Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  The thought of it nearly made her giggle, but she suppressed the urge.

  *

  The first dance had come to a blessed end with no further words exchanged with Lord Hampton. After the urge to giggle had passed, Cassandra had begun to regret her daring. It was not that she thought he deserved any kinder treatment; it was only that she was well-aware that it would not be the done thing in London.

  In Surrey, she had never felt constrained in her speech. If she thought something strongly, she would say it. She’d not soon forget the taking down of a certain Mr. Longmoore. He’d opportuned her in a shocking manner at a ball, grasping at her arm as she exited the lady’s retiring room and suggesting she, as he termed it, “Take him on.” She presumed this to be some sort of low marriage proposal, and quite ridiculous at that—Mr. Longmoore was a tradesman in the village who had the unfortunate reputation of drinking too much. The habit had been on unmistakable display on that particular evening.

  After she’d pulled away from the drunken fool, he’d had the audacity to attempt to kiss her. She’d slapped him hard and informed him that she viewed him in no more favorable a light than a kitchen mouse, and if he were so ill-advised as to approach her again in such a manner, she’d chase him with a kitchen broom. The man was lucky she had not informed her father, who would have chosen a weapon a deal more deadly than a broom.

  Mr. Longmoore had given her a wide berth after that.

  Still, in London, where everybody and everything were so minutely scrutinized, where ladies were held to such strict standards, speaking one’s mind did not appear to find much approval. She only hoped Lord Hampton was embarrassed enough over the encounter that he’d not mention it to anybody.

  Now, Lord Burke escorted her into the supper room and Cassandra anticipated an amusing repast. The lord had somehow the skill of telling of war as if it had been one long joke—she remembered vividly his tale told at the Tremanes’ of the horrors his cook would dream up, being saddled with so few ingredients that were edible, and the bright face that cook would put on them. One evening, the cook had grandly announced vieux lapin dans une sauce pire. If Lord Burke’s French had been poor, he may never have realized he ate “old rabbit in a worse sauce.” Still, the lord supposed it was better than the evening he’d dined on racines que j’ai trouvé dans la forêt, which had loosely translated to “roots I found in the forest.”

  “Miss Knightsbridge,” Lord Burke said, leading her into the dining room, “how do you enjoy the evening now that I’ve had the pleasure of leading you about the floor? I managed to avoid knocking you over, which I always consider an accomplishment.”

  “I enjoy the evening very well, Lord Burke,” she said. “I have come through entirely unscathed. Had you knocked me to the floor, I am confident we might have passed it off as the latest figure from Mr. Wilson.”

  “You understand the ton all too well,” Lord Burke said, laughing. “If Brummel says tie it this way, it is tied. If Wilson says step this way, it is stepped.”

  Cassandra smiled up at Lord Burke. She found she had a great appreciation for his wit. And, for all her consternation during her first dance with Lord Hampton, she could not deny that the ball had been pleasant since then. In truth, she felt positively lighthearted—her card had been filled and a few gentlemen turned away on account of it. She supposed she’d carried on quite creditably.

  The dining table was already crowded. Lord Burke pointed to a few empty chairs and said, “Just there, and good luck too. There is my friend Hampton.”

  Chapter Three

  While Cassandra would have gladly chosen any other chair than the one empty across from Lord Hampton, she had not been able to posit an excuse before Lord Burke had led her there.

  Ever jolly Lord Burke did not seem to note the coolness with which both she and Lord Hampton confirmed that they had been introduced. Lord Hampton’s dinner partner, the beautiful Miss Daisy Danworth, her blond curls charmingly escaping her lady’s maid’s best laid plans, did seem to note it. The lady looked amused.

  “Dashed inconvenient thing, that pact, eh, Hampton?” Lord Burke said. “I’ve some kind of luck that my own father does not conspire so.”

  Cassandra was surprised to hear of the pact spoken of so openly to one who was affected by it. Lord Hampton appeared filled with consternation to hear it mentioned. He said, “Perhaps we should not discuss it in front of the ladies.”

  Lord Burke laughed. “Good Lord, there is no end of things that ought not be discussed in front of the ladies, it’s a wonder they hear anything at all.”

  “Nevertheless,” Lord Hampton said, beginning to look dark as thunder.

  “My friend,” Lord Burke said, “there is not a chimney sweep or fish wife in London who could not recite you a version of that letter backward and forward.”

  “I think it is very unfair to the ladies,” Miss Danworth said. “The moment one of us shows the trifling amount of interest we shall be pegged as the most determined title-hunters.”

  “Though,” Cassandra said, unwilling to resist the remark dangling before her, “I do not suppose it will be very difficult to remain uninterested, thereby nullifying the problem.”

  “Ah,” Miss Danworth said, “Miss Knightsbridge speaks very decidedly. Have you met and dismissed all six gentlemen of the pact?”

  Cassandra smiled. “I have not and have no need of it. I have no wish to be a duchess, I would find it rather boring.”

  “Boring?” Lord Burke said. “Now you must elaborate, Miss Knightsbridge, as I am very sure that is a unique opinion.”

  With a small smile, Lord Hampton said, “Yes, do enlighten us on the boredom of it all.”

  Cassandra had not meant to let slip her real views on such things, but she’d gone and done it, and there was no turning back now.

  “I am sure it is only my own eccentricity,” Cassandra said, “but it seems to me that the higher one goes in the strata of society, the more one is stared at. I’d prefer a bit more freedom than that. I’d prefer to gallop my horse over hill and dale, leaving my groom far behind, and have nobody comment upon it.”

  Lord Burke said, “Gad, I see what you say. My mother is forever telling my sisters what people will think about this or that. They barely make a move without her informing them of it. I do not suppose they’ve ever galloped in their lives.”

  “You are in the habit of wild rides, Miss Knightsbridge?” Miss Danworth asked.

  Cassandra very much thought Miss Danworth sought to make her seem foolish. She had met such women before, and she thought she knew how to manage them.

  “Miss Danworth,” she said sweetly, “a horse who is never given its head is an unhappy creature. It is only a kindness to give them leave to see what they can do. I hope I have enough sense to keep my father’s stables in contented good order.”

  “What I believe Miss Danworth means to point out,” Lord Hampton said, “is that ladies galloping round the countryside, sans groom, is not exactly the done thing.”

  Cassandra felt herself flush. Who was this man to inform her of what she ought to do and what she ought not to do? Her own father did not dictate in such a manner.

  “Apparently,” she said, “it is the done thing by some, as I do so often.”

  “If that is so,” Lord Hampton said, “one wonders what else might be on the list of done things in Surrey. I suppose you shoot pheasant and go round in trousers if you have a mind.”

  “If there was a practical reason for going round in trousers, I might very well do it,” Cassandra said, anger rising in her chest, “and anybody might take a shot at a bird.”

  “Gosh,” Lord Burke said, “I cannot quite imagine my own sisters taking up a shotgun—I’d be afraid of who would end up dead on the drive.”

  “Certainly, Lord Burke, any female might learn the skill,” Cassandra said. “It is not an overly complicated operation.”

  Miss Danworth looked enormously pleased with the conversation. Cassandra was mortified. She
’d not wished to reveal any of what she’d said. But then, that stupid, arrogant lord had purposefully baited her into it!

  She went on far quieter after that and was relieved that Lord Burke would entertain them with more stories of his cook in the war. The fellow had once picked mushrooms for a repast but turned out not to be skilled at selecting edible varieties. The lord had been sick for days. The man had since been installed in Grosvenor Square and was a deal more comfortable ordering from a grocer than he’d ever been wandering forlornly round foreign forests.

  *

  Edwin and Lord Lockwood rode their horses through the quiet streets, the Bergrams’ ball blessedly over.

  “A successful sally, I’ll wager,” Lockwood said. “Here we are, free at last and having given nobody reason to hope.”

  Hampton did not answer. His head was still too full of his encounters with Miss Knightsbridge. Of all the high-handed misses! First, she demanded he speak to her and then insulted him when his conversation was deemed unsatisfactory. What had she said? “Not everyone is desperate to know you.” That was what she said.

  Then Burke would bring her to his notice again! She would apprise him, pointedly, that she did not care a fig for the pact and the last thing she’d wish to do was become a duchess. Of course she did not, she was too busy galloping around and shooting birds.

  Who ever heard of such a thing? What went on in Surrey, that a viscount’s daughter was in the habit of shooting birds? The notion was absurd. The habit of muff pistols was ridiculous enough—a lady was fortunate not to shoot off her foot and if a lady really wished to be defended from highwaymen, that lady ought to bring enough well-armed men to do the job. It was a silly conceit to carry a toy pistol in a reticule and a worse conceit to claim skill with a shotgun.

  He’d never heard of a lady successfully fending off an attack with her delicate little pistol and was certain he never would. He supposed Miss Knightsbridge would be better prepared, as she’d have a fowling piece by her side.

  “Close one on Lady Sybil, though,” Lockwood said. “Manning was supposed to take her into supper and was called away on some emergency. Dash it—I stepped in before I could even think. I’d not claimed the dance before supper and had thought to take myself off to some balcony or other to avoid a protracted conversation with a lady. Then, there I was, arm out and leading her in. She’s a charmer, I won’t lie.”

  Hampton had not particularly attended his friend’s speech. He looked over and said, “What?”

  “Never mind,” Lockwood said in exasperation. “You will attend on the morrow, I suppose?”

  Hampton knew perfectly well what Lockwood referred to. The gentlemen named in the pact were all to meet at Dalton’s house. Dalton was already an earl and had a large residence in Berkeley Square.

  “I will attend,” Hampton said. He did not know what would be discussed, except to assume they were all to come up with some idea of how to put their fathers off without having to move to Cheapside.

  Hampton could not say how they would do it, but they must do it. As for the other side of the coin, the danger of falling for the charms of some lady or other, he was in no danger whatsoever. The ladies he’d danced with that evening were all of a kind—eager to display their beauty and wit. Except, of course, Miss Knightsbridge. She was only eager to flout her confoundedness, horsemanship and skill with a gun.

  “How did you get on with Miss Knightsbridge?” Lockwood asked. “I know you have a weakness for her sort of looks and I saw you conversing with her at dinner. Did she attempt to cast a net?”

  “Miss Knightsbridge is too busy galloping her horse and firing off a fowling piece at passing birds to cast any nets,” Lord Hampton said drily.

  *

  Lady Sybil was shown into the drawing room and hurried to Cassandra’s side. Lady Marksworth greeted her civilly and rose. “I shall leave you two alone,” she said. “I remember all too well the day after a ball in my own youth and am certain there is no end of things to discuss without the eavesdropping of an old woman.”

  “You are not old at all!” Cassandra said, and she meant it. Lady Marksworth was a distinguished looking lady of early middle age.

  “I am not old to myself, anyway,” Lady Marksworth said goodhumoredly. “I will have tea sent in. Now, talk away.”

  Lady Marksworth swept out of the room and Cassandra thought her aunt understood her better than she had initially given the lady credit for. She and Sybil would have much to talk of.

  They settled themselves on the velvet cushions of the window seat that overlooked the lady’s charming front garden, fronted by an ironwork gate. The sun shone down, the clip-clop of the occasional carriage sounded softly through the glass as it passed them by, and the distant sound of neighboring front doors opening and closing spoke of a street filled with people coming and going.

  Cassandra preferred this little perch above all others in her aunt’s house, as it so differed from Trebly Hall and its isolation in the countryside. Its excellent view of the street had provided no end of entertainment, including what she suspected was a budding romance between a governess and a butler. That lady was in the habit of pushing her charge’s pram down the street at precisely the time the butler came out for air. As well, there was a gentleman living across the road who bore a long scar on his cheek and appeared always to be serious—she imagined him as having been one of Wellington’s right-hand men.

  “You begin,” Cassandra said, holding her friend’s hands in her own.

  “Very well,” Sybil said. “Ever so much happened, but I will start by telling you of a near disaster.”

  “A disaster!” Cassandra said, very much surprised.

  “Nearly so,” Sybil said. “Mr. Manning was meant to take me into supper, but as we walked toward the dining room, a messenger delivered him a letter. An old aunt in Kent did poorly and her neighbor had written about it. He is ever so kind, as it turns out. He said his aunt would never bother him, not even if she were on her deathbed, and so he was most grateful the neighbor had been bold enough to write. His butler saw at once that it was from his aunt’s neighborhood and sent the message straight to the Bergrams’ knowing his master would not wish to be delayed. He set off for Kent that very instant, not even returning home to pack a case. And so you see, though he apologized profusely, there I was standing alone while everybody else was led in.”

  “Did you make haste to the retiring room?” Cassandra asked. “I have thought of what I should do if I were to be without a partner for supper, and it is the only thing I can think of.”

  “It was very strange,” Sybil said. “I was perplexed about what I ought to do and thought of going to my mama, but then Lord Lockwood appeared by my side and offered to take me in.”

  “How lucky!” Cassandra said.

  “Yes, I suppose it was lucky,” Sybil said thoughtfully. “Though I cannot account for why he did so. He barely said a word throughout. You know how awkward that can be, having to hold up a conversation alone. I cannot imagine what more I could have said about the weather.”

  “At least you were not holed up in the retiring room, praying that no lady would come upon you and stare at you with a pitying gaze.”

  “Very true,” Sybil said. “And perhaps Lord Lockwood was only momentarily tongue-tied, the pact may have weighed heavily on his mind. They must all know it is the topic of the town.”

  Before Cassandra could comment, Racine came in with the tea. The old butler had been known to her as long as she could remember. He’d always been exceedingly kind—delivering her no end of biscuits when nobody was looking. She’d been in the habit, as a young girl, of creeping down to the butler’s closet and pouring out her heart to him whenever she experienced some little upset. He’d always taken her side of things, even when she could see now that he ought not have.

  The butler set down a tea tray with a plate of the cook’s marvelous fairy cakes.

  “You spoil us, Racine,” Cassandra said.

 
; Racine was a formal sort of fellow when he was not comforting a heartbroken young girl in the butler’s closet. Cassandra still remembered fondly his commiseration with her when the viscount had denied her idea of acquiring another five mastiffs to make a proper pack. Racine had told her it seemed a fine idea and the viscount might change his mind someday.

  Now, he said, “It is a butler’s purview, I think, to show those little considerations that might indicate favor.”

  “Goodness,” Sybil said. “I can hardly convince Merrydon to deliver a bit of dry bread so soon after breakfast.”

  Racine clearly looked askance at that way of going on. He raised an eyebrow in the most delightful disapproving manner and left the room. Cassandra had no doubt he was moments away from informing the housekeeper of Merrydon’s unsatisfactory habits.

  “Now,” Sybil said, “you must tell me of your evening. I know you were to go into supper with Lord Burke, he is an amiable fellow, is he not?”

  “Very amiable,” Cassandra said. “A deal more amiable than was Lord Hampton, both during the opening of the ball and across the table at supper.”

  “Lord Hampton? He did not offend?” Sybil asked.

  “He very much offended me actually,” Cassandra said. “He was all but wordless on the ballroom floor. I thought it rude and told him so.”

  “You did no such thing!” Sybil said.

  “Oh, I most certainly did,” Cassandra said resolutely. She did not see a reason for pretense. Lord Hampton had been rude, and she had informed him of it. “I think,” she went on, “that the lord flatters himself over this pact. He wished to make it known that he was not on the auction block. I made it equally known that I was not bidding.”

  “Goodness,” Sybil said. “But then, you spoke to him at supper too? Was that not uncomfortable?”

  “Terribly,” Cassandra said. And, if she were truthful with herself, that part of the evening she’d prefer to forget. There had been no cause to inform anybody that she liked a wild ride on a horse or, worse, that she’d ever raised a shotgun.