by Kate Archer
The viscount leaned back in his chair. “Do I dare inquire how you mean to accomplish it?”
“Leave it to me,” the dowager said. “Though it may take some time. I am likely to be under your roof for at least a fortnight.”
Chapter Fourteen
Edwin stared into the fire, then swept up his grandmother’s letter and read it again.
My dear awful grandson,
As you know, I made my way to Surrey in all haste after becoming apprised of your base actions. Approaching Trebly Hall, I was set upon by highwaymen. Fortunately, Miss Knightsbridge was nearby and able to rescue me by way of two shotguns and very good aim. I am lucky to have survived the ordeal and remain in her debt.
To do what I can to repair the situation you and your idiot friends have created, I will spread this tale far and wide and make clear to all of my acquaintance that you are to be believed when you own your crimes. I expect to hear the welcome news that you are widely denounced sometime in the coming weeks. Miss Knightsbridge, I will affirm, has been blameless in all of it and has been the hapless victim of plotters (you) and gossipers (Lady Montague).
I am of a mind to bring Miss Knightsbridge back to London and sponsor her personally. At the moment she refuses, but I think I will wear her down eventually. As for you, Miss Knightsbridge is in the habit of blowing off your head while she practices her aim at shooting. This may sound dire, but I am of the mind that one does not experience that sort of rage unless there are other feelings lurking underneath. You had better hope so, in any case. You would be very fortunate to win such a lady, though I have my doubts about whether you deserve her.
I expect your father and the other dukes have heard of this fiasco by now and so I will not be surprised to hear you are living in Cheapside sooner than expected.
Regards,
Your disappointed grandmother
Aside from the stinging retribution, which Edwin felt was well-earned, he could not but help wonder if his grandmother was right. Did Miss Knightsbridge harbor any feelings for him?
He did not know, but as the days passed he knew he would not marry another, even if he did have to spend his days in Cheapside, warming his own toast in front of a fire.
What a lady! To think, she’d fought off highwaymen to save his grandmother. It was extraordinary.
If ever there was a woman who ought to have influence and power, it was she. If ever there was a woman who could crush his future happiness, it was also she.
*
The dukes had gathered at White’s, all rushing to London when word reached them of what their sons had been about.
“Those blasted ne’er-do-wells,” the Duke of Gravesley said.
The Duke of Wentworth stared at his gouty foot, that appendage more swollen than ever. “Viscount Trebly is an honorable man, I am surprised he has not shot them all.”
“The dowager writes to me that my son is willing to marry the girl, but she won’t have him,” the Duke of Carlisle said.
“Marriage would fix the thing up,” the Duke of Dembly said hopefully.
“But she won’t have him,” Carlisle answered.
“We owe the viscount a debt,” Gravesley said. “We must do what we can to appease him.”
“What can we do, if she won’t have Hampton?” Dembly said.
The dukes considered this conundrum in silence, until one of them muttered, “The scoundrels.”
“Hear, hear,” the rest answered.
They were quiet for some minutes, until Carlisle said, “The dowager had an idea, though it is rather…extreme.”
*
The dowager had settled herself into Trebly Hall as if it were her own house. She’d taken over the library and hired a secretary. Mr. Brown was a short and pudgy sort of fellow, but he could write like the wind and so was suited to the lady’s purposes.
The dowager had made it no secret that she fired off letters that were to pepper London and rain down on all of England. All were to know of Miss Knightsbridge’s innocence and the gentlemen of the pact’s guilt. Most of the letters read the same, hence the use of a secretary to copy them all out. Some the dowager wrote herself, in particular a rather scathing missive to Lady Montague filled with veiled threats of that lady losing her place in society.
Cassandra was pleased by the letter to Lady Montague, it amused her to think of how hard the lady would cough upon reading it. It, and all the other letters, gave her a sense of vindication, though she still resisted the dowager’s ploys to get her to London. Rather, she would carry on riding and shooting in Surrey, well away from the talkers.
The dowager was an energetic sort of person and Mr. Brown found his hours filled, beginning at nine in the morning. At eleven, he was sent to the kitchens to rest his writing hand and have tea and biscuits, while Cassandra joined the Dowager in the library for the same. Her father sometimes joined them, but mostly left them to themselves.
On just such a morning, the dowager said, “I suppose you both look forward to children and are terrified of what one must go through to bring them into the world. I remember the horror I experienced the first time I was with child, contemplating a person growing in my belly. Nobody ever talks about it, but there it is.”
Cassandra smiled, having become accustomed to the dowager bringing up subjects that nobody else in England would dare allude to. “Whatever my difficulties may turn out to be,” Cassandra said, “childbearing will not be one of them. I have decided I will never marry.”
“There now,” the dowager said, “make no such decision. If you are to be a spinster, so be it. However, I think you would find yourself unhappy with the state. Guns and horses will not be enough for a strong beating heart such as yours.”
Cassandra could not say if that were accurate or not. She had wondered how she should like the isolation of never marrying. Her father would not live forever and someday she would find herself quite alone in the house. Invitations would be few, nobody ever knew what to do with a spinster. And then, no children. She was not the least fearful of childbirth, she’d seen enough animals born in the barns and stables to be inured to the idea, and she’d often imagined being surrounded by her own. Still, after what she had been through, spinsterhood seemed the safest course.
Any mention of marriage, or of gentlemen in general, sent her thoughts racing in one direction. That she still could not entirely remove Lord Hampton from her mind felt the worst betrayal. He had no business there and she both loved him and hated him. She loved the lord that had lived on in her mind, her own creation of goodness with a handsome face. She hated the real lord, who’d so glibly changed her life. She would not risk her heart again. She would never allow herself to be vulnerable to another’s schemes. Trebly Hall was safety and that was where she would stay.
To waylay the Dowager in her talk of marriage, Cassandra said, “I know my father was in a debt to you in his youth, but I wonder what the circumstances were.”
The dowager laughed and said, “I see he has failed to expound upon the subject. Well, I suppose there is no harm in telling you, it is ancient history.”
Cassandra listened in fascination as the dowager told the story of a long-ago card game.
It had all begun at a house party at the Duke of Gravesley’s estate. As was often the case at such house parties, there were too many women and not enough gentlemen and so a few fellows nobody knew well were scrounged up. Gravesely brought in Mr. Shine, a gentleman known to both he and the Duke of Dembly through various business ventures.
Cassandra leaned forward. She knew the Duke of Gravesley to be Lord Lockwood’s father and the Duke of Dembly to be Lord Ashworth’s father. Cassandra thought back to Sybil’s tale of her father despising both the Lord’s fathers. Certainly, the circumstance must be connected.
She asked, “Was Lord Blanding there as well?”
“Indeed, he was a principal player in the drama,” the dowager said. “How did you know?”
“Just a guess,” she said.
All might have proceeded in the usual fashion of a house party if it had not been for the weather. It poured rain for days and the gentlemen, having no recourse to shooting, began to gamble their time away. At first, it was for small sums, but Mr. Shine kept pushing the bets ever higher.
The dowager, then the Duchess of Carlisle, had pressed her duke to withdraw. They played vingt-et-un, a game too reliant on chance to risk great sums. Her husband, being older than the other players, was therefore equipped with more sense and did end his time at the table. The dowager had felt, initially, that her work was done. She’d rescued her husband and that was the entire realm of her responsibility.
But then, she could not ignore the play, and the stakes, and in particular a young viscount who was taking a drubbing. She saw all too clearly that he should withdraw from further play, and just as clearly that he would not. There is nothing so foolish as a baron or a viscount of tender years attempting to impress.
She began to watch the game more closely, and her sharp eyes picked up what others could not. Someone had very cleverly marked the cards. She had marched over to the card table and said, “Goodness, you all really ought to get a new set. These have been in the hands of children, I think. See here how the crown has one extra jewel on the right side, shaped very like a seven, and then there embedded in the crest, the smallest heart? Some little blighter has a fine hand and is fond of a good joke—I would guess that card is the seven of hearts.”
She need not have said more. Everybody at the table comprehended that the cards had been marked. Naturally, they all had their suspicions, and those suspicions were confirmed when, hours later, Mr. Shine departed the house under darkness and was never heard from again.
Mr. Shine had not got away entirely scot free. The dowager had felt he might abscond and had waylaid him before he did. She’d recovered the money the viscount had lost.
That should have been the end of it, but Lord Blanding got the idea that Gravesley and Dembly had known Mr. Shine was a card sharp, both of those gentleman’s estates being on shaky footing at the time. He began to give the vaguest hints that the three were in league.
The Dowager could see a storm coming and persuaded her husband that they ought to depart, rather than get swept into a feud. She’d also convinced him to bring along the young Viscount Trebly.
“Your father was quite spirited about it,” the Dowager said now. “He thought he ought to stay and see the thing through. I counseled that he’d better get in my carriage and he would thank me later.”
“And so he did thank you,” Cassandra said, “when he realized you had removed him from an argument that I believe still goes on to this day.”
“Just so,” the dowager said. “I understand that after we left there were various threats of duels. Fortunately, they all had a care for their own person and did not carry through with it. Lord Blanding left in a fury and I hear he still mentions the event from time to time.”
“Goodness,” Cassandra said. “It is so extraordinary to think of my father as being young and getting himself embroiled in such a situation.”
“Ah, but that is youth, is it not? Mistakes are made, judgments are faulty. It is only with age that one can reflect back and see it was all a lot of nonsense. If only one could comprehend it at the time, there would be far less heartache in the world.”
Cassandra had the uncomfortable feeling that the Dowager no longer referred to her father. She felt the Dowager attempted to tell her that the uncomfortable situation she found herself in now would fade with time. That when she was older, it would not seem as significant. She did not know if that were true, but it seemed impossible that she would ever look upon this period of her life with any sort of equanimity.
*
The many letters the dowager and her secretary shot off descended upon London and its environs like a flock of birds settling on tree branches. All those who had been swayed by Lady Montague had initially fallen to her wishes because they perceived her as powerful. Lady Montague had been thoroughly trumped by the Dowager Duchess of Carlisle.
As often happens with the downtrodden, those who had acquiesced to Lady Montague’s demands harbored a deep resentment over it. Now, having been given leave to overthrow those earlier forced opinions and a shield to hide behind by way of the dowager, they took full advantage of it.
The talk in various drawing rooms generally unfolded as, “I was never really convinced of the story, you know. It seemed a bit too contrived.”
“Indeed! And now that I hear the real circumstances, it bears the ring of truth.”
“To think, Miss Knightsbridge saved the dowager’s life! I would not go in for my own daughter picking up a fowling piece, but nevertheless…”
“Yes, nevertheless.”
There were, perhaps, only a handful of people in England whose judgments went absolutely unquestioned—the Dowager Duchess of Carlisle’s were one of those. It was generally accepted that Miss Knightsbridge had been wronged, and while unusual that she shot birds, that skill had saved the dowager.
Equally interesting to the ton was the role the gentlemen of the pact had played. There was outrage and caution. Every mama was torn—on the one hand, those gentlemen remained eminently eligible. On the other, did they dare allow a daughter to fall victim to them? Miss Knightsbridge had been fortunate that the dowager had stepped in on her behalf. Would another girl be so lucky?
If the gentlemen of the pact had been stared at before, it was nothing compared to what they experienced now.
Lord Dalton took himself off to the seaside. Lord Cabot conveniently decided to visit his family’s estate in Scotland. Lord Grayson was suddenly inspired to visit an old aunt in Sussex. Lord Ashworth remained in London, but removed himself to a notorious gambler’s house, so he might direct all his efforts to gaming rather than dancing.
It was only Lord Hampton and Lord Lockwood who stood firm. Lord Lockwood felt a peculiar need to attempt to explain himself to those he encountered, in particular, Miss Knightsbridge’s friend Lady Sybil. That the explanation did not suit the lady, he should have known. Though, he’d been rather surprised when she said that if she were a man, she’d challenge him to a duel.
Lord Hampton made the rounds to bolster the dowager’s claims. While he had not been believed when he’d first owned the deed, he was believed now. He got the feeling that had he not been in line for a dukedom, many a hostess would have thrown him out on his ear.
Still, he did not care much for that. He only waited to hear from his grandmother the news from Surrey.
All of the gentlemen of the pact, though choosing to take different routes at that particular moment, had waited with dread to hear from their fathers. It was impossible that the old men remained unaware of what had transpired. There was even the suggestion that they’d all arrived to London. And yet, the silence was deafening.
Edwin felt it was rather like waiting for the ax to fall. He did not know when, but fall it would.
*
Cassandra was in the drawing room, watching with mirth as George took May’s favorite blanket and dragged it around the floor with an air of superiority. Poor May appeared helpless in the face of this gambit. Though both dogs must be aware of their relative sizes, George’s bold determination and out-sized confidence had overcome the giant mastiff at every turn. He’d gleefully lie down in the middle of May’s sofa, and May would squeeze to one side rather than pick up the Pomeranian by the scruff of the neck and throw him off, as she was perfectly capable of doing. George would find the sunniest spot on the carpet and stretch out his full length, lest May find any bit of sunshine to warm herself. George regularly stole a biscuit off the tea tray, a crime May would never dream of committing, and then gleefully chewed it up while staring into the mastiff’s eyes. George had become the master of the house and May served at his pleasure.
Cassandra heard the clatter of horses on the drive and walked to the window
. She was escorted by both May and George, George muscling his way past May to jump on the sofa for a better view.
A fine coach emblazoned with a coat of arms in gold had stopped at the door. Cassandra took a sharp breath. A lion and a unicorn—it was the royal coat of arms.
What on earth?
Before she could speculate on why such a vehicle would have come up their drive, she remembered the dowager. Of course the lady was connected everywhere and would be well-known to the Prince Regent.
But goodness! Were they to have a royal visitor? Maidencraft would collapse in a heap over it.
The door to the carriage opened, but the only person to emerge was an exceedingly tall and elegantly attired footman.
The young man made his way to the door. Cassandra noted the hint of surprise in Maidencraft’s voice when he opened it and viewed what had arrived on the doorstep. If Cassandra hoped for anything further she was disappointed—no sooner had the footman got out of the coach but he was back in it again and the carriage clattered away.
Maidencraft entered the drawing room bearing a silver tray. He appeared pale, as she would have expected him to after encountering a royal carriage so near to his person.
He walked toward her and Cassandra said, “The dowager is in the library. Surely you might interrupt her to deliver the letter? I am sure she would not mind it.”
Maidencraft cleared his throat and looked about and finally said, “It is addressed to you, Miss Cassandra.”
Cassandra laughed. “Surely not.”
As the butler did not seem to be engaging in any sort of levity, Cassandra quickly crossed the room and examined the paper. It was indeed addressed to her.
“Why?” she said. “Whatever for?”
Maidencraft did not appear to have an answer for the peculiar circumstance, but merely held the tray out and when she had taken the letter, bowed and closed the door behind him.
Cassandra sank down onto a chair, while George and May settled round her feet. She opened the letter.
