“I, embarrassed? How?” Cassandra said.
“It is just this—six dukes have conspired together to cut their eldest sons’ funds off if they do not marry. They’ve got two seasons to do it, and no more. I heard the gentlemen were all informed by letter, and the letters were nearly identical. Apparently, there were threats of living forever to encourage those sons to consider how many years of poverty they might face if they do not comply. As well, it was suggested the young men might tour Cheapside to have a look at their future accommodations if they defy their fathers.”
“Goodness,” Cassandra said.
“Notgoodness,” Lady Marksworth said, “goodis the term better suited.”
“How so?” Cassandra asked. “Do you have an argument with any of those gentlemen, that you should wish to see them so harried by their fathers?”
Lady Marksworth’s forehead wrinkled to such a degree that Cassandra was certain she’d gone wrong somewhere.
“Cassandra,” Lady Marksworth said, sounding very much like she talked to a small child. “Six gentlemen destined to become dukes must marry in all haste. Here you are for your first season. You see?”
Cassandra suddenly did see, though the idea was preposterous. Her aunt would have her set her cap on one, or all, of the gentlemen before she’d even set eyes on them. It was perfectly ridiculous, and in any case, she had no great wish to find herself a duchess. She was certain the role was one of tedium. She’d much rather marry some middling sort of gentleman—not too poor, but not so elevated that they did not have the freedom to live as they pleased. If one went too high in society, the many eyes upon oneself made life constrained and far too regulated. She had seen for herself how it was every time she’d visited Lady Melby—the marchioness’ house was a tomb of discretion and reserve. She could barely breathe until she’d got out of it.
For a moment, Cassandra thought she might apprise her aunt of these well-considered opinions, until she noted the eagerness with which Lady Marksworth awaited her reply. She supposed she ought to keep her thoughts to herself, but she could not allow her aunt to go on deluded into thinking she would throw herself at the nearest would-be duke.
“I suspect,” Cassandra said boldly, “that the gentlemen named in the pact have all fled to the countryside to hide from the circling wolves.”
“If, by circling wolves, you mean mamas across London,” Lady Marksworth said, “you can be assured that claws are being sharpened in every drawing room. Those young gentlemen may wish to flee the specter of determined mothers, but they cannot. I have it on good authority that the letters they received outline very strictly how they are to conduct themselves, and one of the stipulations is that they accept every worthy engagement that arrives at their door. I had hardly dared hope to land so many single gentlemen of excellent prospects for our own ball, but I think we have a very good chance of it.”
Though her aunt was enthusiastic in considering this pact, Cassandra saw nothing but trouble ahead. The circling wolves, and thatwasjust what they were as far as she could divine it, would make the season almost perilous. She’d gone to her first ball, which had been an experience so far removed from a local Surrey assembly as to be almost unrecognizable. Gone were the casual proceedings of Guildford, and in were the formal rules of town. She’d kept her eyes wide open and took in everything. One of the most alarming sights was of various mamas’ hawk eyes scanning the ballroom and none too subtly sizing girls up, as if they were all some sort of impediment to their own daughter’s happy future.
If there had been some undercurrent of desperation among ladies whose daughters were out, that undercurrent would transform itself into a North Sea storm when six gentlemen destined to be dukes were dangled as bait. She wondered to what lengths some of those mamas might go to land a large fish at the banks of their daughter’s hopes. For that matter, she was rather afraid of what her aunt might do.
“I am only glad,” Lady Marksworth said, “that I had the foresight to order all of your dresses early. Every decent dressmaker in town will be hired before noon today.”
“Certainly,” Cassandra said, “it will not suddenly occur to anybody that they need more dresses on account of this pact.”
“It most certainly will. Wardrobes will be declared woefully inadequate. It is the fathers, you see, my dear. A once firm amount to be spent on clothes will have tripled when they consider the chance their daughters may have. Depend upon it.”
Cassandra did not know if she should depend upon it or not. She could not quite envision her own father opening the purse strings to secure a duke for his daughter. On the other hand, her father generally did not open purse strings for anything that did not support his estate—it had been her aunt who’d supplied most of her clothes. She’d come with one trunk and Lady Marksworth had examined the contents of it. After much head shaking and sighs, she’d called in her favorite dressmaker.
Her father would stagger at the array of dresses she now called her own. The Viscount was perfectly well off and her dowry was respectable, but he did not go in for frippery. As much as she adored her new wardrobe, she suspected her father to hold a sensible opinion on such matters—nobody in the history of England had ever married a dress.
*
Edwin Weston, ViscountHampton and eldest son of the Duke of Carlisle, brushed his dark hair from his eyes and stared morosely into the fire. His coat was off, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his long legs were propped on the desk in front of him. He’d sat in his library in Carlisle House, sometimes with brandy and sometimes without, for the better part of two days. His mastiff, Havoc, lazed at his feet, delighted to have his master to himself.
The confounded letter that had caused him to closet himself away lay on the desk in front of him. He’d read it a dozen times, each time hoping it would say something other than what it did.
His blasted father! Now was to be a time of freedom. The war had ended, he’d served well, and he should be rewarded, not punished with a wife.
He blamed the Duke of Gravesley for this. The man was always an agitator on the subject. Still, those old men might think they’d outfoxed him, but he was certain some solution would present itself. As he knew from fighting the war, there was a slim way out of every lost cause. He must just find it.
Edwin snatched up the letter and read it once more.
Hampton,
It is with a heavy heart that I must force you to do your duty. Take this letter as a directive from me, outlining various steps to be taken and various consequences if you refuse.
You will have two seasons to wed a lady of suitable background. The timeframe I give you is most generous as you could easily get the thing done in a month if you wished.
I will grant much latitude on the subject of the lady’s dowry, so that it may not present a hindrance to you. (I think of Lady Isabella, fine background but dashed little money.)
Should you fail, the consequences to your way of life will be considerable and swift. At the end of this season, if there is no engagement, your funds are cut by half. At the end of next season, if there is no engagement, it is cut to nothing and you will be forced to vacate Carlisle House. If you intend on ignoring this directive, you might consider putting money aside now for payment later to your future landlord in Cheapside. Otherwise, you will need to find employment for your daily bread, perhaps as a valet to a gentleman with more sense?
Should you be so obtuse as to run through the two seasons with nothing to show, you will be cut off for a period of one year, and then you may begin again, under the same terms. Do not hope to be released by my early demise, I am in splendid health. Do not bother to importune your mother, I have given her my decision and she will abide by it. If you were to be so foolhardy as to go to your grandmother, I’ll cut you off this instant. The Dowager Duchess is long in years and I will not have her aggravated.
