Читать книгу The Scandal Of The Season - Энни Берроуз, Annie Burrows - Страница 13

‘Godmama,’ said Cassandra, the moment they stepped through the front door of the house on Grosvenor Square which the Duchess called home. ‘We need to speak with you, Rosalind and I.’ She glanced at Captain Bucknell, who had been their escort as usual that night, and who was still loitering in the hall. ‘In private.’

‘Yes, yes, in the morning,’ said the Duchess, as the butler reverently removed the cloak from her shoulders.

‘I am afraid not, Godmama,’ said Cassandra. ‘We shall neither of us be able to sleep for worrying. Could we not just step into the drawing room for a while? I am sure you will excuse us, Captain,’ she said, forcing herself to smile at him sweetly, ‘won’t you?’

‘Oh, ah, I suppose I could do that,’ he said, looking a bit annoyed. Which didn’t surprise her. For usually, after acting as their escort for the evening, he would stand in the hall, arm in arm with Godmama, watching the girls go up to bed. Cassy suspected that he never left the premises before he’d spent several more hours with Godmama. ‘That is, I mean to say…’

‘Dear Captain Bucknell,’ said Godmama, tripping across the hallway and extending her hand for him to kiss. ‘It was so kind of you to escort us to the ball. How lucky I am to be able to rely on you so very often, for the most tedious of favours.’

She meant, Cassandra supposed, all the times she’d put him to use as a partner for the girls to practise on. He’d nobly allowed them to tread on his feet during the dancing lessons given by the wizened little dancing master Godmama had employed. And sat through many dinners during which Rosalind had learned how to carry on the kind of conversation considered appropriate in polite society—just in case anyone ever invited her to dine in such company. Given the fact that he’d never treated either girl as if he regarded them as nuisances, Cassandra couldn’t really understand why she didn’t like him.

But she felt a definite frisson of revulsion when Godmama reached up, on tiptoe, to whisper in his ear. Especially when whatever it was she’d whispered brought a smile back to his face. A rather devilish smile.

‘Come, girls,’ said Godmama, once she’d appeased Captain Bucknell. ‘Let us go to the drawing room so that you can tell me all about whatever it is that has put you both in such a pother.’

While Godmama and Rosalind chose seats by the fireplace, where a cheerful blaze was crackling away, Cassandra hung back, listening out for the sound of the front door opening and closing. However, just as she’d suspected, instead of hearing anything to indicate Captain Bucknell was leaving the house, she heard the tread of heavy footsteps going up the stairs. She knew it! Godmama and Captain Bucknell were lovers.

The fact that there was a fire lit in here and that a decanter, two glasses and a plate of the Captain’s favourite biscuits were set out on a little table beside the chaise longue was even further proof.

Even though she had no right to criticise a single aspect of Godmama’s behaviour, she couldn’t help feeling a bit annoyed, for Godmama had lured Cassandra to London with promises of restoring her reputation. And had also undertaken to find a titled husband for Rosalind. How on earth did she think she was going to accomplish either feat when she was carrying on with the big Guardsman so brazenly?

It wasn’t as if he was irresistible. The best she could say about him was that he was easy-going. Many people said he was handsome, but Cassandra didn’t find all that facial hair of his the slightest bit appealing. Nor the way the blackness of his whiskers made his lips look unnaturally red. What was more, he was one of those officers who had his uniforms tailored to fit so tightly that his breeches, in particular, left nothing to the imagination.

‘So, girls,’ said Godmama, thankfully interrupting Cassandra’s train of thought before it could dwell too long upon Captain Bucknell’s skin-tight breeches. ‘What is so urgent it cannot wait until morning?’

‘Colonel Fairfax was at the ball tonight. He—’

‘Colonel Fairfax? Was at the ball? Gracious heavens! Lady Bunsford must be in alt.’

Cassandra frowned at her godmother, wondering what on earth she could mean.

‘In alt? But he was only there for about five minutes.’ Nearly all of which he spent glaring and growling at her.

‘That makes no difference. He was there, when he is famous for never wasting his time attending anything so frivolous as a society ball. Not unless someone from High Command hints that it might be of use to Wellington’s plans. And I’m sure nobody in command would have thought any such thing about a function arranged by the likes of Lady Bunsford!’ She laughed. ‘But now Lady Bunsford will be able to claim the cachet of being the first hostess to succeed where so many others have failed.’

‘Be that as it may,’ Cassandra persisted, having learned by now that if she didn’t pull the conversation back on track very swiftly, Godmama would find some other way of diverting it in the direction she wished it to take. ‘He approached us and threatened to tell everyone about…’ she swallowed ‘…my past.’

‘No!’ Godmama, at last, looked suitably shocked.

‘Only, he had things all muddled up. He seemed to think that I had deceived you into launching me and Rosalind into society and insisted I confess all to you.’

‘He said what? Oh!’ Godmama burst out laughing.

‘Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but I don’t find it very funny,’ said Rosalind mulishly. ‘He said I wasn’t fit to mix in polite society and would force me to leave.’

Godmama produced a handkerchief from somewhere and dabbed at her eyes with it. ‘But don’t you see? He has spiked his own guns by insisting you make a confession to me. Because the next time he challenges you, you may say, perfectly truthfully, that I know all and that I am very happy to continue to sponsor you. Both of you,’ she added, sending one of her charming smiles at each girl in turn.

‘Yes, but…’

‘And anyway, what can he really do? He does not have the power to physically eject either of you from my home. He may spread rumours, but, really, I shouldn’t think that he will. It would not be the act of a gentleman to speak ill of a lady and he is one of the most rigid, principled men you are ever likely to meet.’

That had, Cassy reflected, been just what she’d thought of him, before tonight. That he was noble and upright, and…solid. Like a rock, actually, when she’d seen him standing on the quayside, ramrod straight and clearly in command of all the soldiers scurrying about like so many ants. Even after he’d dealt with Guy, her belief in him hadn’t wavered, because he’d seemed like the one man upon whom she could rely.

But now…well, he’d been so beastly earlier. He’d even made her question her initial impression of him. She’d thought, back then, that he’d been angry with Guy. Only now it turned out that he blamed her for everything.

But that was a topic to mull over another time.

‘So…you don’t think he will do or say anything to hinder Rosalind’s chances,’ Cassandra asked, ‘until he has made sure I have confessed my supposed crimes to you?’

‘No, I don’t. What’s more, he is so busy with his work for, oh, some general or other who organises supplies for the army, or something of the sort,’ she said, waving her handkerchief about in a vague manner, as though working for the defence of the realm was neither here nor there, ‘that he probably won’t even remember to check up on you for some considerable time. And when that time comes, you may tell him whatever comes into your head that will serve the purpose.’

Oh, dear. Godmama appeared to have forgotten Cassandra’s insistence that she was not going to sink to the depths of telling lies to explain her presence in London. She didn’t even seem to think that telling lies was sinking to any sort of depths at all.

‘But what,’ Rosalind objected while Cassandra was still trying to come up with a polite and respectful way of expressing her reservations, ‘if he thinks he can speak ill of me, since I ain’t… I mean, I am not a lady?’

Godmama shook her head. ‘He cannot say anything about you without making himself rather unpopular. Because, darling, everyone knows, or at least, suspects, that Cassandra never met you before she came to my home. Everyone knows, or thinks they know, that your father is paying me to find you a titled husband. But everyone is perfectly happy to go along with the story we have put about, that I am launching my goddaughter and graciously extending hospitality to her friend. That way, they can invite you to places where you can meet their sons without looking as though they are being mercenary about it. It is a fabrication that suits everyone concerned. And if Colonel Fairfax goes about trying to put a spoke in your wheel he is going to upset a lot of very influential families with younger sons to provide for.’

‘Papa don’t want a younger son for me,’ Rosalind reminded her. ‘He wants a title.’

Once again, the Duchess made play with her handkerchief. ‘Yes, yes, but you know what I mean.’

‘So, you don’t think,’ put in Cassandra before Rosalind could start really quarrelling with Godmama about the terms of their agreement, ‘we have any reason to worry about what he may do?’

‘There is never any point in worrying about what a man may do, darling. What matters is how you two deal with the threat. Trust me to know of which I speak,’ she said darkly. ‘Any sign of panic and people will say there is no smoke without fire. But laugh it all off as a piece of spite and people will…well, let us just see how it plays out, shall we? He has fired a shot across our bows, that is all. Given us a warning. Now, if that is all?’ Godmama gave them one of her charming smiles, gathered her things together and got to her feet.

And, since there was nothing Cassy could do about Colonel Fairfax that night, anyway, she accepted her dismissal and went upstairs to bed.

She didn’t sleep well, though. Her dreams were uncomfortably crowded with images from the darkest time of her life, all muddled up with the things she feared might happen in the future. First Stepfather would be shouting at her and thrusting her from his doorstep. Then Colonel Fairfax would be shouting at her and dragging her out of this house and along the streets of London, where people she’d met over the past few weeks were staring and jeering, and throwing rotten fruit.

She woke with what felt like a dark cloud hanging over her. A cloud that was all too familiar from years before, but which had been slowly dispersing ever since she’d gone to live with her unconventional aunts. The cloud comprised of the opinions of people who thought she was no better than she ought to be. Who had branded her a hussy and a slut for running away with an officer and coming back unmarried. Before reaching her aunts’ house, nobody had blamed the officer concerned. And even when the aunts had come down on her side, she’d always felt it had been more from habit, since they hated all men on principle, rather than from having any faith in her. Betty didn’t count, because she’d always claimed she had no right to judge anyone, considering the things she’d got up to when she’d been Cassandra’s age.

And now it turned out not even Colonel Fairfax had believed in her when all these years she’d thought he had been the one person who had tried to protect her.

For a moment or two, when she first woke up, all she wanted to do was pull the covers up over her head and…and what? She couldn’t hide from her own life. And to be honest, thanks to Godmama’s effervescence and Rosalind’s open manner, she’d been enjoying it immensely of late. Right up to the moment Colonel Fairfax had accosted her and robbed her of all her joy.

Well, to the devil with Colonel Fairfax, she shocked herself by thinking, as she thrust aside her bedcovers and got out of bed. She wasn’t going to let him make her feel ashamed of herself. Because she hadn’t jolly well done the half of what he’d said. Even the things she had done were only the result of being gullible and naive. Or, to put it another way, young and foolish, and so desperate to escape her stepfather’s tyranny that even Guy’s offer of marriage, and going off on campaign, had sounded perfectly acceptable.

But now she was older and had learned the folly of allowing some man to divert her from her plans. If only she’d waited, patiently, as her mother had counselled her to do, her stepfather would have had to allow her a Season in London, however grudgingly. Now she was here, she was not going to let anyone, not even Colonel Fairfax, ruin her pleasure in it. Not when she’d been dreaming about having one for such a long time. And what was more, she wasn’t going to let him spoil Rosalind’s chances of finding a husband. Why shouldn’t Rosalind marry a man of rank? She was as lovely a person as many of the better-born girls she’d met in Town. She’d make any man an admirable wife. Nobody had the right to look down their long, thin, aristocratic noses at her just because her father had pulled himself up by his bootstraps rather than having his wealth handed to him on a plate.

Golly. She’d worked herself up to such a pitch that she needed to go to the window and fling up the sash to get some fresh air blowing over her heated face. She leaned on the windowsill and gazed out over her view of the mews at the back of the house, where the grooms were just starting to amble about, scratching various parts of their anatomy. The sun was already shining from a cloudless sky. It was going to be a lovely day. And she would enjoy it.

She would.

Because she wasn’t in disgrace and shunned by society any longer. Nor was she alone and unprotected. Godmama didn’t care what she might or might not have done. And it was thanks to her determination that she was here. And the generosity of Rosalind’s papa, she would not forget that.

She bit down on her lower lip as she watched the grooms working the pump in the yard. She was going to stop finding fault with Godmama’s motives and her flexible attitude to the issues of right and wrong and remember what she owed to her generous heart and that flexible attitude towards those suspected of great sins. It wasn’t as if Godmama had tried to hide anything from her, was it, not after she’d made her own confession? And hadn’t both her aunts agreed that, in certain circumstance, a tiny bit of subterfuge was justified? And who would know better than they?

Cassandra went to her washstand and lifted the ewer, which was empty. Because not quite all of Godmama’s staff had been as loyal as she’d claimed. One or two of her more junior employees had defected during the period between the Duke making his threats and Godmama’s coming up with the solution. In the form of Rosalind Mollington, whose father was willing to meet all the expenses of a London Season providing the Duchess could bring her out just as if she was a real lady and find her a titled husband while she was at it.

However, those who’d stayed with Godmama all pitched in to fill in the gaps. And, since Cassandra was awake before any of the staff had decided to take on the task, she had no objection to going down to the kitchen and fetching her own hot water for washing.

It was funny, she reflected as she covered her nightgown with a modest wrap before venturing from her room, how Godmama had manged to make her rather rash and impetuous stand against her stepson sound like taking up a noble cause. Even her aunts had applauded her determination to defy the man who was threatening the livelihoods of so many working people. And that was the thing about Godmama. Even though she would do just about anything to get her own way, no matter how unethical, she could always make it sound as if it would be no worse than having a bit of a lark. And to be fair, coming to London and meeting Rosalind, and going to see the sights, and attending a few routs, and balls, even if they weren’t in the homes of people from the very best circles, had all been tremendous fun.

Until Colonel Fairfax had come storming over, accusing her of all sorts of bad things. Of being a siren, for heaven’s sake!

She paused to check her rather dishevelled reflection in the mirror before leaving the room, to make sure nothing about her appearance would offend the servants. She was no siren! She had nice hair, she supposed. Or at least, it would look passable once she’d run a brush over it. The hairdresser Godmama had hired had raved about it, actually, saying what a pleasure it was to style, since it had a bit of a curl to it. And Godmama had declared that her lashes were long enough and dark enough that she would have no need to employ cosmetics to make her eyes stand out. But nobody had said anything about her mouth. Well, they couldn’t, could they? Her lips were too full and the top one stuck out a bit, making it look as though she might have buck teeth.

She stuck her tongue out at her reflection and opened her bedroom door. She was no siren! She was no saint, either, or she would not have got herself tangled up in Godmama’s schemes. She was just a girl. A girl who’d been punished enough for stepping out of line. A girl who, she decided, clutching her ewer to her chest like a shield, was never, ever, going to let some…man…some buffle-headed delusional man…spoil things for her again.