He laughed, bobbing up and down. “What happened to the bathing costume?”
“Are you kidding me? Did you feel how heavy that thing is? And it is wool for goodness sake!”
“Yes, it seemed completely impractical. On the other hand, are you sure you are being decent swimming in your underwear?”
“No, I am not sure, but regardless, I am still quite clothed. It is not easy to swim with all this fabric floating around me.”
“I am sorry. I wish women had an easier time of it.”
“Well, there is no changing the situation.” She swam off, doing a back stroke.
The lake was large, and in her clinging undergarments she did not feel up to swimming the length of it, not knowing how deep it might get. But she and James enjoyed the water for the remainder of the morning. It was Mrs. Merriweather who finally drew them out. She came marching across the lawn with two large drying sheets draped over an arm. She set one on the grass and held the other open wide.
“Mrs. Franklin!” she called. “I think we ought to get you bathed so your hair can dry and you can be readied for this evening.”
Cassandra felt chastised. “Yes, of course, I am coming,” she called as she pulled herself out of the water, her bloomers and chemise plastered to her body. Mrs. Merriweather hurried to the edge of the lake and quickly wrapped her mistress up.
“Thank you,” said Cassandra.
Mrs. Merriweather said nothing, but pressed her lips tight. Cassandra thought she might be trying to hold back a smile.
“Could you just leave the towel on the lawn for me, Mrs. Merriweather?” James called.
“Yes sir,” she replied. “Your bath will be ready in about a half an hour.”
“Thank you!” He flipped backward into the water.
The two women hurried into the house and up the backstairs to Cassandra’s bedroom, where she found that a bath had been drawn. Mary was waiting to attend to her. Her eyes grew wide as the towel fell off Cassandra, and she saw the wet undergarments sticking to her. The girl helped her peel them off and assisted her mistress into the warm water. She then gathered up the wet clothes and moved toward the door.
“Mary!”
The maid stopped.
“I left my yellow muslin in the boathouse,” Cassandra said, “could you have someone fetch it?”
Mary suppressed a giggle. “Yes, ma’am.” She hurried out with her bundle.
******
At eight twenty-five, the Franklin’s carriage pulled up in front of the home of Sir and Lady Charles. Darrington blazed with light from its myriad windows. Cassandra and James were admitted at the door by a stately butler, and then a maid, ready to take away any wraps, though none had been carried on the warm night. Guests stood about, gawking at the ornate rooms and expensive furniture. Cassandra could hear a buzz of chatter from farther inside. She and James nodded and smiled at acquaintances as they made their way through the house, accompanied by a footman. Lady Charles rustled up to them in the main corridor, seemingly borne aloft by the many folds of her satin skirt. She sparkled with jewels—a large emerald brooch encircled with diamonds, diamond and pearl earrings, a necklace encrusted with sapphires, and even a diamond and emerald tiara to match the brooch.
“Mrs. Franklin, Mr. Franklin, where have you been?” the grand lady exclaimed. “We have been waiting for you!”
“You have?” Cassandra replied with surprise. She’d assumed that being fashionably late was a universal practice.
“Well, yes,” Lady Charles said with some annoyance. “The ball could hardly begin without you, could it?”
James and Cassandra looked at each other.
“Never mind,” she huffed. “I suppose I cannot expect you to do things the way we do them here. Well, come along, come along.”
They allowed themselves to be led, Lady Charles marching in front of them with great purpose, and the footman bringing up the rear.
When they arrived at the entrance to the ballroom, Lady Charles stood to one side of Cassandra, and the footman stood to the side of James. The footman then stepped forward, capturing the attention of the crowd. “Mrs. Cassandra and Master James Franklin,” he shouted above the din.
Everyone turned and then applauded resoundingly, startling the two guests. There were at least a hundred people in the high-ceilinged room. Two giant chandeliers hung down, lit with candles and sparkling crystal. The walls of the ballroom were painted with pastel images of ladies and gentlemen bedecked in the clothing of an era past, high white wigs on their heads. Cupids hovered above them while unicorns and satyrs gamboled about.
As the applause died down, the finely dressed people in the room stared at James and Cassandra as if expecting them to do something. Cassandra looked at her son, strikingly handsome with his father’s dark features and winning smile, set off by a crisp white shirt with a dark red cravat tied at the throat. His tall, slim body was perfectly suited to the narrow cut of the black trousers and frock coat he sported. She quickly put her hand to her hair to make sure it was in place. Mary had helped her arrange a string of pearls in it, and she wore simple drop-pearl earrings and a long strand about her neck, which fell below the bodice of the gown. She’d thought that the green of the dress complemented her dark red hair, her blue eyes, and her pale skin well, but now that she was on display, she doubted everything about her appearance.
Her eyes quickly sought out Ben. He smiled broadly, and looked her up and down while nodding. She returned a panicked raise of her eyebrows that stirred him to action. He hurried forward to take her arm.
Lady Charles sharply clapped her hands together and called out in a shrill voice, “Let the dancing begin!”
The small orchestra struck up a minuet, while the crowd made way for Cassandra and Ben to lead the dance. They were followed by James with Miss Charles, then Jeffrey Holcomb with Eunice, and Jane with the Clarke’s eldest boy, Edward. Cassandra passed Lady Holcomb as she went to take her place. Her friend was not smiling. Her eyebrows were raised quizzically and darted from Cassandra and Ben to Jane and her partner. Cassandra wondered if she’d hoped Ben would choose her daughter for the first dance. However, she knew it was appropriate to be honored in this way, as it was her first ball in the neighborhood. She merely nodded at Lady Holcomb and assumed her place opposite Ben. She was nervous; all eyes were upon her. She feared that she would make a mistake or that gossip would be raised that she was too old to dance, or too recently a widow, or that she was monopolizing a very eligible bachelor. But once the music began, they fell into step, and Ben’s eyes made everything else fade away. They bowed and curtseyed and followed the tune, eyes locked, faces flushed.
After the first piece, she relinquished him, and looked on as he danced a set with Jane Holcomb. Cassandra went to stand next to the girl’s mother, who greeted her with no smile, only a “Good evening.” The woman’s face softened, however, as she watched her lovely daughter glide through the dance with Ben. The couple moved gracefully together, speaking at intervals when the dance allowed. Cassandra wondered what they were talking about. When Ben exchanged partners for Eunice Fairchild for the next set, Lady Holcomb’s mouth set again into a tight line. Cassandra ventured a sympathetic smile in her direction, relieved that it was not just she but anyone, other than Jane, who danced with Ben that seemed to upset her friend. They watched the two dance, Eunice giggling and missing steps. Finally, Lady Holcomb laced her arm through Cassandra’s with an affectionate pat.
Cassandra noted that James and Miss Charles had not yet exchanged partners, and she hoped to be able to speak with her son at the break. They were too newly acquainted for such devotion to one another. The orchestra played on, and she was surprised to see herself approached by Jeffrey Holcomb who requested a dance. She glanced at Lady Holcomb, who nodded her approval. Cassandra stepped out onto the floor with him, feeling like his grandmother. If only anyone could guess my real age, she thought with horror. She caught James’ eye, and he flashed her his evil grin. She
smirked back and focused on the dance. Jeffrey was a fine dancer and a nice-looking young man, she decided. She tried to look anywhere but directly at him, gazing about the room at the other couples. But whenever she glanced at him, he would be looking at her in a penetrating way. He must know about her and Ben, she thought; in fact, she was sure he knew. She tried not to let herself become flustered, but only smiled benignly and concentrated on her steps.
As she danced, she spied Ben standing along the sidelines, chatting with Lady Holcomb, who seemed gratified to have his attention. Cassandra imagined that she was trying to pry some information out of him about their relationship.
Finally the musicians took a break and Cassandra made her way through the crowd to where James was now talking with Edward Clarke, along the way having to stop time and again to accept a compliment on her looks or those of her son’s. She feared he would escape before she got to him.
She grabbed his arm. “James,” she whispered as Ben began to lead her away to dance. “Do not only dance with Miss Charles. It is not correct.” He responded with a thumbs up, not an appropriate gesture, she noted. But she was happy to see, as she took her place with Ben for a country dance, that James was approaching Jane Holcomb.
The couples took their turns galloping up and down a line, then twirled with their own partners, were claimed by another, twirled again, and skipped forward and back with a clap of the hands. The men performed a jig, and then the ladies did the same, and the whole thing was repeated again. Cassandra thought to sit down when the tune wound to a close, but Ben refused to relinquish her and they danced another reel.
“Enough!” she called to him, laughing, when the song ended. “You must let me catch my breath!”
“I shall,” he returned, bowing. “But,” he continued, close to her ear, “I will dance with no other lady tonight, but you.” He kissed her hand, then wandered off to speak to friends in the crowd. As Cassandra watched him make his way through the throng, she scanned it for Lady Charles, wondering if the hostess approved of how her guests of honor were comporting themselves. All she could make out was the diamond tiara flashing in the candlelight as its owner dashed about.
A chime sounded, alerting the guests to retire to the dining hall for refreshment. As Cassandra made her way out of the ballroom with the rest of the multitude, Ben was suddenly beside her and grabbed her hand. He pulled her against the flow of the crowd out onto the veranda. He quietly closed the glass doors behind them and led her into the shadows.
“I cannot resist you tonight,” he whispered, backing her up against the cool stone of the house. “You are dazzling.” He kissed her long and sensuously, running his hands over her neck, her shoulders, across her breasts, and down to her slim waist.
She pulled away. “We must go in,” she insisted. “We cannot be seen here.”
“I know,” he admitted, stepping away. “I am sorry. I had to have one kiss, just one. I could stand it no longer.”
“Here is one more,” she said, pulling him back to her and tenderly kissing him. “And now I am going. You wait a moment. I will say I needed some air.”
She slid back in through the doors into the ballroom, empty now, except for the musicians, who sat in their places with food and drink. She wondered if there was a way to enter the dining room inconspicuously—perhaps there was more than one entrance. To her left she saw a paneled door, and decided to try it, thinking that it might lead her, through a circuitous route, into the dining room. Lady Charles had once given her a tour, but the place was so immense, she couldn’t remember where the dining room lay in relation to the ballroom. She opened the paneled doors, and was immediately faced with a smoke-filled chamber, crowded with men sitting at tables with their cards, pipes, and drinks. She tried to back out without being seen, but everyone had turned to look at her.
Sir Robert called out to her in a booming voice, “Well, look, it is Mrs. Franklin, the famous American!” He was drunk, and there was something unpleasant about his tone. “Come on in m’lady. Will you not join us?”
“Oh, no, no,” she replied, “I was just looking for—”
“Well you will not find the water closet here!” he guffawed.
Cassandra turned bright red. “No, I—”
Sir Robert rose and grabbed her by the arm. He was a big man, balding, with a red face, a turned up nose, and watery blue eyes.
“Come on, now,” he slurred, “do not be so shy, say hello to the gentlemen.” Some of them, equally drunk, were laughing. Others were looking about uncomfortably, reluctant to displease their host.
“No, thank you!” She twisted her arm to get free, but he held it tight.
“Come ‘ere. You c’n have my have my seat,” He pulled her to the table. “Or better yet, sit right here on my lap.” He plopped in his chair, almost pulling her on top of him.
She wrenched away in time to avoid landing on him. “Sir! I will not be treated in such a manner. If you will now excuse me—” she hastened to the door, but he leapt after her, surprisingly quick for an overweight man in his forties. He grabbed her around the waist.
The self-defense training she’d undergone caused her to instinctively flex her knee, but before it could connect with Sir Robert’s groin, Mr. Clarke was up and at her side in a moment. He extracted her from the other man’s grip and stood to face him. “Sir, I think you have had too much to drink. Let Mrs. Franklin be on her way, or I am afraid there will be trouble between us.”
Sir Robert stumbled backwards and growled. Cassandra ran out into the ballroom, shaking with fury. At that moment, Ben walked in from the veranda.
“Cassandra!” he cried, running to her. “Whatever is the matter? You are pale!”
“That horrible Sir Robert!” she said, struggling to keep her voice down. “He grabbed me! He was completely insolent! Whatever could make him think he could treat me in that way?”
Ben led her to a chair, while Mr. Clarke came bursting out of the card room.
“Mrs. Franklin, are you all right?” He was a tall, slender man, with thinning, wispy gray hair and a pleasant, intelligent face.
“Yes, yes,” she said, regaining her calm. “Thank you so much!”
“Whatever happened?” asked Ben. He motioned for her to sit, but she ignored him.
“Sir Robert has had too much to drink,” replied Mr. Clarke. “I have seen him get this way before. He loses his sense of propriety with the ladies.”
“I suppose he thinks that because I have no husband, he has the liberty to treat me in such a disrespectful way!”
“I do not think so ma’am,” said Mr. Clarke. “He has a reputation for acting inappropriately when he is drunk. I once had to rescue my wife from his familiarities while he was dancing with her at a party. His rudeness knows no limits when he is in that state.”
“Well, maybe he would like to deal with me, this time,” uttered Ben. He was red with anger.
“Mr. Johnston,” said Cassandra, turning to him. “It is most kind of you to think of defending me, but it is not necessary. I think we had best leave well enough alone, now, and not ruin the evening for the others.”
Ben wiped his face with his handkerchief.
“Mr. Clarke,” she continued, “would you be so kind as to lead me to the dining room? I think a glass of wine would do me some good. Thank you again, Mr. Johnston, for your concern.” She rose proudly and took Mr. Clarke’s arm, yearning to throw herself into Ben’s. Mr. Clarke delivered her into the dining room, and a few minutes later, Ben followed, loosening his cravat, his forehead damp with sweat.
She found James seated next to Miss Charles at a long table, saving a seat for her. She almost tipped her chair over as she pulled it out to sit. James leapt to his feet to assist her.
“Mother, is something the matter?”
“No, I am all right,” she whispered. She watched Ben sullenly take a seat next to Jane Holcomb a few tables over. “I just need to eat something.” A waiter swooped in with a plate for her, and s
he distracted herself by concentrating on the food. She looked over at the laughing Miss Charles. What an awful man to have for a father! She thought. You never really know what’s going on inside someone else’s home. There’s so much formality and propriety on the outside, but behind closed doors…. She shuddered. She looked around for Lady Charles. The hostess was several tables away, chattering with some of the other ladies. She glanced in Cassandra’s direction and gave her a polite nod and a smile.
People began to float toward the ballroom again. Cassandra felt a hand on her shoulder and looked around to find Ben standing next to her.
“Mrs. Franklin,” he said, “I beg of you one more dance.”
She looked up at him. He was not smiling. Once they took the dance floor, however, his face transformed to a look of pleasant disinterest.
He murmured to her as they took a step towards each other, obeying the dictates of the minuet, “I swear I will kill that bastard.”
“No, you will not,” she replied, calmly smiling.
“If you and I were engaged, I could challenge him to a duel.”
“Then thank goodness we are not.”
“But—”
The steps of the dance separated them. When they came together again, hands lightly touching as they turned in unison, she spoke. “I am all right. And now, my sweet, we must let the incident go. There is nothing else we can do.”
“I resent a man like that, thinking he has so much power over others.”
“It is disgusting, I agree. I will stay far away from him in the future.”
“If he ever lays a hand on you again—”
The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series) Page 15
