Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  Lord Burke pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Lady Marksworth. Cassandra leaned over and read it along with her aunt.

  Jemima,

  As I have informed others of my acquaintance, anybody being so reckless as to pay notice to a girl who has involved herself in three engagements behind the back of her father can no longer be noticed by me. I have full confidence you will not attend the girl’s ball at Marksworth House.

  Harriet Downing

  Chapter Eleven

  Cassandra looked up from Lady Montague’s note. “What does it mean?” Cassandra said.

  “It means,” Lord Burke said, “that Lady Montague has set out to ensure that very few people attend this ball. She knows she cannot hold sway over those such as the Blakeleys or my own mother, but she can hold sway over many. Though my mother had not planned on attending this evening, as she rarely attends balls, she sent for me to say that she would attend if necessary, to stand firm against Lady Montague’s scheme. I counseled that it would be best to take another course. Lady Marksworth, we must invent a ruse to cancel the ball immediately. It will be the only way to avert disaster.”

  “Lord Burke,” Lady Marksworth said, “Nothing Lady Montague could get up to would surprise me, but we do not understand the note itself. What three engagements?”

  Lord Burke paled. “Good Lord. You have not seen the print that has been everywhere.”

  “If you mean the ridiculous illustration of the three gentlemen in the sky, we have seen it. It was thrown through our window, in fact. However, that is a reference to Lords Hampton, Lockwood and Ashworth choosing to escort us from the park after a certain rude gentleman made a coarse remark to my niece. It has nothing at all to do with any engagement.”

  Lord Burke appeared thoroughly confused. “Hampton, Lockwood and Ashworth? No, Lady Marksworth. That is not who the gentlemen are meant to be. It is said that Miss Knightsbridge was secretly engaged to three gentlemen in Surrey, and that the three all met on the road to her estate. When they discovered each other, all three broke off with the lady.”

  If Cassandra’s knees had felt weak when Lord Burke had first arrived, now they positively could not hold her up. She sank down onto a sofa.

  What was this? What three gentlemen? What engagements?

  Lady Marksworth held herself straight. She appeared furious. “I see. And do we know who the author of this wretched business might be? I am certain her father would call the scoundrel out at dawn.”

  “That I do not know,” Lord Burke said.

  “Is there any other story associated with this nonsense?” Lady Marksworth asked.

  Lord Burke turned his face away.

  “I see that there is,” Lady Marksworth said. “Out with it, if you please, my lord.”

  Lord Burke heavily sighed. “As is the nature of gossip, at times there is talk of there being four or five gentlemen, rather than three. And, it is said, that Miss Knightsbridge has a particular facility with a shotgun and her father is terrified of her.”

  Now it was Lady Marksworth’s turn to sink to the sofa. “And Lady Montague has seen fit to take full advantage of these malicious stories.”

  “My lady,” Lord Burke said. “I know what I have communicated has come at a great shock, but we must act quickly. The later it gets, the more apparent that Lady Montague has succeeded.”

  Lady Marksworth straightened her back, as if firming her resolve. “What do you suggest we do?” she asked.

  “It is just this—I will run from this room and claim that Miss Knightsbridge has fainted and does not wake. I will tell your butler to send down a lady’s maid. We will send for a doctor, my own man who I can trust. Lady Marksworth, you will make the announcement that the evening is cancelled. It is the only way forward.”

  Cassandra thought it might not be a lie to say that she had fainted and would not wake. She very much wished that it was so. The truth of what had occurred was so terrible that it could not be faced—oblivion would be a blessing.

  All along, she had thought the gossip that swirled round her had to do with shooting a gun and the three lords escorting her home. But this was a thousand times worse! It spoke to her character!

  “Truly,” Lord Burke said urgently, “there is not a moment to lose.”

  Lady Marksworth stood. “I believe you are right, Lord Burke, and I thank you for assisting us at this terrible hour. As soon as the lady’s maid arrives, I will inform the guests. Do insist on Clara, not Peggy. Go and do your work.”

  Lord Burke looked much relieved and fairly flew from the room. Cassandra could not hold her feelings back longer and began to sob.

  Her aunt sat by her and put an arm round her shoulder. “There now, you must not give in to your feelings this moment. There will be plenty of time later, but just now we must play our parts.”

  Cassandra nodded and willed herself to stop her tears. Lady Marksworth was right—there would be endless amounts of time to cry, but not right now.

  “Lay down and close your eyes. You must appear in a faint in case anybody sees you when the door opens to admit Clara. Do not worry about my maid, she can keep a thing to herself. Peggy, I am not so sure of, and so I advise allowing her to know nothing.”

  Cassandra nodded, and then closed her eyes.

  *

  As events transpired outside the door, Cassandra lay there with Clara holding her hand, hearing bits and pieces of it. She distinctly heard Lord Hampton suggest he send for his own doctor, only to be denied by Lady Marksworth. Sybil asked if she might come in, but Lady Marksworth said it would be time enough on the morrow for a visit.

  Had they all heard the story? It seemed impossible that the six gentlemen of the pact had not heard all that had been said. It must be the talk of every gentlemen’s club. Had they come with an eye toward amusement? It would not surprise her to know that they were well aware of Lady Montague’s salvo and had come to see how it would all unfold. They would look upon it as a jolly bit of fun to be discussed the following day. Certainly, that was the cause of their very early arrival, they would not wish to miss anything of this disaster.

  Suddenly, she understood Mr. Conners’ untoward behavior in the park, his bizarre challenge to a race. He’d had the nerve to treat her as less than a lady as he believed she’d conducted herself as less than a lady.

  How had this all happened? When she’d thought the three gentlemen depicted on the print were Hampton, Lockwood and Ashworth, it had only seemed as if some person had put two disparate ideas into one illustration. She’d owned to skill with a gun and the three gentlemen had escorted her from the park. But where on earth had the idea of the three engagements in Surrey originated? There was no truth that could account for it, even if that truth were to be stretched beyond recognition.

  Cassandra felt she would truly faint. She wished it with all her heart. Anything to be away from this dreadful scene.

  *

  Edwin had been alarmed at the news of Miss Knightsbridge fainting. Not so much because she fainted, ladies had ever been in the habit of doing so, but because she would not wake. He had some vague idea that a waving of smelling salts was all that was required to bring a lady back to the present.

  His alarm had reached new heights after speaking with Burke. Hampton had directed all the gentlemen of the pact to turn up in force. He’d thought it would send a clear message to all who attended Lady Marksworth’s ball.

  He’d never imagined that most others would not attend due to Lady Montague’s directive. He’d never imagined Lady Montague would dare issue such a directive. She was a spiteful old thing and feared by enough of society to have her will. That she did not dare attempt to influence him or his friends came as no surprise, Lady Montague wielded her iron fist down, never up.

  Burke told him Miss Knightsbridge had barely held up upon hearing what was said of her. Until this very night, she’d had no idea of any talk of three broken engagements. The further blow delivered—that very few would
come to her ball—had felled her and she did not wake. All along, Burke said, she had thought the print to be representative of a meeting in the park with Hampton, Lockwood and Ashworth after Mr. Conners’ untoward suggestion of a race. That might have been upsetting, but in no way reached the heights of the humiliation of the real story that had gone round.

  Now, she knew the truth. What a poison they had unleashed upon the lady!

  What was to be the end of it? The rumors he’d thought they could counter with some effort could not be subdued. Lady Montague’s stance was determined and there were few who would dare to cross her.

  Miss Knightsbridge would receive dwindling invitations going forward. Even less marriage proposals. Perhaps no marriage proposals at all. What gentleman, even if she had the means of meeting him at a gathering, would gladly suffer the notoriety of finding himself the fourth gentleman engaged to the lady? What gentleman would risk being ostracized by Lady Montague for marrying her? What family would welcome it?

  Through their own selfishness, he and his friends had ruined a lady. He had ruined the lady.

  The truth must come out. They must own what they did. He and his friends were low and self-interested—all should know that they were the worst sort of people, regardless of what titles they might hold.

  Edwin paused. They must do more than just own being the cause of this disaster. They must atone for it. He must atone for it. But how?

  He knew how. He knew the only certain thing he might do to reestablish Miss Knightsbridge in society. To give her a rightful place in it. To ensure that she was treated with the respect she deserved. To firmly and finally shut the mouths of Lady Montague and her ilk.

  He must marry Miss Knightsbridge.

  What a pass he had come to! This terrible circumstance had begun with a hope to avoid the state and now he was honor-bound to accomplish it.

  Still, if he was to live with himself, it must be done.

  *

  The house had grown very quiet and Cassandra had been carried up the stairs by two footmen under the watchful eyes of Racine and Clara. Peggy had been sent below stairs, the girl too prone to talk, while Lady Marksworth attended Lord Burke and waited for his physician. Cassandra understood the physician would be told the truth, that she had no illness but that of spirit, but he could be trusted and would be seen coming and going—it would bolster the idea of her sudden illness.

  Where had the story of the three engagements come from? She’d had no particular suitors in Surrey. She’d bestowed no singular interest on any gentleman.

  Was a lady to be ruined simply because some mean-spirited person decided to invent a tale? How was that possible? Who would do it? She had not made enemies of anybody that she knew of.

  Yet, there was someone out there who harbored a hatred of her.

  Cassandra had known London was another world, that she would need guidance to wend her way through. She had never imagined it was a sea of piranhas, though it appeared that was precisely what it was. She had waded in and sharp teeth had torn her to shreds.

  As she’d lain on the sofa, gazing at the hem of her gown and waiting for the few guests who had arrived to take their leave, her aunt had spoken to her in soft and gentle tones. Lady Marksworth had mulled over various steps to be taken, but in the end, Cassandra had her way. She wished to go home. She wished to go on the morrow at first light.

  Lady Marksworth would take her in her carriage and Peggy would stay behind to pack up her things. It was essential that she leave this horrid town. She must see her father and her dog and have all the familiar comforts of home surrounding her. She would miss Sybil, but she suspected that was all she would miss of this place. In any case, had she decided to stay, she must part with Sybil. The rumors had gone too far to allow her friend to be tainted by them, as brave and stalwart as that friend was.

  Clara helped her out of her dress and Cassandra turned away from it. She could not bear to see that gown—it had represented everything hopeful and happy only hours ago.

  *

  Racine had never seen a more sorrowful morning at Marksworth House since the master died. Lady Marksworth had been grim as she made the arrangements for the carriage to come round at dawn. Miss Cassandra had been pale, an almost ghostly figure, seated quietly on a sofa and waiting to depart.

  Neither had taken much breakfast, though he had left out every interesting morsel to be found in the kitchen. As the ball had not come off, the kitchens were groaning under the weight of the food that was to have comprised the supper. Racine had been careful to leave all of that alone, there could not be any reminder of the disastrous evening that had just passed. Still, Miss Cassandra could not even be persuaded to take an almond biscuit to break her fast.

  The soft clip-clop of horses’ hooves, muffled by the morning mist, had signaled the arrival of the carriage. His mistress and her niece had left almost silently, as if they joined a funeral procession.

  He could hardly take in the events of the night before! First, the offensive note from a certain Lady Montague, then Lord Burke rushing in and revealing the nefarious plot afoot.

  Miss Cassandra was to be ostracized! It was outrageous. That good, young girl had never done a wrong thing in her life.

  If he had his way, he would set off to locate this Lady Montague and knock the stuffing out of her.

  As it was, he could not knock the stuffing out of anybody, except perhaps Miss Cassandra’s maid Peggy, who still snored in her bed. He would see to it that Peggy packed up her mistress’s things in an orderly and neat fashion and that she kept her opinions to herself. He’d already grown tired of the girl’s opinions and now he was downright done with them.

  Hours later, as he watched over the house and its inhabitants with a careful and somber eye, he heard the clatter of a horse reined in and a pounding on the door.

  Fearing it would be news of an accident on the road, he rushed to answer it.

  Lord Hampton stood on the steps, seeming out of breath as if he’d galloped his way across London.

  “Is Miss Knightsbridge at home?” Lord Hampton asked. “Or Lady Marksworth? Or both? Perhaps both would be better.”

  “I am afraid, my lord,” Racine said, “both Miss Knightsbridge and Lady Marksworth have retired to the country.”

  “To the country?” Lord Hampton said. “My God, what time did they set off?”

  “At first light, my lord,” Racine said.

  “But surely… she was not well. Is it wise that she travel so soon?”

  Racine had not been prepared for the question, but that was of little matter. His years as a butler had trained him to always be ready to answer any question in a manner befitting the house.

  “The doctor was here and examined Miss Knightsbridge. He pronounced her fit for travel and charged Lady Marksworth to get her into the country air as soon as possible.”

  “Where do they go? Surrey? Or to Lady Marksworth’s estate?”

  “They go to Miss Knightsbridge’s father in Surrey,” Racine said gravely.

  Racine watched in some amazement as Lord Hampton fairly stumbled down the steps. It seemed the lord took a singular interest in the health of Miss Cassandra.

  He could not say whether he approved or disapproved of the idea. Though, if the lord did take such an interest, he might make himself useful by discovering the whereabouts of Lady Montague and knocking the stuffing out of her.

  *

  Unbeknownst to Cassandra, Lady Marksworth had the foresight to send a letter via fast horse to Trebly Hall the night before, preparing her father for their arrival and the circumstances surrounding their sudden decampment.

  Cassandra had slept a deal of the way, sleep now being her welcome escape. She woke and found the sun high overhead and, out the carriage windows, the familiar scenes of her neighborhood. It was comforting to view Mr. Jenkin’s fields kept in good order as they had always been. The grand old willow that draped its greenery so close to the road stood as it ever had. Two rough and
tumble boys stuck their tongues out at the passing carriage, as boys had always been wont to do.

  It was as if time had stood still. So much had happened to her, but nothing had happened to Surrey.

  Then, finally, they rumbled through the gates and Trebly Hall rose in the distance. Its fine stone façade and glorious tall windows standing as it had ever stood these past hundred years.

  The carriage rolled to a stop and, much to her surprise, her father was there to greet them.

  Lady Marksworth leaned over and said softly, “Your father knows all—I wrote ahead.”

  Cassandra was helped down to the gravel. Though her father had always been exceedingly kind, she did feel some trepidation over how he would view this particular disaster. She’d been sent to London to conduct herself creditably and somehow come home in disgrace.

  The viscount gently took her arm and said, “There now, I hear you have been through the wars, but there is no war here. Come in and be at peace in your home.”

  This was so generous that Cassandra found herself sobbing. Her dear, dear father! What a change from those sneering, talking people of London!

  She was led indoors as her father talked beside her. “You will need refreshment before you go above stairs to change. Come into the library, a certain ridiculous dog awaits you there. Further, Maidencraft has had Cook working like a demon to see that your favorite biscuits appear on the tea tray.”

  The library doors were thrown open. Mayhem, as she had heard the commotion outside, was just behind the door and prepared to throw herself into the fray, whatever the fray might be. The mastiff flung herself at Cassandra, nearly knocking her over. Then, she proceeded to race around the library to show her wild approbation over this unexpected arrival. She snatched a book off a shelf for good measure and tossed it in the air, before coming to a stop at her mistress’s feet.