Suddenly, she understood Mr. Conners’ untoward behavior in the park, his bizarre challenge to a race. He’d had the nerve to treat her as less than a lady as he believed she’d conducted herself as less than a lady.
How had this all happened? When she’d thought the three gentlemen depicted on the print were Hampton, Lockwood and Ashworth, it had only seemed as if some person had put two disparate ideas into one illustration. She’d owned to skill with a gun and the three gentlemen had escorted her from the park. But where on earth had the idea of the three engagements in Surrey originated? There was no truth that could account for it, even if that truth were to be stretched beyond recognition.
Cassandra felt she would truly faint. She wished it with all her heart. Anything to be away from this dreadful scene.
*
Edwin had beenalarmed at the news of Miss Knightsbridge fainting. Not so much because she fainted, ladies had ever been in the habit of doing so, but because she would not wake. He had some vague idea that a waving of smelling salts was all that was required to bring a lady back to the present.
His alarm had reached new heights after speaking with Burke. Hampton had directed all the gentlemen of the pact to turn up in force. He’d thought it would send a clear message to all who attended Lady Marksworth’s ball.
He’d never imagined that most others would not attend due to Lady Montague’s directive. He’d never imagined Lady Montague would dareissuesuch a directive. She was a spiteful old thing and feared by enough of society to have her will. That she did not dare attempt to influence him or his friends came as no surprise, Lady Montague wielded her iron fist down, never up.
Burke told him Miss Knightsbridge had barely held up upon hearing what was said of her. Until this very night, she’d had no idea of any talk of three broken engagements. The further blow delivered—that very few would come to her ball—had felled her and she did not wake. All along, Burke said, she had thought the print to be representative of a meeting in the park with Hampton, Lockwood and Ashworth after Mr. Conners’ untoward suggestion of a race. That might have been upsetting, but in no way reached the heights of the humiliation of the real story that had gone round.
Now, she knew the truth. What a poison they had unleashed upon the lady!
What was to be the end of it? The rumors he’d thought they could counter with some effort could not be subdued. Lady Montague’s stance was determined and there were few who would dare to cross her.
Miss Knightsbridge would receive dwindling invitations going forward. Even less marriage proposals. Perhaps no marriage proposals at all. What gentleman, even if she had the means of meeting him at a gathering, would gladly suffer the notoriety of finding himself the fourth gentleman engaged to the lady? What gentleman would risk being ostracized by Lady Montague for marrying her? What family would welcome it?
Through their own selfishness, he and his friends had ruined a lady.Hehad ruined the lady.
The truth must come out. They must own what they did. He and his friends were low and self-interested—all should know that they were the worst sort of people, regardless of what titles they might hold.
Edwin paused. They must do more than just own being the cause of this disaster. They must atone for it.Hemust atone for it. But how?
He knew how. He knew the only certain thing he might do to reestablish Miss Knightsbridge in society. To give her a rightful place in it. To ensure that she was treated with the respect she deserved. To firmly and finally shut the mouths of Lady Montague and her ilk.
He must marry Miss Knightsbridge.
What a pass he had come to! This terrible circumstance had begun with a hope to avoid the state and now he was honor-bound to accomplish it.
Still, if he was to live with himself, it must be done.
*
The house hadgrown very quiet and Cassandra had been carried up the stairs by two footmen under the watchful eyes of Racine and Clara. Peggy had been sent below stairs, the girl too prone to talk, while Lady Marksworth attended Lord Burke and waited for his physician. Cassandra understood the physician would be told the truth, that she had no illness but that of spirit, but he could be trusted and would be seen coming and going—it would bolster the idea of her sudden illness.
Where had the story of the three engagements come from? She’d had no particular suitors in Surrey. She’d bestowed no singular interest on any gentleman.
Was a lady to be ruined simply because some mean-spirited person decided to invent a tale? How was that possible? Who would do it? She had not made enemies of anybody that she knew of.
Yet, there was someone out there who harbored a hatred of her.
Cassandra had known London was another world, that she would need guidance to wend her way through. She had never imagined it was a sea of piranhas, though it appeared that was precisely what it was. She had waded in and sharp teeth had torn her to shreds.
As she’d lain on the sofa, gazing at the hem of her gown and waiting for the few guests who had arrived to take their leave, her aunt had spoken to her in soft and gentle tones. Lady Marksworth had mulled over various steps to be taken, but in the end, Cassandra had her way. She wished to go home. She wished to go on the morrow at first light.
Lady Marksworth would take her in her carriage and Peggy would stay behind to pack up her things. It was essential that she leave this horrid town. She must see her father and her dog and have all the familiar comforts of home surrounding her. She would miss Sybil, but she suspected that was all she would miss of this place. In any case, had she decided to stay, she must part with Sybil. The rumors had gone too far to allow her friend to be tainted by them, as brave and stalwart as that friend was.
Clara helped her out of her dress and Cassandra turned away from it. She could not bear to see that gown—it had represented everything hopeful and happy only hours ago.
*
Racine had neverseen a more sorrowful morning at Marksworth House since the master died. Lady Marksworth had been grim as she made the arrangements for the carriage to come round at dawn. Miss Cassandra had been pale, an almost ghostly figure, seated quietly on a sofa and waiting to depart.
Neither had taken much breakfast, though he had left out every interesting morsel to be found in the kitchen. As the ball had not come off, the kitchens were groaning under the weight of the food that was to have comprised the supper. Racine had been careful to leave all of that alone, there could not be any reminder of the disastrous evening that had just passed. Still, Miss Cassandra could not even be persuaded to take an almond biscuit to break her fast.
