Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (22 page)

Fairly caught, Ned bowed and led her out onto the floor, though his eye followed Cassie as she laughed merrily at some disparaging remark her twin had made. Soon she, too, was on the floor, following the inexpert lead of Nigel, who had desperately sought her aid.

"Dance with me, please, Cass," he had begged. "M'mother's looking daggers at me, and if she don't see me on the floor with someone soon, shell carry on dreadfully. It's not that I don't like dancing, but I feel like a regular chawbacon in this toggery. And it's not that I don't like women exactly, but why must they giggle so? I know I ain't a great wit, but my cockloft ain't completely empty, and no matter what I say to these young girls, they just look at me and simper. IVe chosen the most unexceptional subjects of conversation, too," he complained. "I tell you"—he lowered his voice confidentially—"it's enough to turn a fellow off women completely. Why can't they be regular fellows like you and talk about something sensible like horses? Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask you what you think of Bedford's hunter. IVe been needing a hunter and I saw his at Tatt's the other day and I tell you, it was as pretty a piece of horseflesh as one could hope to see." Warming to his favorite subject, he continued, enthusiastically cataloging every one of the horse's features in minutest detail.

Cassie listened and nodded at the appropriate moments, but she was only half attending. Her thoughts were all on Ned, her waltz with him, and the odd rush of feelings that had come over her when he had looked at her in that special way. She had never thought a great deal about her appearance one way or another so long as it was presentable, but now, having been told she was beautiful, all of a sudden she cared a great deal how she looked and she wanted desperately to be truly as beautiful as he might think her—as beautiful as anyone he knew.

This was such a novel thought that, fond of Nigel though she was, Cassie was glad when the dance ended so she could seek the peace and quiet of the garden to be alone with these disturbing new thoughts.

She stepped through the doors out onto a gravel path, but the solitude she sought was not to be hers, as another couple, also in pursuit of privacy, had preceded her. As Cassie stood there wondering what to do, the woman leaned toward the man and he caught her in a close embrace. Embarrassed at her unwitting intrusion into such an intimate scene, Cassie turned to go, but her feet scrunched on the gravel.

Alerted by the sound that their privacy had been invaded, the man looked up, and in the split second as she turned and hurried to leave, Cassie recognized Ned. The image of the woman locked in his arms rose before her and she realized that it was Arabella. It had all happened so quickly that she was stumbling back into the ballroom only moments after she'd left it. But in that short space of time, Cassie's entire world had changed.

Unfortunately, she had not stayed long enough either to see Ned look up or to see him unwind Arabella's arms from around his neck. In fact, Ned had been almost as unwitting a participant in the scene as Cassie. Certainly, he was as much a victim of Arabella's machinations as Cassie, though when Arabella had plotted to lure him into the garden, she could not, even in her wildest imagination, have hoped to find a way to ensure that Cassie would witness the entire scene.

Once Arabella had maneuvered Ned into soliciting the dance, the rest had been quite simple. Ned had kept up only the most desultory of conversations, all his thoughts on Cassie, so she was able, by dint of holding her breath, to become charmingly, but alarmingly flushed. Once that was accomplished, she turned her big eyes imploringly up to his, begging breathlessly, "Oh, Ned, I do feel so giddy ... the heat... the crowd. I vow I am quite overcome. Do take me to some fresh air or I shall surely faint."

Ever the gentleman, Ned had led her to the doors and out onto the path, making for a small stone bench at the end of the garden. But they had barely stepped outside before Arabella collapsed against him, gasping, "I'm quite unable to stand." What could even the most callous of escorts do but come to the aid of a stricken lady? So Ned had put a supporting arm around her. No sooner had he done this man she had thrown her arms around his neck, exclaiming gratefully, "Dear Ned, so kind, so strong. The constant demands of the Season have quite worn me to a thread. I am such a poor weak creature." Here she looked up at him in an adoring way that had been the undoing of everyone who had been the object of it.

But Ned had not flirted with the beautiful women in all the capitals of Europe for nothing, and he knew very well that far from exhausting her, the frantic social round of the ton was tonic to Arabella. Suspecting that he was being manipulated for some unknown purpose, he was about to extricate himself when he heard footsteps on the gravel and looked up to see Cassie framed in the light streaming from the ballroom. Before he could utter a syllable of her name, she had turned and vanished, but not before he had perceived the stricken look on her face.

Already annoyed at having been forced into an unwanted embrace, Ned was now furious at Arabella, and it was with some difficulty that he was able to address her with any civility at all. Frowning, he declared, "This is quite serious. I am persuaded you should return home and lie down. Come, let us find your mother." And without giving her time to protest, Ned took her arm and led her forcefully over to the pillared alcove where a portly Queen Elizabeth who was the image of Lady Taylor was comparing notes with Mary Queen of Scots, equally obviously Lady Billingsley, on their charitable activities in their respective parishes.

"Good evening, Lady Taylor. Arabella is feeling faint. She is quite done up by the hectic pace, so I've brought her to you so you may take her home," Ned remarked, bowing to Arabella's mother and her companion.

Lady Taylor immediately began to fuss over her daughter.

It was difficult for a lady seething with frustration to maintain the appropriate air of lassitude that would render her story convincing, but Arabella had been such a consummate participant in
the social scene for so many years that she had become an extraordinarily convincing actress. She murmured faintly, but heroically, "You're too kind, Ned. I would feel dreadful if anyone were to leave on my account. If I may just make use of your vinaigrette. Mama."

These last remarks were addressed to Ned's retreating back, as once he had assured himself of Lady Taylor's attention, he had beat a hasty retreat and gone in search of Cassie.

She, however, really did feel faint and so alarmingly ill that Frances was all concern when she saw her sister. "Cassie, you look quite done up. Shall we go home?" she asked the instant her sister had rejoined their little group.

But all of a sudden, Cassie, who only minutes before had been wishing to do that very thing, took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and forced a glittering, if totally false smile on her lips, and replied, "No thank you. Frances. For a moment the closeness of the ballroom was too much, but I would not miss this for the world."

Something inside of Cassie had snapped at the sight of Arabella and Ned. The stamina and desire to prove herself that had kept her from shedding tears and had inspired her to get up and try again after falls from trees and tumbles from horses had promptly asserted itself. If someone as stupid and vain as Arabella Taylor can become an incomparable, there must be something wrong with you, Cassandra Cresswell, because you have twice the wit she does, Cassie scolded herself. There is not the slightest reason that she should have things entirely her way and capture all the attention for herself, she continued. It's not that you want that attention, mind, but it just doesn't seem fair that someone as selfish and undeserving as she should be allowed to dominate and win the admiration of everyone.

Cassie, despite this reflective mood, was not willing to admit even to herself that it was the admiration of a particular someone rather than the world at large that she begrudged Arabella.

In the grip of this salutary anger, Cassie was unaware that she was being watched by one of society's most inveterate and acute observers, Bertie Montgomery. He had seen her return from the garden followed closely by Ned and Arabella and thus had a fair estimation of what had occurred. Oddly enough, thoughts quite similar to those going through Cassie's mind were going through his, and with the vague notion that he could help put things to rights somehow, he sauntered over to the alcove where Cassie, Julian, and Frances were standing.

Hallo, Julian, Frances, he said, acknowledging Cassie s companions before turning to her. "Cassie, I see youVe had a chance to catch your breath after all your exercise on the floor. Would you care to stand up with me? I've endured several toe tramplings in my attempts to sponsor the success of Lady Warburton's and Lady Hathaway's youngest and therefore I richly deserve a partner who not only will do justice to my dancing ability, but will reply to any of my poor attempts at conversation with something more than a monosyllable."

"Why, thank you, Bertie," Cassie accepted his invitation gratefully.

After some minutes of silence during which Cassie, busy with her thoughts, performed her steps abstractedly, Bertie interjected in an injured tone, "I say, Cass, at least those blushing damsels had a mumbled response to my sallies even if they confined it to a mere yes or no."

Cassie looked up, conscience-stricken, "Oh, I am sorry, Bertie. I was not attending. What did you say?"

He looked amused. "Nothing as yet, but you were so deep in your thoughts I could see that anything I could say would be to no purpose."

"Oh dear," she replied. Then, impelled by the look of sympathetic interest on his face, she plunged into a rather tangled speech. "Bertie, why is it that some people who have more hair than wit and aren't very nice besides can become all the rage? How can people like people who only have a pretty face and nothing else to recommend them when there are so many other people who are much nicer but seem to be less admired?"

Despite his amiable and open countenance, Bertie was no fool and he did not for one minute believe that Cassie's question sprang from a purely general and dispassionate curiosity concerning the workings of the ton. He reflected .for a moment before answering, "Well, Cassie, I ain't a particularly clever fellow, but I think it has to do with interest."

"Interest?" Cassie looked blank.

"Yes, interest," he replied. Warming to his theme, he continued, "Most people ain't all that sure of themselves, so they watch what everyone else is doing and then do that. That's called fashion.' " He beamed triumphantly at his own perspicacity. "Now someone who spends a great deal of time thinking about fashion is someone these people understand. Moreover, someone like, like ... Arabella Taylor, for instance, knows that fashion comes from everyone's doing or liking the same thing, so she spends an enormous amount of time and effort working to win their approval and demonstrate how much she cares about what people think of her. Much of her day is devoted to choosing a toilette that will be universally pleasing, and she can always be seen in the most approved places. She does her best to converse only on topics that are of the most general concern. All this attention to the opinion of society flatters people, and because she makes them feel that she attaches great importance to their judgment, they decide that they like her. Then they tell their friends that Arabella Taylor is a nice gel, and before you can say jackstraws, she's all the rage." Here, proud of this unusually long speech, Bertie slopped to catch his breath. "But what a two-faced thing to do!" Cassie protested.

"It ain't two-faced. She truly is interested in those things and she truly is interested in people, in her own way of course. Now someone, say like you, enjoys many things and your whole existence don't begin and end with others' opinions of you. People know that being liked and admired by them ain't the most important thing in your life. They're never certain of what you're thinking. Makes 'em uncomfortable."

"Do you mean to say that someone like me could become all the rage if she cared to do so?" Cassie demanded in disbelief. "Might do." Bertie looked thoughtful.

Cassie was silent for a while and then, glancing shyly up at him, asked, "If I were interested in cutting a dash, do, you think you could help me, I mean show me how to go on?" "Happy to," Bertie beamed at her.

"Could.... could we start tomorrow, do you think?" she wondered.

"No time like the present," he declared stoutly. "Ill call for you tomorrow morning and we can begin with a drive in the park." "Oh, thank you, Bertie. You're the kindest friend in the world," Cassie breathed. He blushed, disclaiming, "It's nothing. Happy to do anything to be of service to you and the family."

Bertie led Cassie back to the alcove where Sir Brian Brandon had now joined Frances, Julian, and Freddie. Sir Brian claimed Cassie's hand, closely followed by her brother-in-law and her twin, so that Ned, try though he might, was unable to get near her for the rest of the evening.

The next day found Ned riding north with Lord Charlton to visit Lord Haslemere, an aged peer who, though now retired in the country, nevertheless retained powerful political connections and was in many ways more aware of what was occurring on the political scene than those participating in it. They left so early that Ned was unable to call at Grosvenor Square and was thus forced to wait with as much patience as he could muster to offer his explanation to Cassie.

As he rode, he reflected on this odd state of things. Accustomed to living his own life and pursuing his own interests wherever they led him, he was one who highly prized his freedom and resented the slightest interference in his affairs. Previously he had conducted all his liaisons with women who had understood and completely respected his dislike of feeling obligated or having to answer to anyone. There had been one person who had inspired him to give up his freedom, one person he had spent his life dreaming of. Now, not only was he irked at her proprietary attitude, he was wishing desperately that a childhood playmate he had laughed at, teased, and argued with would demonstrate just such an interest in him. More than anything he wanted to wrap his arms around Cassie as tightly as Arabella had clung to him and reassure her concerning the scene she had witnessed in the garden. He sighed.