Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (6 page)

Cassie snorted. "You must find it equally difficult to converse with men as well because I find that if they have anything in their heads beyond sport, it has to do with the set of their coats or the intricacies of their cravats. It would be amusing if one were allowed merely to remain in the background observing, but no one allows one to do that." She sighed audibly.

Horace nodded. "Very true," he agreed. "Though I admit to being a mere observer at Lady Delamere's rout. I saw you there and thought how very elegant you looked without all the fussy frills and silly gewgaws that most women seem to need to wear to lend themselves consequence."

At this Cassie turned quite pink with pleasure. She was not a stranger to flattery, but this speech was delivered with such ingenuousness that she felt truly complimented. "Why thank you. It is wonderful to be recognized as an individual in such a situation when one is ordinarily judged by one's social address or position."

"I know. I realize that I am more often the second son of the Earl of Amberly at these affairs than I am Horace Wilbraham, scholar, though I suppose it makes little difference because most people would rather know the former than the latter," Horace concluded somewhat gloomily.

"I find Horace Wilbraham infinitely preferable to and far more interesting than the second son of the Earl of Amberly," Cassie declared stoutly.

"How kind you are," Horace thanked her, smiling gratefully.

"And have you two decided how you would like to divide up your work? I have more than enough for the three of us, and if we ever finish with Lord Elgin's collection, we should do the same with the Towneley Marbles and the sculptures from Bassae, the comte remarked as he and Lady Frances strolled over to the window where Cassie and Horace were sitting.

"Come, Cassie. John should be here shortly. I instructed him to call for us before nuncheon. I daren't leave Teddy, Ethelred, Wellington, and Nelson alone together for too long a stretch. Cook and Nurse are worth their weights in gold, but neither one of them has the strength of character to resist the blandishments of those four," remarked Frances as she pulled on her lemon kid gloves.

Cassie agreed ruefully. "Nor the resourcefulness or strength of character to rescue them from the scrapes they are likely to fall into."

The butler came in to announce the arrival of the ladies' carriage, and after arranging to come the next day and gratefully accepting Horace's invitation to escort them to a concert at the Academy of Ancient Music, they departed, well satisfied with the morning's outing.

Lady Frances, sneaking a glance at her sister's profile, was pleased to see a happier look than had been on her face for some time, but refrained from any comment. She was correct in her observations. Cassie was delighted. After having endured so many dull and pointless conversations she had found it refreshing and revitalizing to share her deepest interests with someone who could appreciate them. She looked forward with pleasure to the next evening and to the days ahead, which no longer seemed to stretch emptily and endlessly before her.

Cassie's expectations were not disappointed. She truly enjoyed the concert, but what made it even more delightful was having Horace there. He was so attentive to her slightest wish, making certain she was comfortably placed in the most advantageous seat possible. Occasionally during the performance she caught him glancing at her to reassure himself that she was enjoying herself to the utmost. No one, except Ned, had ever paid such attention to her wishes or had seemed to be so concerned for her happiness. She felt immensely touched and flattered by such thoughtfulness, particularly since it provided such a marked contrast to the treatment she had received at the hands of her dancing partners at Lady Delamere's rout. It heightened her enjoyment that much more when in the carriage on the way home he inquired in an endearingly diffident way, "I do hope the concert pleased you?"

"Oh, yes. It was entirely delightful. I do so love music, but I have had little chance to hear anything but ill-rendered pianoforte recitals performed more for the opportunity they afford to demonstrate that the performer would make someone a delightful and accomplished companion than for the sake of the music. Thank you ever so much," she replied gratefully.

He laughed. "You are too critical, Cassandra. That poor young woman undoubtedly has nothing else to show for herself, but I, too, have endured too many similar tedious evenings to be much in sympathy with the performers. It is one of the true delights of the Town to be able to hear pieces as they should be played. I attend many such evenings. They give me such a great deal of pleasure that I am afraid I must admit them to be one of my true vices. My parents often accuse me of neglecting my social responsibilities for such evenings of self-indulgence. I hope I shall be able to convince you to join me again. But what did you think of the Handel?"

"I especially delighted in that. One rarely gets an opportunity to hear it so well performed. But here we are. Thank you so much. I enjoyed myself tremendously." Cassie had been so engrossed in their discussion that she was astounded to find the carriage had come to a stop and the footman was waiting patiently to hand her down.

Not all evenings could be as certain to appeal to Cassie as the one with Horace. Certainly she looked forward to her first appearance at Almack's with a notable lack of enthusiasm. "It is certainly less elegant than any other gathering youH be asked to attend," Frances warned. "It makes up in the selectness of its elected guests what it lacks in amenities. Truly, the entire experience is a study in the pretensions of anyone with social aspirations. If the tastes of its patronesses were not so omnipotent, it would be a dead bore. But their social hegemony so governs the imagination of the ton that it becomes extraordinarily amusing to see how people allow themselves to be affected by entry to its hallowed portals and the whims of those who rule it. Those who dominate in the political or military arenas become putty in their hands and are properly subservient. The Iron Duke himself was sent home to change into proper attire before being allowed admittance and he submitted without a word of protest."

Cassie looked doubtful. "I don't see the slightest need to make a push for the approval of such people. After all, I don't intend to spend my life in the ton, so its opinion matters very little to me."

"That's as may be," Frances agreed. "But the patronesses' approval can do you no harm and their sanction allows you the opportunity to appear at any social function you should wish, thus giving you the liberty of selecting whomever you will as social companions. And besides, such acceptance becomes a social cachet to your own special activities and interests, which might otherwise not be found to be socially acceptable."

Begrudgingly Cassie acknowledged the wisdom of her elder sister's views. Personally, she would have preferred to do without such ceremony, but she was realistic enough to be aware that such social recognition could smooth her way in other areas more dear to her heart. So, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, she instructed Rose to select her the approved raiment of a young lady in her first Season—a white muslin gown with cerulean blue trimming— and allowed her to dress her hair in the simplest of styles with a matching wreath of blue flowers.

The rooms were already crowded when they arrived, and the Mainwarings were immediately hailed by several acquaintances as they made their way through the crush. Lord Mainwaring's political crony Lord Charlton, looking most uncomfortable and out of place, hovered awkwardly near a capable-looking woman conversing animatedly with Princess Esterhazy and a blushing young damsel who seemed on the verge of expiring at being recognized by such an august personage. Ah, Julian —he greeted Lord Mainwaring with the eagerness of a drowning man seizing a buoyant object— "have you seen Canning lately? I know you and Castlereagh were as thick as thieves in Vienna, but mark my words, George Canning is your man for the moment. With your views on our financial situation, I should think you and he should rub along happily together." He drew Julian aside, leaving Frances and Cassie to shift for themselves, a situation which was soon remedied by the appearance of the Streathams.

Nigel was the picture of discomfort as he towered over his vivacious mother. Cassie, correctly interpreting the emotions at war within him—a desire to please his mother by partnering Cassie and his loathing for the dance floor-burst out laughing. He reddened self-consciously. "Relax, Nigel," she reassured him. "I shall be more than happy if you procure me a glass of that dreadful lemonade and then share your latest adventures with me."

Relieved, Nigel practically stumbled over himself in his eagerness to cater to her wishes. They spent the next half hour exchanging reminiscences and ignoring the quizzical glances sent their way by the inveterate matchmakers who frequented the place.

Their tete-a-tete was brought to an end by Nigel's exasperated mother, who turned from observing the dance floor to exclaim, "Really, Nigel, it's too bad in you. Cassie will never lack for partners. You must stop monopolizing her and ask Amanda Billingsley to dance. She's such a dab of a girl, no one will notice her unless someone makes an effort. Off with you. There's a good boy." A firm hand in the small of his back accompanied these words. Nigel rose dutifully and lumbered over to the corner where Miss Billingsley, keeping close to her mama, was timidly observing the scene.

Once Nigel had departed, Cassie found herself approached by several young gallants eager to discover all they could about one of the Season's more attractive new faces. She conversed dutifully with them, but her mind was on a thousand other things—the latest piece of work she was doing for the comte, a scratch on her horse's fetlock which seemed to be developing an infection—and all of her partners remained an indistinct blur to her. At last she was able to welcome a moment of respite between dances when she could stand quietly in the shadows and observe the throng around her. The lights and the crush of people made her yearn for the green fields of Hampshire and the exhilarating feelings of freshness and freedom as she galloped across them. How she longed for that solitude. In no time at all the moment of peace was interrupted by conversation behind her.

"My dear, you must tell me who that divine man is," drawled an affected voice.

"I have not the remotest idea, but he looks just like Byron's Corsair. Do let us stroll in that direction," replied her companion with a fashionable lisp easily identified as belonging to Arabella Taylor.

Try as she might, Cassie could not refrain from glancing toward the end of the room where something appeared to have attracted a throng of people. Involuntarily she found herself drawn toward the center of the commotion, which she judged to be a tall dark-haired man whose broad- shouldered back was toward her. He was speaking to Lady Jersey, but as Cassie approached he turned toward the center of the room and she found herself looking at a tanned hawklike face whose swarthiness was rendered even more striking by the dark blue eyes under black brows. Their gaze alighted on Cassie and a singularly attractive smile erased the cynical lines around the well-shaped mouth and softened his somewhat sardonic expression. "Cassie," he exclaimed, holding out a hand.

Bereft of speech, Cassie extended hers, wondering how this stranger could possibly know her. The mystery was solved in an instant as another much beloved face appeared at the stranger's elbow. "Freddie, Ned," she shouted joyfully, gripping the hand that lifted hers to his lips.

One eyebrow lifted quizzically. "Am I that changed then, best of playmates?" Ned inquired in an amused voice.

"N-no, not exactly," stammered Cassie in an unusual state of confusion. But he was changed! True, the shock of dark hair that would fall over his forehead seemed in danger of doing so again despite his elegant crop. The eager, intelligent glance remained, but it was altered somehow by an ironic gleam that seemed to mock its owner as much as it did the company around him. The finely chiseled lips were firmer and less inclined to smile, while the lines at either side indicated that most of these smiles were more likely to result from derision than genuine amusement.

Ned, looking down at his companion, found a less physically noticeable but equally disconcerting transformation. The hair, done a la couronne, a style much admired by Horace, seemed too severe for the unruly curls he remembered. The teasing sparkle in the eyes had been replaced by a more
serious, almost somber expression. Ned found himself wondering what could have happened to quench the rebellious spirit he remembered.

This mutual examination was broken by an exuberant Bertie Montgomery, who strode over exclaiming jubilantly as he wrung Freddie's hand, "Freddie, my boy!" He nodded in Ned's direction. "Wonderful to see you both. Quite the nabobs, I hear. London will be agog to learn of your exploits. Do let me be the first to hear 'em, as then I shall be lionized and shall be able to lord it over all the rest."

At that, the world, or at least the world of the ton, closed in around them. Lord Mainwaring shook their hands, wondering how they'd left everything in India. Lady Frances kissed Ned and clung to Freddie, remarking that since they were in evening attire, they must have been at Mainwaring House and wondering if Cook had given them anything to eat.

Freddie smiled fondly at his sister. "Lord, Fran, can you imagine my even bidding good day to Cook and not having some tasty morsel thrust upon me? In fact, Ned and I would have been here hours earlier if John Coachman hadn't fussed so over the horses, or if Higgins hadn't insisted on unearthing Mainwaring's best port." This last was said with an apologetic look toward his brother- in-law. "And Cook. Cook knew for certain that we'd been existing on that outlandish heathen fare' for so long that she insisted we have at least one good English meal inside us before we went gallivanting all over Town. So, you see, we have been a good deal delayed in paying our respects to you all." Freddie indicated the rest of the fashionable world, which had by now joined the crowd, with a breezy wave of his hand.