Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (5 page)

"Ah, Willoughby. I haven't seen you this age. Been rusticating, old man?" the young man inquired, subjecting Cassie to a thorough scrutiny that began with the wreath of flowers in her hair and traveled insolently to the tips of her white satin slippers. Cassie flushed angrily and turned away as much as possible to concentrate more on the conversation with Kitty. "You simply must introduce me to your charming friend," he continued, fixing Lord Willoughby with a meaningful stare.

Looking acutely uncomfortable, Kitty's husband bowed to the inevitable and muttered, "An old school acquaintance, Basil Weatherby, Lady Cassandra Cresswell."

"Utterly charming. Lady Cassandra cannot have long been on the Town, I am sure as I should have instantly been aware of such beauty come amongst us. I really must have this dance," he drawled.

Though Lord Willoughby looked not to be best pleased and Cassie was less than enthusiastic, there was no help for it but to be led out to the floor. Cassie needn't have worried that she would not have a thing to say to such an insufferable young man. In his own estimation, Basil Weatherby needed no one else to carry on a brilliant conversation. He seemed to feel it incumbent upon him to point out the ridiculous quirks in the leaders of the ton, winking knowingly as he spoke of Lord Petersham's collection of snuffboxes and repeating Lord Alvanley's latest witticism as though it had been addressed solely to him. In short, he did his best to intimate that he rubbed shoulders with the very tulips of the ton and that no social gathering would be complete without "Wily Weatherby"—here he smiled in a knowing way and contrived to stroke Cassie's hand while gripping it tighter in his fleshy palm.

The dance seemed endless. No matter where Cassie looked, he managed to bring his face with its pulpy lips and protuberant eyes into view. After what seemed an eternity they headed toward Cassie's group, which had now been joined by Lord and Lady Streatham and their son Nigel. Divining Cassie's ill-concealed distaste for her partner. Lady Streatham, a perceptive and kindhearted soul, immediately rushed forward, exclaiming, Cassie, my dear, how delightful to see you! You must come tell us about Freddie. Nigel is absolutely dying to hear his latest adventures."

Cassie smiled gratefully, took a gulp of air, and began to share the latest news of her twin. After the dreadful Basil and the inarticulate Charles it was a relief to see Nigel's bluff open-faced countenance and take a moment to share the descriptions of the splendor of maharajahs' palaces, villainous thugs, murderous dacoits, perilous tiger hunts, and all the other exotic details she had gleaned from Ned and Freddie's correspondence.

Nigel, who was between Freddie and Ned in age, had been their constant companion when they were all in London. Being with him was almost as good as being with her brother and Ned. He was a cheerful giant given to claiming that he made up in size for what he lacked in his brain box. He was perfectly happy to leave the thinking to clever fellows like Ned, and though he wouldn't have been caught dead with a book, he had inordinate respect for Cassie and Ned, who not only read them, but actually enjoyed them.

"You're looking bang up to the nines, Cassie. I hardly recognized you in such fancy toggery. I see that old Basil was trying his best to charm you. That man gives me a pain in the bread basket. Fancies himself an out-and-outer, does old Wily Weatherby,' but I must say I don't like him above half—nasty weasely sort of fellow," Ned remarked.

"He's the most odious toad," Cassie rejoined hotly. "Trying to make out that he's all the crack and condescending to me as though I were a complete rustic, and all the time ogling me as though I were some prime bit of blood. Disgusting!"

"Don't fly into the boughs, Cassie," Nigel soothed. "Well keep a weather eye out for him next time. I expect he caught poor Willoughby off guard and there was nothing else he could do but introduce you. Basil will make a good catch for someone who can stomach him. He's well breeched. Got a wealthy aunt who dotes on him, but to my mind he's a nasty piece of work. Trouble is he's such an eligible bachelor, he gets invited everywhere." Here Nigel caught a meaningful look from his mother. "Ahem, Cassie, would you like to dance," he asked, responding dutifully to his mother's unspoken urging.

Cassie, who had intercepted the look from Lady Streatham, smiled and replied, "Thank you, Nigel, but I would just as soon sit this one out." When she saw the relief on his face, her smile deepened, Let s sit down and you can tell me all about life in the Guards, which is sure to be more interesting than anything I have encountered at Cresswell or here at the Marriage Mart."

While Nigel was not an extraordinarily bright young man, he was kind, and he detected the wistful note in Cassie's voice. "Is it too dreadful having to attend all these routs and balls and things? I should hate it. Lord, one quadrille and I'm done for. But I thought females like that sort of thing— not that you're like other females—thank goodness. You're a great gun, Cassie. If I could find someone like you, it wouldn't be half bad to go to these sorts of things." His brow furrowed as a thought struck him. "You wouldn't like to get married, would you, Cassie? If you would, then neither one of us would have to stand this nonsense. You've got more pluck than most men. We could have a bang-up time. And . . ."—he added the clincher in a rush—"I don't know anyone who's a more bruising rider or a better judge of horseflesh."

Cassie smiled fondly at him, replying gently, "That's very sweet of you, Nigel, and you're a dear to think of me, but I really don't want to be married, and neither do you." Her quick eyes caught the barely perceptible relaxation of his posture at her reply and the slight sigh of relief as he realized his narrow escape, and she had to struggle to keep her countenance. "But I hope you will stand my friend and rescue me as you did tonight. Now tell me, did you purchase that bay you saw at Tattersall's not long ago?"

Thus engaged in one of their favorite pastimes, comparing the points of various bits of blood they had known or seen and describing the ground over which they had been on diverse hunts, Nigel and Cassie managed to while away the remainder of the evening most enjoyably.

The next day Cassie was awakened by Frances hard on the heels of the maid who brought in the morning chocolate. Having correctly interpreted Cassie's reactions to her various partners the previous evening, Frances thought it time to call upon the Comte de Vaudron before her younger sister's opinion of London and the ton descended so low as to be irredeemable.

"Cassie, my love," Frances began, pulling her wrapper closer as she settled herself at the foot of Cassie's bed. "We must call on the comte as soon as possible. Today bids to be fair and I think we should beg Julian to drive us around the park and drop us off at the comte's before repairing to Brooks's. What do you say?"

Cassie, who had been somewhat daunted by visions of galas similar to that of the previous evening stretching endlessly, cheered up considerably. Her face regained some of its former animation and she replied, "I should like that of all things."

"It's done then. As soon as you're dressed, we shall be off," Frances concluded briskly, rising from the bed and making for the door.

Inspired, Cassie instructed Rose to select her newest walking dress. Indeed, she looked quite charming when she descended sometime later. The lavender tint of her zephyrine silk pelisse intensified the blue of her eyes and the lace-trimmed capuchin brim of her bonnet framed her curls, which, ordinarily kept ruthlessly smoothed and pulled into a knot, were allowed to escape in golden profusion. Even Lord Mainwaring, that noted connoisseur of feminine fashion, remarked that she looked complete to a shade as he handed her into his curricle.

Wellington, who fancied himself a coaching dog, had run out eagerly when the elegant equipage was brought around to the door. Hating to disappoint him, Cassie did her best to explain why he wasn't being lifted onto the driver's seat. "Not today, Wellington, we're not going for a long ride, you know. We're off to visit some very dull friezes which wouldn't interest you in the least." The little dog's ears and tail drooped but were soon restored to their usual perky posture when Nelson, who had been sunning himself on the front step, reminded him that Cook had just finished making a game pie and there were sure to be some delicious scraps. With a farewell arf,
Wellington sent them on their way and trotted around to the kitchen to see what he and Nelson could round up. Besides, he consoled himself, on such a fine day Theodore was certain to ask John to take him to the park on his pony and he was bound to invite Wellington along.

The curricle bowled through the park, pausing briefly as they exchanged salutations with Nigel and some brother officers then stopped to speak to his mother, who was taking the air more sedately in her carriage. "You're up betimes for someone who just survived her first ball," she greeted Cassie warmly. "I'm only sorry you were subjected to so many poisonous partners. I shall instruct Nigel to keep an eagle eye on you." Under no illusions about her offspring, she added, "He doesn't like dancing above half, but he must learn and he'd as lief have you as a partner as anyone else. Girls who simper alarm him intensely and he's likely to tread on their toes or, worse yet, their gowns. And his brother officers, though they are rather more ill at ease on the dance floor than they are in the saddle, can be relied upon to make pleasant enough partners. At any rate, they are not likely to try to lead you into some secluded alcove as
I’ll
be bound young Weatherby would have." She smiled in sympathy at Cassie's involuntary shudder of revulsion. "Exactly, my dear. He's a nasty character, make no mistake. You did well to keep him at arm's length."

Bidding adieu to Lady Streatham, they drove toward Hanover Square, Mainwaring deftly maneuvering among the crush of carriages. The comte was delighted to see them. "Ma chere Fanny et ma tres chere Cassie, comme je suis enchante de vous voir," he exclaimed, bending over their hands. "But come, I am eager to have you see my work and the proof of the most pressing need I have for the assistance of my brilliant Cassandra." He led them to a library littered with books and papers, the odd fragment of a frieze or statue scattered here and there among them.

A young man rose to greet them as they entered. "Ah, I must introduce you to my other assistant. Horace here has had the great good sense to resist all his family's attempts to provide him with a military career. He had decided to become a classicist instead. I have told him that from my experience I find it to be a far more rewarding and undoubtedly a safer form of existence since I should certainly have been one of Madame Guillotine's first lovers had I not been more enamored of the glories of Athens. Lady Mainwaring and Lady Cassandra Cresswell, may I present the Honorable Horace Wilbraham."

Cassie found herself liking the square-jawed serious face and steady gray eyes of the young man who took her hand. Her heart was further won by his next words. "I have been longing to meet the daughters of so noted a scholar as your father. I have read everything Lord Charles Cresswell ever wrote and I am a fervent admirer of his. How I envy your upbringing," he concluded with a wistful note that Cassie found somehow quite touching.

"The Earl of Amberly is undoubtedly a man of excellent principles, but he does not understand a son who prefers books to sport," the comte explained. "Horace, show Cassie what we have been doing while I inveigle news of that young rapscallion brother of hers out of Fanny."

Horace led Cassie over to a pile of papers at which he had been working. "We are describing everything Lord Elgin brought over. It is a monumental task, but so rewarding. You, who have been there, cannot imagine the feeling it gives me to be able to touch the past and to try to capture the magnificence of these marbles in words so that others may share them. We hope to be able to publish a catalog which will be of inestimable value to scholars everywhere."

Here, the comte interrupted scornfully, "Yes, Fosbroke claims that his Encyclopaedia of Antiquities, and Elements of Archaeology, Classical and Medieval is the first of its kind, but it is a mere compendium. We intend to produce a work of much greater detail and thus of far greater use to scholars than his desultory attempt."

"Ours is a truly enormous enterprise," Horace continued enthusiastically, "and having someone such as you to assist us will be the greatest help imaginable. The comte speaks very highly of your accomplishments. Lady Cassandra." Horace's eagerness was infectious and Cassie found herself warming to this earnest young scholar, so different from anyone else she knew—except, of course, for Ned, but Ned was special.

"Do call me Cassie, please," she begged, smiling at him. "And do show me how you have been proceeding. Papa would be so pleased to see that his work was being carried on so carefully by such authorities."

The next two hours flew by as Horace and the comte explained what they had done, what they hoped to accomplish, and the process they had been through thus far. Cassie found herself relaxing and entering into the conversation in a way she had not since the departure of Ned and Freddie. Indeed, Horace was as learned as Ned and certainly far less argumentative—a point
which stood greatly in his favor. The awe in which he held Lord Charles seemed to extend to all the Cresswells and the admiration in his eyes as he listened to Cassie was balm to her lonely spirit. They discussed not only the cataloguing of Lord Elgin's marbles, but the new edition of Tacquot's Latin Scholar's Guide and various translations of Homer, though they both agreed that Chapman's remained the best.

"It is wonderful to find a lady who thinks of something beyond the latest drawings in Ackermann's Repository or La Belle Assemblee. In general, I have no conversation. I never seem to find anything to say at the routs and balls my mother insists I escort her to. My presence never adds anything and it continually reminds her what a disappointment I am to them," he confided.