The full weight of what had occurred, and what might be the result of it, seemed to come over Cassandra all at once. Was she to be stared at everywhere? Was she the subject of jokes? Was her name spoken in jest in the gentlemen’s clubs? Were there those that might snub her? Of course there must be. At least one person in town had paid a boy to break her window with the news.
A tear rolled down her cheek and she said, “I ought to go home, Aunt. I have disappointed you and caused talk that will reflect on you. It is not right that I stay.”
Lady Marksworth took her niece’s hand. “You will do no such thing, my dear. The very worst idea is to cut and run, it would be like air to the fire. No, we shall keep to our schedule and if anybody has the nerve to stare while I am in the vicinity, they will wish they had not. In any case, while the depiction of you is odd, it in no way impugns your innocence. You have been painted as having facility with a gun and having three dashing admirers. That is not ideal, but that is all.”
Cassandra thought that was quite enough but was encouraged by her aunt’s stance on the matter—Lady Marksworth was all cool head and commonsense.
“In any case, if there is blame to be shared, I must take my part in it,” Lady Marksworth said. “I thought it perfectly acceptable that the lords should escort us on our way if it pleased them. Together, we shall face down the talkers with grace and aplomb.”
“I wondered what we should do about the Blakeleys’ ball this evening,” Cassandra said.
“Wonder no more,” Lady Marksworth said firmly. “We will arrive as expected and let anyone dare say a word about it. You could not hope to arrive at a friendlier house. In the meantime, I will write your father of this idiocy. He will not put much stock in it, but better he knows of it if the print reaches as far as Surrey.”
“Could it reach as far as Surrey?” Cassandra said in alarm. She was not worried about her father, he did not rattle easily, but she would not like to think of all her friends viewing such a thing.
“One never knows,” Lady Marksworth said. “I suppose it depends upon how amusing the illustrator considered it and how much he thought he might gain by it. As you are relatively unknown, I don’t expect it will go far. A print of the Regent might be recognized in the furthest reaches of England, but not so with you.”
Cassandra found herself somewhat mollified by the idea. Of course, the prints must be sold to make them worthwhile, and who would pay for a print of an unknown and unnamed girl? She began to hope the pieces of paper would be few and of little interest.
*
Until a rockhad sailed through her window, Cassandra had looked forward to the Blakeleys’ ball. They were a young couple, Lord Blakeley known for his outspoken politics and Lady Blakeley known for her forward-looking wardrobe. The lady was often in the newspapers, with breathless descriptions of some outfit or other. The last had been a red silk Japanese Kimono that she’d worn to a reception for the Persian ambassador.
There were some circles that wondered if the couple were not a little too fast for the best society, but Lady Marksworth was fond of them both. She’d known Lady Blakeley as a girl, having been friends with her mother, and had always found her lively and vastly entertaining.
Now, Cassandra was very much less looking forward to the Blakeleys’ mask. She had felt on pins and needles all through the day. A rock had shattered a window, she was the subject of a joke, and she waited to see how Lady Blakeley had depicted her character via the choosing of her mask.
It was with both great relief and great trepidation that the boxes containing their masks had finally arrived. Lady Marksworth opened hers and moved aside the delicate tissue to find the face of an owl, done in feathers.
“I am thought to be wise, it seems,” Lady Marksworth said smiling. “Either that or I am exceptionally cruel to mice. Now let us see what you are to be.”
Cassandra gently removed the mask from the box. It was covered in a soft taupe velvet with rounded ears outlined in a cream silk ribbon. The holes for her eyes were outlined in a black silk and there was a small black nose slightly protruding.
“A fawn,” Lady Marksworth said. “Both charming and appropriate. Nothing could be more innocent, gentle and deserving of care than a fawn. Well! Lady Blakeley has made her opinion known and all will see it.”
*
Lord Hampton hadsent a note to all of the gentlemen of the pact after receiving an alarming communication from Dalton. The lord wrote that his butler, Bellamy, witnessed a street urchin throw a rock through the windows of Lady Marksworth’s house and that rock appeared to have had a paper tied round it. The lady’s footmen had given chase but returned empty-handed. Lady Marksworth had arrived to the house some time later and nothing else had been seen.
It had not taken much thinking to guess what had been done. Some person had decided it was time to send a stern message to Miss Knightsbridge. It was not unknown that a satirical print would be delivered via rock to some poor soul’s address, though it was usually a politician who could expect such discourtesy. If the lady had been at home as the glass shattered, she must have been terrified.
He very much doubted Miss Knightsbridge would venture out to the Blakeleys’ ball after having a rock thrown through her window. He was certain she and her aunt huddled together, attempting to work out the meaning of the print. If they had not been apprised of the rumor of the three engagements so far, and he did not think they had been, they would be mightily confused and alarmed by it.
In case his assumption that she would not attend was wrong, he had conferred with Lady Blakeley on the matter and convinced her he ought to know what mask Miss Knightsbridge wore. He had been well-pleased to discover it was to be a fawn, and further pleased that the hostess had heard the gossip and tossed it aside as rubbish.
After that meeting, he had sent what amounted to military orders to the gentlemen of the pact—they had all been invited and were therefore all to attend, they were to split up and do reconnaissance, and they were to challenge every scrap of gossip they heard. If Miss Knightsbridge made an appearance, she would be identified as the lady masked as a fawn and her dance card was to be filled.
He was well aware that none of the gentlemen wished to go to the mask; they had an abhorrence for such things. Especially the masks that Lady Blakeley might choose for them, as she could have quite the acerbic wit. However, he had made it their duty and they would go.
Hampton did not particularly wish to go himself. His mask this year was of an old and serious-looking clergyman, replete with a band. He supposed that was some comment on his lack of levity. Dalton was to be a pirate, and well-pleased by it. God only knew what the rest of them would be.
No matter, they were duty-bound to make every possible exertion on behalf of Miss Knightsbridge.
Chapter Nine
The Blakeleys’ housein Mayfair appeared quite usual from the outside, with its stone façade and many windows. However, Cassandra was just now hearing from her aunt that the inside was less than usual.
As the carriage came to a stop in the line, Lady Marksworth said, “Lady Blakeley has always been fascinated with anything foreign, fortunately her lord indulges her fancy. I understand she’s recently added a sarcophagus to the drawing room and her children are fond of hiding in it.”
