“Shall I make it easy for him, Cassandra? Come, Percy, I trust I am not mistaken in the hope that my niece and I have a rather good notion of what you wish to say to me.”
C.J. drew herself up into as elegant a posture as possible, a playful sense of triumph in her dark eyes, and regarded Lady Dalrymple. “Oh no, Aunt,” she insisted impishly. “All my life I have waited to hear such words. I daresay every woman feels quite the same way. You would not deprive me of that pleasure?”
The countess looked at Darlington. “Speak, Percy. ’Tis your cue.”
“The paces you women put us poor menfolk through,” he sighed.
“Aunt” and “niece” exchanged a mischievous glance.
Darlington affected an elegant bow. “Lady Dalrymple, although I have known her a comparatively short time, I should like to pay my addresses to your niece, Cassandra Jane Welles, with your kind permission and the fervent hope that you will do everything in your power to encourage my suit.”
“Heavens, Percy! Why did you not say so before?” The countess emitted a full-throated laugh. Darlington and C.J. joined in.
When he recovered himself, the earl apologized to his hostesses for his need to depart their mirthful company, and promised that he would endeavor to meet up with Cassandra and Miss Austen in Sydney Gardens as soon as his plans would allow. There seemed to be a spring in his step as he left Lady Dalrymple’s lemon-yellow drawing room.
“I did do the right thing, yes?”
“Yes, you did, Aunt,” C.J. acknowledged softly. “And I am very, very happy. But has it not been your design from the first?”
Lady Dalrymple sighed dramatically. “And here I thought that for all my years, I was still a woman of mystery.”
C.J. gave her “aunt” a warm hug. “Have no fear in that regard, your ladyship.”
The women resumed their repast. C.J. much admired the countess’s “lady pamper” table, purpose-built so that two ladies could cozily breakfast and gossip across from one another in their respective chairs while enjoying all the comforts of a more commodious piece of furniture, owing to the table’s shelves and crannies. What a pity, C.J. thought, that such a table—and the custom—would one day go the way of the dinosaur. Somehow, Lady Dalrymple’s cook had procured a melon—a most exotic addition to the meal. How different it tasted from the bland hothouse fruit that was all C.J. had known in her other life. The ripe melon drizzled its juice down her chin, and she caught it with her finger, then licked it off, savoring the sticky sweetness. C.J. took another spoonful of melon and paused, midbite. “Aunt Euphoria, if I have indeed entered into an understanding with Lord Darlington, I should like to know everything about his family and connections, for curiosity’s sake if nothing else. You referred to Lady Oliver as the subject—or perhaps the object—of some dreadful scandal. I have often wondered about her, since, for all her thorniness, you still esteem her and claim her for a bosom friend.”
Lady Dalrymple stirred some cream into her coffee with a delicate silver spoon, dramatically replacing it on her saucer before she began to speak. “Augusta Arundel had the misfortune to be the firstborn into a family where beauty was prized above all else.” The countess nibbled the edge of a rout drop cake. The currant-studded cookies infused with rosewater and sherry were an especial favorite of hers.
“Gustie was serious and thoughtful; and even then, as girlhood friends, she admired me as much for my mirthful nature as I envied her seemingly endless capacity for pragmatism and practicality. Abigail and Arabel, her inseparable twin sisters—dark-haired, blue-eyed beauties two years Gustie’s junior—were lively and loud, quite the opposite of their older sibling. Gustie became a handsome woman, though she never had the delicate prettiness of her twin sisters, nor was she the darling of every ball and the delight of every male, suitable or otherwise, within a fortnight’s journey of Sussex. Naturally, it was a tremendous surprise to all when Oliver offered for her. He was a notorious rake and the devil’s own gambler. Oliver could win and lose an inheritance all in the same night. Many a rascal wondered what he could possibly have found to fancy in Augusta Arundel, but there was wide speculation that Oliver’s father had threatened to disinherit him if he did not sober up and settle down by his twenty-fifth birthday.”
C.J. pursed her lips. “Did Augusta know about Lord Oliver’s reputation?”
“If she had, it would not have made a bit of a difference. Arundel was a strict adherent to the custom of the firstborn to be the first wed, and, in fact, he was tremendously relieved to be rid of an aging spinster who was neither a beauty nor a wit. Both fathers had agreed upon the match. The wishes of the future bride and groom were not a matter of consideration. What just transpired in this room, Cassandra, is not the customary manner of courtship. I had a sixth sense, if you will, that you and Lord Darlington would suit, and it did not take long to prove my intuition correct. Percy has endured a great deal of unhappiness and upheaval in his life and, of late, has finally begun to regain the humor for which he was once so admired. Your mirthful outlook upon the world, your strength, compassion, and capacity for quick comprehension, in addition to your obvious grace and beauty, make you an ideal match.”
“I shall do everything in my power, Aunt, never to disappoint his lordship,” C.J. said, painfully aware that if she could manage to return to her own century, it would be inevitable for her to go back on her promise. In the most literal sense, it was only a matter of time.
Chapter Thirteen
In which we learn more of Lady Oliver’s misfortunes, our heroine takes a stroll through
