Cassandra curtsied low to the prince.
He raised her up and said, “Miss Knightsbridge, the heroine of the hour. We are most grateful for your assistance on that terrible day when our dear Duchess found herself in peril.”
“It was nothing, Your Highness,” Cassandra said.
“You see,” the dowager said to the Prince Regent, “Miss Knightsbridge is not only brave, but modest, too.”
“Charming,” the prince said.
Cassandra felt the introduction had come off well and, as she made her way down the line, she kept an ear open for her father’s encounter. She was much relieved when nothing along the lines of “fat fool” came up in their blessedly brief conversation.
The dukes were all very civil and complimented her without directly mentioning what she had suffered at the hands of their sons. Did they know their sons were out of doors, dressed as footmen and helping guests from their carriages? Cassandra could not be sure, but it pleased her to think they did.
The last in the line was the Duke of Carlisle, Lord Hampton’s father. Cassandra could not but help feel more of a curiosity toward him than the others.
“Miss Knightsbridge,” the Duke said.
His voice was very like his son’s—low and deep, and only a bit scratchier from age.
“Your Grace,” Cassandra said.
“Address me as Duke, if you will,” he said.
Cassandra knew that to be the honor it was intended to be—she was in no way on an equal footing with a duke, but he would make it so.
“I am determined to be direct, Miss Knightsbridge,” the duke went on. “My son and his friends are idiots. They know it and we know it. I am not in the least surprised you rejected him. One cannot be expected to tie oneself to a gentleman with so little sense. Perhaps if he reforms himself you might reconsider. In the meantime, they are tasked with a role they highly deserve—may they be run off their feet this evening.”
Cassandra felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She was gratified that the duke condemned his son, and that he approved of their punishment. But, what did he mean, that she had rejected Lord Hampton? No offer had been made. No offer had even been hinted at. Surely, he was misinformed.
“Perhaps you are determined to betoodirect, Henry,” the dowager said behind Cassandra. “Now come, my dear, we do not wish to hold up the line and I believe there will be quite a queue. Everybody lucky enough to be invited will attend.”
Cassandra was led off by the dowager, all the while attempting to work out what the duke had alluded to.
They passed a remarkable set of stairs that swept up as if floating in the air and were led to a cloakroom. Cassandra was handed her dance card and saw with trepidation that the prince had taken the liberty of filling in the first. She had thought her interaction with royalty would begin and end at the door, that a successful introduction would be all that was required. Now, she was to open the dance with the Regent?
A footman who was blessedly not one of the gentlemen of the pact led them into a large, rectangular room decorated in an ornate fashion. Its walls were red silk and its vaulted ceiling an ornate plaster done in cream and gold. For all it spoke of wealth and splendor, Cassandra could see the telltale demarcation where wood not protected by a carpet had been lightened by the sun. A royal personage might live a very different life from the rest of England, but they must roll up their carpets for a ball, just as the rest of the nation did.
The musicians were smartly dressed and looked as serious as undertakers while they tuned their instruments. Cassandra thought they must take their part in the evening to be a high honor.
All of Cassandra’s party had arrived to the room, and Sybil was not far behind. She joined her friend and clasped her hands.
Cassandra had much to say to her friend and so pointed at a picture on the far side of the room and led Sybil there.
“The dress, Cassandra,” Sybil said. “It is the most marvelous gown I have ever seen. Really, it is fit for a princess.”
Cassandra had almost forgotten it. She looked down and took in a breath once more. It truly was remarkable, the jewels catching the candlelight and shimmering at her slightest movement. Still, she had more weighty ideas than diamonds to discuss with Sybil.
“You have seen them?” Cassandra asked. “The gentlemen of the pact?”
“I have,” Sybil said, “Lord Lockwood helped me out of my carriage. I nearly fell over. What is the meaning of it?”
“I believe it is meant as a punishment,” Cassandra said.
“Ah! Yes, that would explain it. And richly deserved, in my opinion.”
“But Sybil,” Cassandra said, feeling in a rush to say all she would say before they were interrupted, “the Duke of Carlisle said he did not blame me for refusing Lord Hampton.”
“Refusing what?” Sybil asked. “Oh, refusing his apology, of course. But, has he made one? Was he so bold as to speak to you on the drive?”
