Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (24 page)

"Is that knocker never silent, Mr. Higgins?" Cook demanded as she served the butler his supper one evening.

"Hardly. There is a constant succession of bouquets and eager young bucks, top-of-the-trees, some of them. At last Miss Cassie seems to have taken the ton by storm, though it was a long time coming. I began to wonder if they had eyes in their heads." If Higgins had not heard from Lady Kitty Willoughby's butler that the lady's brother was in the country, he would have been concerned over Ned's conspicuous absence as he still firmly maintained that of all Miss Cassie's London beaux. Master Ned was the only one capable of handling her. "She's a rare handful," he remarked reminiscently to Mrs. Wilkins. "There are very few with the wit and spirit to keep up with her. Mark my words, Master Ned is the one for her. He's one of the few people she has ever listened to."

Rose, though less vocal in the servants' hall than her superior, was also relishing her mistress's new attitude, perhaps more than anyone else. Born with a strong creative streak, the young maid had always been sorry that her mistress, dearly as she loved her, did not care enough about her toilette to utilize Rose's talents to their fullest degree. Now, however, instead of looking askance at her hair when Rose had finished and asking hesitantly if she could make it a trifle smoother and less frivolous, Cassie would glance appreciatively in the glass at her maid's artistry, remarking, "You are as much a genius as Monsieur Ducros, Rose. I am indeed fortunate to have you to take care of me."

Rose would smile secretly to herself, but could not refrain from remarking, "It's that glad I am to see you enjoying yourself as you should do. Miss Cassie. It's good to see you at your old ways again."

"My old ways?" Cassie asked curiously.

"Why yes, miss. Ever since Master Freddie and Master Ned left youVe been so very serious. When they came back, we all thought you would be your old gay self, but you weren't. I suppose it was that you spent so much time with that Horace Wilbraham, who always wore such a Friday face and filled your head with all those Greeks, so it was not to be wondered at that you didn't enjoy yourself."

Goodness, Cassie thought to herself, Bertie rescued me just in time. It seems as though I was on my way to become the deadest of dead bores.

That evening she threw herself with such renewed effort into the gaiety that people, seeing her vivacity, wondered if there was to be some special forthcoming announcement that would account for it.

In the meantime, far removed from the frivolity of the capital, Ned had ample time on his own to reflect. Lord Haslemere, never the most sociable of men even when young, now retired very early in the evening, "to save what little strength I have in this desiccated frame," he explained. "Never get old, lad. Being treated as an oracle isn't worth the cost in the aches and pains of growing old and wise."

So Ned was left to his own devices and he spent a great deal of time sitting in front of the fire, a glass of brandy in hand, thinking of Cassie. He always began by wishing she were there so he could recount the day's discussion and hear her views. As he warmed to his topic he would envision her sitting with the firelight catching the golden highlights in her hair, her head tilted to one side, her forehead slightly wrinkled in concentration, and he would long for nothing so much as to have her in his arms.

He would imagine so vividly how it would feel to hold her against him, her head resting on his shoulder, that he could practically smell the rosewater in her hair. But then the image of her face as she saw him with Arabella would always intrude and shatter the delightful vision.

"Damn and blast! I must get back to Town!" he would fume in frustration. But there was no help for it. He couldn't leave such a golden opportunity to absorb political wisdom from "the oracle," as Lord Haslemere so ironically dubbed himself, so he remained in the country with as good grace as he could muster, learning all Lord Haslemere had to offer and advancing his own ideas for
criticism and discussion. Warmed by the approbation he heard in his mentor s voice and stimulated by the day's conversation, he would retire at night to be tortured anew by the sequence of events which kept him away from Cassie and this strange new longing to be with her, to hold her and feel her close to him.

Cassie, on the other hand, was keeping herself far too busy to be suffering such agonies. At the back of her mind was a part of her that looked for Ned as she entered every ballroom or stepped into the box at the theater or the opera, but such unwelcome thoughts were speedily banished by recalling the scene with Arabella. If Cassie missed having her best friend to share things and laugh with, she soon overcame that with the thought that no one who lived in Arabella Taylor's pocket could have the discrimination and sensitivity to be dubbed her closest friend.

Still, amidst all the gaiety and the bevy of young men soliciting her company for every sort of entertainment, she felt a small empty space and knew that something was missing to keep her happiness from being complete. It was not a big enough hole that she was constantly aware of it, but in the quietness of the carriage returning to Mainwaring House from some brilliant soiree, or as Rose was helping her to undress, the little feeling of incompleteness would insist on intruding. Cassie would quickly shake her head, telling herself that she was just tired, but as she drifted off to sleep, her mind wandering aimlessly, she would admit to herself that it wasn't exhaustion but the wish to have, if not Ned, someone who could be exactly as he had been for her before Arabella had taken him over.

Ned and Cassie were not the only ones suffering disturbing thoughts. Arabella, though she did her utmost to avoid serious reflections of any sort, was undergoing some unpleasant revelations of her own. These had been prompted by the reactions of a dancing partner, a callow youth that she only suffered to lead her on the dance floor because he was the youngest brother of a highly eligible marquess who, in Arabella's opinion, had remained unattached or even un-attracted to any single woman for far too many Seasons. As they went through their figures she noticed his attention wandering. Accustomed to being the sole focus of anyone's interest, the beauty was considerably miffed and followed his gaze, which seemed to be fixed on a group of young blades at the other end of the ballroom. Realizing that Arabella was aware of his distraction, her partner looked somewhat uncomfortable but asked eagerly, "Who is she? I know you know everyone who is anyone so you must know her, but I don't ever recall seeing her."

Neither did Arabella recognize the particular slender vivacious blond girl with a decided air of fashion about her who somehow seemed vaguely familiar. She looked again more closely only to discover that not only was she acquainted with what appeared to be society's newest interest, but she had known her since they had been in pinafores instead of ball gowns. Trying to keep herself from audibly grinding her teeth, Arabella responded with an air of sweet condescension. "Why that's little Cassie Cresswell. It must be her first Season. How time flies! It seems no time at all since she was the biggest tomboy for miles around."

And that was not to be the last of it. The next day a tactless young gallant whose protestations of undying affection had become something of a bore because his constant hounding of Arabella had begun to discourage more sophisticated and more eligible admirers, further annoyed her by remarking to her that the Hampshire air must be extraordinarily salubrious as it had produced two of the Season's reigning beauties: Arabella Taylor and Lady Cassandra Cresswell. Seeing the frown settling on his deity's brow, he had hastily added that of course everyone knew brunettes were all the fashion and that he himself found blondes a trifle insipid for his taste. But it was too late. The damage had been done and Arabella was now were aware that that upstart Cassandra Cresswell, who was a tomboy and a bluestocking besides, had become a force to be reckoned with. She retired to plot her course of action, for it would never do to have the ton linking their names just because they happened to have the misfortune of having grown up together.

At last Ned was able to break away from Lord Haslemere's most flattering hospitality and return to London, where it was not very long before it was borne in upon him that some changes had transpired during his absence from the capital. He had barely changed clothes and washed the dust of travel from his person before he presented himself in Grosvenor Square, requesting to see Miss Cassie.

Now Higgins, wise in the ways of the world and the Cresswells in particular, though he had long ago decided that Master Ned was just the person to keep his mistress in line, had also decided that it would never do for Master Ned to take her for granted. He was pleased, therefore, upon hearing the object of Ned's visit, to inform him that this object had just departed in Sir Brian Brandon's elegant curricle.

Ned was forced to cool his heels with ill-disguised impatience, which only increased when his valet reminded him that he was promised to his sister for her card party that evening. Knowing that the group from Mainwaring House was far too dashing to frequent card parties and were far more likely, it being a Wednesday night, to be gracing Almack's select assemblage, he was forced to contain his frustration until the next day.

Having been beaten out the first time, Ned was careful to present himself at Mainwaring House at an early hour the following morning. Hearing the slightly anxious note in his voice when he asked again for Miss Cassie, Higgins was happy to inform him that she had just left for the park mounted on Chiron and accompanied by Nigel Streatham and his fellow Guardsmen. Concerned lest such an old friend as Miss Cassie be unappreciated because her familiarity and eager for her claims to fashion and popular acclaim to be recognized and properly respected, Higgins was delighted to note Master Ned's reaction upon receiving this news with no little satisfaction. His jaws tightened, his shoulders tensed, and his blue eyes darkened—all very propitious signs to one who wished him to wake up to the fact that his Miss Cassie was crucial to his happiness and that her presence was not necessarily to be taken for granted. He's the one for her, all right, the butler chuckled to himself. But our Miss Cassie will give him a run for his money and that's no bad thing for someone who has had women shamelessly pursuing him, if the tales Master Freddie tells are to be believed.

Not having anything better to do, Ned decided to go to the park anyway by himself. He had no very clear-cut plan in mind beyond the wish of at least seeing Cassie even if he couldn't talk to her —a wish that had grown stronger with every obstacle put in his way. Hoping to accomplish this, he rode off toward Stanhope Gate and began a slow circuit of the park. It was a fine day and the place was crowded with beautiful women in elegant equipages and bucks of the first stare mounted on the finest bits of blood England had to offer.

At long last, after much fruitless searching, he located Cassie, the center of a group of Guardsmen who seemed to be enjoying themselves hugely, if their guffaws of laughter were any indication. However, there was a press of horsemen and carriages surrounding him and his progress toward her was slowed considerably. Controlling his mounting irritation, Ned resigned himself to observing the crowd around him and sizing up their mounts. He had just finished mentally going over the points of the handsome bay in front of him when its rider leaned over to address his companion. "I say, who is the Aphrodite on that great black horse?"

The companion looked at him in some surprise as he replied, "Where have you been, old fellow? She's the latest sensation. That's Lady Cassandra Cresswell, Freddie's sister, and, if Nigel Streatham is to be believed, it's the greatest shame that the rest of us are only privileged to see her trotting sedately along in the park. Says she's a bruising rider. Got the best seat he's ever seen in a woman and what she don't know about horses wouldn't fill a thimble."

Ned's ears had pricked up at the mention of Cassie's name and he urged his horse forward so he could hear better.

"By God, she's magnificent!" the first rider exclaimed.

"It won't do any good, Ferdie," his friend warned him. "She has scores of men dangling after her. Small wonder, she's the most taking thing. Arabella Taylor grew up with her and declares her to be shockingly blue, but she ain't a bit high in the instep and makes anyone feel comfortable. She talks to a fellow as though she were his brother—none of the mealy-mouthed flirting and simpering that so many girls seem to have to do. I've never heard Fortescue speak so many words at one time to a female in his life, but not only did he converse with her, he even stood up with her
at Almack s the other night—enjoyed himself, too. Says he s never met a woman before who had anything to the point to say about horses. And young Buckingham's besotted. He can talk of nothing else. Making a cake of himself, I can tell you. If I have to hear him describe her dimples when she smiles once more, I shall do violence to him, I assure you. But there's something special about her, make no mistake. Tell you what is—she's kind. Got a sense of humor, but she laughs with you, not at you. You don't ever get the feeling she's passing judgment on you or seeing if you measure up to some standard."

The rest of the conversation was obliterated as another group of Guardsmen went clattering past, hallooing to those in the group surrounding Cassie. Suddenly Ned had lost all enthusiasm for a ride in the park and the day which had seemed so promising felt quite flat. He decided to head off to Brooks's in search of distraction and more serious conversation. Once there, he made a praiseworthy attempt to immerse himself in deep political discussions, but he could not get his mind off the scene in the park. He told himself that he was delighted to find that Cassie was at last being recognized. In fact, she appeared to be all the rage, and who could be more deserving of praise and admiration? But it had shaken him to hear her, his Cassie, being spoken of so familiarly.