It was with relief and pleasure that Cassandra was approached by one she was certain she could count on as a real friend—Lady Blakeley.
“My dear Miss Knightsbridge,” she said. “How charming you look. If I must guess, I would say the dowager has been raiding her diamond mine again.”
“Indeed, she has,” Cassandra said, “though I did protest it was too dear.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Blakeley said. “The dress is fitting for the times, I think. An innocent has been washed clean and sparkles like the sun. Meanwhile, the cobras have turned on each other. I understand a certain snake in Yorkshire has been firing off letters in every direction, and yet most of those letters go sadly unanswered.”
Cassandra knew this to be a reference to Lady Montague and her precipitous loss of influence.
“One hopes, though,” Lady Blakeley went on, “that forgiveness can be found for some others. It is one thing to be thoroughly bad, and another to have done a bad thing.”
Though Lady Blakeley did not explicitly say so, Cassandra guessed this was in reference to the gentlemen of the pact. She supposed she would be expected to at least pretend that their having been forced to act as footmen had been enough. She was not convinced it was. When what had befallen her played out in her mind, she thought she might only be satisfied if they were all made footmen forever.
“It is rather remarkable that the dowager should have come personally to see you in Surrey and taken such a marked interest,” Lady Blakeley said. “It is not everybody who could inspire her to part with so many diamonds.”
“Oh,” Cassandra said, “well I suppose it is due to her friendship with my father—they have long been correspondents.”
“Ah, and that is all, you think?”
With that enigmatic question, Lady Blakeley drifted away without waiting for her answer and a new crowd circled round her.
What did the lady hint at? Cassandra did not know but had little time to think of it. She was besieged with questions on the happenings the day the dowager’s carriage had been attacked.
It was not at once that the people in the room began to realize that the gentlemen of the pact acted as footmen. It would perhaps have taken more time than it did, had not Lord Dalton’s scar and his obvious contempt for his situation given them all away.
If Cassandra had wondered about how the rumors regarding herself had made their way around London, now she had a direct view. Once the true identities of the six footmen were known, there were glances and whispers and subtle pointings out. There were heads together and stifled laughter and rushes to tell a newcomer who may not have heard. The news of the gentlemen’s fates blew through the room like a brisk autumn breeze.
Cassandra laid a hand on Sybil’s arm and whispered, “I’d best tell my father about the footmen before he hears it elsewhere.”
Sybil had nodded and Cassandra made her way across the room. “Papa,” she said, taking his hand. She leaned close to his ear and whispered the facts of the case.
The viscount’s brows knitted. “Serves them right,” he said. “They will be lucky if I do not run them off their feet this night.”
“Quite right you should do so,” Cassandra said. “It is just what the Duke of Carlisle hopes for.”
The room had now thoroughly filled and Cassandra watched as the Regent entered, followed by the six dukes. The newly-made footmen were lined up on either side of the door and their fathers appeared fairly contemptuous of them as they walked past.
The Regent and the dukes made their way to the top of the room, the prince kindly offering his arm to Cassandra. The footmen were left at the door, presumably to cater to anybody’s needs. Should fingers snap, they would be expected to come running.
The crowd hushed as the Regent stood facing them.
“Welcome, my dear guests,” the prince said. “It is my privilege to host a ball in honor of our own Miss Knightsbridge, accompanied by her father, the esteemed Viscount Trebly, and her always charming aunt, Lady Marksworth. One hopes, with this circumstance before us, that we have all learned a valuable lesson on the nature of gossip and will refrain from that unsavory activity. Though, if one should wish to natter on about the state of my footmen on the morrow,thatparticular subject has my royal approval.”
Laughter spread across the room. Cassandra noted the gentlemen of the pact appearing stoic at the jab, with the exception of Lord Dalton, who looked on his way to murderous.
Lord Hampton seemed the most stoic of them, and the least offended. Cassandra supposed he’d decided to take his lumps. Why should he not? It was a rather easy payment for having almost ruined a lady. He might flush a few times before the night was through, but he’d wake up as a lord, whole again as if nothing had happened. Society might laugh at his expense tonight, but they would give him his due on the morrow.
“Miss Knightsbridge embodies all the best of England,” the prince went on. “With courage and a true heart, a combination nobody can best, she prevailed over dangerous highwaymen to rescue our dear Dowager Duchess of Carlisle.”
“Hear, hear,” the crowd murmured.
“Now,” the prince said, “before we open the ball, I believe the dukes may have something to say.”
The prince led Cassandra to the side and the dukes stepped forward.
The Duke of Gravesley said, “I speak for all of us when I say that we are honored that Miss Knightsbridge has consented to be our guest this evening. We are grateful that the viscount does not cut us or plan to meet our offspring at dawn. We are embarrassed by the actions of our own sons and we propose to make amends at the Viscount’s convenience and preference.”
“Hear, hear,” the crowd said louder.
