Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  “My wonderful May,” Cassandra said quietly. “How I have missed your innocent enthusiasm.”

  She led May to a sofa near the windows. It was known to be for the exclusive use of the dog, May having claimed it as a puppy and it being generally so covered in dog hair as to make it unsuitable for human use. Cassandra did not particularly care about covering her traveling dress in dog hair and happily ensconced herself on it. May leapt up and flung her heavy head on her adored mistress’s lap.

  The viscount and Lady Marksworth sat together on the other side of the room, talking quietly.

  Cassandra only heard bits and pieces, but from what she could gather, neither her aunt nor her father could fathom where the rumor of the three engagements had come from. Lady Marksworth suggested that Cassandra stay in Surrey for a year or two—perhaps her niece would meet a local gentleman who would suit.

  Her father, however, had other ideas. He’d already made inquiries into hiring an investigator. He would discover the culprit. That person would be punished, Cassandra’s name cleared, and her rightful place restored to her.

  Finally, there was some hushed talk of a certain Lady Montague until her father said, rather loudly, “I do not care who the lady thinks she is, I’ll go to London and straighten out the harridan myself if I have to.”

  Cassandra could not say if she cared one way or another what was done. She was home and there was a feeling in the house of being cushioned from all harm. No matter what went on out in the world, that awful world could not encroach upon Trebly Hall. All the whispers and unkind words could stay where they were—they would not gain entrance here.

  The night before, as she had stared into the darkness and considered her future, she’d nearly decided that she would not marry at all. Why should she? Her father’s estate was not entailed. She would inherit all of it. Of course, he’d had the idea that she would have sons and one of the younger might take it over, rather than choose the military or the clergy. But might she not manage on her own? She thought she knew enough of the estate’s business to do so—she understood animal husbandry and planting and how to manage a tenant. She had taken over the supervision of the apple orchard and the subsequent cider-making some years ago. She might get on very well and if she took that course, she would not answer to anybody. The wags in London might talk until they were breathless, but they would not be heard.

  She might give up trying to be a perfect little lady and, instead, pick up a shotgun whenever she liked. She might simply be who she always was. It would come as a relief, really. She would never have to step foot in that poisonous town again.

  She would, of course, miss Sybil terribly. The lady had been such a stalwart ally! Still, she could write and once Sybil was a married lady she might visit, assuming her husband did not condemn the connection.

  Cassandra pushed away an idea that kept inconveniently surfacing in her mind. It was becoming more and more uncomfortable to imagine what some people might think of her upon hearing of the three engagements. In particular, what Lord Hampton might think. Had he and his friends all arrived early to her ball, knowing of impending disaster and wishing to see how it unfolded? It stung to think so, as she had begun to believe that they developed a friendship through their mutual interests. But perhaps he had only toyed with her and found it amusing.

  She was confounded by his face persisting in her mind. His dark hair and darker eyes and his… she did not really know what it was about him. They had not met well, but then somehow had got on well. He’d paid her marked attention and his attention felt a bigger compliment, as it was not easily earned. Now, she felt a fool for having wondered if he would take her into supper at her own ball. He could not admire her, not after what he would have heard.

  The pang of it was deep and awful.

  May interrupted her thoughts with a large lick to her hand, meant to remind her that her dog was very fond of an ear scratch.

  Chapter Twelve

  Edwin had been more than surprised to discover Miss Knightsbridge had decamped to Surrey so precipitously. According to the butler, she and Lady Marksworth had left at dawn.

  If he had not fully comprehended the disaster that had befallen the lady, a rushed departure before the town woke must reveal it in all clarity. He did not know what would be said in every drawing room in the days to come, only that much would be said.

  He’d had the inclination of rushing to Surrey to see Miss Knightsbridge there, but he had paused. He had not any connection to the viscount and, if he were to simply arrive unannounced, what should he say? My lord, I have been the architect of your daughter’s destruction and would now propose that we wed?

  Any decent father would not hand over a daughter under such bizarre and unseemly circumstances. Any decent father might propose a private meeting at dawn instead, accompanied only by their respective seconds.

  If he were to approach the viscount, and he was determined to do so, he must arrive better prepared. He must admit what he’d done, but then he must also explain what he’d done about it.

  He’d felt that he and the other gentlemen of the pact had carried out all that could be done to counter the talk against Miss Knightsbridge. Now, he saw that was not so. Now, there must be more urgent steps taken. The first of those steps began at Lady Montague’s door.

  He gazed around at the lady’s overdressed drawing room, it fairly bursting with Greek statuettes, portraits of those long dead, and strategically placed books meant to make one seem intelligent. It fairly screamed façade, and he supposed that was fitting. Had Lady Montague not been born high, he supposed she might have made a living on the stage.

  “Lord Hampton,” the lady said, breezing into the room, “what a welcome surprise! I do not believe we have seen you since my ball.”

  Edwin kept his face neutral, though he was always irritated by the lady’s use of the royal we.

  “I hear you were in attendance at Marksworth House last evening?” Lady Montague continued. “A shame the lady was taken ill, but then it would not have been well attended in any case. I should have thought to alert you to the rumors before you sullied your person in that house, I do apologize for my carelessness.”

  My God. He’d thought he’d have to bring up the topic himself, but the lady was eager to speak of it. She even appeared proud of her handiwork.

  “I am well aware of the rumors, Lady Montague, as the gentlemen of the pact started them,” Edwin said. “We wished for some little trifle to go round to take eyes off of us. Unfortunately, more than a trifle went round, it’s all nonsense, and I am determined to rectify it.”

  Lady Montague nodded approvingly. “You are very gallant, my lord, attempting to rescue the lady’s reputation. Sadly, it will not do.”

  “Madam,” Edwin said, “it must do, as it is the truth. Further, I am aware of what you did to ensure low attendance at the lady’s ball.”

  Lady Montague shrugged. “Friends must be warned, my lord.”

  “Your friends, if that is what you think they are, were threatened.”

  At this, Lady Montague began to comprehend that Lord Hampton might not be entirely in agreement with her way of thinking.

  “Surely not,” she said with somewhat less confidence.

  “Surely so,” Edwin said. “Were you a reasonable lady, I would task you with correcting others’ opinions of Miss Knightsbridge as those opinions are patently false. The lady has been unjustly accused and everybody of any sense must know it. As it happens, I have never found you reasonable and would not trust you to do it creditably. Rather, I think you would make it your business to defend your initial opinion, as you so little care to be wrong. Therefore, you and your lord will absent yourself from London as soon as you can pack your cases and no later than the morrow.”

  “But the season—”

  “I insist,” Edwin said.

  “I am not so certain that you can insist,” Lady Montague said petulantly.

  “I can. And I do. If you refuse me, my f
riends and I will make certain that all the best houses shut their doors against you. You are not the only individual who can hold sway over the ton and I wager we can bring to bear a lot more force than you have at your disposal. I will make you a pariah and the people who fear you now will cut you on the street.”

  Edwin’s speech had been well thought out and composed to strike fear into the heart of a lady who valued her place in the world above anything else. He had no doubt he’d accomplished what he set out to do, as Lady Montague sank down to the sofa.

  “Good day, madam,” he said, “I will eagerly anticipate hearing the news that the Montagues have decamped to Yorkshire.”

  *

  The Montagues did indeed leave for Yorkshire the following day, Lady Montague developing a cough that only her home county could cure.

  While the Montagues’ carriage barreled out of London, Edwin called the gentlemen of the pact to Dalton’s house, determined they develop a plan of action.

  “Lady Montague has been sent packing,” he said. “Now, we must have everybody understand that we are the authors of this pack of lies going round about Miss Knightsbridge. It is the only way to put an end to it.”

  “Fall on our swords, eh?” Cabot said.

  “More like fall on a hundred swords,” Dalton said drily.

  “What of our fathers?” Lockwood asked. “They will lose their minds over this.”

  “They well may,” Hampton said. “But we are gentlemen and must face the consequences.”

  There were various sighs and foot shufflings and lookings askance, but Hampton could see that they would do it. The news would fly through London unimpeded by Lady Montague’s naysaying. Miss Knightsbridge would be recognized as the innocent victim that she was. They would all be hailed as scoundrels, and a well-earned moniker it would be.

  News of it would surely travel to Surrey one way or the other, and that was the one aspect that worried Hampton exceedingly. He would not be on hand to personally explain what had happened.

  “In any case,” Dalton said, “it will get you off the hook. No need to marry the girl if we’ve set her to rights. No further need of rescue, I think.”

  “Well, as to that…” Edwin trailed off. In truth, he was not certain he wished to answer those comments. As soon as he had resolved to marry Miss Knightsbridge, it had begun to seem a pleasant idea. After all, where was another like her? She had beauty, she had wit, and well… she was rather extraordinary.

  In truth, it had become more than a pleasant idea. With him hardly realizing it was happening, marriage to Miss Knightsbridge had begun to feel a necessary idea.

  “That’s right,” Ashworth said, “she’ll come back looking the tragic heroine and then marry some fellow.”

  Edwin stiffened. As if Miss Knightsbridge should waste herself on some fellow! She was born to be a duchess. She had all the fortitude of his mother and grandmother, not like all those simpering misses who fanned their faces to keep themselves upright. Then of course, there was that face…

  She was smashing in every respect. Marry some fellow, indeed.

  “Even if we are successful,” he said carefully, “I may still find I owe her a debt.”

  “Good Lord,” Grayson said, “you have fallen. You are in love with Miss Knightsbridge.”

  “Nobody spoke of love,” Edwin said. Least of all himself, though it sat in front of him like a waving flag.

  He stood. “We know our duty, let us carry it out. Now, I am late for an appointment.” He left Dalton’s library as fast as his legs could carry him.

  *

  Lady Marksworth had left Trebly Hall and returned to London. She wrote regular letters, both to the viscount and Cassandra, informing them of what was being said in town. These letters differed entirely from the regular letters Cassandra received from Sybil, who worked painstakingly to avoid any topic that might cause grief and so generally described the weather in minute detail.

  For some weeks, Lady Marksworth’s letters held nothing of particular note, excepting that most people were very much relieved that the Montagues had gone home. Lady Marksworth said that while nobody would claim it outright, the general feeling was that all wished Lady Montague’s cough to be rather serious.

  Then, on a bright and sunny morning, a letter arrived that turned Cassandra’s thoughts on their head.

  My dear niece,

  As I have written your father, the investigator here still has not tracked down where this terrible rumor began. However, a most interesting development has occurred. The gentlemen of the pact all now claim that it was they who invented it. They say it was to take scrutiny away from themselves. A flimsy story, at best. Nobody believes them for a moment, but all the talk revolves around how admiring they are of Miss Knightsbridge to attempt such a rash scheme to explain away the gossip. It is said that Lord Hampton is particularly vocal with the story and has been announcing it to all and sundry.

  Though the idea is not considered creditable, I will say that I think it has softened opinion toward you. After all, how is a baron’s wife or an earl’s daughter to condemn a lady held up as blameless by six gentlemen who will one day be dukes of the realm?

  It also does not hurt that Lady Montague is away from the scene, as many are better able to form their own opinions when she is not nearby to correct them.

  I would not say the tide has turned in your favor, but I think it ceases to rise.

  All my Love,

  Aunt Catherine

  Cassandra dropped her aunt’s letter, then swiftly picked it up again before May could chew it to bits.

  If the gentlemen came to her defense, then they could not have arrived to her ball simply to observe a blossoming disaster. Perhaps they’d seen the disaster coming and came to support her side?

  But why should they defend her so vigorously? Why should Lord Hampton do so?

  She could only think of one reason, and it gave her a shiver to think of it. Might it be true that he had some interest in her that was marked?

  Since she had been home, the lord’s face had been somewhat relentless in presenting itself to her mind. She had all but given up attempting to chase it away. Rather, if she were never to marry, surely there was no harm in living a romance in her imagination. Nobody should know of it but herself, it might be her own private world she could retreat to when she felt too alone. In fact, it might be the best of all worlds, as an imaginary gentleman could never disappoint her. He would act just as she wished and they would always be in the first blush of love.

  She’d tried the idea on any number of faces she’d seen in London. Lord Burke had seemed a likely candidate, but she found her thoughts always going to jokes and stories, there was no romance in it. Lord Lockwood was too… something. Others were… not quite right. It was only the imaginary Lord Hampton that caused a flutter. And, the more she thought of him, the more she felt it.

  It had all been a pleasant dream. As she reread her aunt’s letter, she determined she should not see anything in it. She must not begin to hope for some reality that would begin to match her wild imagination. Daydreaming was perfectly fine, but she would set herself up for even more heartache if she allowed herself to hope for anything in the real world.

  For all that, though, it was gratifying to know that she was defended.

  *

  Cassandra’s father had hired two investigators who worked together—one canvassing London and the other making inquiries in Surrey. The viscount was determined to discover who had launched the rumors against his daughter.

  Cassandra wished he’d give it up. She did not think he would ever find success and each time he met with Mr. Cringle or read a letter from Mr. Shanks it brought all the first bursts of outrage back upon him.

  Mr. Shanks had written a rather victorious letter about the gentlemen of the pact confessing their crime against Miss Knightsbridge, only to have to be told that it was a ridiculous fiction that nobody believed. The viscount began to question Mr. Shanks’ judgment—i
f the man could not see through such a ludicrous account, how was he to recognize the truth when he found it?

  Mr. Cringle turned up every Wednesday, his meetings with the viscount were not long and her father was never happy at the end of them. Everybody in the neighborhood had heard the rumor and it seemed agreed upon that the notion had begun in Surrey. Different theories floated about the environs of Trebly Hall with no more sense in them than ducks bobbing on a lake. There was much finger pointing and the circumstance began to be used whenever a person wished to accuse an enemy. It had devolved to such ridiculous degrees that two elderly women having a dispute over a basket of washing had accused each other of having invented the tale. Cassandra’s friend, Lily Farnsworth, did her best to hush the talk, but with little success.

  Lily visited and did her level best to cheer Cassandra but did not have much success. Cassandra had determined that she would not rejoin local society. At least, not yet. Dinners and balls held little attraction just now and she had no wish to find herself the object of interest at a neighbor’s table.

  If there were any little thing that had given Cassandra pleasure, it was the gifting of two of her evening dresses to Lily. With very little alteration, she’d already worn one to a local assembly. It pleased Cassandra to know her friend wore new dresses, instead of refurbishing old ones with various bits and bobs.

  Lily had been hesitant to take such a gift, but Cassandra reasoned she’d have little use for those gowns now. Privately, she thought all hope of redemption was lost and she’d best accept her lot, such as it was. There would be no schedule of London balls needing dresses.

  Her father did not at all agree and would persist with the investigators.

  Aside from his dealings with the investigators, the viscount had made every effort to see that his daughter was comfortable. He suggested outings but acquiesced when she declined. She spoke to him of never marrying and he took the news with seeming equanimity, though Cassandra did not think he believed in the idea. She told him she was done attempting to be a proper little miss and would return to her old ways of going on, shotgun included. The viscount was highly approving of that idea, as he’d never disapproved of her ways and felt that at least it would draw her from the house, shotguns being known for their unsuitability indoors.