“Indeed, Surrey,” she said, confounded by the near constant allusions to Surrey this night. Seeing that it would be she who must find a subject to engage, and having had time to think about it and not coming up with anything other than dogs, she said, “As we did speak of kennels at our last meeting, I wonder, my lord, if you have given any thought to this latest idea of using fountains for drinking water, rather than troughs?”
“Ah,” Lord Hampton said, seeming to shake off his gloom, “Bedford’s idea. He thinks the circulation of the water keeps it uncontaminated. I am inclined to agree.”
“I, too,” Cassandra said. She noted that the couples around her had gone silent, as if they listened to her conversation. She could not say that she wished all and sundry to hear her views on a dog’s water fountain, but neither was she willing to allow the conversation to lapse into silence again.
She said, “I have spoken to my father about it and he agrees, though it will be a large project to endeavor.”
Lord Hampton was silent for a moment and Cassandra noted that he stared hard at a gentleman across from him until that gentleman turned away. Finally, he said, “I have in my possession written plans on how it may be accomplished in a kennel already built. Lord Trebly is most welcome to them.”
And so they went on, speaking of kennels and their design. She did not know if the lord had any other interests, but if he did, she did not know what they were.
There were moments when the lord seemed to forget himself. In those moments, Lord Hampton appeared at his ease. She supposed it was the way he looked at home, surrounded by his family, or sitting in front of a fire in his library.
It was a deal more attractive than his original stiff way of going on. In truth, it wasveryattractive. It would be all too easy to forget the pact, though she made a concerted effort to remember it. There had been something in imagining the lord at ease in his house that had caused that now familiar soft shiver to run down her spine, as if a light touch traced it.
*
Edwin left theMontagues’ in a fury. It was all too obvious what had occurred. Dalton’s ridiculous story had made the rounds thoroughly.
He’d noted the various ladies staring at Miss Knightsbridge, like so many cobras ready to strike. Dressed in silk and pretty they might be, but poisonous all the same.
He’d noted the gentlemen who filled up Miss Knightsbridge’s card. Those gentlemen were, with the exception of Burke, the type who would find amusement in going to their club the next day and describing their encounter with the Miss Knightsbridge everybody talked of. Burke, at least, he thought he could trust not to be so callow. In truth, Burke had seemed more serious that was his usual wont, and Edwin got the idea he’d heard the rumor and was displeased by it. For all Burke’s levity, he was a practical and well-meaning gentleman and was unlikely to put much stock in the story. Edwin would be ashamed for Burke to discover how the rumor had begun.
He’d noted Lady Montague’s glare at Lady Marksworth when the lady’s back was turned and considered it lucky she and her charge were even let in the door. Lady Montague was an ill-tempered and opinionated creature, and if anybody would have had the temerity to refuse them entrance, it would have been her.
He’d taken the dance before supper to send a message—whatever talk went round, Miss Knightsbridge was not shunned by a gentleman who would someday be a duke. He’d never been in the habit of flaunting his standing, but in that instance, he felt it might serve well.
At dinner, he could hardly think what to say. His shame at the coming storm was too deep and cut him like a sharpened sword. The lady had gamely suggested fountains and he found it a subject he could speak on without much concentration. Though, he could not ignore the unnatural silence around him. Everybody wished to overhear what Miss Knightsbridge would say. How else would they have something to repeat in the morning?
My God, when would she discover what was being said?Howwould she discover it?
It was bound to be some sort of public humiliation.
He wondered if he should not write an anonymous note and send it to Lady Marksworth to give them warning.
But what then? Would the lady whisk her niece back to Surrey? Was that wise? He could not be certain whether Miss Knightsbridge would be better served to disappear or stand firm in front of the thing. He did not know if she would be better served to know it or go on oblivious. To return home might be to validate all that had been said. To know it might cause her to do just that, or if not flee, then wear her feelings on her sleeve. Any sign of weakness would be as a deer to a wolf, and theton’spredatory instincts would lead them to go in for the kill. If she went on as she did now, might she weather it? Might there be another story about another person that would capture society’s imagination?
How to unsay what was being said? Though he had thought long and hard and come up with nothing, he felt he must do something. They must all do something.
He resolved to call a meeting of the gentleman of the pact. Six heads were better than one, even if some of them were blockheads. They must do something for Miss Knightsbridge.
My God, they were to be dukes of the realm someday. They had responsibilities. They must show themselves to be above reproach, not the sort of base creatures who put their own comfort above all else. As the whole world had seen, a nobility forgetting those things was a nobility violently ended.
Edwin paused. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps that was the idea that would spur his friends to action—a reminiscence of what had happened in France.
As he thought of it, Edwin began to develop what might be a persuasive argument. At least, he hoped so. It was the only idea he’d had so far.
*
The breakfast roomwas filled with sunlight. It was perhaps the cheeriest of Lady Marksworth’s rooms—it had none of the formality of the public rooms nor any of the restraint of the carefully composed decorations of the bedchambers. It had the friendly feel of dark wood and worn cushions that reminded Cassandra of home.
“I am certain tongues will be wagging today,” Lady Marksworth said.
“Are you, aunt?” Cassandra asked. “What will have captured theton’simagination this time?”
“My dear,” Lady Marksworth said, “did you not note the looks when Lord Hampton took you into dinner? People positively stared.”
Cassandra began to feel uneasy. Peoplehadstared.
