Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (18 page)

Though Horace was unaware of any witnesses to his ignominious rout, there had been two who had enjoyed it hugely and shared it with the other members of the household. Higgins had been across the hallway in the dining room buffing silver when the door had opened and Horace emerged, looking harassed. From behind him issued the sounds of growling, hissing, and a muffled quacking. Curious, the butler shot a quick look in the library as he went to open the door and caught a glimpse of the phalanx of vicious and victorious animal defenders. It was with some difficulty that he was able to preserve his countenance as he bid Horace good day and closed the door behind the unfortunate young man. As it was, the minute he pushed the door to, he broke into a grin.

"And that's the last well see of that young man,
I’ll
be bound, Mrs. Wilkins," he confided to Cook. Once again, Higgins's devotion to the Cresswells and his recognition of a similar attitude on the part of the rest of the Mainwaring House staff, made him overcome his customary aloofness and sit down to dinner with them later in order to share the good news that, if he had interpreted the signs correctly, the Honorable Horace Wilbraham would no longer be calling at Grosvenor Square.

"I shall have to give Wellington and Nelson the remains of that joint I served last night," declared Cook. "And Ethelred shall have the rest of the poppyseed cake. Those good-for-nothings have certainly earned their keep this time."

"Ooooh, I am glad!" Rose exclaimed. "He wasn't up to snuff in the least. Miss Cassie deserves a real out-and-outer, she does." Rose, who had the most exacting standards for her mistress, had never been pleased with Horace, but familiar with Cassie's distaste for most of the young bucks, she had been grateful to him at least for escorting her mistress to the places where she might encounter gentlemen more her style. A high stickler where fashion was concerned, Rose had not appreciated Horace's influences on Cassie's toilette, as he encouraged her to wear the plainest of coiffeurs and the most drab colors, which contrived to make her look as dowdy as anything could make Cassandra Cresswell look. While Rose had not been privileged to observe her mistress in society, and therefore could not judge his influence on her character, she suspected that it was similar to his effect on her appearance, for it had seemed to her that since Cassie had met Horace she had been more quiet and serious and less vivacious than before.

"And good riddance to him," Rose concluded. But his departure did leave a gap and Cassie's maid was worried. "But now who will take her around?" she wondered aloud. "She's so particular about gentlemen and there are few who are fine enough for her."

Higgins smiled smugly. "I've a feeling that Master Ned will take care of Miss Cassie," he replied, nodding sagely.

Rose looked up in surprise. "But Miss Arabella," she began.

Adopting an even more astute expression, he elaborated, "Miss Arabella has overstepped herself this time, mark my words. And Master Ned isn't one to live under that cat's foot."

Rose frowned doubtfully. She was agog to know where the butler had come by this notion, but it wasn't her position to question the oracle, so she let it pass, remarking merely that she would like it above everything if Miss Cassie were to find herself a nonpareil like Mr. Ned.

Another witness to the humiliating scene in the library was Teddy, who had been hanging around the door in hopes that his aunt would be true to her word and not spend too much time with "that man."

"You thould have theen it, Jim," he confided later to his bosom buddy in the stable. "Wellington wath a real Trojan. He'th a fearth one all right. Ethelred and Nelthon were right behind him. That man' wath scared out of hith witth. I always knew there wath thomething havey-cavey about him. What a chicken heart," he concluded scornfully.

Off in an other corner of the stable, John Coachman muttered to himself as he mended a harness. "Well rid of that one she is. He's cow-handed,
I’ll
be bound, and our Miss Cassie would never be able to stand with that for long."

While the various members of the household were rejoicing at Horace Wilbraham's decampment, each for his or her own particular reasons, Cassie remained in the library deep in thought. In fact, she wondered at herself. It seemed as though, given the attachment between Horace and her, and all that they had shared together, she should be feeling desolate. Instead, her chief emotions, as nearly as she could sort them out, appeared to be anger and. . . could it be relief? The more she considered it, the more she realized that relief was just what it was. Though Horace had provided her with a companion who had participated in her interests and had proven that she could be appreciated beyond the requirements set by the ton, she had been aware, unconscious though it may have been, of a niggling sense of doubt about their friendship. As she examined it, the reason for this unease became clearer. It had not, she decided, been a true friendship because, to Cassie at least, friendship meant something shared between equals. Though they had enjoyed common interests and were alike in their rejection of the purely fashionable life of the ton for more serious pursuits, they had not been an even match. Though Cassie had reveled in having an escort who, instead of dismissing her as a bluestocking, could, on the contrary, understand and appreciate her ideas and could converse knowledgeably about them, she realized now that Horace had never challenged or stimulated her. Rather, he had resembled a sponge—soaking up her knowledge and her vivacity without giving a great deal in return.

At first she had rejoiced in his admiration and appreciation of her, but lately this appreciation had come to pall on her to a certain degree, for it had begun to seem as though the attributes he admired in her somehow redounded to his credit. It had happened so slowly as to be unnoticeable at first, but now it dawned on her that gradually he had begun to irk her. She had refused to recognize this irritation, putting it down instead to the natural change in feelings that occurred as a result of increasing familiarity. Of course the excitement one felt upon first discovering someone who could partake of one's views of the world would decrease as one became accustomed to it and began to take it more for granted. And naturally the first unquestioning enthusiasm one felt for this person and this friendship would cool as one became better acquainted. Cassie realized now

that it had not been the normal lessening of ardor as infatuation was replaced by the less exciting but more long-lived emotion of friendship, but that her irritation had been caused by her slow and virtually unconscious awakening to the fact that while Horace provided her with an escort who appreciated the same things, he gave her little else. Furthermore, as she had discovered at the ball, not only did he not provide her with much, he took from her.

As she reviewed all this in her mind, Cassie began to realize all the things she had been missing in their relationship. For all their similar interests, she had felt no sense of intimacy. She would have felt less inclined to confide in Horace than she would have in Freddie or even Rose. And though he could speak with more knowledge than most people on a very few isolated subjects, beyond those, Horace did not offer much in the way of conversation, and even less in the way of wit. As she considered it, Cassie concluded that he had no humor whatsoever. It was this lack of humor that led to a certain rigidity of mind that had made her uncomfortable. All in all, she was well out of it, and though the discovery that he and his friendship had failed to fulfill her initial hopes and expectations made her sad, she was glad that she had awakened to her delusion soon enough to avoid committing herself to him further. Still, it was a somewhat melancholy thought that perhaps there was no one out there who could offer her what Horace had appeared to offer.

That's enough moaning, my girl, she scolded herself. Falling into a fit of the dismals won't help you in the least, and it certainly won't help Teddy with his cricket. Giving herself an admonitory shake and calling to Wellington and the others, Cassie arose and went in search of her nephew.

Teddy was soon located in the garden aimlessly thwacking the ball around and whistling tunelessly. He broke into a grin the moment his aunt appeared. "Oh, famous! I knew you'd come!" he exclaimed happily. His face fell slightly when he saw her companions.

Recognizing his concern, Cassie reassured him, "Don't worry, they won't interfere. Let's make some wickets and set up a pitch. Once Wellington sees them, he will understand what we're about and will keep the others in line."

In this she was entirely correct. Once the sticks Teddy hunted up in the stable were in place, Wellington planted himself firmly on the sidelines. He ran a practiced eye over the proceedings and kept a stern watch on Ethelred and Nelson to make sure they didn't stray onto the pitch.

"That's the ticket, Wellington, Cassie approved, smiling at the little dog as she loosened up her bowling arm.

Teddy took up the bat and went to stand before the wicket. Cassie let fly the first ball and Teddy was so bemused by the sight of his studious aunt bowling with such speed and accuracy that he forgot even to lift the bat. The ball hit the ground and rebounded in an unexpected direction. A look of astonishment came over his face. "Aunt Cathie, you put a spin on it!" he declared indignantly.

"Well, of course I did, you gudgeon. It wouldn't be helping you to improve your batting much if I were to bowl directly to you, now would it?" she retorted.

Acknowledging the justice of this, Teddy gripped the bat firmly, planting his feet and awaiting Cassie's next pitch with a determined set to his jaw and his eyes squinting in concentration. It was a fast one, but he was able to connect with a satisfactory thwack, and Cassie, transforming herself in an instant from bowler to fielder, had to scramble to retrieve it.

Breathless from her exertions, she returned to her place to wind up for another bowl, panting, "It would be a good deal easier if we had someone to act as wicket keeper."

"And thus, your prayers are answered, fair maiden. Behold a willing and obedient wicket keeper," a deep voice spoke behind her.

Cassie whirled around. "Ned!" she exclaimed. "I'm that glad to see you. You're the very person!"

Ned winked at Teddy. "If there were more people, I should be flattered into thinking you wanted me for my cricketing prowess, but given the meagerness of your numbers, I suspect you'd be glad to see anyone who had more grasp of cricket than Ethelred," he said, laughing.

Surveying the small group of onlookers at the sidelines, Cassie's face brightened. "Of course, the very thing!" she cried. "Wellington can field for us!"

"Arf, arf," Wellington agreed enthusiastically.

"Still the same old Cassie who could never bear to see anyone sitting comfortably," Ned teased as he stripped off his coat and tossed it onto a bench. He strolled over to the wicket, remarking, "Very well. Your wish is my command, but see that you bowl so well that Wellington and I don't have to work too hard."

Cassie made a face. "And now who doesn't want whom to be comfortable? she taunted. Here, Wellington." She walked over to a spot and snapped her fingers. With a backward glance of triumph at his less skilled companions, Wellington proudly took up his place.

Cassie hurled the ball. There was another crack and Cassie yelled, "Fetch!"

Wellington jumped with alacrity, fielding the ball before it hit the ground.

"Aha, caught. Good job, Wellington," she cried as he raced to the wicket with the ball.

Teddy was disgusted. "You traitor, Wellington. Dithmissed on my second try," he grumbled.

Further commentary on his pet's loyalty was cut short by his mother, who called, "Teddy, Teddy, you must come do your history lesson now before I have to go out."

"Botheration," Teddy declared, hunching a mutinous shoulder. "Just when I was getting the hang of it!"

"Don't refine on it too much, Teddy," Cassie consoled him. "Wellington and I will be happy to practice with you whenever you like, and if we can prevail upon Cook to make her famous Dundee cake, I am certain that we can count on Ned as well. Run along, now. I promise you Ned and I will stop playing and talk of the dullest things imaginable so you won't be missing anything."

"Can we try tomorrow?" Teddy begged, knowing full well the vagaries of adult schedules.

"Certainly. I shall be happy to," Cassie responded, smiling reassuringly at the anxious face turned up to hers.

Teddy collected the ball and bat and scampered off. But just before disappearing into the house, he turned to call, "Thank you, Aunt Cathie and Ned. You're great guns, both of you."

"You couldn't hope to win higher praise from the most besotted of admirers," Ned rallied her.

"Of which I have countless numbers, naturally," Cassie replied, smiling impishly at him in such a way that he wondered why she didn't have hundreds of them haunting her doorstep.

He looked down at her, taking in every detail of the way the sun made the curls surrounding her flushed face glow like spun gold, how the thick dark lashes fringing her eyes made them look an even deeper blue. Even the smudge of dirt on her chin emphasized the smoothness and softness of her skin. He stood thus bemused until her expression changed and an inquiring look wrinkled her brow. Giving himself a mental shake, he apologized. "I am sorry. My wits have gone begging. I hadn t thought to be pressed into service so quickly and I clean forgot why I came, which is to bring you this." He pulled a small bundle out from under his coat as he spoke.