“That is three times he has taken you in,” Cassandra said.
“Yes,” Sybil said, “though I hardly count the first as he only rescued me and had not much to say for himself.”
“Do you like him, Sybil?”
Sybil reached for an almond biscuit and chewed it determinedly before she answered. “Truly, I have not allowed myself to consider it. There is too much against it—he is a gentleman of the pact and even if he were not, my father abhors his own father.”
“That is true, and in any case, if you wish to be a duchess whilst avoiding that ridiculous pact, you might marry Lord Burke. He is not so burdened, and you would be very merry at table as he regales you with stories of his cook.”
Both ladies dissolved into laughter at the thought of it. Though, under Cassandra’s laughter, there was intense trepidation. She and Lady Marksworth had been snubbed by the Hedleys, and she feared there might be more snubs to come.
Cassandra began to get the sickening idea that perhaps more snubs had already come. When they had made their calls and found ladies not at home,hadthey been at home? Had some of Lady Marksworth’s acquaintance refused her card? The excuses they had been given had seemed reasonable, one lady had been called away to care for a sick aunt, another attended a wedding breakfast. But what if those reasons had been invented?
She could not know. She would never know. But the very idea was stinging. It was not so much for herself that it stung, it was for her dear aunt. The idea that she might have been a catalyst to causing her aunt pain and embarrassment was too awful to think of.
*
The day ofthe Marksworths’ ball had passed by in frenetic activity. Cassandra had felt a charge in the house, as if lightning had come through the windows and sparked its way through every room. Even the unflappable Racine had a look about him that she likened to a wary fox catching the scent of hounds. Cassandra had gone to no end of balls and had not had the first idea of what a hostess must go through. She would be more appreciative of their efforts in future.
Despite the atmosphere that had at times bordered on doom, all had been arranged. The musicians had arrived, the ices had arrived, hundreds of beeswax candles had been lit and the preparations for supper were well on their way in the kitchens. The ballroom itself, usually dark and empty, was ablaze with light and servants running this way and that while attending to final details.
Cassandra marveled at her dress. Lady Marksworth had spent a deal of time working with the dressmaker to achieve what she had in her mind and it was glorious. White satin, the skirt overlaid with the palest of pink gauze. Large white rosettes lined the hem of the satin and showed charmingly through the gauze. Smaller rosettes circled the sleeves and bodice. It was not overdone or overwrought, it was elegant in every respect. Having only so recently been a young girl racing round her estate and muddying up her clothes, she wondered at finding herself so attired.
Her nerves were at once heightened with excitement and trepidation. She knew herself to be an object of curiosity and so would be on display. But her own ball! At a ball such as that, the young lady would be the focus of the evening. Anybody wishing to stare might do so without risking disapproval. Of course, there were those who would likely not come because of the unwanted attention she had received. She knew the dreaded Lady Montague had been issued an invitation and even indicated she would attend, but that had been weeks ago. Cassandra felt certain the lady would not come now. Not with the talk that had gone round. Not Lady Montague. She also expected that Lady Montague’s friend Lady Hedley would not appear. She could not say that she would miss either one of them. But then, there might be others who would snub her.
All the gentlemen of the pact had said they would attend, a fact that Lady Marksworth had not informed her of until that very morning. Her aunt saw it as a particular compliment—it was not every hostess who could claim that six would-be dukes attended their ball. In fact, seven, as Lord Burke had accepted too.
For Cassandra’s own part, she was not certain what she thought of it. She could not say she would be sorry to have further conversation with Lord Hampton. Their last had been truly engaging and felt more effortless than the usual conversations she’d had with various gentlemen. She’d convinced herself that she enjoyed talking with him so thoroughly because he proved himself well-educated. She’d nearly given up denying her attraction to him, though nothing would come of it.
Having heard from Sybil that he had asked after her gave her an unnamed feeling. Worse, that he had obliquely referenced the embarrassing print, which she’d prayed had faded into obscurity by now.
She had the highest hopes that ithadfallen out of favor as the latest gossip. Lady Marksworth had told her that she’d heard from a friend that Lady Montague’s refusal to come as a snake to the Blakeley’s mask was on everybody’s tongues just now. Cassandra, having experienced it herself, could not wish anybody to come under such scrutiny. Though, if somebody must, she could not weep over it being Lady Montague.
Lady Marksworth met her at the bottom of the stairs and led her to the hall. There they would stand as the carriages rolled up, greeting each and every guest. She expected she would be exhausted by the end of it, though the dancing would not even have begun.
“You could not look lovelier, my dear,” Lady Marksworth said.
Racine nodded as if seconding his mistress’s opinion.
They heard the distinctive clip-clop and stop of a carriage arriving and Racine threw open the doors.
The cold air rushed in and Cassandra was glad that Racine had the foresight to place braziers all around the hall.
Lord Dalton was the first to arrive and Cassandra could only be surprised by it. Of all the gentlemen of the pact, she would have expected him to be one of the last, pirate that he viewed himself to be.
She was much cheered to see Sybil and her mother and father, who had no need of a carriage as they were directly next door. Cassandra was certain that dear Sybil had hurried her parents along, knowing how nervous her friend must be on such a night.
Sybil squeezed her hand tight as they walked through.
Lord and Lady Sedway arrived and her old friend Anne looked just as elegant as ever. Cassandra began to calm her nerves; it was comforting to find so many friends already in the house.
Lord Lockwood and Lord Hampton arrived together. Cassandra began to think they must be particular friends as she had seen them so often together. Lord Hampton had appeared exceedingly reserved, even for him, and Cassandra had felt some sort of embarrassment at seeing him, though she could not pinpoint her feelings exactly.
Lords Cabot, Ashworth and Grayson all arrived on horseback. Lady Marksworth looked victorious—all six gentlemen of the pact had arrived, and they had arrived in good time. Cassandra, now that she viewed it, thought there was something odd in it. They had indeed arrived promptly. Why should these gentlemen be so eager to arrive? It was generally understood that a lady’s friends and family come at the designated hour and the rest of the guests begin arriving sometime after that. Single gentlemen were notorious for coming in at the last decent moment, all the while striking terror into their hostesses’ hearts. Why were they all so early?
Before she could contemplate it further, Lord and Lady Blakeley arrived. He appeared as dashing as ever, she wore a marvelous turban decorated with bright colored jewels. Though Lady Marksworth viewed the gentlemen of the pact as the coup of the evening, Cassandra thought it the reception of the Blakeleys. It was understood that they did not accept every invitation that came their way, they were the sort of couple that were so sought after that they could not, even if they’d wanted to. It was a testament to Lady Marksworth’s longstanding friendship with Lady Blakeley that they’d chosen to acceptherinvitation.
There was a lull in the arrivals which gave Cassandra a moment to catch her breath. She noticed a footman jogging up the steps. The boy handed a note to Racine, who brought it to Lady Marksworth.
