He stood. “We know our duty, let us carry it out. Now, I am late for an appointment.” He left Dalton’s library as fast as his legs could carry him.
*
Lady Marksworth hadleft Trebly Hall and returned to London. She wrote regular letters, both to the viscount and Cassandra, informing them of what was being said in town. These letters differed entirely from the regular letters Cassandra received from Sybil, who worked painstakingly to avoid any topic that might cause grief and so generally described the weather in minute detail.
For some weeks, Lady Marksworth’s letters held nothing of particular note, excepting that most people were very much relieved that the Montagues had gone home. Lady Marksworth said that while nobody would claim it outright, the general feeling was that all wished Lady Montague’s cough to be rather serious.
Then, on a bright and sunny morning, a letter arrived that turned Cassandra’s thoughts on their head.
My dear niece,
As I have written your father, the investigator here still has not tracked down where this terrible rumor began. However, a most interesting development has occurred. The gentlemen of the pact all now claim that it was they who invented it. They say it was to take scrutiny away from themselves. A flimsy story, at best. Nobody believes them for a moment, but all the talk revolves around how admiring they are of Miss Knightsbridge to attempt such a rash scheme to explain away the gossip. It is said that Lord Hampton is particularly vocal with the story and has been announcing it to all and sundry.
Though the idea is not considered creditable, I will say that I think it has softened opinion toward you. After all, how is a baron’s wife or an earl’s daughter to condemn a lady held up as blameless by six gentlemen who will one day be dukes of the realm?
It also does not hurt that Lady Montague is away from the scene, as many are better able to form their own opinions when she is not nearby to correct them.
I would not say the tide has turned in your favor, but I think it ceases to rise.
All my Love,
Aunt Catherine
Cassandra dropped her aunt’s letter, then swiftly picked it up again before May could chew it to bits.
If the gentlemen came to her defense, then they could not have arrived to her ball simply to observe a blossoming disaster. Perhaps they’d seen the disaster coming and came to support her side?
But why should they defend her so vigorously? Why should Lord Hampton do so?
She could only think of one reason, and it gave her a shiver to think of it. Might it be true that he had some interest in her that was marked?
Since she had been home, the lord’s face had been somewhat relentless in presenting itself to her mind. She had all but given up attempting to chase it away. Rather, if she were never to marry, surely there was no harm in living a romance in her imagination. Nobody should know of it but herself, it might be her own private world she could retreat to when she felt too alone. In fact, it might be the best of all worlds, as an imaginary gentleman could never disappoint her. He would act just as she wished and they would always be in the first blush of love.
She’d tried the idea on any number of faces she’d seen in London. Lord Burke had seemed a likely candidate, but she found her thoughts always going to jokes and stories, there was no romance in it. Lord Lockwood was too… something. Others were… not quite right. It was only the imaginary Lord Hampton that caused a flutter. And, the more she thought of him, the more she felt it.
It had all been a pleasant dream. As she reread her aunt’s letter, she determined she should not see anything in it. She must not begin to hope for some reality that would begin to match her wild imagination. Daydreaming was perfectly fine, but she would set herself up for even more heartache if she allowed herself to hope for anything in the real world.
For all that, though, it was gratifying to know that she was defended.
*
Cassandra’s father hadhired two investigators who worked together—one canvassing London and the other making inquiries in Surrey. The viscount was determined to discover who had launched the rumors against his daughter.
Cassandra wished he’d give it up. She did not think he would ever find success and each time he met with Mr. Cringle or read a letter from Mr. Shanks it brought all the first bursts of outrage back upon him.
Mr. Shanks had written a rather victorious letter about the gentlemen of the pact confessing their crime against Miss Knightsbridge, only to have to be told that it was a ridiculous fiction that nobody believed. The viscount began to question Mr. Shanks’ judgment—if the man could not see through such a ludicrous account, how was he to recognize the truth when he found it?
Mr. Cringle turned up every Wednesday, his meetings with the viscount were not long and her father was never happy at the end of them. Everybody in the neighborhood had heard the rumor and it seemed agreed upon that the notion had begun in Surrey. Different theories floated about the environs of Trebly Hall with no more sense in them than ducks bobbing on a lake. There was much finger pointing and the circumstance began to be used whenever a person wished to accuse an enemy. It had devolved to such ridiculous degrees that two elderly women having a dispute over a basket of washing had accused each other of having invented the tale. Cassandra’s friend, Lily Farnsworth, did her best to hush the talk, but with little success.
Lily visited and did her level best to cheer Cassandra but did not have much success. Cassandra had determined that she would not rejoin local society. At least, not yet. Dinners and balls held little attraction just now and she had no wish to find herself the object of interest at a neighbor’s table.
If there were any little thing that had given Cassandra pleasure, it was the gifting of two of her evening dresses to Lily. With very little alteration, she’d already worn one to a local assembly. It pleased Cassandra to know her friend wore new dresses, instead of refurbishing old ones with various bits and bobs.
Lily had been hesitant to take such a gift, but Cassandra reasoned she’d have little use for those gowns now. Privately, she thought all hope of redemption was lost and she’d best accept her lot, such as it was. There would be no schedule of London balls needing dresses.
Her father did not at all agree and would persist with the investigators.
Aside from his dealings with the investigators, the viscount had made every effort to see that his daughter was comfortable. He suggested outings but acquiesced when she declined. She spoke to him of never marrying and he took the news with seeming equanimity, though Cassandra did not think he believed in the idea. She told him she was done attempting to be a proper little miss and would return to her old ways of going on, shotgun included. The viscount was highly approving of that idea, as he’d never disapproved of her ways and felt that at least it would draw her from the house, shotguns being known for their unsuitability indoors.
