“Though,” Cassandra said, desperate for any bit of information, “I would like to know the cause, if the gentleman was indeed given such a mask. Was it to do with his behavior in the park, or is he in the general habit of offending?”
“The park,” Lord Lockwood said, albeit reluctantly now that his friend had made clear he wished to dismiss the subject.
Cassandra did not believe she could persuade Lord Lockwood to say any more, though perhaps he’d said enough. She could not directly address the offensive illustration or the talk that went round about her, but she thought she could obliquely communicate her stance on it. And, truthfully, if she did not say something in her own defense, she might burst.
“Were it up to me, I would have painted Mr. Conners as a mouse, rather than a rat—his efforts being so weak and feeble,” Cassandra said. “Though, I doubt he is alone in his ill-considered opinions. It matters little, all the mice in London may go round chattering, they will not attractmynotice.” She paused and then said, “Other than to pick up a broom and chase them out to the street where they belong.”
“Well said,” Lord Hampton said quietly.
Sybil beamed; Lord Lockwood appeared both taken aback and amused. As nobody had a retort to Cassandra’s very definite and determined statements, the conversation turned to more usual topics.
She and the lord briefly touched on the subject of dogs again, but then blessedly landed on literature. As it turned out, Lord Hampton read as much and as widely as she did herself. As they spoke of botany, architecture, the Romans, and astronomy, Cassandra found herself speaking to a highly educated man who did more than recite facts. He had not just taken in information—he had thought about it. It was frighteningly attractive. Despite her own mental discipline on the subject, her mind kept presenting opposing arguments. Was it really so awful to be a duchess, after all? Might not a man involved in the pact have an interest that was not forced by his father? Was there another man in London with those eyes? It was not so much their color, which was very dark, but their habit of examining her as if they wished to know her secrets. She was very glad nobody could hear her thoughts doing battle with one another.
Cassandra also found herself glad she’d made her opinion known regarding the gossip going round about her. Her aunt had said it would be the worst thing to cut and run. She’d not run, she’d challenged whatever ridiculous ideas circulated about Miss Knightsbridge.
She could not have helped but notice that couples around her had been over-quiet during her forthright speech. Let them repeat her words in every drawing room in town if they wished.
Cassandra found herself, in the end, well-satisfied with the evening. It felt as if the heavy weight of the rock thrown through her window had begun to lift.
That the familiar shiver went down her spine more than once before the supper was over, she was determined to ignore for now.
Chapter Ten
Hampton sat inhis library, the dying fire the only light in the predawn hours. At his feet, Havoc gleefully shredded the mask of a clergyman.
He had been surprised to see Miss Knightsbridge at the Blakeley’s ball. He’d given contingency instructions to his friends on what to do if shedidappear, though he never truly believed she would.
His surprise gave over to astonishment at her spirited defense of herself at supper. She’d not said it particularly softly either. Plenty at the table would have heard of the London gossipers likened to insignificant mice who might be chased off with a broom.
What courage the lady had! To arrive as if nothing were amiss, and then to proclaim her opinion so forcefully as to any talk that had made the rounds. He doubted there were many females who could have girded themselves for such a trial. Certainly, none he’d encountered during this blasted season.
Thanks to his father’s demands, he’d danced with and spoken to an unending list of unmarried ladies. Those females made every attempt to display their beauty and wit, and then somewhere in the conversation, shyly present an example of their over-refined sensibilities. He was to know that they were easily shocked, that aspect of their temperament supposedly meant to be some hallmark of good breeding.
The idea nearly made him laugh. His grandmother was not easily shocked and, in fact, sometimes did the shocking herself. His mother routinely dispatched all manner of circumstances that might cause a blush in a less determined lady. Only a year ago, the duchess had discovered a housemaid in her household had been compromised and was with child. She’d wasted no time demanding to know the culprit’s name and to her great lack of surprise it had been a footman. In one curt and speedy interview with the man she demanded he marry the girl, which he did, and now the foolish couple had some little shop in the village. The duchess had been no more affected by the circumstance than she would have been over viewing a cup of spilled milk. He did not quite understand how any of these young, unmarried ladies proposed to run a large house if they needed to fan themselves over every difficulty.
Then there was Miss Knightsbridge. She had no need of a fan.
What, though, did she really know about what was being said? It was likely that what Bellamy had witnessed being thrown through the window was a satirical print—he’d seen the one going round that showed her with shotgun aiming at three gentlemen floating above her, but he could not be certain that was what she’d seen. That she knewsomethingwas evident, else she would not have made such a pronouncement at supper. Whatever she knew, she did not know all. To know all would be to know his hand in it.
He’d felt such a fraud, sitting there so apparently above reproach while Mr. Conners’ inappropriate proposition had been alluded to. He’d done far worse. Far, far worse.
At the mask, he, Lockwood, Dalton, Ashworth, Cabot and Grayson had set out to quash any talk about Miss Knightsbridge, and there had been plenty to occupy them. The ridiculous story of three suitors still made the rounds, and sometimes four suitors or five. There was talk of her having shot a farmer she did not care for just for amusement.Now, there was even the suggestion that her own father was terrified of her and rued the day he’d allowed her to take up a gun.
One particularly acerbic little miss masked in dark feathers that very much resembled a magpie had even had the temerity to wonder aloud how a gentleman might be quite comfortable in marriage to such a lady. After all, she’d said, he might never know when he’d provoked her ire until shots rang out. He had informed that charming lady of her deficiencies in judgment and left her near tears. He’d not been sorry for it, though he realized that if such talk went on much longer, it would be no time at all before Miss Knightsbridge was known as a veritable Genghis Khan.
He’d hoped the words Miss Knightsbridge had spoken for herself might mitigate some of the worst ideas being passed round, as it had been clear enough that she’d been overheard. Rather, before he left the Blakeley’s he heard one lady say to the next, “Apparently, if she deigns not to shoot you, she will chase you with a broom. One wonders how there is anybody left alive in Surrey.”
That, in regard to a lady so composed, so stalwart, and so well-educated! He’d discovered that evening that she was well-read. Truly well-read, not like some others who claimed to be great readers and had nothing to show for it because all they read were French novels. Miss Knightsbridge had a deep knowledge of botany and architecture, two subjects dear to his heart. Then, of course, she had already displayed her marked good sense regarding dogs and their kennels.
He smiled ever so slightly as he recalled the first evening they had met, and her hint that not everybody in the world was eager to know him. He’d been in such high dudgeon over it! Now, he could see that he had deserved the comment; he’d been rather rude. In truth, he’d been in a bit of a sulk, no better than a ten-year-old boy discovering his favorite toy broken.
In repayment for his well-earned comeuppance, he’d been the source of the gossip that now plagued her. If only he could go back! He might have realized he danced with an exceptional lady. He might have put aside his aggravation with his father to behold what was in front of him.
Hampton paused. He did not like where his thoughts led him. It was one thing to admire Miss Knightsbridge, but his admiration could only go so far. As with any other lady, he did not wish his admiration to be in any way singular. He had already recognized he would be in danger if he did not keep himself in check—how any other gentleman had escaped the charms of that heart-shaped face he did not know. But, that was to be put in the back of his mind and not considered again. Still, when she looked up at him as she discussed Palladian columns, he could not help but be aware of its effect.
Ah well, it was most likely his guilt that made him more admiring than he should be.
*
