Cupid's Mistake (Cupid Regency Romance) (15 page)

Nonsense! Lord Eldon was all that is amiable and gentlemanly, she told herself firmly. How could she know if she could feel for him the same—if not more—than what she felt for the marquess? Her mind wandered over the sensations she felt when near Lord Blytheland, and then she thought of Lord Eldon. Well, they were not the same. She felt a regard, and a friendship toward the baron. As for Lord Blytheland she, well, she did not know what to make of her reactions to him at all. She despised the way she acted so insipidly around him, blushing and stuttering like an idiot. How could he like her at all? Cassandra sighed, and wished she could comport herself with more assurance and maturity.

Perhaps she should favor Lord Eldon; she had no difficulty acting in an intelligent manner around him. But then, her experiences with these two men were quite, quite different. The marquess, for one, had kissed her. Lord Eldon had not. Perhaps if she tried to kiss Lord Eldon also, she would know if she was destined to act like a ninny around men who kissed her. Cassandra felt her face growing warm at the thought, and she put the cloth again to her cheeks.

It would be an experiment, she told herself, and done quite scientifically. If she kissed Lord Eldon and felt the same as she did with the marquess, then she would know whether she would act just as stupidly around men who kissed her. After all, it was something men did with their wives, and how awkward it would be to be such an idiot around one's husband. And besides, Mama did not say kissing was a bad thing, after all, just as long as she didn't do it often, and if no one saw.

Cassandra felt much better. There now! She would do her little experiment, and then she could decide what she felt, and if she should encourage Lord Eldon
's attentions. Papa was right. One needed only to think things through logically, and one would find the answers. On that thought, she lifted her chin in a resolute manner and left the chamber.

When Cassandra went down to the hall, she saw most of the company were there. Lord Eldon, who was talking to the petite blonde Miss Hamilton, glanced up briefly at her entrance and smiled. There was Sir Jeremy Swift and his lady, and Lady Swift
's daughter Georgia Canning (whom she remembered vaguely from her brief stay at the Bath boarding school) and her betrothed, Lord Ashcombe. A few other gentlemen and ladies were also there, but she did not know their names. She looked around the room and caught her father's eye, and he beckoned to her. She smiled at him and her mother as she approached. Psyche, she noticed, was standing quietly behind Lady Hathaway, looking intently at everything in the room. She glanced at Cassandra, gave her a quizzical look, and then continued her perusal of the room. Cassandra almost shook her head. Sometimes she was not sure she understood her young sister.

"
Now there," Sir John said, pointing his chin at Lord Ashcombe, "is a well-informed young man. Educated at Oxford, graduated with honors. He knows Arabic! I must see if I can bring him and Blytheland's father together to work on a translation of the De Res Medicos." He sighed. "Wouldn't mind someone like him for a son-in-law."

"
Papa! You cannot think that a gentleman's education can be the only consideration for a husband!"

"
It would certainly be convenient, though," replied Sir John, looking wistfully at Lord Ashcombe.

Lady Hathaway tapped him on the arm with her fan.
"My dear, it is too late, as you can see! Miss Canning and Lord Ashcombe are betrothed and clearly enamored of each other. And your daughter is right. There is more than just education to be thought of in a marriage."

Cassandra looked over at the young couple. If one did not know that the two were betrothed, one could guess it from their demeanor. She watched as Lord Ashcombe tucked his
fiancée's hand gently in the crook of his arm, how Miss Canning looked up at him with a tender smile, and how he returned it with a regard that was more than warm. Cassandra felt a small ache in her heart and wondered if anyone would someday look at her in that way.

The door opened once more, and she looked up to see Lord Blytheland enter the parlor. His gaze immediately went to hers, and then turned to the rest of the company. There was little expression in his eyes except for a cool civility.

"If the ladies and gentlemen are ready, we can all proceed to the lake. The servants should have set up our luncheon there by the time we arrive."

There was a general murmur of assent, and everyone went out into the sunlight once again.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Psyche, "I wonder if we should have brought umbrellas?" She was looking toward the west, and Cassandra followed her gaze. A thin line of clouds obscured the horizon, although in front of the cloud bank the sky was a brilliant blue.

Cassandra smiled at her sister comfortingly.
"I believe we shall be quite comfortable; we have only a breeze blowing from the east, you see, so I doubt we will have any rain at all."

It was not very far to the lake. They walked past the gardens and the maze, which the marquess invited the guests to try later if they liked. The house and gardens were on a small rise, and down the hill and further, for a few yards away the servants had set out the luncheon by the lake.

It took a great deal of self-restraint for Psyche not to run as she wished to down to the luncheon. The day was beautiful and the field was just the sort on which to run until one was breathless. She eyed the other people closer to her age, but they were few and she did not feel inclined to converse with them. One girl looked quite standoffish, and even sneered in her direction. A tall, thin boy walking not far from her own family had eyes for nothing but the luncheon. Not very likely people to talk to, thought Psyche.

Blytheland
's servants had set out various tables for the guests, and makeshift sideboards groaning with food. It was a snatch-pastry's dream—not that she, Psyche, was a snatch-pastry. Harry certainly was, however. She watched enviously as he flew swiftly toward what looked to be a sumptuous spread of edible delights. How she wished she could fly, unseen, wherever she wanted! She had never seen him eat much before, and she had often wondered if he ate only for show—or in earnest. Well, she did now know it was in earnest: though he picked at this dish or that, he picked much. There were lobster patties and hams, bread and cakes and tarts. Wine was served as well, although she was only allowed lemonade. Harry, she noted enviously, helped himself to the wine.

Hoping that her parents would not notice her immediate escape, Psyche inched herself toward the luncheon. She noticed the tall, thin boy—older than Harry, she thought— was already at the table and had picked up a dish. Well, Mama could not say she had made unseemly haste to the food. That boy was here before her after all, and she had walked very slowly to the table.

She glanced shyly up at the boy. He smiled kindly at her.

"
Hallo! Do try the jam tarts. They really are superb," he said, his voice a little muffled from a bite he'd just taken. "My name is Garthwaite. Bertram Garthwaite. Oh, and the lobster patties are first rate!" He put two more on his plate.

"
Are they? I do like them, they're my favorite," Psyche replied. "I am Psyche Hathaway." She looked at his burgeoning plate. "Goodness, but you must be hungry!"

"
I am," he replied frankly. "I've just come down from Cambridge on holiday. Never get enough to eat there, let me tell you! And what they have is pretty poor fare, to boot."

"
Cambridge! Do you know my brother Kenneth Hathaway?"

"
Mmmm. . . Oh, yes. Doesn't run with my set—he's a year ahead of me—but I've met him. He's a great gun, up for any lark. I imagine he'll come home to you any day now."

Psyche felt some consternation. No one had received word that Kenneth was coming home. She hoped that he was not in trouble again.
"Is . . . is he in a scrape, do you think?"

Bertram looked nonplussed.
"Well—That is to say—I've heard he does have the most deuced good luck—it might not be as bad as all that."

"
Oh, dear." Psyche bit her lip. "Well, I will not worry about it. It is something Papa will need to deal with, after all."

"
That's the ticket." He nodded approvingly. "No need to worry about something you can't influence."

She looked across the table and saw that Harry was looking at Bertram intently. She grew alarmed and made what she hoped was a dismissing motion with her hand at Harry. Mr. Garthwaite seemed a good sort of young man, and she didn
't want Harry to shoot him with any of his arrows. She wriggled her eyebrows at her friend, hoping that he would take it as a warning to stay away from Mr. Garthwaite as well.

Harry rolled his eyes, then shrugged his shoulders. He reached over and cut off a cluster of grapes from a bowl, and started eating the grapes.

"I say, did you see that?"

Psyche glanced up to see Bertram staring at the grape bowl.

"See what?"

"
Those grapes. There was a cluster of them I had my eyes on, and then they disappeared!"

She threw Harry a reproachful look and turned to Bertram again.
"Are you sure? I did not see them."

He shook his head.
"Must be hunger pangs. They are affecting my vision. I must tell Father I need more of an allowance for food." He nodded in a bemused fashion at Psyche and went off with his plate to the edge of the lake.

"
Oh, Harry! If you refuse to show yourself to anyone else but me, I do wish you would be more discreet!" she scolded him. She was glad no one else had come to the buffet table yet, so that she could talk to her friend without whispering.

"
You needn't worry, Psyche. He did not see me, and only thought the grapes were his imagination."

"
Well, that is true, but do be careful! And why were you staring at him so?"

"
Oh, you know, just seeing if he was worth bothering with."

"
Bothering with?"

Harry popped another grape into his mouth.
"Yes. There wasn't anyone around who I thought might be suitable for him. And he's young yet—only eighteen. No need to hurry; he's not wild like your brother. Or stubborn like your sister and the marquess."

"
Remember your promise, Harry!"

Harry sighed.
"I remember!"

"
Besides, Cassandra and Lord Blytheland are doing very well by themselves. You must have seen them in his curricle!" Psyche picked up a lobster patty that the amiable Mr. Garthwaite had recommended.

"
Yes. But Lord Blytheland is angry about something, and I think your sister is planning something with Lord Eldon, instead."

"
What? How can you say so?" Psyche's lobster patty stopped halfway to her mouth.

"
I
have kept watch on them, if you have not. She keeps casting glances at Lord Eldon instead of the marquess. And Lord Blytheland doesn't look happy. But then, he tends to be rather moody, so that may not mean a great deal."

"
No. You must be mistaken!" She put her food down upon her plate again and gazed at Harry skeptically. "Besides, how can you tell just by looking at her? She could just be trying to catch his attention."

"
Oh, she is catching his attention all right and tight," Harry replied. "And I know because I am very good at reading faces. I learned it from my cousin Hermes."

"
Cousin? I did not know you had a cousin," Psyche said, intrigued. Harry only rarely spoke of his friends or relations.

He smiled.
"You never asked. Besides, I thought your father would have told you all about me and my family."

"
Now that is nothing but a faradiddle and you know it, Harry! Papa telling me of you, indeed! Why you said my father did not believe you existed, and that you were all from my imagination!"

"
He does."

Psyche shook her head
impatiently at him. "Oh, do stop roasting me, Harry! Now let us get back to Cassandra."

"
Yes, do let's," Harry said. "I'll wager you your jam tart that your sister will stroll across the grass with Lord Eldon instead of the marquess. You'll see what comes of my not shooting my arrows."

"
Done!" replied Psyche, and she walked quickly back to where her parents were sitting.

She gazed at her sister. Cassandra seemed a little abstracted, the same look she always wore when she would try to puzzle out a problem. She sat on the other side of their parents, but Psyche sat herself down where she could surreptitiously observe her.

She watched as Cassandra glanced at Lord Eldon, not once, not twice, but three times. The third time, he responded with a smile and came over to her.

Psyche bit her lip. Oh dear, she thought. Harry has just won my jam tart. She looked at her friend, then silently held the tart out to him.

Harry looked at the tart but did not take it. He could not. He felt something odd—he'd call it remorse, if he were a mortal. He remembered feeling it once, literally ages ago, when the presence of the gods was felt more strongly than it was now, but not since that time. Perhaps he felt it because he had no friend in the world of the mortals, except for this young girl. He did not know, and it annoyed him. "What do you wish me to do?" he asked, and then wished he hadn't said it. It was almost an admission that he had made another mistake.