘did she say? What did she mean?’
‘I am not perfectly sure,’ replied Godmama, equally softly. ‘She did say she had arranged a lovely surprise for you. Though I cannot possibly imagine what it could be,’ she said, her eyes sparkling. ‘But I do so love surprises, don’t you?’
Not really. Her heart began pounding with what felt like dread as they slowly advanced into the ballroom, greeting and being greeted by Godmama’s friends. And it skipped a beat entirely when a portly, middle-aged man stopped directly in front of them, obliging them to stop altogether. Because she knew him. Even though she hadn’t seen him since she’d been a little girl and he’d been much thinner then, and had a lot more hair, there was no mistaking the features of her mother’s brother.
Uncle Henry!
‘Even
ing, Your Grace,’ he said to Godmama. ‘Niece,’ he said, according her just a single nod before continuing on his way to the card room.
Cassy gripped her reticule and fan tightly in an attempt to disguise the fact that her hands were shaking. He hadn’t cut her. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to deliberately acknowledge her. Had even spoken to her, even though it had been but a single word. But that single word held a wealth of meaning.
And people standing nearby had understood that unspoken message. She could hear it, spreading out on a wave of murmured voices, the way ripples spread out after a pebble drops into a pool. Or, in this case, a whopping great boulder.
For he’d acknowledged her. In public.
Godmama had done it! She was no longer dead to her family. Or at least, not his part of it. And he was the head of the family now that he was the fourth Earl of Sydenham. Where he led, the others would follow.
‘Darling!’ Godmama suddenly cried, darting away with her arms outstretched, to where her son, the Marquess of Devizes, was standing before a mirror, adjusting the set of his cravat. Leaving Cassy standing, stunned, on the spot where her uncle had, publicly, acknowledged her.
‘How lovely to see you here this evening,’ she faintly heard Godmama coo to her son. ‘I didn’t expect you to bother with anything quite so jejune.’
‘Blast it,’ said Captain Bucknell, jolting Cassy out of her state of joyful stupefaction. ‘She will be an age with that young fop now,’ he growled, then sighed, then turned to Rosalind. ‘How about I take you for a spin about the dance floor, Miss Mollington? No sense us standing here kicking our heels, what?’
Rosalind glanced at Cassy.
‘Oh, that is fine, you go ahead,’ she said, since she needed a few moments alone to bask in what had just happened.
‘Thank you,’ said Rosalind, giving Cassy’s hands a brief squeeze. ‘I do so love dancing with the Captain. I never feel as if I need to worry about stepping on his toes.’
The Scandal of the Season Page 9
