Riding through the streets of London felt as if she were in the midst of some embarrassing procession. There was not much spoken, and the men appeared almost grim. It was only Lady Marksworth who seemed to enjoy the journey.
Though Cassandra had worried over what was to be done when they arrived at the house, she need not have. Lady Marksworth thanked the gentlemen for their consideration with such an air of finality that they tipped their hats and trotted off.
Now, she and her aunt sat in Lady Marksworth’s charming sitting room, warming themselves in front of the fire. As genial as the weather had been, the early evening had grown damp and cold.
“Aunt,” Cassandra said carefully, “were you not surprised at Mr. Conners’ audacity? Have you ever seen such before? And why would Lord Hampton mention Mr. Conners’ friends? Do they all conduct themselves in such a manner?”
“Goodness,” Lady Marksworth said, “that is a lot of questions. Yes, I was very surprised by Mr. Conners. On the other hand, I do not know the gentleman or his friends, nor do I wish to. I cannot say how they all conduct themselves or whether they are in the habit of such nonsense. People such as that may have gathered up enough coin to look the gentleman, but not enough sense to act as one.”
“I just thought it odd that Lord Hampton, and Lords Lockwood and Ashworth too, would view it in so serious a light as to escort us all the way home. It was as if they knew something that we did not. That there might be some further danger there, aside from the insult of Mr. Conners’ suggestion.”
“I had not viewed it in such a light,” Lady Marksworth said. She smiled and said, “You do realize that gentlemen may pretend all sorts of things when looking to converse with a pretty face.”
“But they did not converse much,” Cassandra said, pressing on.
“Ah well,” Lady Marksworth said, pouring the tea, “a young gentleman often wishes to converse, and then finds his nerves getting the best of him.”
Cassandra did not think any of those lords prone to nerves. Certainly, Lord Hampton was no worried flower.
“There were such looks at us as we passed,” Cassandra said. “It felt as if we made an unnecessary scene of it. I am afraid people will talk.”
“Of course, they will talk,” Lady Marksworth said. “Miss Knightsbridge escorted by three of the lords of the pact? You will be the talk of every drawing room. Really, Cassandra, you must become accustomed to receiving attention.”
Though Cassandra knew herself to be, in general, averse to attention of that sort, she felt there was something even more worrying about what had occurred in the park. Something she did not rightly understand. There had been some undercurrent of over-seriousness that rankled. Mr. Conners’ proposed race to the gate had been ludicrous and insulting, but when did ludicrous and insulting require an escort of three men? She only hoped the entire circumstance would be forgotten by all by the next sunrise, and that she never encountered Mr. Conners again.
Chapter Eight
The following morning,as they sat at their usual window seat, Cassandra wondered what ailed Sybil. They had grown so accustomed to one another that her friend’s demeanor felt markedly changed.
Lady Marksworth had gone out, and Racine had delivered a tea fit for a queen and resplendent with fairy cakes and almond biscuits. Cassandra knew Sybil had a particular weakness for almond biscuits. She had asked for them specially, and yet her friend had touched neither tea nor biscuit. So far, Sybil had spent more time staring out the window or over Cassandra’s head than anything else.
“Come now,” Cassandra said. “I feel last evening must not have been to your liking. What happened at your dinner at the Smythes’?”
“Happened?” Sybil said in a nervous tone of voice. “Why should anything have happened?”
“Sybil,” Cassandra said, clasping her hands, “we are comrades in arms, remember? We go into battle together. You do not seem comfortable just now and you have not touched a biscuit—Racine will feel it a heavy blow if you do not enjoy them. Now do tell me what troubles you.”
Sybil quietly sighed and said, “As it happens, I had a very strange conversation at the Smythes’ dinner. Mr. Richards asked me if I were acquainted with Miss Knightsbridge. I said you were known to me very well, and then he said I ought not to continue the acquaintance on account of the three gentlemen.”
“Three gentlemen?” Cassandra asked.
“Precisely what I said,” Sybil said. “Then Lord Burke interrupted us and told Mr. Richards, strongly I might add, that he talked as much as an old woman and he better stop where he was. Mr. Richards turned red as an apple and moved to the other side of the room.”
“And what did Lord Burke say then?”
“Nothing,” Sybil said. “He would say nothing more about it other than Mr. Richards was an old woman.”
Before Cassandra could properly think through what Sybil had said, a street urchin stopped in front of the house and boldly smiled at them through the wrought iron fence. He stared in quite a determined and challenging manner, and Cassandra wondered if she should call a footman to chase him off. In a moment, the boy took something from his pocket and hurled it over the fence at one of the windows.
The glass from a window on the far side of the room shattered and scattered across the rug. Racine rushed in at the noise and stared at the window.
“It was a boy,” Cassandra said, gathering her wits over the sudden shock, “he’s just run down the road!”
Racine hurried from the room to galvanize his footmen and it was only seconds before Jimmy and Ben raced from the house in pursuit.
Cassandra rose and stepped carefully around the broken glass to the object that had been thrown. It was a rock, covered in paper secured with twine. She picked it up.
“Do leave it alone, Cass,” Sybil said from the window seat.
