“And you believe this account, Mr. Cringle?” the viscount said. “I enquire because I do not think Mr. Longmoore has been in his right mind as of late.”
“It was the guilt that drove me mad!” Mr. Longmoore cried.
“I do believe his account,” Mr. Cringle said. “I have had corroborating evidence from our man in London. He has confronted Mr. Tuttle, the gentleman who approached Mr. Longmoore and one we both know well, and Tuttle refuses to confirm or deny. If it were not true, he would most certainly deny. Further, the gentlemen of the pact are putting the story about themselves. They have not been believed, but they should have been. Those gentlemen sought to divert gossip from themselves and Miss Knightsbridge paid the price for it. It seems they now attempt to rectify their villainy with little success.”
Could it be true? She had been ruined because six gentlemen did not wish to be talked about?
Of course it could be true. All the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. They had seen they’d gone too far and so suddenly they filled her dance card and they arrived early to her ball. It had not been kindness or admiration; it had been shame.
She had been such a fool to believe that they showed her such marked attention because the gossip had been about three of them escorting her from the park. She’d realized she had not grasped something when she understood the real gossip that made the rounds. She could not understand why they had rallied round her then. Now, she understood.
She felt tears sting as she remembered all her ridiculous imaginings of Lord Hampton. All along, he’d known the truth. He’d presented himself as a gentleman, all the while betraying her in the worst fashion. It had been a betrayal of Leviathan proportions, there was nothing worse that could be done to a lady beyond ruining her reputation and standing in the world.
In a terrible voice, the viscount said, “If this is so, Lord Dalton will answer for it at a dawn not too distant.”
Cassandra jumped from the sofa. Whatever was to happen next, she could not allow her father to fight a duel. She could not lose her father, and if he challenged Lord Dalton, she most certainly would. The man was hardened from the war, he’d be an expert shot.
She ran from the north room and burst into the library. “Father, please!” she cried. “Do not let the end of this be that I am here alone. I could not bear it.”
She crossed the room and threw herself into her father’s arms and sobbed.
The viscount stroked her hair and said, “Do not cry so.”
“But I must,” Cassandra said, nearly choking on her words. “I cannot stand to think of it!”
“My dear,” the viscount said softly, “what else am I to do? I am a man of honor, I cannot let this pass.”
Cassandra pulled away from her father and glanced at Mr. Longmoore. She said, “First, we will deal withthatperson. Later, we will decide what to do about Lord Dalton. In any case, it will not be just Lord Dalton. All of the gentlemen of the pact orchestrated this disaster and you cannot fight them all.”
“Miss Knightsbridge speaks the truth,” Mr. Cringle said. “Lord Dalton might have done the paying, but they all had a hand in this despicable business.”
Cassandra turned to Mr. Longmoore and said, “You, sir, will pack up your things and go to I know not where, nor do I care. If you do not absent yourself from this county, I will shoot you myself.”
Mr. Longmoore looked pleadingly at Mr. Cringle. “She would not!”
“She very well might,” Mr. Cringle said. “Then I would be forced to claim witness to the tragic accident.”
“But it would not be an accident!” Mr. Longmoore cried.
“So says you, though as you bled into the ground you would have no ability to claim it. Go and wait in the carriage, you sinner.”
Mr. Longmoore fairly fled the room. Cassandra had no doubt that he would leave as he was bidden.
“I must have justice,” the viscount said. “If I am not to kill them all, what am I to do?”
Chapter Thirteen
Mr. Cringle rubbedhis chin upon considering what the viscount might do, excepting killing all the gentlemen of the pact. “The gentlemen have owned to the misdeed. If only there were some way to convince society of their veracity. If that were accomplished, Miss Knightsbridge might go back to town with her head held high while they would be castigated. I have already got a sworn statement from Longmoore recanting everything he said.”
Cassandra reined in her roiling thoughts. It was a moment for practicality. She must attend the situation at hand. Whatever was to be done, she must ensure that her father remained safe. Those idiot gentlemen might have taken her reputation, but they would not take her father.
“I do not particularly wish to return to town,” Cassandra said. “Though I do not like the idea that I am prevented or that people still have my name on their lips. I would be satisfied if those gentlemen are recognized as scoundrels, and you must be too, papa.”
“One powerful person taking up the position that the gentlemen speak the truth might sway the rest,” Mr. Cringle said. “I do not suppose you could call upon the Prince Regent?”
The viscount rubbed his eyes. “I would not call upon that fat bumbler to lace my boots.”
Poor Mr. Cringle appeared deeply shocked by the sentiment. Cassandra supposed he was not so used to the viscount’s opinions on royal persons who did not appear to accomplish much aside from spending coin in the most profligate manner possible.
