basis of her limited experience with the assemblies in Hampshire, journeyed to London with the expectation that the social events of the Season would be larger but equally mindless versions of these country gatherings. With this preconception she had not even stopped to consider the possibility that they might be entertaining or amusing, and thus they had not afforded her much amusement or entertainment. Nor had she, bearing Ned's criticism in mind, afforded much amusement or entertainment to those she encountered there, she reflected.
As always, Ned Mainwaring, with his keen perception and his ability to get straight to the heart of the matter, had started her thinking, and Cassie was far too fair-minded to let her anger or her disapproval of his behavior keep her from appreciating his insight. The very thought of losing Ned as a friend, a distinct possibility given the heated nature of their discussion at the Countess of Wakefield's, made her vow to scrutinize her own behavior and work to make amends, if possible.
Much the same thoughts that occupied Cassie were preying on Ned as well. He had returned home seething with rage at the condescending tone with which Cassie had criticized a childhood playmate who could be accused of doing nothing worse than the rest of the beau monde—dressing, flirting, chatting, and generally enjoying herself. A bottle of port later, some of the rage had subsided and the chief impression that remained, hazy though it was by this time, of the unpleasant scene in the ballroom was the hurt look in Cassie's eyes along with the sense that somehow he had let her down. Damn it, I don't owe her an explanation of my behavior, he fumed. And Horace Wilbraham is a pedant of the worst sort. But somehow, no matter how he vindicated his conduct, it didn't justify the pain he seemed to have caused an old friend. I shall make it up to her tomorrow, he resolved. It's been years since we went to Astley's. Certainly Horace won't have taken her there, he would not be caught dead frequenting such a place. And besides, Teddy would enjoy it. Feeling a trifle comforted by this decision, he promptly fell into a deep sleep.
It was with this laudable purpose in mind that he presented himself quite early one morning in Grosvenor Square only to find the place in a minor turmoil.
"Good morning, sir, the venerable Higgins greeted Ned with his usual stately demeanor, but Ned retained the distinct impression that he had come from somewhere in a great hurry. This feeling was just establishing itself in his mind when Teddy came tearing around the corner and screeched to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of a visitor in the hall.
Seeing who it was, he relaxed visibly exclaiming, "Oh, famous! You're jutht the person we want. You thee. Papa and Mama are out riding in the park and Freddie ith at Tatterthallth, and thereth jutht Cathie and me and I'm not tall enough." As Ned persisted in looking blank despite this illuminating explanation, Theodore, looking slightly exasperated at the occasional and inopportune obtuseness of adults, summed up the problem in a word. "It'th Ethelred." At that moment, Wellington and Nelson came racing around the comer in the direction from which Theodore had appeared. Recognizing an old friend and source of aid, Wellington smiled his most gracious smile and plopped himself directly in front of Ned's gleaming Hessians. "Arf, art," he barked significantly before getting up again and heading back around the corner, pausing to look meaningfully over his shoulder at Ned and Theodore. Considering it beneath him to dash around in such an undignified hurry, Nelson strode off in the same direction with the same significant backward look at them. Recognizing an imperative summons when he saw one, Ned followed the two messengers and Theodore with alacrity.
The reason for all this commotion at his arrival became immediately apparent as he descended to the walled garden behind the breakfast room. There was
As always, Ned Mainwaring, with his keen perception and his ability to get straight to the heart of the matter, had started her thinking, and Cassie was far too fair-minded to let her anger or her disapproval of his behavior keep her from appreciating his insight. The very thought of losing Ned as a friend, a distinct possibility given the heated nature of their discussion at the Countess of Wakefield's, made her vow to scrutinize her own behavior and work to make amends, if possible.
Much the same thoughts that occupied Cassie were preying on Ned as well. He had returned home seething with rage at the condescending tone with which Cassie had criticized a childhood playmate who could be accused of doing nothing worse than the rest of the beau monde—dressing, flirting, chatting, and generally enjoying herself. A bottle of port later, some of the rage had subsided and the chief impression that remained, hazy though it was by this time, of the unpleasant scene in the ballroom was the hurt look in Cassie's eyes along with the sense that somehow he had let her down. Damn it, I don't owe her an explanation of my behavior, he fumed. And Horace Wilbraham is a pedant of the worst sort. But somehow, no matter how he vindicated his conduct, it didn't justify the pain he seemed to have caused an old friend. I shall make it up to her tomorrow, he resolved. It's been years since we went to Astley's. Certainly Horace won't have taken her there, he would not be caught dead frequenting such a place. And besides, Teddy would enjoy it. Feeling a trifle comforted by this decision, he promptly fell into a deep sleep.
It was with this laudable purpose in mind that he presented himself quite early one morning in Grosvenor Square only to find the place in a minor turmoil.
"Good morning, sir, the venerable Higgins greeted Ned with his usual stately demeanor, but Ned retained the distinct impression that he had come from somewhere in a great hurry. This feeling was just establishing itself in his mind when Teddy came tearing around the corner and screeched to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of a visitor in the hall.
Seeing who it was, he relaxed visibly exclaiming, "Oh, famous! You're jutht the person we want. You thee. Papa and Mama are out riding in the park and Freddie ith at Tatterthallth, and thereth jutht Cathie and me and I'm not tall enough." As Ned persisted in looking blank despite this illuminating explanation, Theodore, looking slightly exasperated at the occasional and inopportune obtuseness of adults, summed up the problem in a word. "It'th Ethelred." At that moment, Wellington and Nelson came racing around the comer in the direction from which Theodore had appeared. Recognizing an old friend and source of aid, Wellington smiled his most gracious smile and plopped himself directly in front of Ned's gleaming Hessians. "Arf, art," he barked significantly before getting up again and heading back around the corner, pausing to look meaningfully over his shoulder at Ned and Theodore. Considering it beneath him to dash around in such an undignified hurry, Nelson strode off in the same direction with the same significant backward look at them. Recognizing an imperative summons when he saw one, Ned followed the two messengers and Theodore with alacrity.
The reason for all this commotion at his arrival became immediately apparent as he descended to the walled garden behind the breakfast room. There was
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