Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (21 page)

At this thought Ned stopped dead. How long had he loved her? Consciously he had always been inordinately fond of Cassie. She had been his best friend and playmate for almost as long as he could remember. His life before her was a jumble of small insignificant memories, but after he became her friend, it had taken more shape and purpose. Knowing her had made him more aware of his interests and propensities, so that he was better able to pursue and develop them. But when had this sense of companionship changed to something deeper? He supposed it had come about quite gradually as he moved about in society flirting and enjoying liaisons with the sophisticated women of the ton. They had been amusing and seductive and he had been attracted to them in a way that had gratified his senses, but he had never felt the least concern for their happiness, had never wished so desperately to protect them from hurt, had never wanted to help them grow and flourish the way he wanted to take care of Cassie. Though these entertaining coquettes of the fashionable world had stimulated the sensual side of his nature, not even the most charming and accomplished of them had challenged his mind or inspired such a feeling of tenderness in him as she did.

As he watched her entering into the discussion of Pierrepont's bays, it suddenly came to him that he had never been so at ease with anyone as he was with her.

"They may be sweet goers, Freddie, but they haven't enough wind. They won't last. You and Ned may think he got a bargain, but the two of you are forever being taken in by these showy high- spirited bits of blood that have no strength," Cassie maintained, glancing impishly at Ned, daring him to contradict her.

Recognizing that challenging glint in her eye, Ned realized that of all the women he had ever known, Cassie was the only one whose interest in him was so purely friendly and so utterly disinterested that she could tease him. He felt strangely gratified by this proof that she paid attention to him for himself and not for the social cachet his companionship could bring her. Other women to whom he was important because of his wealth or his status as an eligible bachelor and nonpareil could never risk giving offense by laughing at him or mocking him. In fact, most of the time, though he had enjoyed his flirtations immensely, he had felt as though he were a mere actor in a carefully orchestrated play where anyone else of equal economic or social status would have been equally acceptable in the leading male role. With Cassie, it was different. She reacted to him as Ned Mainwaring and liked him for all his own particular interests and accomplishments, not for his social position.

These revelations, while they brought a wonderful sense of discovery and excitement, were also somewhat disturbing because he was not altogether certain of Cassie's state of mind. Could she possibly feel that same special way toward him or was he nothing more to her than a family member, someone like Freddie, who was loved because he had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember? Was she comfortable and natural with him because she liked and trusted him for himself or because he was like her favorite chair in the library at Cresswell, something that she had become so accustomed to having around that she was unaware of it in itself? This was such an upsetting notion that he was glad it was time to leave so that he could be alone with his thoughts and the turmoil of emotions they had aroused.

Lady Portman's annual masquerade could always be counted upon to be one of the highlights of the Season. Anybody among the Upper Ten Thousand who had the least claim to fashion could be counted upon to be there. For weeks before the big event seamstresses and Bond Street modistes, cast aside pictures from La Belle Assemblee and worked on costuming multiple Mary Queen of Scots, Queen Elizabeths, shepherdesses, and Titanias. Conversations over teacups in drawing rooms from Brook Street to Hanover Square centered around which member of the ton was going to appear as what fictional or historical figure that year.

Weary of all the thought of the upcoming masquerade and of how she had already been forced to dress this Season, Cassie seized this opportunity to select a character whose attire would be simple and comfortable, and she directed Madame Regnery in the creation of a costume of the Greek goddess, Diana. Madame, an old friend of the comte's from prerevolution days, had been dressmaker to the Cresswells since she had so successfully created the gowns which had helped Lady Frances establish her own special style the year she became Marchioness of Camberly. Madame, who had understood and sympathized with Cassie's reluctance to become just another fashionable young woman dividing her time between preparing her toilette and then parading it at social functions, had done her best to ensure that the creation of Cassie's wardrobe was a process that was as simple and swift as possible, with the result that Cassie liked her and trusted her judgment implicitly. At last, she and Madame could enter into a project for which Cassie could evince some degree of interest and she and Madame spent several happy hours at Madame's shop in South Moulton Street going over the details of the costume.

Madame was delighted to see Mademoiselle Cassie entering into its creation with such enthusiasm and was suitably impressed with her knowledge of Greek culture and mythology. "Mademoiselle has chosen well. Such a simple style and the gracefulness of the drapery will show off her taille elegante to perfection. There are not many young ladies who could wear such things without looking like a pudding bag tied in the middle," she remarked with satisfaction. The classical elegance of the Cresswell ladies' figures was always a great source of gratification to her, for it did justice to her creations. She felt fortunate to be free to design instead of having to struggle to cover her patrons' deficiencies as so many other modistes were forced to do.

Madame was entirely correct in her opinion. The chaste pleated white silk tunic secured with gold cords emphasized Cassie's slender figure while the flow of the drapery called attention to the gracefulness of her movements. As she stood in the archway of Lady Portman's ballroom clutching a golden bow, the light from the chandeliers catching the glow of the golden crescent moons in her fair hair, she did look as ethereal as if she had just stepped down from Mount Olympus. She was accompanied by her sister and brother-in-law, who, attired as Helen and Paris, made a fitting backdrop. The trio had dressed with classical simplicity that only called attention to their elegant bearing and they presented a marked contrast to the fantastic multicolored assemblage before them.

Standing off in one comer with her parents, Arabella felt a pang of envy. No, it couldn't have been envy for someone like Cassie Cresswell, still a scrubby schoolgirl despite her presence in Town this Season. It was certainly not envy, but all of a sudden Arabella, who had been confident of her capturing all eyes dressed as a shepherdess in a costume that contrived to look demure while revealing as much of her charms as possible, felt less certain of these charms. Compared to Cassie's, her costume seemed fussy and overly elaborate, the decolletage obvious and slightly tawdry when put beside the subtle charm of Cassie's draperies, which only hinted at instead of blatantly revealing the beautiful figure beneath them. It didn't help matters in the least when her roving eye discerned Ned Mainwaring off in another comer of the ballroom flirting with Lady Jersey, for Ned, clad in a tunic which only served to emphasize his height and athletic physique, a lion skin draped over his broad shoulders, was dressed as Hercules—the perfect foil for Diana and a ridiculous partner for a shepherdess.

Ned's abrupt departure from Lady Jersey when he recognized the party from Mainwaring House did nothing to improve Arabella's temper, and she watched, seething, as she bent first over Lady Mainwaring's and then Cassie's hand. To one whose existence was defined by the least little nuance in any social gesture, it seemed that he clasped more of Cassie's hand than the requisite few inches of finger and held it for longer than politeness dictated. Arabella, who had for years taken his admiring glances for granted and had only this Season come to recognize and value
them as something to be envied by other women, was now truly annoyed to see the warmth in the look he directed at Cassie and the intimacy of his smile as he teased her about something. Such a situation would never do! No one must be allowed to outshine such a diamond as Arabella Taylor, much less supersede her in someone's attentions, especially not an unfashionable bluestocking like Cassie Cresswell. Marshaling her considerable powers of seduction, Arabella prepared to do battle.

Pinning a charming, if totally false smile on her face, she glided over to the little group, exclaiming, "Oh, I am so glad that I did not come as Aphrodite after all because it would have been quite dreadful if there were two of us."

Catching the amused glint in Ned's eye at Arabella's misreading of her costume, Cassie found it difficult not to laugh, but managed to respond without a quaver, "What a fortunate circumstance. To have been caught in similar attire would certainly have been a social disaster."

"Yes, I'm so thankful that I realized that people might think me shockingly blue if I were to appear as a character from Greek mythology," Arabella replied with a triumphant smile.

Cassie's eyes danced. "That would never do, certainly," she agreed seriously. "How perfectly dreadful to be mistaken for a person of culture."

Even Arabella had the grace to blush as she recognized the full import of her words. "But Cassie," she protested, "you don't understand. I have my reputation to consider. The whole of the ton knows you to be a bluestocking, so what can it signify what you wear? Whereas I am reckoned someone of taste and fashion among my acquaintances. One should never appear too serious, you know," she added in a confidential tone. Then, warming to her favorite theme, she continued a trifle defiantly, "Sir Brian Brandon, whose knowledge and experience in. these matters I rely upon entirely, has even said he considers me to be an incomparable."

Here, Freddie, as he had done since they were children, stepped in and thwarted Arabella's plans. "I say, Arabella, you and I don't fit in with all these lofty Greeks. Why don't we leave them to their own intellectual devices and join the set that's forming for the quadrille. Nothing could show off your costume to better advantage than being a partner to a pirate." And it was certainly true that Freddie, who had utterly refused to wear a namby-pamby tunic like the rest of his family, did make a most fearsome pirate indeed, complete with cutlass and a wicked-looking scar that Cook had helped him concoct with flour and water.

Poor Arabella could do nothing but thank him prettily and allow herself to be led onto the floor, though her eyes continued to follow Ned and Cassie as they chatted and laughed with Lady Frances and Lord Julian.

Arabella's ill humor was considerably mollified when Sir Brian Brandon, gorgeous to behold as Apollo, solicited her hand for the waltz, but the pleasure of being seen to captivate such a leader of fashion was soon spoiled, when she saw Ned take Cassie's hand and lead her into the waltz as well. The fact that they perfectly complimented each other—he, tall and dark, she fair and slender, wearing costumes that showed their figures to the best advantage, and were so perfectly suited to each other—did nothing to improve her mood. Nor did the graceful way they moved together, oblivious to everyone but each other, improve the situation.

Cassie herself was commenting on this. "I had no idea you waltzed so well, Ned Mainwaring. If you don't make a go of politics, you could be a first-rate caper merchant," she teased.

Ned grinned. "You have no notion of the skills IVe acquired in my travels," he replied airily.

"Oh"—she laughed—"Freddie has been hinting darkly at beautiful Italian contessas, Austrian baronesses, and Spanish marquesas, but I thought it was all a hum because the Ned I knew would have been off buried in some library or seeking out some desiccated scholar in all of those places."

One mobile eyebrow shot up as he looked down at her, smiling in such a way that her heart began to beat quite fast and it suddenly became difficult to catch her breath. "Not all scholars are desiccated, you know," he said. His gaze became more intent as he added softly, "In fact, some of them are quite charming and very beautiful. Those are the ones I waltz with." Observing the blush that rose in her cheeks, Ned decided that there were few, if any, times when he could remember Cassie disconcerted and he found it adorable.

Even more enchanting was the delighted surprise in her eyes as she raised them shyly to his, whispering, "Why, Ned, how kind of you. Thank you."

Her innocent astonishment at his remark brought to mind so many others who, with far less reason, took such compliments for granted. In fact, they often pouted if such pretty sayings were not regularly forthcoming, and he thought again what a rare unspoiled creature Cassandra Cresswell was and how infinitely dear to him. Recalled from his reverie by the other couples leaving the floor, Ned smiled fondly at Cassie and led her back to Frances and Julian, who had been joined by a monk so large that it could be no one but Nigel Streatham.

After her dance with Freddie, Arabella had stuck like a limpet to the Mainwarings, and the moment Ned returned, she pounced. "Ned, I hear you were at a balloon ascension of all things. What a charming notion! One does become so very tired of the constant social whirl and long for a divertissement to relieve one's boredom. But I fear that I should become quite dizzy watching such a thing," she protested, contriving to look interested but fragile all at the same time.

"Then it's most fortunate I didn't invite you," Ned responded equably.

Rapping him across the knuckles with her fan, she laughed playfully. "You're a dreadful wretch, Ned Mainwaring, and you must make up to me by dancing this next with me or I shall never speak to you again."