duke to propose,” Hyacinth was saying. “If he were as wicked as everybody makes him out to be, he wouldn’t have done half the things he did, to protect you.”
“If he weren’t as wicked as everybody makes him out to be, it wouldn’t have been necessary,” Cassandra said. “He tried to kill his best friend. He was drunk. I don’t doubt he was drunk when he ordered me to marry him. By now he’s thought better of it.”
“By now he’s pining for you,” Hyacinth said. “He saw for himself how beautiful and strong and confident you are. He didn’t let other people’s opinions color his judgment.”
“My love, he has no judgment. No discernment. No sense of propriety whatsoever. He was jilted only a few days before.”
“I’m sure that was for the best, and I don’t doubt he sees that, too. Only think if he’d married Lady Olympia, and met you afterward.” Hyacinth’s great blue eyes widened. “How tragic that would be!”
Cassandra gazed helplessly at her sister. The girl’s Season had ended because of Cassandra, yet she never made so much as a murmur. She wanted Cassandra to have everything Hyacinth was being denied: admiration, flirtation, appreciation. Even love.
All of it was denied to Hyacinth because her elder sister couldn’t be like other young women.
Hyacinth was so beautiful, inside and out. A paragon among sisters. Cassandra did not deserve her.
But Hyacinth was excessively romantic. And naïve.
“I can only hope that Aunt Julia can make Papa see reason,” Cassandra said. “Talk of making spectacles of us and setting tongues wagging. But even if we disregard the gossip, it is completely unfair. This is supposed to be your first Season, and the influenza and Papa’s fussing and draconian rules have made it too short as it is.”
Though the Queen would hold her last Drawing Room on Thursday, Parliament still sat, and the entertainments would continue, albeit in diminishing numbers, until Parliament rose and the remaining families left for the country. Hyacinth ought to be the center of attention.
At this point the butler, Tilbrook, entered. The footman Joseph followed, carrying a rectangular parcel about the size of a quarto volume.
“From Ackermann’s, Miss Pomfret,” Tilbrook said. “The servant said it was something you forgot there, as is explained in the note.”
Ackermann’s Repository in the Strand sold prints, paintings, paper, art supplies, illustrated books, and various articles for the fashionable home.
The note, which bore a plain seal, was addressed to Cassandra in a masculine hand, big, bold, and barely legible.
She told Joseph to put the parcel on the table by the window.
“I did not forget anything at Ackermann’s,” she said after the servants had gone out of the room. “I haven’t entered the shop since before I went abroad.”
She gazed at the parcel, then at the note in her hand. “What do you make of this?”
Hyacinth drew nearer. “Costly paper,” she said. “But Ackermann’s sells fine stationery. They’re not likely to use inferior paper for correspondence.”
“The handwriting,” Cassandra said. “Does that look to you like a shopkeeper’s or a clerk’s?”
Hyacinth shook her head. “They’re usually neat and precise.”
“How much do you want to wager it’s a prank?” Cassandra said.
Her sister clapped her hands. “A mystery. A gift from a secret admirer.”
“Not likely.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cassandra, read the note. I’m dying of suspense.”
Cassandra walked to the window, broke the seal, and read:
Dear Miss Pomfret,
I hope you will allow me to tell you how sorry I am for breaking your tiger. Keeffe is a game ’un, that’s certain. I wish you would give him this little gift from me. He’ll recognize it and will understand, I trust, that he’s still a legend and a hero to some of us. I send it in hopes that the picture will cheer him while his ribs knit back together.
Yours sincerely,
Ashmont
She read it twice over, then gave it to her sister, who read it and smiled. “Oh, my goodness. A love note. From the Duke of Ashmont. I knew it. He’s pining.”
“Very amusing,” Cassandra said. “Did I not tell you this was a prank? What should you like to bet he’s sent a naughty print, or a set of them?”
“Like the ones in the portfolio at Chelsfield House?”
“Yes. He supposes I’ll be shocked and faint dead away. At this moment he’s laughing himself sick, telling his friends about the clever thing he’s done.”
Another one of Their Dis-Graces’ famous pranks.
Cheeks pink, Hyacinth found scissors in the table drawer, gave them to her sister, and stood beside her while Cassandra cut the strings.