Lord Hampton appeared taken aback and Cassandra suppressed a smile. She very much doubted anybody had ever spoken to him of removing his head from his shoulders.
He quickly recovered himself. “I sought to propose marriage,” he said. “It would have restored you to your rightful place.”
Cassandra’s breath caught. It was as the duke had hinted, though the duke had been under the impression his son had already asked and been declined.
Still, as handsome as he was, and as genial as he had been in her imagination, the thought of tying herself to this villain… well, it was impossible. She would not be his alibi, his convenient exit from shame.
“My lord,” she said quietly, “thanks to your grandmother, the prince and a collection of embarrassed dukes, I no longer need restoring. Furthermore, if I had needed such a service, I would no sooner tie myself to the author of my travails than I would throw myself off London Bridge. Your vanity and conceit know no bounds. I once informed you that not every lady is eager to know you; I am surprised you did not heed the idea. That is all that need be said on the subject.”
Cassandra turned and marched back to her aunt, leaving the lord at the pianoforte.
Lady Marksworth whispered in her niece’s ear. “If you wish to leave, I will make our excuses.”
Cassandra said, none too quietly, “It is the gentleman who should remove himself.”
Lord Hampton hesitated a moment, then he bowed, and left.
Chapter Eighteen
Having gained heraim and driven Lord Hampton from the house, Cassandra thought she should feel more satisfied than she did. She had made her point and forced the man out and yet… she did not know what she thought about it.
The idea that he would offer himself up in marriage as a penance. It was precisely what she and Sybil had sought to avoid—becoming trapped in a loveless marriage and left behind in the country for all her days. Surely, that was what he’d intended. He might proffer his hand and then glory in the sacrifice he’d made and take congratulations all round while she idled alone in some cavernous house with no nearby neighbors.
Shortly after Lord Hampton made his exit, Lady Blakeley came in. “He has told me everything. Please do not be angry, he is so heartsick I could not help it, though you find you cannot forgive him.”
Cassandra stared at Lady Blakeley. Heartsick? He was not heartsick. Why should she say so? Lord Hampton, heartsick? No, certainly not.
Was he? Had she misread his intentions? She really assumed that he offered his hand as some noble gesture he could think upon with pride. Had it been otherwise? Would it matter if it had been otherwise? That, she could not answer.
“It is no matter, Lady Blakeley,” Cassandra said in the steadiest voice she could muster. “You did what you thought to be right, and so did I.”
“Very well,” Lady Blakeley said more cheerfully. “I hope then, that you can forget the little encounter that has just occurred and manage to enjoy the evening. Lord Burke will come, and I will have him take you into dinner. If anybody can amuse, it is him.”
Cassandra felt rather numb, as if she had fallen through the ice on a vast lake and somehow been pulled out. She sank down on a sofa, not particularly sure if her legs could hold her up at the moment.
She scolded herself for it. She must recover her spirits. It was true that Lord Burke could not fail to amuse anybody who wished to be amused. She must make a very great effort to be amused. She could think of Lord Hampton later. Or preferably, not at all.
*
Edwin did notgo immediately home. Rather, he trotted his horse through the dark streets, the gloom suiting his mood.
Lady Blakeley had been so set on the idea that Miss Knightsbridge’s feelings must soften, but she had been mistaken. The lady’s feelings were as iron and included shooting off his head.
His father was right, he was an idiot.
He’d begun the season bemoaning the directive to choose a wife. He’d been determined to do everything in his power to outfox the old man and remain a comfortable bachelor.
Edwin laughed bitterly to think of how hard he’d been willing to work to avoid falling prey to a lady. Now, he’d worked equally hard to gain one, all to no avail.
His debasement as a footman had not been enough for Miss Knightsbridge. His apology had not been enough either. If he were honest with himself, there was likely not anything he could do or be that would be enough.
Some other lucky gentleman would win the lady. Someday, he really would have to marry and then he would be forced to look upon that unwanted lady, always comparing her to what might have been. His wife would be an ever-constant reminder of what he’d destroyed.
Still, he’d brought himself to this pass and could not blame another. He must just become accustomed to unhappiness. Perhaps it would fade to a dull regret over time.
A rat scurried underneath his horse and it startled, sidestepped and then reared, nearly forcing him off. Regaining control and coming back to the present, Edwin looked about.
He no longer traveled on cobblestone, but rather a wet clay squelched under his horse’s hooves. Narrow streets ran off in every direction, the houses that lined them seeming to lean toward one another as if ready to collapse. The air was heavy with the smell of refuse and smoke. No lamplighter had dared enter the neighborhood to shed illumination on his surroundings, though if theyhadEdwin was certain he would have seen gaunt figures huddled in doorways.
