by Kate Archer
*
Hampton sat in his library, sharpening a quill and pondering what to do next. He’d told everybody he’d come into contact with that the gentlemen of the pact had been the authors of the lies spread about Miss Knightsbridge. He’d sought to convince that none of what had been said was true and the lady was entirely innocent.
He could not be certain what effect it had, but for the most part he’d not been believed.
He and his friends admitted to being the worst sort of scoundrels and only kept getting congratulated on their chivalry for attempting to defend the lady!
He really was not certain what to do now, though he thought he ought to go to Surrey and attempt an interview with the viscount. He would own what he did, what attempts had been made to rectify it, and then offer his hand to Miss Knightsbridge.
He could not guess how he would be received, but if the gentleman was of a practical turn of mind, he might see the marriage as a solution.
Would she forgive him, though? Even if he managed to get past the father, would his daughter accept him?
He did not know, but over the days he’d become more and more determined to win her over. In truth, over the days, he’d realized that there would be no other for Edwin Weston.
She no doubt knew by now that they’d owned their crime, but could she find a way to look past it? Then, even if she could, did she even like him a little? She did not even wish to become a duchess, she’d said so the first night they’d met.
It felt a steep mountain to climb, but climb it he would.
Dreyfus softly knocked on the door and opened it. “The dowager duchess to see you, my lord.”
Edwin dropped his quill. His grandmother? Here?
Before he could gather his wits, the dowager stormed the room. “You reprobate! You absolute reprobate!”
“Duchess,” he said.
“Silence!”
*
The next hour of Lord Hampton’s life was filled with the sort of vitriol and condemnations that one would expect from a judge to a murderer.
The dowager, as it turned out, was a particular friend of Miss Knightsbridge’s father. They had kept up a correspondence for going on twenty-five years. The viscount had recently apprised her of Miss Knightsbridge’s misfortune and who was to blame for it.
Edwin attempted to speak once or twice, but it was all for naught.
His grandmother would hear of no excuse, no explanation, no justification. He must bear the full weight of the crime on his shoulders and he should carry it with him all of his days. Once a soul had been stained in such a manner, it could not be washed clean again.
Finally, Edwin stood and yelled, “I’ll marry her!”
The dowager paused in her diatribe. “What did you say?”
“I’ll marry her, if she’ll have me,” Edwin said. “That is the only reparation that I can think of.”
The dowager examined him with a critical eye. “I see. So, heaped upon what you have done already, you would propose to lock the poor girl into a loveless marriage in order to assuage your conscience.”
Edwin did not answer, though he was certain his face flamed red.
“Or is it,” the dowager said thoughtfully, “that you do love her?”
“As it happens,” Edwin said stiffly.
“Good God, man,” the dowager said. “It is bad enough to impugn a lady’s honor but why on earth would you so damage a lady you admire?”
Edwin looked down at his desk and muttered, “It was all rather complicated.”
“Apparently,” the duchess said, drily.
“I was planning to go to Surrey and speak with the viscount. Own everything, and then offer my hand.”
“There is hardly a need to explain anything to the viscount at this point,” the dowager said, “the man is already perfectly aware of your part in it. As for a marriage proposal, you may cool your heels here for the time being. It is I who will go to Surrey.”
Edwin did not know what his grandmother intended to accomplish, nor whether it was right for her to go, rather than himself. It mattered not, as once the dowager had set her mind on something, everybody else must just jump out of the way.
*
The afternoon being bright and warm, and Jimmy having spent days rolling up and drying a respectable-sized stack of clay balls, Cassandra determined to go out for shooting practice. The more she used her shotgun, the more she liked it. In most other things she was powerless, but with a shotgun she felt the mistress of her own destiny. She found it rather pleasant to silently name the clay balls before she shot them out of the sky, and she had blown the head off Mr. Longmoore, Lady Montague, and all six gentlemen of the pact repeatedly. Perhaps none more so than Lord Hampton.
She rode Juno down the country road that led to their usual hill and dale, that bit of land well-suited to get the balls high in the air for her to shoot. Johnny jogged along with two baskets filled with the balls on either side of a stick resting on his shoulders. He would set up the slingshot on the ridge. Jimmy trotted on a sturdy pony, carrying the guns.
They’d set up in good time, both Jimmy and Johnny so well used to the activity that they did not need to be directed. Cassandra thought they were rather fond of it, as it got them out of the house and away from Maidencraft’s stern and watchful eye.
Cassandra had already shot half of the balls they’d brought along when she heard the distinct rumblings of a carriage approaching. She held up a hand to Johnny at the top of the hill to pause him in his launches and motioned for Jimmy to follow her in stepping behind the wide trunk of an old oak tree.
Though she was determined to live as she pleased, she would not give any nosy passerby the satisfaction of being able to go round telling the tale of having seen Miss Knightsbridge shoot.
A well-equipped carriage came into view. It was driven at a reckless speed and Cassandra thought they’d better slow to make an upcoming turn or they might well tip over.
She squinted and saw the driver madly whipping the horses. What an idiot! Nobody should treat their horses so. She supposed some thoughtless young buck had given his coachman the impossible task to be somewhere they could not be if they were to drive sensible.
Suddenly, three riders came into view, gaining on the coach.
Cassandra took in a breath. That was no careless driving for the sake of it, the carriage fled from highwaymen!
She grabbed her gun and untethered her horse from a tree branch. She whispered to Jimmy, “Follow on the pony and make certain the other gun is loaded.”
Cassandra leapt on her horse and galloped toward the fleeing carriage. As she approached, she saw the men had got ahead of it and forced it to slow. It had finally come to a stop.
Cassandra spurred Juno and, as they neared it, she wheeled in her horse. She raised her shotgun at the men on horseback and yelled, “I’ll take one of your heads if you do not clear off!”
The three men had initially appeared confused to see a lady aiming a fowling piece at them, but then they began to laugh.
“See that!” one of them cried. “We are to be shot at by a lady! Who here fears being hit?”
“Not I,” called one.
“Only if I were much fatter and presented a bigger target,” the other said.
Cassandra could see that they were not afraid of her gun because it was inconceivable to them that she could shoot it. Jimmy had reached her on his pony. She whispered, “As soon as I fire, we switch guns and you reload.”
Jimmy nodded. Cassandra turned to Johnny standing on the ridge and signaled him to launch a clay ball, hoping he would do as she asked, despite the situation he now viewed.
Johnny only hesitated a moment, and then loaded the slingshot and let loose a ball high into the air. Cassandra watched its trajectory and took in the wind direction, aimed and fired.
The clay exploded into a thousand fragments and fell to the ground.
Cassandra threw her gun to Jimmy with one hand and caught the loaded gun h
e threw with the other.
“Well?” she called, as Jimmy reloaded the gun she’d just fired. “Your heads present a far larger target than that which I have just blown out of the sky.”
The three men seemed to hesitate.
“I have two guns and remarkably good aim. That means only one of you will have the chance to escape while I reload. Who is it to be?”
Cassandra leveled her gun and motioned it back and forth, as if deciding who she ought to shoot first.
The man who had spoken first was the first to turn tail and run. The other two, seeing they were no longer to wonder who would be shot and who would not, as there were sufficient bullets for them both, quickly did as their leader.
Cassandra found herself breathing heavily as the three highwaymen clattered off through the trees. Now that the danger had passed, she felt as wobbly as a newborn foal. Though she had aimed at no end of birds and clay balls, this was the first time she’d aimed at a man. She really did not know if she would have had the courage to shoot and thanked the heavens she’d not been forced to find out.
A curtain drew aside and an elegant, older lady leaned her head out the window of the carriage. “You are Miss Knightsbridge, I think?”
Cassandra felt a little wave of irritation pass through her. She supposed her reputation had become such that any lady seen with a shotgun in her hands was instantly recognized as Miss Knightsbridge.
She nodded, remembering she’d vowed to be as she was and never mind the naysayers. Those that did not approve of her habits could very well not look at them.
The lady said, “I am the Dowager Duchess of Carlisle, just now on my way to see your father.”
“Your Grace!” Cassandra said, her thoughts all in a muddle. Why should Lord Hampton’s grandmother have arrived? Her father had said nothing of the visit. Though they had corresponded these many years, the lady had never come to Trebly Hall.
What a time for her to come! She presumed the lady arrived in response to her father’s letter outlining what had occurred and Lord Hampton’s hand in it. But why come? Why not simply respond by letter?
The dowager turned to Jimmy and said, “What is your name, young man?”
Jimmy looked as if nobody in his life had ever inquired into his name. “Jimmy, Your Grace,” he stuttered.
“Jimmy,” the Dowager said, “might you and your friend up there on the hill manage to take back the horses so that Miss Knightsbridge may ride with me?”
Jimmy, appearing to receive this request as any knight given a noble commission, nodded enthusiastically. “Me and Johnny will see to it, Your Grace. We’ll see to it all efficient like.”
“Excellent,” the Dowager said.
Cassandra did not see what else was to be done but acquiesce to the dowager’s arrangements. She dismounted her horse and handed her gun to Jimmy.
“My dear Miss Knightsbridge,” the Dowager said. “Perhaps bring a gun with you. Loaded, of course. One never knows if a scoundrel who’s run off might find his courage lying about in a heap somewhere and decide to return.”
Cassandra thought that idea full of good sense, though she was rather surprised that the elegant elderly lady should wish to have a girl with a gun in her carriage.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said.
“Ma’am will do,” the dowager said. “No need for the daughter of my old friend to stand on ceremony.”
Jimmy handed back her gun and Cassandra made her way to the carriage. As she got in, the Dowager called to her coachman. “Well, Bradley, have you recovered enough from this adventure to carry on?”
Bradley, though he still appeared rather shaken, tipped his hat. It was not a moment before they were on their way to Trebly Hall.
The Dowager’s carriage was richly appointed, the seats a fine leather and the sides padded beneath silk coverings. There were all manner of fur throws folded on the seats. Seated on one particular pile of blankets was a cream-colored Pomeranian, its eyes bright and staring at her.
“That is George,” the Dowager said. “Lovely company but entirely useless against highwaymen.”
Upon hearing his name, George let out an appreciative yap toward the coach’s roof, having no idea his usefulness against highwaymen had been so recently disparaged.
“You, however,” the dowager said, eyeing Cassandra, “have proved mightily helpful against those devils.”
Cassandra supposed the dowager both grateful and shocked that a girl should wield a gun. “I know it is not usual—”
“I care nothing for usual, Miss Knightsbridge. Usual, in my opinion, is highly overrated.”
Cassandra was gratified by the dowager’s view but could not help continuing to wonder why the lady had come. “Pray, ma’am,” she said, “has your visit been long planned?”
“You mean, does your father know I am set to descend upon his house? He does not. But then, he’s made the mistake of repeatedly writing that I should come any time. Any time, it appears, has arrived.”
Cassandra’s mind raced at all that should be done to accommodate a duchess. A room was not even ready!
“Miss Knightsbridge,” the dowager said, “I would dislike having any mystery or words hanging unsaid between us. I am certain you will have guessed I come in response to your father’s letter about what has befallen you, and my grandson’s hand in it.”
Cassandra nodded, but that was all she could muster for an answer.
“I might wax on about my fury, or what fury I heaped upon my grandson’s head, or how sorry he is about the whole thing, but none of that would be particularly helpful to you.”
At the mention of Lord Hampton, Cassandra found she could not keep her emotions in check. Each day that passed had seen her rage harden it into something vengeful. And yet, underneath her anger was still a yearning she worked to stamp out.
She said, “It is rather helpful, Ma’am, to know that somebody has heaped fury upon him. For myself, I have begun the habit of imagining the clay balls I shoot out of the sky are your grandson’s head.”
Cassandra instantly regretted her words. So far, the dowager had been kind, but if she were forced to side one way or the other, of course she must side with her grandson. Images of him being shot out of the sky could not be welcome.
Rather than appear annoyed, the dowager laughed heartily. “As well you should, and as well I would if I were you. Fire away, Miss Knightsbridge, if it brings you any sense of satisfaction. However, I think of enacting a scheme which you may find more satisfying than that.”
Cassandra looked with interest at the dowager, and then tried not to laugh upon noticing George appeared just as interested—ears up and unblinking.
“I speak of bringing you back to London in triumph, my dear. And, as if my little scheme was not wonderful enough, I may now add that Miss Knightsbridge, through her uncommonly good sense, has saved my life and my jewels.”
Though Cassandra was gratified that the dowager took such an interest in her, she could not wish for any scheme enacted upon her behalf.
“I would rather not return to London under any circumstances, ma’am,” Cassandra said. “It is a poisonous place.”
The dowager patted her hand and said, “Well, we’ll talk about it.”
*
To say that the viscount was surprised by the Dowager’s arrival had been an understatement. However, her father never stayed in a shocked state for long and so quickly recovered himself.
It was Maidencraft who was nearly struck down by the news. Cassandra could sympathize—had their stalwart butler been apprised in advance, all manner of preparations would have been made. As it was, he’d sent maids running one way and footmen another to patch things together as best they could.
Mayhem, always ready for any new development, stared fascinated at the little Pomeranian that had trotted in behind the dowager as she entered the house. George, always conscious of his diminutive size and determined that it should not be held against him, had marched up to May and gr
owled ferociously.
May was both delighted and amused and placated her new friend by throwing herself on the floor and rolling on her back. George, having been satisfied that he was to be in charge, wagged his tail.
After seeing that the dogs got on well and tea would be sent in, Cassandra had excused herself from the drawing room so her father and the dowager might speak privately.
The dowager waited for Jimmy to close the door behind him. She poured tea for the viscount and said, “Never in all my years did I think my own grandson would cause damage to your daughter. I am sorry for it and I am determined to rectify it.”
The viscount took his tea and said, “It was no fault of yours.”
“Perhaps not, though I wonder if I did enough to guide him, that he would have fallen into such a situation. Did you know he is in love with her?”
The viscount set his teacup down with a clatter. “What?”
“It is true,” the dowager said, “and he wishes to marry her. From what I can gather, he initially fooled himself into thinking he did his duty by marriage. That it would atone for what he’d done. But, as it happens, he’s quite smitten.”
“The marriage would restore Cassandra to her rightful place,” the viscount said slowly.
“Indeed so,” the dowager said, “though she’ll never agree to it. Not yet, at least. Did you know she shoots his head off for target practice?”
The viscount laughed despite himself. “I did not, but I cannot claim to be surprised by it.”
“She is furious, and rightly so,” the dowager said. “I do not know if there is a possibility of feelings on her side, but I do know there is no room for love when one seethes.”
“Perhaps time will cure her of it,” the viscount said. “It has cured me of considering lining them all up and challenging them to duels. That, and Cassandra pointed out she would be left quite alone after I was shot up.”
“I rather think neither duels nor time are what is required. We must give Cassandra her revenge. She must have revenge on the gentlemen of the pact, and on that awful Lady Montague. She must be the belle of London and they must become pariahs. Only then will her anger be appeased and we will see what lays beneath it.”
