Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (15 page)

Ned laughed, but he was touched by the blatant admiration he saw in Teddy's eyes. "It's Ned, Teddy. And, yes, I did ride Brutus and of course you may go see him. I expect he would enjoy it as I have been a rather dull companion to him lately."

"Oh, thank you, thir ... I mean Ned," Teddy added shyly. On the point of a departure as precipitate as his entrance, he recalled his original errand and turned back to Freddie, asking, "Uncle Freddie, could you come and pitch for me? I want to try my new cricket bat, but John Coachman can't spare Jim at the moment, tho..." Teddy's voice trailed off disconsolately.

"I'm sorry, Teddy," Freddie began apologetically, glancing at the clock on the mantel, "but I promised Fortescue I would meet him at Tattersall's. Why don't you ask Cassie?"

"Cathie?" Teddy sounded doubtful.

"She's a much better pitcher than I am, you know," Freddie admitted generously. Always loath to let his twin take all the glory, he couldn't resist adding, "But she's hopelessly cow-handed with a bat."

Teddy remained looking dubious until Ned added, "Don't underestimate your aunt Cassie. She and Freddie played together as children and she always could do everything he did—sometimes better." He grinned at the sputtering sound behind him.

Convinced that if his hero said it, it must be so, Teddy wasted no time in racing off in search of his aunt while Wellington, Nelson, and Ethelred, having learned from their recent experience, followed at a more judicious distance.

As Ned had surmised, Cassie was with Horace busily working at the Comte de Vaudron's. Feeling guilty about having abstained from visiting the comte because she had wished to avoid Horace, Cassie had thrown herself back into their endeavor with renewed energy and had happily spent her morning amid friezes and fragments of statues. She enjoyed the quiet of the comte's library after the constant bustle of Mainwaring House, but even more, she enjoyed the feeling of silent companionship as she, Horace, and the comte sat working, each absorbed in his or her own particular project.

There had been more commotion than usual in Grosvenor Square that morning as Mainwaring House girded its loins for the ball in honor of Cassie's come-out. Frances, ordinarily the least ostentatious of hostesses and the most sympathetic of sisters, this time had turned a deaf ear to Cassie's remonstrances.

"Fanny, there's not the least need to go to all that bother," Cassie protested. "I've been introduced to most of the ton already. They know and I know I shall never cut a dash, so there's really no need to bring me to their attention further. I've met enough of them to feel certain that I don't wish to spend my entire life in society. I'm happy as I am, so a ball is really to no purpose." She did not add, though she might have, that since she also had an extremely eligible prospect, there was no longer any reason for her to be introduced to marriageable young men. It was common knowledge in the household that since Lord Mainwaring's return, Horace had been assiduous in his efforts to seek the marquess out but had met with little success. With unerring instinct he always seemed to arrive at Grosvenor Square just minutes after Julian had left.

"And a good thing, too," Higgins commented, unbending a little to confide in Cook. Ordinarily the most dignified of mortals, who would never indulge in anything so far beneath him as to gossip, especially with his inferiors, Higgins found this matter to be of such serious concern that he relaxed his rigid principles. "This Horace Wilbraham is not the match for her. Our Cassie wants someone who's awake on every suit. He is far too dull for her. She would be bored within a month and she could never get along for long with someone made as nervous by horses as he is."

Cook nodded sagely as she handed him another slice of plum cake. Aye, you re in the right of it, Mr. Higgins. Our Miss Cassie's much too lively for the likes of him. She wants someone who knows all about them Greek fellows she's so interested in as well as someone who will help her cut a dash. Leastways, she's much too pretty to waste her life as a spinster. She needs a man who is adventurous as Master Freddie but with a little more in the brain box." She paused for a moment, fixing a ruminative stare on the remains of the plum cake. "She needs someone like Master Ned," she announced at last.

Higgins appeared to be much struck by this idea. "Master Ned," he murmured thoughtfully. "You may have something there, Mrs. Wilkins. I must see what I can discover about this situation. Certainly the prospect of young Mr. Wilbraham as a husband for Miss Cassie doesn't bear thinking of."

But for the time being Higgins had to set aside this concern for his young mistress's future as he was far too busy doing his best to ensure that the ball to be given in honor of Lady Cassandra Cresswell would be the most talked of event of the Season. He threw himself into the supervision of silver polishing and chandelier washing, spending more time than he cared to think of ordering the proper quantities of champagne and flowers, making sure there were enough link boys engaged, and worrying over the procurement of the miles of red carpet to be laid out to the street. And though he left the preparation of the quantities of lobster patties, jellies, chantillies, ices, and sweetmeats to Cook, he kept a proprietary interest in it all and made certain, having spent much time discussing such matters over a pint of ale with contemporaries from other great houses, that nothing but the best was being served at Mainwaring House.

On a smaller scale. Rose, Cassie's maid, was putting forth her best efforts to make sure that Cassie was in her best looks for the big event. She watched her mistress with a more observant eye than usual to make certain that she didn't set a foot out of doors without a bonnet and a parasol. "Because you know Miss Cassie," she confided in Lady Frances's maid, more intimately known to Rose as her eldest sister Daisy. "If I didn't keep a sharp eye on her, she would forget either one or both and be brown as an Indian in no time."

It was at Rose's urging that a protesting Cassie went more than her usual one time to Madame Regnery to be fitted. When Cassie pointed out to her that Madame knew her figure and all its flaws better than its owner did. Rose turned mulish. It s as much as my position is worth. Miss Cassie, to see that you do us all proud. It is already outside of enough the airs and graces Miss Arabella Taylor's Susan puts on. I've borne with them for years because we all know your mind is on higher things, but allowing her to have the least cause to put on airs because her mistress criticizes your toilette at your own ball is something I will not do, no matter how much it displeases you. I have my pride, after all, and no mistress of mine is going to be outdone by that creature."

"Very well. Rose," Cassie sighed. "I had no notion I was such a trial to you, but I can see that you have had to put up with a good deal all these years."

"Not at all. Miss Cassie," Rose contradicted her stoutly. "You're far more beautiful than Miss Arabella. Aye, you may stare, brunettes being all the rage, but your nose is much better and your chin won't run to fat the way hers will, mark my words. What's more, your skin and curls owe nothing to art." Seeing Cassie's look of patent disbelief. Rose defended herself. "Well, everyone is aware that she paints ... or at the very least she uses the rouge pot and blackens her lashes. It's common enough knowledge, but Susan is forever complaining of the hours she has to spend with all sorts of lotions and powders, making her mistress look her best. Why you would be astounded at the goings-on."

"Arabella?" Cassie was horrified. The idea of painting conjured up an image of a sophisticated woman far more exciting than the person she had seen skin her knees and fall off her pony times out of mind.

"Yes, Miss Arabella," Rose maintained firmly. "And what's more, her curls aren't natural either." Again Cassie appeared to be completely taken aback by this revelation. "The amount of time Susan spends to make those ringlets would make your head spin. Why her hair is as straight as a board!" Rose shook her head.

"Gracious, this certainly has been a most enlightening afternoon," Cassie commented. Still too bemused by this surprising information to absorb it all, she allowed herself to be helped into her pelisse and hustled off to Madame Regnery's elegant establishment on South Moulton Street where she meekly endured a tedious hour of being pushed and prodded while Madame's minions draped and pinned.

The extraordinary efforts of all the staff were well worth it, and those waiting to be helped out of carriages the next evening in front of a Mainwaring House ablaze with the light from quantities of flambeaux were already labeling it a dreadful squeeze even before they mounted the great marble staircase. There was such a crush of vehicles that the link boys, John Coachman, and the lads from several of the neighboring stables had their hands full helping the carriages maneuver up to the doorway to deposit their occupants.

Cassie, standing at the head of the stairs with Frances and Lord Mainwaring, couldn't remember when Mainwaring House had looked so elegant.

"It certainly outdoes the way it looked for my come-out," Lady Kitty Willoughby assured her as she greeted Cassie warmly. "And that was voted the event of the Season."

Cassie was astounded at the sheer numbers of beautifully clad women, their shoulders glittering with splendid jewels, accompanied by elegant men in satin knee breeches who mounted the stairway to greet them before proceeding to the ballroom, where the banks of flowers, masses of candles, and musicians all contrived to overwhelm the senses.

Rose finally had her way, and Cassie who had submitted to many more hours in the preparation of her toilette than she would have ordinarily allowed, was in her best looks. Wearing a round dress of Urling's net over a white satin slip, the skirt trimmed with flounces of lace, she looked ethereal and innocent among the brightly colored assemblage. Her mother's magnificent baroque pearls emphasized the creamy smoothness of her skin. Pearls also anchored the lozenges of her corsage and were sewn in the rouleaux of satin that trimmed the short puffed sleeves. Rose had prevailed upon her to allow her hair to be dressed in a more elaborate style than the simple ones preferred by Horace. At Cassie's protests that these were the types he favored, Rose had snorted, "Hah! And what does Master Horace know, I'd like to know. He's head over heels in love with you as it is. Besides, it's the ladies you want to impress. They're the ones who gossip. Except for a few very elegant gentlemen like Mr. Bertie Montgomery, men don't give a fig for such things, but they do notice them if a woman points out to them, and rest assured, people like Miss Arabella Taylor take every opportunity to do so."

So Cassie had given in and permitted Rose to dress her hair in the French style with the back hair brought up to the top of her head and held in place with a garland of white roses, while a profusion of curls, "nat'ral, every one of them," Rose had declared with satisfaction, framed her face. "Just you watch. Miss Cassie," she had admonished her mistress, "if that Miss Arabella dares to wear curls this evening, they'll go limp with all the heat, because it's bound to be a sad crush." With that, she had given a final pat to her mistress's coiffeur, twitched a flounce on her dress, and sent her on her way.

If she had been able to see her mistress leading off the first dance with Lord Mainwaring, Rose would have been reassured that her ministrations had not been in vain. Though she did not rate it high on her favorite list of activities, Cassie was possessed of a natural grace and coordination which made her a beautiful dancer. To see her coupled with as adept a partner as Lord Mainwaring, whose powerful frame elegantly clad in black evening clothes provided the perfect foil for her slim figure encased in shimmering white, quite took the breath away of even the most casual of observers. No matter that brunettes were all the rage, Cassie's cloud of golden hair and her dark blue eyes fringed with dark lashes only emphasized the freshness of her complexion. Compared with the gaudy sophisticates around her, whose faces were pictures of weary boredom or self-interest, she presented such a contrast of innocence and vitality that it caused the pulses of more than one male bystander to quicken.

Even Freddie, who ordinarily remained blithely unaware of the competitive spirit rampant in the fashionable world, remarked to his twin as he led her through the quadrille, "You're looking fine as fivepence, Cass."

"Why thank you, Freddie," she responded, surprised and touched by this brotherly encomium.

Freddie nodded as sagely as if he had been an acute observer of the social scene for years instead of the past hour. "Tell you what, you take the shine out of every lady here. Even Fortescue told me he thought you looked to be in prime twig, and you know Forty, you have to be a horse, and a sweet goer at that, to rate such praise from him," he volunteered.

"That is praise indeed. I am truly overcome, Cassie agreed, her eyes dancing. If you say any more, I shall fear you're offering me Spanish coin and that you're angling for something like borrowing my horse Chiron or wanting me to do some disagreeable task such as writing a letter for you."

Freddie looked aggrieved. "Lord, Cass, can't a fellow offer you a compliment without your being so blasted suspicious?"

His sister laughed. "Forgive me, Freddie. It's just that you are so much in the way of pointing out what's wrong with my seat as I take a jump or the way I hold a cricket bat that I'm not accustomed to your praise and I don't know how to react properly. I do appreciate it, and your approval means more to me than most because you are often odiously candid about my flaws. Thank you."

"Now that's more the spirit a compliment should be received in," her twin remarked, accepting this handsome apology with an air of noble condescension.

Their tete-a-tete was interrupted by Ned, who strolled over to claim his dance. He led Cassie so energetically around the floor that she was quite out of breath when Bertie appeared to claim her in the waltz he had reserved the minute he had received the gilt-edged invitation.

Casting an experienced eye over her toilette, he nodded approvingly. "That's an exceedingly elegant rig, Cassie. Madame Regnery outdid herself this time ... not that she didn't have an inspiring model."

"Why thank you, Bertie," Cassie responded in a highly gratified tone. "Coming from such an exacting arbiter of taste and fashion as you, that is high praise indeed!" And Cassie was flattered. Constant and true a friend though he might be, Bertie Montgomery never allowed his exquisite sensibilities to be blinded by loyalty. Indeed, he considered that the several occasions he had rendered the greatest assistance to his friends had been when his obstinate criticism had helped them to avert sartorial disasters.

He shuddered even now to think how close old Ponsonby had actually been to wearing a waistcoat of a particularly violent shade of yellow had not Bertie fortuitously appeared just as he was leaving the house in Curzon Street. Even such a nonpareil as Lord Julian Mainwaring, Bertie's oldest friend and schoolmate, had been known to have second thoughts when Bertie, upon encountering him, had looked vaguely troubled and asked, "Are you sure you want to be seen in that cravat, old man?" Thus his approbation was an accolade of which Cassie could justifiably be proud, and though she normally did not devote a great deal of thought to her appearance once she had dressed, she did feel a glow of confidence knowing that the others considered her to be in her best looks.

The exertions on the dance floor added a becoming flush to her cheeks and the humidity of the crowded ballroom made the few golden tendrils escaping from her coiffeur curl so delightfully around her animated face that more than one bracket-faced dowager remarked that the youngest of Belinda Carstairs's daughters was a remarkably pretty gel. And among the male observers, bored by Seasons of new faces entering society, more than one young buck was heard to say that Freddie CresswelPs sister was turning into a "demmed beauty."

By the end of the dance, Cassie was breathless and her feet were beginning to ache, so it was with relief that she realized her next dance was promised to Horace. She knew he could be counted on to prefer sitting quietly on the sidelines to maneuvering around a crowded floor. But when Bertie, casting an eye around the ballroom, remarked, "And now, having had the great honor of dancing with the belle of the ball, I shall take you to your next partner, wherever he is," Horace was nowhere to be seen.

After searching the assemblage for some minutes, Cassie finally identified him amid a clump of men earnestly discussing something intriguing enough to render them totally oblivious to their surroundings and their social obligations. "There," she pointed him out to Bertie.

"Well, I call that pretty cavalier behavior," Bertie commented, taking her arm. "Yes, and foolish, too. If he don't take care, one of the many pinks of the ton who's been admiring you all evening is likely to steal you from under his nose. Horace always was a slow top."

Cassie laughed. Nevertheless, she flushed with pleasure as she replied, "Doing it much too brown, Bertie. I'm no incomparable, but you certainly make me feel like one."

It was Bertie's turn to blush, but he was saved from making any response as they had reached the group that contained Horace, Ned, that noted classicist and president of the Society of Antiquaries, the Earl of Aberdeen, and several others whom Cassie did not recognize.

"Ah, ma chere Cassie, exclaimed the comte, turning to take her hand. "Come, you must take my place. Milord has been asking how our work progresses. You must tell him while I go in search of Lady Montague, to whom I promised a waltz."

The Earl greeted Cassie courteously. "I heard that you are following in the footsteps of your estimable father and mother. You were fortunate in having such diligent and devoted scholars as parents. They were an inspiration to us all and we miss them sorely. But at least we have someone equally brilliant in the Comte de Vaudron to carry on their valuable work. And your colleague, Horace here, bids fair to joining their select group. He has been telling me how his interpretation of the object on one of the friezes as peplos establishes the sex of a previously unidentified figure and thus makes it clear that the procession represented is a celebration of the Panathenaea. A brilliant piece of deduction. I saw the frieze myself and was at a loss, but now, applying Horace's theory, I see it makes perfect sense."

All thoughts of her gay surroundings vanished and Cassie felt a cold chill wash over her. A knot hardened in her stomach. She felt as she once had when Freddie, in one of their few true fights, had sought to tip her a leveler and had punched her in the stomach instead, knocking the wind out of her. The shock of Horace's deceit and betrayal left her cold and shaking. Mustering-all her courage, she gritted her teeth, smiled brilliantly, and replied, "Yes we discussed it at some length and it does seem to be the most reasonable way to look at it. Horace is very quick to adopt new ideas." She looked around, desperately searching for some excuse to leave, but seeing none, fixed her eyes on a pillar, remarking, "But I see my sister beckoning me. I must go to her. I do apologize for leaving such an interesting discussion." With this she fled as precipitately as possible, trying not to reveal her anger or her pressing wish to be somewhere by herself.

The only escape lay in the garden. Glancing quickly around to assure herself that no one would notice or remark on her exit, she slipped through the open French window and into the peace and quiet outside. The glow from the ballroom made the obscurity of the yew-lined walk around the perimeter walls appear even darker than usual. It was here she fled to lean against the cold mossy wall, her breath coming in gasps as she clenched and unclenched her hands and tried to blink back the tears of rage that sprang to her eyes.