She’d not been out since the ball at Carlton House and had rather enjoyed her time in. She, Lady Marksworth, and the dowager had grown very comfortable together and spent many an hour in the drawing room. She and Lady Marksworth sewed, but the dowager said she’d given it up long ago. Publicly, she blamed her eyes, but she admitted she just did not like it.
Sybil had come every day, with various reports of her previous evening’s activities. Cassandra was still hailed all over town as the innocent victim of a plot and the heroic savior of the dowager. Sybil also mentioned that she had not seen any of the gentlemen of the pact and had the idea they were not yet welcome most places. Cassandra hoped that would hold, those gentlemen ought to go home to the country and trouble her no more. She willfully ignored the flutter inside of her when she thought of one particular of those gentlemen—her mind could not be held responsible for what her feelings insisted on doing.
During this time of peace and quiet, Racine had been a veritable magician—always coming into the drawing room at just the right moment with biscuits and fairy cakes. The dowager was particularly fond of York biscuits and Racine made certain they were offered in abundance. It was well he did, as George appeared equally fond of them and had no compunction over stealing them off the tray.
Racine had got in the habit of taking George and May out to the back garden for exercise. They followed him so dutifully that Cassandra was fairly sure there were York biscuits in his pockets. Cassandra sometimes watched them romp down the paths and around bushes, George attempting to run with an oversize branch in his mouth and May gamely trying to take it from him but rarely succeeding.
It had been days of peaceful domesticity, but now it was time to venture out once more. Cassandra took a deep breath as she stepped over the threshold of Blakeley House.
Lady Blakeley, dressed in a magnificent royal blue kimono, rushed to greet her and her aunt.
“Lady Marksworth, Miss Knightsbridge,” she said, “I am so pleased you’ve come. We are honored, as I imagine your front hall filled to the brim with invitations.”
“As it happens,” Lady Marksworth said, laughing, “but Cassandra wished to accept only a few and I happily obliged.”
“I was determined only to see my real friends,” Cassandra said.
Lady Blakeley nodded. “Indeed. Those that sway with the winds are not to be depended upon, though they may be pitied for their lack of internal fortitude. Now,” she said, taking Cassandra’s arm, “let me take you in. We are to be a fairly small party this evening.”
At the drawing door, Lady Blakeley leaned close to Cassandra’s ear and said softly, “Remember what I said at Carlton House—there is a difference between those that are thoroughly bad and those who have done a bad thing.”
At first, Cassandra did not know why Lady Blakeley should have chosen that moment to repeat her admonishment. She soon did, though.
Lord Hampton stood in the drawing room, staring at her intently. In fact, he was the only person there.
He made his way over to her. “Miss Knightsbridge,” he said.
The lord was as handsome as he had ever been, and once more Cassandra felt a pang that he could not be that lord she’d invented in her mind—selfless, kind and brave. That melancholy feeling gave way to the simmering rage that was as a boiling pot of water. It was the burning rage that was always there, if sometimes lurking under the surface of her thoughts. She worked to keep her expression neutral. She would not allow him to discompose her.
Lady Blakeley had disappeared back to the front hall. Cassandra turned to Lady Marksworth. “Aunt?” she said.
Lady Marksworth, having got to know her niece much better over the season, and holding her own personal opinions of the gentlemen of the pact, said, “You do not need to speak to him if you do not wish it. I will inform Lady Blakeley that he is not to take you into dinner.”
Cassandra nodded. Lord Hampton said, “If I might just have a word. That is all I ask.”
While Cassandra knew the proper thing would be to say nothing and take herself off to some corner of the room, the anger that had festered for all these weeks would not allow it.
“A word?” she said. “What possible word could you have to say to me that I would be remotely interested in hearing?”
“Please, I ask you to only give me a moment. Lady Blakeley was kind enough to give you the time as a half hour early so I might accomplish it.”
Cassandra was rather shocked that Lady Blakeley would be his conspirator. Rather shocked that she would have invited him at all.
“You have no need to ever look upon me again, if you would just allow me this moment,” the lord said.
Cassandra could see he was intent on being persistent. She could also feel that the lord might not be the only person with something to say. In truth, she thought she might have quite a few things to say before they parted forevermore.
She allowed herself to be led to the far side of the room. Lady Marksworth called after her, “I shall be right here for you, Cassandra.”
At the pianoforte, Lord Hampton said, “You must know how deeply sorry I am for what occurred. I have no excuse for it, except to say I had never imagined it would grow so serious and took every step I could think of to stop it.”
None of this was particularly striking to Cassandra. It was precisely what she imagined he would say.
“Before my grandmother went to you,” the lord went on, “I had resolved to go to Surrey and apply to your father… apply to you. You see, I had thought I might—”
“You thought you might gain absolution and go on your merry way,” Cassandra said. “It is fortunate you did not arrive, my lord. I was much in the company of a gun and might have removed your head from your shoulders.”
There. She’d said it. She’d got the opportunity to say what she really felt. All the burning rage that had sat in her like a stone, wrapped up in a very neat picture for him to consider. It felt as a great relief, as if she had been in danger of bursting if she did not give voice to it.
