Her lips curled into a smile, the first genuine smile he had seen in days. “I should like that. Very much.”
He let her wallow in a moment of happiness. Tomorrow they would engage in several skirmishes. They could continue their conversation about the ball while parading through enemy territory. It would occupy her mind, help to detract from the wicked whispers and sly stares.
“Then we should retire early. As well as a shopping trip, we have a rather important gathering to attend tomorrow night.”
“A gathering?” She blinked back her surprise. “At Mr Wycliff’s house?”
“At the den of the debauched on Theobolds Road. Tomorrow, we will attend a demimonde soirée.”
And he would confront Mrs Crandall with his suspicions.
Chapter Seven
“Perhaps you should go to Theobolds Road alone tonight.” Cassandra tightened the silk ribbons of her poke bonnet as she stood in the hall, ready for her outing with Benedict. “You don’t need me there when you speak to Mrs Crandall.”
During breakfast, Benedict had told her about Mrs Crandall’s obsession, about the woman’s desperate need to bed him, and she’d sat there, nibbling her toast, surpris
ed to find she had something in common with the queen of the demimonde.
“I want you there.” Benedict brushed the lapels of his coat and straightened his black top hat. “Besides, being amongst the demimonde gives one the confidence to deal with the upper echelons.” The corners of his mouth curled into a sinful grin. “Trust me. It will be an enlightening experience.”
When he smiled like that, how could she refuse?
“I have nothing suitable to wear. It will take days for Madame de La Tour to design a gown daring enough to blend in with those ladies who seek pleasure on the fringes.”
Benedict’s smile faded at the mention of the famed modiste. “You may have to find another dressmaker.” It seemed to pain him to say so.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Madame de La Tour has made my gowns since my come-out ball.” They were on such friendly terms theirs was more than a business relationship. “She knows what styles suit me.”
“Very well. But remember reputation matters just as much to those in trade.” He offered his arm. “We’ll walk to Piccadilly and up to New Bond Street.”
Cassandra slipped her arm through his and clung to the bulging bicep. “And on the way, you must give me an idea of how disgraced women dress.”
Benedict led her out onto Jermyn Street. He stopped and drew her round to face him, tucked a strand of hair back into her bonnet and said, “Hold your head high. Never show them their vile words or smug grins hurt you. Do you understand?”
Cassandra swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I understand.”
It was a pleasant morning. The crisp air proved refreshing as opposed to leaving one shivering to the soles of their boots. The sun shone brightly, which meant many people would venture out for a leisurely stroll. Ice-cold fear surrounded her heart as she anticipated every frightful encounter. But she didn’t have time to dwell on her anxiety as Benedict asked more probing questions about Lord Craven’s ball.
“So, we’ve established you danced with Lord Murray. Did you dance with anyone else?”
“A few gentlemen. Lord Parker. Mr Goddard, and my father forced me to dance with Mr Finch. I was to enquire after his mother’s health and try to discover the reason for her dislike of Lady Murray.”
Benedict cast her a sidelong glance as they headed towards Piccadilly. “And did Mr Finch tell you anything interesting?”
“Nothing.” She often lied to her father rather than embarrass herself by probing into people’s personal affairs. “Mr Finch is a buffoon, but I decided against doing my father’s bidding and told him Mr Finch knew nothing.”
Her heart shot to her throat when they stepped out onto the bustling street of Piccadilly to join the crowd of people going about their daily business. Perhaps it was her imagination, but numerous gentlemen craned their necks to stare. Two ladies giggled, hugged arms and took to whispering as they passed. One couple darted out of her way as if she were a drunken beggar out to accost them for a penny.
Every muscle in her body grew tense as the urge to run and hide took hold. “I’m not sure I can do this, not today.” No one had ever looked at her with such disdain and disrespect.
“Courage is a state of mind.” Benedict did not seem the least bit affected by the contemptuous glares. “Imagine they’ve left home this morning and forgotten to dress. Imagine their smug grins fading when they glance in a shop window and see their bare behinds.”
Cassandra couldn’t help but laugh. “You certainly know what to say to brighten my mood.” He always knew what to say to make her happy.
“It works. Watch.” They strolled towards Lady Johnson and her less than adorable daughter. The matron recognised them instantly and so stuck her nose in the air and scowled. “Good Lord,” Benedict whispered, “those poor people have forgotten to wear clothes.”
A snigger burst from Cassandra’s lips as she imagined the matron’s breasts hanging so low they touched her knees. She stared at the women with a look of shock, contempt and pity. Lady Johnson’s ugly expression faded to one of curiosity, then fear, and she gripped her daughter’s arm and scurried away without uttering a word.