Cassandra flounced into a settee with a crisp rustle of silk and managed to look entrancing even while wearing a pout. Jenny took great pride in her cousin. At eighteen, Cassandra was confident and charismatic. She was the toast of the ton in this, her first London season.
It was Jenny’s first season as well, although she was twenty-two years of age. She had not wanted one when she reached her majority. She’d felt shy and awkward, uncomfortable with the thought of being out there, on display, but she could no longer avoid it this year as she had to accompany Cassandra to all her social events. She had made significantly less of an impression on the beau monde.
It wasn’t that she was so plain. Aunt Iris was kind, and told her that she could be pretty if she wanted. She supposed this was true. Her hair was a lovely shade of honey blond, but as she didn’t have a maid, she simply twisted it into a knot every day. And her spectacles were a hindrance, shielding eyes of pale blue rimmed with thick lashes that would have charmed if they weren’t hidden. She really only needed her eyeglasses for reading, but as she was always reading, it had become a habit to wear them all the time, one she did not alter for the sake of society.
But most of all, she was often overlooked because she did not seek the limelight for herself, for it was Cassandra who should shine. Aunt Iris was very anxious to find her daughter a good match, and Jenny, who loved her aunt and cousin dearly, was equally determined that she would do nothing to detract from Cassandra making a stunning debut.
The result of her cool reception to any man who exhibited an interest in her had been that she was regarded as something of an oddity. She realized this but was at a loss how to right the misunderstanding. Or perhaps she was odd. Certainly, her interests in reading and quiet evenings at home were not the typical ones among the circle in which her family traveled. In any event, she was never asked to dance, and no gentleman called upon her.
She was contented, however, to sit with her friends at parties, to play cards and watch the others dance and flirt. Besides, it wasn’t as if there had ever been a man who had made her ever want to step out of the shadows and draw his interest.
“What is the relation exactly—some second cousin three times removed or some such nonsense?” Cassandra paced, her skirts swishing crisply with each step. “Oh, why is this happening to me? To have a man of his reputation sprung on us now when I am having so much fun!”
Jenny sought to smooth the situation, a duty she regularly performed. “Perhaps if you told us a bit about him, it would ease Cassandra’s worry.” Jenny spoke gently to Iris. “You’ve spoken of the matter very little since yesterday, and then only to tell us of his arrival.”
“Yes,” Cassandra chimed. “Who exactly is he? What does he want here?”
The letter, which had arrived just a few days ago, announcing that the Earl of Hatherleigh was calling upon his distant relations for an extended visit, had sent her aunt to her bed with a migrim and Cassandra into an uproar. The date on the missive was just shy of a fortnight past, but it had been delayed in the post, giving the Benedict household only a day to prepare.
Aunt Iris dabbed at her glistening forehead with a handkerchief. “Yes, yes, how thoughtless of me. I am just so overset. How will I ever manage . . . ? But it is not his fault. Miles . . . well, I suppose he is a good man. I do not know him much anymore. His father was my husband’s cousin.” She issued a resigned sigh. “When he was a boy my Roger and I saw much of him. He was a nice boy. I still think of him as Miles, but I suppose he shall prefer Hatherleigh now that he has inherited the title.”
“Why then have I never met him?” Cassandra asked, sinking into a chair.
“He was off at Oxford for many years, dear. And . . . well, he has not been family minded, I suppose.”
“If you have not seen him in years, what has him interested in our family now?” Jenny inquired.
Leaning forward, Iris said, “He is set on finding a wife, my dears.” She paused as if she had just imparted a dreadful secret. “You see, in his letter, he wrote of how he had vowed to his father just before the poor old earl died, to see his duty done before his twenty-fifth birthday. And that is only months away. Poor dear, I can’t imagine he’s fond of marriage after . . . Well, it’s best not to speak of the dead. Let us just say that his first wife was an unfortunate choice.”
This upset Cassandra. “He does not have scandal attached to him, does he?”
Iris made a face of disapproval. “He married young, and like so many young men, he married foolishly. She was of loose character and caused him great shame. This time, of course, the woman he marries must be of good family, a woman worthy to sire a future earl. A woman of society. This is why he is coming to London.”
Jenny was confused. “He is an earl, and wealthy, you said. Surely the ton would welcome him.”
“Oh, dear, he was shunned by the ton when he made such a disastrous marriage, and it made him bitter so that even after the wretched girl died, he continued to associate with the same awful people he became fond of when he was in exile—the demimonde!”
Jenny’s eyes rounded. The demimonde was the underworld of polite society. They were disreputable and unconventional types—artists, actors, even sought-after Cyprians. They were considered notorious. Nobody of good society ever had anything to do with them—at least not openly.
“He has not been considered good society since,” Aunt Iris went on. “He has asked me, as his only relative—and that a thin association, to be sure—to hostess for him and sponsor him to meet eligible women. He has no one else, you see.” She puffed up with pride and added, “It really is a compliment. I am rather well-connected.”
?
?It is as I feared! All of my beaus will scatter like birds when they hear Hatherleigh is my cousin!” Cassandra cried.
“I don’t see why,” Jenny said. It wasn’t quite a scold, but it was not gentle either.
“Oh, Jenny, you wouldn’t understand,” Cassandra retorted. “It is not as if you have anything to lose.”
Jenny looked away. She was perfectly capable of putting Cassandra in her place for this thoughtless remark. Her habit of not doing so was a conscious decision, not a condition of weakness.
When she’d come to live with her aunt and cousin eight years ago after her parents’ death, she had been welcomed by her new family. She was very grateful to them for taking her in, and although Aunt Iris had never made her feel the poor relation, she had been acutely aware of her position as just that.
It had been the fault of her pride, she supposed. She had never wished to be a burden, but rather a help to her aunt and a friend to Cassandra. She had taken the younger girl under her wing, perhaps spoiled her a little, which might account for the lovely girl’s tendency to be self-absorbed, at times cruel, but Jenny knew it was not from malice, just thoughtlessness.
She made excuses for her. Cassandra was young, she was vivacious, full of life. It was not good, perhaps, but inevitable that she could be a bit high-strung at times.
“This is terrible.” Cassandra wagged her finger at her mother. “His arrival at this time is most inconvenient, Mama—at best. A disaster at worst.”