Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (4 page)

"Papa!" Teddy leaped up, threatening the equilibrium of the cake stand for the second time.

"Hello, Teddy, my boy. Did you have a good journey?" Lord Julian Mainwaring, Marquess of Camberly's somewhat forbidding countenance broke into a smile as he surveyed the little group around the fire. Handing his many-caped greatcoat to the hovering Higgins, he strode over to the fire, stepping gingerly around the menagerie.

Oh yes, Papa! It was splendid and John Coachman let me sit on the box with him the entire way," Teddy assured him enthusiastically.

"Did he now? That was a rare treat. How were the new bays handling?" No one, seeing the fondness in Mainwaring's eyes as he looked at his son, could have guessed that not too many years ago he had considered children to be the worst possible sort of encumbrance. However, marriage to Frances and his necessary involvement with Ned and Freddie had taught him that they were not all little monsters who were better off seen and not heard. To the contrary, he had discovered during various outings to the Tower, Astley's Amphitheatre, and balloon ascensions that childish curiosity and enthusiasm could be quite enjoyable—enchanting even. So, much to his friends' astonishment, he had become a devoted, though by no means doting, parent, participating personally in much of his son's education and activities.

His son's eyes shone as he reassured his father, "They're a bang-up pair and John says they're very sweet goers."

"I am delighted to hear that they're all I thought they would be. Hello, my love," Julian bent to plant a kiss on Frances's forehead as she handed him a cup of tea. "Everything in good order when you arrived?"

"Yes. We're settled in nicely, thank you, and John has been able to find an eager young lad to help out in the stables. He's a cousin of Lady Streatham's groom Thompson and seems quite anxious to learn. How was your meeting with Canning?"

"Excellent. I admired Castlereagh's grasp of affairs on the Continent, but it's time we took to problems at home, and George Canning is the man for that. He has a far greater sense of what must be done in the way of financial reforms. But he needs support. He lacks the charm of Castlereagh and there are many who greatly distrust him."

"I am persuaded, Julian, that you, with acquaintances among both factions, can bring about some understanding." Frances raised a quizzical eyebrow and handed him the last remaining crumpet.

"I shall certainly do my utmost, love. But on to more immediate and pressing matters. I see a stack of invitations in your lap and I have the foreboding feeling that I am to be called upon to help ensure that Cassie is successfully launched toward the dubious pleasure of taking the ton by
storm." He grimaced in the mirror at his sister-in-law. Having seen Lady Frances blossom during a Season from one who disdained and avoided the fashionable world to one who could charm it at will, he felt confident that Cassie would do the same, but he understood and sympathized with her reluctance.

"How fortunate you should mention it, my dear. Lady Delamere holds a rout tomorrow evening. It's sure to prove a dreadful squeeze, but we should attend it," his wife replied, eyeing him hopefully.

"Ecod, catched already. Well, you may count on me to escort you both and to defend you from dandies, fribbles, court cards, overeager young men, and all the other bores that plague these affairs. Furthermore, I shall order Bertie to join us and lend us eclat."

"That would be famous," Cassie thanked him, visibly relieved at the prospect of this support. Bertie Montgomery, longtime family friend of the Cresswells, had been at school with Lord Mainwaring. A perpetual bachelor, possessed of the most discriminating taste and a kind heart, he was an escort to ease the mind of the most nervous of damsels encountering the ton for the first time. An exquisite dancer, up on all the latest on-dits, he could be counted on to smooth the most difficult of social encounters and win the hearts of the ton's most demanding dowagers.

"That's settled then," Frances remarked, propping the invitation up on the mantel. "We shall make our first appearance this Season tomorrow night. I must send a note to Elizabeth to ensure her presence and Nigel's." Frances, knowing the perceptive and kindhearted nature of Julian's favorite cousin, Lady Streatham, felt sure that the matron, well aware of the pitfalls awaiting a young woman entering society, would make certain that her son attended and brought along some of his brother officers from the Guards.

So it was that Cassie, mounting the curving staircase at Lady Delamere's imposing residence in Portman Square, was well protected in her first engagement with polite society. His sister and brother-in-law preceded her up the stairway and Bertie Montgomery, resplendent in an exquisitely cut swallowtail coat and satin knee breeches, lent a supporting arm. Surrounded as she was by family and friends, Cassie was not particularly nervous, but as she surveyed the glittering throng she could not identify one among the turbaned dowagers, the overanxious young women, the self- important tulips of the ton whom she would not find a dead bore within no time at all. Sighing inwardly, she made her curtsy to her host and hostess and allowed Bertie to lead her into the set that was forming for the quadrille.

"Don't look so Friday-faced, Cassie. Know you don't like this above half, but it ain't all that bad, you know," admonished Bertie, who, correctly interpreting her thoughts, strove to reassure her. "Most of 'em haven't a thought in their cock lofts beyond cutting a dash or getting leg-shackled, but there's nothing to say you have to join their ranks, and there's nothing to say you can't be amused by it all instead of upset."

A faint smile lit Cassie's features. "You're in the right of it, Bertie," she agreed. "What a gudgeon I am. After all, Frances contrives to keep herself tolerably amused. It's just..." Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Arabella Taylor, who, surrounded by a group of young bucks, was laughing delightedly and flirting behind her fan.

Bertie's eyes followed hers. "That girl may think she's an out-and-outer, but mark my words, none of 'em will come up to scratch," he observed, nodding sagely. "Kirkby will never get caught in the parson's mousetrap. Pierrepont's whole future depends upon his great aunt's fortune and she would never countenance his marrying someone who smelled of the shop, no matter how remote the connection. As for Fortescue, he hasn't a feather to fly with and it would take a larger fortune than Arabella's to keep the duns off his back. Besides which it's one thing to trifle with a pretty ninny-hammer and quite another to marry her. A man wants a woman of sense for his wife." He held up a hand at Cassie's mutinous expression. "Not that serving as a marriage market is all that society has to offer, but that is what Arabella is hoping for, which is why she and others like her can cause a stir—they think of nothing else and devote their energies solely to that." Here the set broke up and he returned her to Lady Frances, who was politely listening to the complaints of a hatchet-faced woman in a towering purple turban.

"Disgraceful!" Lady Buffington exclaimed, her dewlaps fairly jiggling in indignation. "What the young bloods won't do these days! Why we ended up in the ditch all because the stage driver had allowed one of them to take the ribbons. He came through Witney at such a pace that no one could have stopped him. Of course he took the turn at far too great a speed, overset the coach, and forced us off the road. You would never catch my Charles in such tomfoolery." Here she thrust forward a limp youth, declaring that Frances and Cassie must meet her youngest, who had vowed that he refused to rest until he had met Cassie. The unfortunate Charles smiled in a sickly fashion and, after a none-too-subtle push from his mother, asked Cassie to stand up with him.

"Dear Charles, such a good boy." His mother smiled fondly. "Though I worry that some flighty young miss may set her sights on his fortune. He's so tenderhearted that he can never refuse a lady and then hell marry her so as not to hurt her feelings." She sighed gustily.

Abject fear rather than excessive sensibility seemed to be "Dear Charles's" overriding emotion as, holding Cassie loosely in a sweaty clasp, he shoved her around the floor. After enduring some minutes of this painful exercise, Cassie could bear the silence no longer. "Have you just arrived in Town, then?" she inquired encouragingly, not caring in the least whether he had or not, but anything was better than this mute shuffling.

"Er ... um ... yes," he managed to gasp as, his brow creased in concentration, Charles narrowly missed careening into the couple next to them.

Thinking that perhaps the banality of such small talk had put him off, Cassie tried again, this time with a more leading question, "Have you read Waverley yet? I own I am quite partial to Mr. Scott's work."

As this produced no more animated response than the first question, she gave up and allowed herself to be led woodenly around the floor. Keeping Bertie's strictures in mind, she allowed her gaze to travel around the ballroom. There certainly was enough to entertain even the most jaundiced of observers—a plain-whey-faced damsel obviously hoping to compensate for what she
lacked in address by adorning herself with rivers of diamonds, an aged dandy who creaked by, his corsets laced to give him a wasp waist that nearly deprived him of breath, a bracket-faced dowager in an immense green turban who fixed each hopeful young woman with an eagle stare and then turned to comment in an audible whisper to her mousy companion.

After what seemed an interminable period she was restored to Frances and Julian. Just then Bertie appeared bearing glasses of ratafia for the ladies and followed by a tall man whose languid air proclaimed him an habitue of such brilliant gatherings.

"Dear Lady Mainwaring, delightful to see you," he drawled, bowing low over Frances's hand. "What ever can have persuaded two such sensible people as you and Julian to subject yourselves to such a crush?"

Frances raised one mobile eyebrow. "But our reasons are unassailable. We are accompanying my younger sister in her first introduction to the ton. Allow me to present Lady Cassandra Cresswell. Much more to the purpose is what are you doing here. Lord Darlington?"

"Touche, Frances. You always were far too awake on every suit for my poor wit." Lord Dartington looked to be amused. "Is Cassandra as fearful a bluestocking as you, I wonder," he quizzed her.

Frances laughed. "You are doing it much too brown, my lord, but you must find out for yourself."

Lord Dartington smiled at Cassie. "May I have the very great honor, Lady Cassandra," he begged, holding out a slim white hand with a flourish.

"Do go on, Cassie," Bertie urged. "Once you are seen with Dartington, your reputation is assured. Only think of it! Why, being seen to amuse him for the duration of a boulanger is worth your successful appearance at several soirees. You may now absent yourself from these affairs for the next fortnight and still be remembered as a succes fou."

The sardonic gleam in Lord Dartington's eye gave Cassie a moment's unease, but being one who could never resist a challenge, she put up her chin and replied in a dampening tone, "You are too kind, sir."

"Like your sister, you are unimpressed with such frippery fellows as we who haunt London's ballrooms," he teased as he led her on to the floor.

"That depends entirely upon the way you occupy your time outside of such hallowed halls, Cassie retorted. There was something in his tolerant air that piqued her and she resolved to remain unimpressed by one who clearly considered himself to be a nonpareil.

"Well met, young Cassandra," he responded. The kindling look in her eyes warned him that he had gone too far and he relented, adding in a kinder tone, "I am not an ogre, you know. But if one doesn't appear to be completely bored with everyone one encounters, one runs the risk of being accosted by every encroaching mushroom and toad-eater who ever aspired to establish himself in society. A cut direct here and there, a general air of cynical boredom, and I am left entirely free to choose my friends as I will. If Frances had followed my lead, she would never have had to endure a half an hour's conversation with that odious Lady Buffington, nor would you have been forced to risk life and limb on the floor with the young whelp she so fondly refers to as 'my youngest.'" Here he imitated the patronizing accents of the doting mother with such accuracy that Cassie could not help laughing. "Much better," he approved. "Think of the damage to my character if a mere green girl had remained poker-faced during the entire dance with me."

Cassie relaxed to some degree and found herself relating the perils of sharing a closed carriage with a dog, a cat, and a duck, all of whom seemed to feel entitled to space equal to or larger than that allotted to the human occupants.

He laughed in turn. "And now you have amused me, for which I thank you." Dartington guided her skillfully around. "When the two tabbies pounce on me, I shall pronounce you ^refreshing' and your success is ensured. Never forget, my dear, that no matter how many male hearts are laid at your feet, you are not assured of a place in this world until you thaw that organ in one of the icy dowagers who rules it." With these sage words, he restored her to her companions, who joined by Kitty and her husband Lord Willoughby, made a gay little coterie. Cassie was delighted to see these reinforcements, but the sight of Kitty, recalling as it did the thought of the absent Ned and Freddie, brought a lump to her throat.

"La, Cassie, how prodigious elegant you look—the first stare of fashion and you've not yet been on the Town a week," Kitty greeted her enthusiastically.

Cassie would happily have sat out the next few dances to exchange news of friends and hear about Kitty's new baby, "the sweetest thing you can imagine, Cassie," but they were interrupted by the arrival of a portly young man whose fussily tied cravat threatened to strangle him.