Лиза Клейпас - Chasing Cassandra

“Cassandra’s feeling floppulous,” Pandora had announced. “She needs to rest.”

Kathleen and Pandora had accompanied her upstairs, while Devon and Gabriel had continued to talk in the parlor.

“I don’t mean to sound self-pitying,” Cassandra had said numbly, sitting at the vanity table while Kathleen brushed her hair, “but I can’t think what I did to deserve this.”

“You don’t deserve it,” Kathleen had said, meeting her gaze in the looking glass. “As you know, life is unfair. You had the bad luck to attract Lord Lambert, and you had no way of knowing what he would do.”

Pandora had come to kneel beside her chair. “Shall I stay here with you tonight? I don’t want to be far away from you.”

That had brought the trace of a smile to Cassandra’s dry lips. “No, the brandy’s made me sleepy. All I want is to rest. But I’ll need to see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll come back first thing in the morning.”

“You’ll have work to do,” Cassandra had objected. Pandora had started her own board game company and was in the process of fitting up a small factory space and visiting suppliers. “Come back later in the day, when you’ve taken care of your responsibilities.”

“I’ll be here by teatime.” Looking up at Cassandra more closely, Pandora commented, “You’re not behaving the way I expected. I’ve done all the crying and screaming, and you’ve been so quiet.”

“I’m sure I’ll cry eventually. Right now, though, I only feel rather ill and gray.”

“Should I be quiet too?” Pandora had asked.

Cassandra had shaken her head. “No, not at all. It feels as if you’re crying and screaming for me when I can’t.”

Pandora had pressed her cheek against Cassandra’s arm. “That’s what sisters do.”

The atmosphere in the house this morning was ominously quiet. Devon had left, and Kathleen was busy writing a blizzard of notes and letters, enlisting friends’ support in the brewing scandal. The servants were unusually subdued, Napoleon and Josephine were listless, and even the usual noises of street traffic from outside were absent. It felt as if someone had died.

In a way, someone had. Cassandra had awakened into a new life with a different future. She had yet to find out all the ways it had changed, and what the extent of her humiliation would be. But regardless of how people treated her, she had to admit her own responsibility in this mess. She was at least partly to blame. This was the reason for all Lady Berwick’s rules.

All the minor flirtations and stolen kisses Cassandra had enjoyed in the past had now been cast in a different light. It had seemed like innocent fun at the time, but she’d been playing with fire. Had she stayed safely next to her chaperone or relations and behaved with decorum, Lord Lambert would have never been able to pull her aside and accost her the way he had.

The only benefit to being ruined, Cassandra thought morosely as she dressed with the help of her lady’s maid, was that she’d lost her appetite. Perhaps she would finally lose the extra pounds that had plagued her ever since the beginning of summer.

When teatime approached, Cassandra descended the stairs eagerly, knowing Pandora would arrive soon. Late-afternoon tea was a sacred ritual for the Ravenels, whether they were in Hampshire or in London. Here at Ravenel House, tea was served in the double library, a spacious long rectangle of a room, lined with acres of mahogany bookshelves and filled with cozy groupings of deep upholstered furniture.

Cassandra’s steps slowed as she approached the library and heard Lady Berwick’s familiar crisp tones mingling with Kathleen’s subdued ones. Oh, God . . . facing Lady Berwick would be the worst part of this entire debacle. The older woman would be stern and disapproving, and so very disappointed.

Cassandra’s face burned with shame as she went to the threshold and peeked around the jamb.

“. . . in my day, there would have been a duel,” Lady Berwick was saying. “Were I a man, I would have called him out already.”

“Please don’t say that in my husband’s hearing,” Kathleen said dryly. “He needs no encouragement. His surface is civilized, but it only goes so deep.”

Hesitantly Cassandra entered the room and curtsied. “Ma’am,” she managed to choke out. “I’m so very sorry, I—” Her throat closed, and she couldn’t speak.

Lady Berwick patted the place beside her on the settee. Obeying the summons, Cassandra went to her. She sat and forced herself to meet the older woman’s gaze, expecting reproof and condemnation. But to her surprise, the steel-gray eyes were kind.

“We’ve been dealt a wretched hand, my dear,” Lady Berwick said calmly. “You’re not to blame. Your conduct has been no worse than that of any other girl in your position. Better than most, as a matter of fact, and I include my own two daughters in that estimation.”

Cassandra could have let herself weep then, except it would have made the older woman, who prized self-control, exceedingly uncomfortable. “I brought this on myself,” she said humbly. “I shouldn’t have flouted any of your rules, for even a second.”

“Nor should Lord Lambert have abandoned all semblance of gentlemanly conduct,” Lady Berwick exclaimed with icy indignation. “His behavior has been dastardly. My friends and confidantes in society all agree. Furthermore, they know what position I expect them to take regarding Lambert.” After a brittle pause, she added, “That won’t be enough, however.”

“You mean to save my reputation?” Cassandra managed to ask.

Lady Berwick nodded. “Let us make no bones about it—you’re in trouble, my dear. Something must be done.”

“Perhaps,” Kathleen suggested cautiously, “it’s worth considering a trip abroad? We could send Cassandra to America. We have connections in New York through Lord St. Vincent’s family. I’m sure they would let her stay for as long as necessary.”

“It would cool the heat of scandal,” Lady Berwick allowed, “but Cassandra would be a nonentity upon her return. No, there’s no escape from this. She must have the protection of a husband with a respectable name.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “If St. Vincent is willing to approach his friend Lord Foxhall delicately, and prevail on his sense of chivalry . . . I believe there was some earlier interest in Cassandra—”

“Please, no,” Cassandra groaned, a wave of humiliation rolling over her.

“—and if Foxhall won’t have her,” Lady Berwick continued inexorably, “his younger brother might.”

“I can’t bear the idea of begging someone to marry me out of pity,” Cassandra said.

The older woman gave her an implacable look. “No matter how emphatically we proclaim your innocence and denounce Lambert as a cad, your position is precarious. According to my sources, you were seen slipping out of the ballroom with Lambert. I’m trying to save you from being ostracized from good society altogether. My girl, if you do not marry immediately, you’ll cause untold difficulty for your family and friends. Wherever you go, there will be cuts and snubs. You’ll venture out less and less, to spare yourself hurt and embarrassment, until you become a prisoner in your own home.”

Cassandra fell silent, letting the discussion continue without her. She was relieved when Helen and Winterborne arrived, both of them consoling and sympathetic, and then Devon came in with Pandora and St. Vincent. She took comfort in being surrounded by her family, who all wanted what was best for her, and would do whatever they could to help.

Unfortunately, there was little encouraging news. Devon reported that Ethan Ransom was in the process of tracking down Lord Lambert, who so far hadn’t been found.