by Kate Archer
“All right, Hampton,” Dalton said. “You’ve gone and painted a dire picture; we all regret poor Miss Knightsbridge and hope the local baker is not just now poisoning our bread. But what are we to do about it?”
“The only thing we can do about it,” Hampton said. “We will aim to fill Miss Knightsbridge’s dance card. We will engage her in conversation. We will speak to others of our admiration of the lady. We will conduct ourselves as if in a military campaign. We will send the clear message that whatever the world may think, we hold the lady in esteem. Mamas everywhere have very high hopes for their daughters just now, and they will stop their tongues if they believe they cross us.”
One by one, the men nodded in agreement. The growing resolve on their features gave Hampton every confidence that they would carry out his idea. Even Dalton, who of them all might be considered the least worried over a murderous baker, was engaged.
*
Cassandra had rarely been on horseback since she’d come to town. She’d been carried here and there in one of Lady Marksworth’s well-appointed carriages and had begun to feel very much like a bird in a cage, looking out the bars and yearning to take flight. Now, though, she’d convinced her aunt to allow her to ride in Hyde Park.
While Lady Marksworth had been convinced, she’d not thrown all caution to the wind. The lady followed her niece in a barouche with the top down and there were two grooms besides. Cassandra, having become more closely acquainted with her aunt’s modes of thinking, had broached the subject in a way she could not have devised when she’d first arrived. In those early days, she had mentioned fresh air and the glories of riding. This time, she’d mentioned her new riding habit and how many people they were likely to meet in the park. Her aunt’s goal was to see her well-settled, and so thoughts of her niece in a charming blue velvet riding habit, out and about for everybody to admire, had tipped the scales in favor of the scheme.
It was wondrous to be on horseback again, to be in absolute control of one’s direction. That the horse she sat upon did not equal Juno, Cassandra could not deny. Juno’s sire was a fleet and agile Arabian and her dam a steady Cleveland Bay. She was by turns strong and fast, and her temperament made her ready to seize any challenge in front of her.
The horse Cassandra rode now, Butternut, was as her name would suggest—calm to the point of lazy and far too fond of her oats. Nobody would bother with a gallop on Butternut, particularly not Butternut herself. Cassandra supposed that was one of the reasons her aunt approved of the horse so thoroughly—Butternut had never done an irrational or speedy thing in her life and was not likely to begin now. Still, she was a horse, if only barely.
The only thing that disappointed Cassandra, aside from Butternut’s staid progress, was that the park was so crowded. Blessedly, many of the carriages they passed contained ladies happening to look in the other direction, otherwise she was certain they would be forever stopping.
Always attuned to everything around her when she rode, Cassandra heard the distinct sounds of a gallop behind her. She turned her head in time to see Mr. Conners wheel in his horse. He was one of the gentlemen she had danced with at the Montagues’ ball and she supposed he would pay his respects. Cassandra only hoped he had finally thought of something to say that was more interesting than inquiring about Surrey.
“Hey Ho, Miss Knightsbridge,” he called. “What’s say we race to the gate? I’ll put twenty pounds on it.”
Cassandra was momentarily taken aback. Was it the custom to make such jokes? Certainly, it was a joke, as nobody would think poor old Butternut up to doing anything so outrageous. Cassandra herself would not think to do anything so outrageous. Perhaps in Surrey, on Juno and challenged by an intimate acquaintance, but with a near-stranger in Hyde Park? It was unthinkable.
Lady Marksworth did not appear to see the humor in the joke. “Sir?” she asked. Though it was one word, it was said in a tone containing so much condemnation that Cassandra perceived instantly that what Mr. Conners had just proposed bordered on insult.
Before Mr. Conners could answer Lady Marksworth’s one-word inquiry, Cassandra spotted Lord Hampton galloping toward them.
She felt a flutter at seeing him so, he sat on his fine Bay with such confidence and skill. She could almost envision him galloping across a field and into battle.
Lord Hampton reached them and reined in his horse. He tipped his hat to Cassandra and Lady Marksworth.
“Hampton, my good fellow!” Mr. Conners said.
Though he said it as if the two gentlemen were longstanding friends, Cassandra did not see an equal amount of familiarity on the lord’s side. Lord Hampton only nodded.
“I was just challenging Miss Knightsbridge to a race to the gate, I wagered twenty pounds. Should you like to join in? Jolly good fun, eh?”
Lady Marksworth coldly stared at Mr. Conners. Lord Hampton looked infuriated. Now, Cassandra had no doubt that Mr. Conners sought to insult her. But why? What had she ever done to the gentleman? She had only suffered through a dance with him and if he had noted that she suffered, it might have taught him to become more amusing, rather than seeking to insult his victim.
“I would have a word,” Lord Hampton said to Mr. Conners. The lord took the reins from Mr. Conners’ hands and led him away from the carriage.
Cassandra looked toward her aunt, but Lady Marksworth still had her gaze locked on Mr. Conners. Cassandra could not hear what the two men spoke of, but could see that whatever it was, Mr. Conners did very little of the speaking. The one phrase she did hear was the last one. She was certain Lord Hampton had said, “Now clear off,” before dropping Mr. Conners’ reins.
For Mr. Conners’ part, he spurred his horse and cantered away without taking his leave. Lord Hampton watched him go and then turned his own horse and trotted over to the carriage.
“Lady Marksworth, Miss Knightsbridge, I would apologize for my uncouth acquaintance.”
Lady Marksworth softened at the sentiment. “We are glad to see you, Lord Hampton. It seems absolutely anybody might wander round the park bothering people these days.”
Lord Hampton nodded and said, “I will escort you on your way to ensure that none of Mr. Conners’ friends are so inclined to harass.”
At that, they made their way forward. Lord Hampton was silent, as was Cassandra. It was fortunate that Lady Marksworth was not so afflicted and nattered on about where society was going when young bucks took such liberties.
Cassandra was far too busy trying to work out what Mr. Conners had thought he was about. Was it really because he noted that she was not delighted with his conversation at the Montagues’ ball? It was a frightening thought, especially if there were other gentlemen who might think to insult her if they felt themselves affronted by her lack of interest. There might well be—Lord Hampton had cautioned against the gentleman’s friends.
But then, she was certain she had not shown her true feelings when Mr. Conners had asked her no end of questions about Surrey. She had been quite civil. At least, she thought she had been.
Finding herself unwilling to remain in the dark on such a matter, Cassandra said, “My Lord, is Mr. Conners in the habit of proposing such ludicrous things to ladies he hardly knows?”
Lord Hampton had taken time with his answer, and finally said, “I cannot claim to know his habits, Miss Knightsbridge. I am only very casually acquainted with him. Though, having witnessed it, I will make it my business to be less acquainted with him.”
It did not give Cassandra any real answer, but she found she was much complimented by the idea that the lord would cut Mr. Conners on account of an insult to herself. In truth, she was admiring of the way Lord Hampton had handled the entire situation. He had been masterful, and a lady could not be oblivious when a gentleman stepped in on her behalf.
“I applaud you, Lord Hampton,” Lady Marksworth said. “It’s all well and good to allow a mister or missus into one’s sphere, but only if they can conduct themselves creditably in civil society. We lords
and ladies must lead the way and set the example.”
Lord Hampton seemed particularly struck by the idea and softly said, “Indeed, we must.”
A clatter of hooves behind Cassandra made her turn her head, almost dreading that it might be Mr. Conners’ friends. Instead, she saw Lord Lockwood and Lord Ashworth.
While she was glad it was not to be some other gentleman challenging her to a race, she found herself slightly alarmed to be in the company of three of the gentlemen of the pact.
The two men very civilly greeted her and Lady Marksworth. Lord Hampton said, “I was just escorting Lady Marksworth and Miss Knightsbridge. I discovered Mr. Conners acting less than a gentleman.”
The three men exchanged looks between them that Cassandra could not divine the meaning of.
Lord Lockwood said, “We might all have a mind to escort Miss Knightsbridge, if Lady Marksworth is not opposed.”
Cassandra knew her aunt could not be less opposed to anything. Lady Marksworth said, “We should be delighted to have your company, my lords. Though, we are nearly at the gate.”
“We should not mind going all the way to Marksworth House, should we not, gentlemen?” Lord Ashworth asked.
The gentlemen all nodded as if this were the most usual thing in the world. Lady Marksworth appeared delighted. Cassandra turned her head to hide her face. What they proposed was extraordinary. It was as if she retained her own cavalry. It had not gone unnoticed, either.
Every carriage they passed contained people looking fairly agog at their progress.
What was the meaning of it? Why should the three gentlemen escort them to her aunt’s house? Further, what should they do when they arrived? Invite them all in for tea?
She noticed, as she pondered it, that the three gentlemen had placed themselves into some kind of formation. Lords Lockwood and Ashworth rode ahead on either side, while Lord Hampton rode behind her.
Cassandra blushed. She might be a queen for all the care that was being taken. But why?
It sometimes felt constraining to keep oneself in the realm of polite conversation, and it certainly did at the moment. If she could have had her way, Cassandra would have said, “Gentlemen, what is the meaning of this? What is it you do?”
She could not say such a thing and was forced to ride forward as if this situation were not at all strange. That it was strange was evidenced by the various looks of passerby. Cassandra dearly hoped it would not lead to any unfortunate gossip.
Riding through the streets of London felt as if she were in the midst of some embarrassing procession. There was not much spoken, and the men appeared almost grim. It was only Lady Marksworth who seemed to enjoy the journey.
Though Cassandra had worried over what was to be done when they arrived at the house, she need not have. Lady Marksworth thanked the gentlemen for their consideration with such an air of finality that they tipped their hats and trotted off.
Now, she and her aunt sat in Lady Marksworth’s charming sitting room, warming themselves in front of the fire. As genial as the weather had been, the early evening had grown damp and cold.
“Aunt,” Cassandra said carefully, “were you not surprised at Mr. Conners’ audacity? Have you ever seen such before? And why would Lord Hampton mention Mr. Conners’ friends? Do they all conduct themselves in such a manner?”
“Goodness,” Lady Marksworth said, “that is a lot of questions. Yes, I was very surprised by Mr. Conners. On the other hand, I do not know the gentleman or his friends, nor do I wish to. I cannot say how they all conduct themselves or whether they are in the habit of such nonsense. People such as that may have gathered up enough coin to look the gentleman, but not enough sense to act as one.”
“I just thought it odd that Lord Hampton, and Lords Lockwood and Ashworth too, would view it in so serious a light as to escort us all the way home. It was as if they knew something that we did not. That there might be some further danger there, aside from the insult of Mr. Conners’ suggestion.”
“I had not viewed it in such a light,” Lady Marksworth said. She smiled and said, “You do realize that gentlemen may pretend all sorts of things when looking to converse with a pretty face.”
“But they did not converse much,” Cassandra said, pressing on.
“Ah well,” Lady Marksworth said, pouring the tea, “a young gentleman often wishes to converse, and then finds his nerves getting the best of him.”
Cassandra did not think any of those lords prone to nerves. Certainly, Lord Hampton was no worried flower.
“There were such looks at us as we passed,” Cassandra said. “It felt as if we made an unnecessary scene of it. I am afraid people will talk.”
“Of course, they will talk,” Lady Marksworth said. “Miss Knightsbridge escorted by three of the lords of the pact? You will be the talk of every drawing room. Really, Cassandra, you must become accustomed to receiving attention.”
Though Cassandra knew herself to be, in general, averse to attention of that sort, she felt there was something even more worrying about what had occurred in the park. Something she did not rightly understand. There had been some undercurrent of over-seriousness that rankled. Mr. Conners’ proposed race to the gate had been ludicrous and insulting, but when did ludicrous and insulting require an escort of three men? She only hoped the entire circumstance would be forgotten by all by the next sunrise, and that she never encountered Mr. Conners again.
Chapter Eight
The following morning, as they sat at their usual window seat, Cassandra wondered what ailed Sybil. They had grown so accustomed to one another that her friend’s demeanor felt markedly changed.
Lady Marksworth had gone out, and Racine had delivered a tea fit for a queen and resplendent with fairy cakes and almond biscuits. Cassandra knew Sybil had a particular weakness for almond biscuits. She had asked for them specially, and yet her friend had touched neither tea nor biscuit. So far, Sybil had spent more time staring out the window or over Cassandra’s head than anything else.
“Come now,” Cassandra said. “I feel last evening must not have been to your liking. What happened at your dinner at the Smythes’?”
“Happened?” Sybil said in a nervous tone of voice. “Why should anything have happened?”
“Sybil,” Cassandra said, clasping her hands, “we are comrades in arms, remember? We go into battle together. You do not seem comfortable just now and you have not touched a biscuit—Racine will feel it a heavy blow if you do not enjoy them. Now do tell me what troubles you.”
Sybil quietly sighed and said, “As it happens, I had a very strange conversation at the Smythes’ dinner. Mr. Richards asked me if I were acquainted with Miss Knightsbridge. I said you were known to me very well, and then he said I ought not to continue the acquaintance on account of the three gentlemen.”
“Three gentlemen?” Cassandra asked.
“Precisely what I said,” Sybil said. “Then Lord Burke interrupted us and told Mr. Richards, strongly I might add, that he talked as much as an old woman and he better stop where he was. Mr. Richards turned red as an apple and moved to the other side of the room.”
“And what did Lord Burke say then?”
“Nothing,” Sybil said. “He would say nothing more about it other than Mr. Richards was an old woman.”
Before Cassandra could properly think through what Sybil had said, a street urchin stopped in front of the house and boldly smiled at them through the wrought iron fence. He stared in quite a determined and challenging manner, and Cassandra wondered if she should call a footman to chase him off. In a moment, the boy took something from his pocket and hurled it over the fence at one of the windows.
The glass from a window on the far side of the room shattered and scattered across the rug. Racine rushed in at the noise and stared at the window.
“It was a boy,” Cassandra said, gathering her wits over the sudden shock, “he’s just run down the road!”
Racine hurried from the room to galvanize his footmen and
it was only seconds before Jimmy and Ben raced from the house in pursuit.
Cassandra rose and stepped carefully around the broken glass to the object that had been thrown. It was a rock, covered in paper secured with twine. She picked it up.
“Do leave it alone, Cass,” Sybil said from the window seat.
Cassandra untied the twine and removed the paper from around the rock, smoothing it out.
She stared at it, trying to work out what she looked at or why somebody would throw it through her aunt’s window. It was an illustration of a lady on horseback, raising a shotgun at three gentlemen floating in a cloudless sky.
“Really, Cass,” Sybil said, her voice frightened, “there may be poison on it or something equally dangerous about it.”
In a moment, Cassandra perceived what she saw. The lady was herself. Someone at the table at the Bergrams’ ball had repeated her claim to having used a shotgun. That, combined with the three lords’ escort of her out of Hyde Park and through London, had been enough to compose the scene.
“There is poison here, to be sure,” Cassandra said. “Just not the sort to damage one’s physical person.” She carried it to the window seat, careful to step around the broken glass, and showed it to Sybil.
Sybil stared at it, then looked up. “What does it mean? I do not understand it at all.”
“The lady is meant to be me. I did not mention, because I wished to forget, that during my initial encounter with Lord Hampton I was rather provoked and owned to having shot bird on my father’s estate. Clearly, I was overheard.”
Sybil laughed, though it was rather a small laugh. “Cass, shooting? Why should you say such a thing?”
“Because it is true, though I need not have laid claim to it.”
