The library doors were thrown open. Mayhem, as she had heard the commotion outside, was just behind the door and prepared to throw herself into the fray, whatever the fray might be. The mastiff flung herself at Cassandra, nearly knocking her over. Then, she proceeded to race around the library to show her wild approbation over this unexpected arrival. She snatched a book off a shelf for good measure and tossed it in the air, before coming to a stop at her mistress’s feet.
“My wonderful May,” Cassandra said quietly. “How I have missed your innocent enthusiasm.”
She led May to a sofa near the windows. It was known to be for the exclusive use of the dog, May having claimed it as a puppy and it being generally so covered in dog hair as to make it unsuitable for human use. Cassandra did not particularly care about covering her traveling dress in dog hair and happily ensconced herself on it. May leapt up and flung her heavy head on her adored mistress’s lap.
The viscount and Lady Marksworth sat together on the other side of the room, talking quietly.
Cassandra only heard bits and pieces, but from what she could gather, neither her aunt nor her father could fathom where the rumor of the three engagements had come from. Lady Marksworth suggested that Cassandra stay in Surrey for a year or two—perhaps her niece would meet a local gentleman who would suit.
Her father, however, had other ideas. He’d already made inquiries into hiring an investigator. He would discover the culprit. That person would be punished, Cassandra’s name cleared, and her rightful place restored to her.
Finally, there was some hushed talk of a certain Lady Montague until her father said, rather loudly, “I do not care who the lady thinks she is, I’ll go to London and straighten out the harridan myself if I have to.”
Cassandra could not say if she cared one way or another what was done. She was home and there was a feeling in the house of being cushioned from all harm. No matter what went on out in the world, that awful world could not encroach upon Trebly Hall. All the whispers and unkind words could stay where they were—they would not gain entrance here.
The night before, as she had stared into the darkness and considered her future, she’d nearly decided that she would not marry at all. Why should she? Her father’s estate was not entailed. She would inherit all of it. Of course, he’d had the idea that she would have sons and one of the younger might take it over, rather than choose the military or the clergy. But might she not manage on her own? She thought she knew enough of the estate’s business to do so—she understood animal husbandry and planting and how to manage a tenant. She had taken over the supervision of the apple orchard and the subsequent cider-making some years ago. She might get on very well and if she took that course, she would not answer to anybody. The wags in London might talk until they were breathless, but they would not be heard.
She might give up trying to be a perfect little lady and, instead, pick up a shotgun whenever she liked. She might simply be who she always was. It would come as a relief, really. She would never have to step foot in that poisonous town again.
She would, of course, miss Sybil terribly. The lady had been such a stalwart ally! Still, she could write and once Sybil was a married lady she might visit, assuming her husband did not condemn the connection.
Cassandra pushed away an idea that kept inconveniently surfacing in her mind. It was becoming more and more uncomfortable to imagine what some people might think of her upon hearing of the three engagements. In particular, what Lord Hampton might think. Had he and his friends all arrived early to her ball, knowing of impending disaster and wishing to see how it unfolded? It stung to think so, as she had begun to believe that they developed a friendship through their mutual interests. But perhaps he had only toyed with her and found it amusing.
She was confounded by his face persisting in her mind. His dark hair and darker eyes and his… she did not really know what it was about him. They had not met well, but then somehow had got on well. He’d paid her marked attention and his attention felt a bigger compliment, as it was not easily earned. Now, she felt a fool for having wondered if he would take her into supper at her own ball. He could not admire her, not after what he would have heard.
The pang of it was deep and awful.
May interrupted her thoughts with a large lick to her hand, meant to remind her that her dog was very fond of an ear scratch.
Chapter Twelve
Edwin had beenmore than surprised to discover Miss Knightsbridge had decamped to Surrey so precipitously. According to the butler, she and Lady Marksworth had left at dawn.
If he had not fully comprehended the disaster that had befallen the lady, a rushed departure before the town woke must reveal it in all clarity. He did not knowwhatwould be said in every drawing room in the days to come, only that much would be said.
He’d had the inclination of rushing to Surrey to see Miss Knightsbridge there, but he had paused. He had not any connection to the viscount and, if he were to simply arrive unannounced, what should he say? My lord, I have been the architect of your daughter’s destruction and would now propose that we wed?
Any decent father would not hand over a daughter under such bizarre and unseemly circumstances. Any decent father might propose a private meeting at dawn instead, accompanied only by their respective seconds.
If he were to approach the viscount, and he was determined to do so, he must arrive better prepared. He must admit what he’d done, but then he must also explain what he’d done about it.
He’d felt that he and the other gentlemen of the pact had carried out all that could be done to counter the talk against Miss Knightsbridge. Now, he saw that was not so. Now, there must be more urgent steps taken. The first of those steps began at Lady Montague’s door.
He gazed around at the lady’s overdressed drawing room, it fairly bursting with Greek statuettes, portraits of those long dead, and strategically placed books meant to make one seem intelligent. It fairly screamed façade, and he supposed that was fitting. Had Lady Montague not been born high, he supposed she might have made a living on the stage.
“Lord Hampton,” the lady said, breezing into the room, “what a welcome surprise! I do not believe we have seen you since my ball.”
Edwin kept his face neutral, though he was always irritated by the lady’s use of the royal we.
“I hear you were in attendance at Marksworth House last evening?” Lady Montague continued. “A shame the lady was taken ill, but then it would not have been well attended in any case. I should have thought to alert you to the rumors before you sullied your person in that house, I do apologize for my carelessness.”
My God. He’d thought he’d have to bring up the topic himself, but the lady was eager to speak of it. She even appeared proud of her handiwork.
“I am well aware of the rumors, Lady Montague, as the gentlemen of the pact started them,” Edwin said. “We wished for some little trifle to go round to take eyes off of us. Unfortunately, more than a trifle went round, it’s all nonsense, and I am determined to rectify it.”
Lady Montague nodded approvingly. “You are very gallant, my lord, attempting to rescue the lady’s reputation. Sadly, it will not do.”
“Madam,” Edwin said, “it must do, as it is the truth. Further, I am aware of what you did to ensure low attendance at the lady’s ball.”
