The Viscount’s Sinful Bargain (The Dukes' Pact Book 1)

by Kate Archer

  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.

  “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 friends 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 ex
plain 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.