Suffragette in the City Read online

  “Female?” Freddy asked in a peculiar choked voice.

  “Yes,” I said, frowning at him. “She’s done some lovely drawings. I only hope that one day, she’ll find me worthy to be a subject.”

  Caroline, still not moving, looked at Emma.

  Emma beamed me. “Perhaps some day. I’m still…er…experimenting. With my style, that is.”

  I nodded. My father had felt art was too godless a subject to be taught to his daughters, so I contented myself to admiring those who had skills in that area.

  “It’s been some weeks since you’ve been here,” Caroline said, clearly feeling a change of conversation was needed. “I’ve redecorated.”

  “Yes, indeed you have!” I caught Emma’s eye, and had to dab at my lips with a napkin to keep from giggling.

  Her shoulders shook as she, too, held in her laughter.

  “I can’t say when I’ve seen mauve and wine put to such an interesting use,” I added.

  “And the puce touches? Do they soothe your eye?” my aunt asked.

  Puce, wine, and mauve, the unholy trinity of colors. I smiled. “So much so that I hesitate to look at them for very long, lest my eyes be soothed into a stupor. Now, tell me, how was Boston? Did Uncle Henry enjoy the visit to his brother?”

  Caroline’s pale blue eyes—almost identical to Freddy’s—sparkled with obvious amusement. “It was a lovely visit, Cassandra. Christmas was a most enjoyable holiday, and Henry’s family was very. . .” She paused, considering her words. “. . . interesting. Americans always are, I find. While we were in Boston, we met a fascinating young man. I’m sure he would—”

  I raised my hand in warning. “Although I appreciate your motives, I am not in the least bit interested in hearing about the latest in a regrettably long line of men you have selected to share my life.”

  “Do I have any say in this matter?” Freddy asked, peering over the sodden, tea-splattered newspaper.

  “No,” we both told him.

  “But my dear,” Caroline continued on, “Mr. Teller has a delightful character—”

  “I’m sure he does,” I said amiably. “But you fail to take into consideration my character. And as you are married to the only man who combines those qualities of intelligence, wit, and strength of mind which make a man superior, I shall have to bear the lack of a husband as best I can.”

  “I have intelligence, wit, and strength of mind, and I have proposed, dearest. Several times. Seven, to be exact.”

  “Nine in the last six weeks,” I told Freddy, softening the words with a smile. “And I appreciate your desire to save me from the horrors of spinsterhood, but you know perfectly well we wouldn’t suit. Besides, there is that other matter to which I alluded last week.”

  His gaze moved to Emma, rife with speculation. “Not…er…”

  I sighed, not wanting to upset my aunt, but feeling the need to take charge of my life. “What I am about to say will shock you.”

  “Do you think so, dear? How fascinating.” She, too, glanced at Emma, who gave her a little shake of the head. “Whatever can this shocking subject be?”

  “My future with regards to men.” I cleared my throat and sat up a bit straighter. “Since the long overdue death of my father, I have become a New Woman.”

  “Indeed. Although I am not sure it is kind to refer to your father’s death as overdue, I would agree that I would have been much easier in my mind about you had Henry and I been able to persuade him to let us have you.”

  “That’s all in the past,” I said, waving away a lifetime of abuse and torment, both mental and physical. “What matters now is the present, and as a New Woman, I have taken a stand on several causes. One of which Freddy alluded to in the newspaper article. The other is my attitude toward men.”

  “What attitude would that be?” Caroline asked.

  Emma smiled into her cup.

  “I will, at some point in my life, probably twenty or thirty years from now, marry. Until then—” I took another deep breath. “I shall take a lover.”

  Silence filled the overstuffed, overheated room.

  “Dearest, might I offer myself—”

  “No,” I said quickly, keeping my eyes on my aunt. To my surprise, she didn’t look shocked or scandalized, or even unduly impressed. She merely hummed a little song to herself and sipped her tea.

  “You’re not angry with me, are you?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “Why would I be angry? Cassandra, my dear, you are thirty years old.”

  “Twenty-nine!” I said quickly. “Only twenty-nine!”

  “That is certainly old enough to know what you want. If you wish to flaunt convention, then far be it from me to stop you.”

  “Oh.” I glanced at Emma. She winked. “I see. Well…good. I am much relieved. I was concerned that my decision to take charge of my life and send it in a new direction would cause you some concern.”

  “No,” she said, lifting the tea pot. “None at all.”

  “Good.” I felt deflated for some absurd reason.

  Caroline waved towards Freddy’s paper. “Tell me more about your involvement with this organization.”

  “Yes, do, dearest,” Freddy pushed the paper aside and got to his feet. “Perhaps Caroline can talk some sense into you.”

  I gave him a mean look.

  “Don’t ruffle your adorable feathers at me,” Freddy said as he strolled over to me to press a kiss to the back of my hand. “I mean no criticism of the suffrage movement on the whole, but I can and will express concern about the welfare of a dearly beloved cousin who involves herself with a group of female roughnecks and hooligans.”

  “Odious man,” I said fondly, pulling my hand from his. “The members of the Women’s Suffrage Union are neither roughnecks nor hooligans.”

  “No?” Freddy accepted another cup of tea and several almond biscuits. “I’ve heard that the organization is just bursting with women who want to wear trousers, smoke pipes, and run the government. I am told it is common knowledge they have failed in all the feminine arts, and live unnatural and disappointed lives.”

  Emma made a little noise of distress.

  “No insult intended, I’m sure,” Freddy said quickly.

  “Poppycock,” I said sharply, frowning at my cousin. “That will teach you to listen to such ill-informed sources of information. There is nothing at all unnatural about wearing trousers, although we prefer to call them bloomers. They are most healthful and hygienic when bicycling. I have a pair myself, although I haven’t had the opportunity to wear them, so I suppose you could say I’m disappointed in that sense, but that is not what you mean.”

  “No,” Freddy answered, stuffing a biscuit into his mouth. “That’s not at all what I mean.”

  “You must admit that there does seem to be a certain amount of danger involved,” Caroline said, sending an oddly reproachful glance at Freddy. “If the newspaper is at all accurate, each instance of this group’s demonstration has ended in some form of violence. I question the wisdom of involvement in that sort of protest.”

  “There has been violence only because people fear what the Union represents.”

  “But it is dangerous,” Freddy said, agreeing with Caroline.

  The memory of the violent slurs and attacks against the suffragettes rose with stark clarity in my mind. “No more so than any other cause I might involve myself in, so about this let us please agree to differ.”

  Caroline continued to look worried. Emma gave me a small, supportive smile.

  “With regards to your original question, Aunt Caroline, the Union has pledged itself to obtain the right for women to vote. That is their sole purpose, and one to which I have wholly devoted myself.”

  Freddy sat in a puce-accessorized, wine-colored chair and waved at the still soggy newspaper with an almond biscuit. “Suffragettes, that’s what they’re calling you, dearest one. Suffragettes! I ask you, how can any man take seriously a woman who calls herself a suffragette? You simply must
urge your group to come up with a less humorous label.”

  Caroline frowned and shook her head at Freddy before asking me, “And how do they intend to achieve that noble goal?”

  “Through non-violent protest and every constitutional means. Our plan is to attract attention to the cause via protests, meetings, and parades.”

  “But demonstrating in public, my dear. Is it prudent?”

  “You don’t mind at all the fact that I intend to take a lover, but you object to me participating in a support parade?” I asked in surprise.

  “One can be discreet with a lover,” she said, shocking me to the very tips of my toes. She and Henry had always seemed so devoted that I couldn’t help but wonder if she was speaking from experience. “The same cannot be said of marching about with signs, and chaining yourself to a railing.”

  “I don’t believe Cassandra is looking for attention, if that is what concerns you,” Emma said in my defense. “I stopped by briefly to see her last night, before the demonstration had taken place, and she had chosen a spot furthest from those who organized the event, no doubt in due respect for the finer feelings of her relatives.”

  That, or I was simply late from my dinner out with the soup dribbler. I cleared my throat and nodded, trying to look considerate of her fine feelings.

  “Naturally, we respect and appreciate that. But I worry that there may come a time when you will be absorbed, if you will, by the danger, and not be able to escape it.”

  “That is what I have been telling her, Aunt. I have pleaded with her to take heed of my warnings, but you see before you a man whose every word is discounted and ignored.” Freddy slipped from the chair to his knees before me, taking my hand in his. “Beloved one, you know how I feel about you—”

  “Oh Freddy, for heaven’s sake, not again!” I struggled to pull my hand from his. Caroline watched in surprise as Freddy, strengthening his hold on my hand, attempted to pull me down into his embrace.

  Emma laughed outright as we had a regrettable little struggle which I won just as Hargreaves, Caroline’s butler, opened the sitting room door to announce visitors. Freddy rose quickly from where he had tumbled when I yanked my hand away.

  “They’re here early,” I murmured to Emma as Caroline went forward to greet her guests.

  “Who’s expected today, do you know?” Emma asked in a whisper, looking vaguely worried.

  I patted her hand. She was a naturally shy person, quite timid around men she didn’t know. “A very tame group, just a countess whose husband had become an important political acquaintance of Uncle Henry’s, and an opera singer who will make her debut next week in Covent Garden.”

  “Ah. That is tame.”

  Freddy said from his chair, “I expected at least an Arctic explorer or the reigning pugilistic champion.”

  Emma stood beside me a short while later as we greeted the opera singer. The pleasantries over, I was in the process of taking a cup of tea to Senora Monteneros, who I was delighted to see took immediately to Emma despite the obvious barriers of language and background, when Hargreaves announced the entrance of the countess, Lady Sherringham.

  “Do you take cream, Senora Monteneros?” I inquired as I glanced over to the door. “Oh, good god!”

  Despite unjust and inaccurate claims to the contrary, I am not by nature a clumsy person. However, upon viewing the newest arrivals, I will admit to a slight lack of adroitness when I spilled an entire jug of cream down the front of the Senora’s ruby-colored velvet and lace tea gown.

  The countess was none other than the thin-faced woman in bilious green from the past evening, and she had brought with her the pale, shy looking girl that I had last seen on the infuriatingly smug, equally infuriatingly attractive Griffin’s arm…who was three paces behind her, his amber eyes immediately seeking mine, his gaze just as disconcerting as I remembered it.

  “Bloody hell,” I whispered to myself. This was not going to be a pleasant afternoon.

  Chapter Four

  “Senora, I am so sorry, I can’t think how—I’ve never spilled dairy products on anyone before—I’m sure my aunt’s maid will assist you,” I stammered, trying to mop up the mess as Senora Monteneros expressed her opinion of me loudly and vehemently in Spanish.

  “It’s all right, Cassandra. I’ll help her,” Emma said, taking the opera singer’s arm and deftly guiding her through the maze of incidental tables full of bric-a-brac that cluttered my aunt’s sitting room.

  The newcomers were still across the room, greeting Caroline and Freddy. I looked quickly for an escape, and had just opened the door at the opposite end of the long room when my aunt’s light, piping voice reached me. “Cassandra, dear, I’d like you to meet Lady Sherringham.”

  I stopped in the doorway and looked through it wistfully to freedom, briefly contemplating bolting down the hallway before reminding myself that I was not a coward. I had faced much worse things than three people invited to tea. I turned to smile at my aunt’s guests.

  The three pairs of eyes boring into me drove the smile from my lips.

  “Hargreaves, send Grangly to attend Senora Monteneros and Miss Debenham,” my aunt directed, eyeing the front of the opera singer’s gown with interest.

  I moved slowly, gritting my teeth and forcing the smile back upon my lips, all the while studiously avoiding tall figure beside my aunt.

  “Lady Sherringham, may I introduce my niece, Cassandra Whitney? My dear, this is Lady Helena St. John, the earl’s sister.”

  I am nothing if not well trained in the standard pleasantries, and thus I duly murmured polite phrases as we all shook hands. The countess’s hand felt cold even through her gloves. Lady Helena, the tall, willowy young woman with hair the color of burnished gold, smiled a genuine smile, and greeted me with obvious pleasure. I liked her at once, and pitied her for having such a cold sister-in-law.

  “And this is Mr. Griffin St. John, the earl’s younger brother.”

  I dreaded looking up into those mocking amber eyes. “Miss Whitney, it is a pleasure.”

  Raising my gaze to his, I offered a firm hand. He took it gravely and bowed over it with only the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. I used the opportunity of daylight to examine his face. He was not handsome by conventional standards, but I decided his features were pleasing overall. The tanned cheeks bespoke time outdoors, while the firm set of his chin, and direct gaze gave him an unmistakable air of a man who was comfortable with himself.

  His eyes, those glittering amber eyes, held an intense regard that challenged, however, and I recognized that he was a man who was not used to having his authority questioned. I found myself lifting my chin in answer to the look.

  With a disarming grin he dropped my hand, and suddenly I noticed the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and how charming he could be when he wasn’t spouting nonsense or being generally obnoxious. Then there was the consideration of just what he might look like without his clothes…

  “You are in town long, Miss Whitney?”

  The glacial tones of his sister-in-law ended such enjoyable thoughts.

  “I am. I have lived my life in the country, and thought a change would be pleasant.”

  “Indeed,” she said with frosty grandeur, accepting a cup of tea from Caroline.

  “Lady Helena, would you care to sit on the wine and puce settee? I assure you it is better to have it beneath you than in a position to catch your eye,” I said in a quiet tone, steering her toward the piece of furniture in question.

  Helena giggled, and I chewed over the question of whether or not any of her party was going to mention the fracas of the previous evening to my aunt. Although I was not ashamed of my actions, I had not known at the time that Griffin’s brother was of political importance to my uncle.

  “It wouldn’t have stopped me from speaking to him as I did, though,” I murmured to myself as I took my seat.

  “Pardon?” Helena asked.

  “Oh, nothing. I spent a good deal of m
y time alone, and thus I have a bad habit of talking to myself. Did you enjoy the Hospital Ball?”

  She chatted merrily away about the ball while I indulged in a bit of subtle interrogation. By the time Emma and the Senora returned, the latter still glaring, I felt it safe to excuse myself and leave Helena to Freddy, who had just wandered over to join us.

  “I’m so sorry that you had to take care of that odious opera singer,” I told Emma, pulling her aside. “Was she too horrid?”

  “Not at all,” Emma answered with a smile that was sent to the Spaniard. “I find her charming, to be honest.”

  “You two seemed to be getting along quite amiably. I had no idea you spoke Spanish.”

  “I don’t,” she said simply, then laughed at my look of confusion, and nodded toward Freddy and Helena. “She’s lovely. Is that the important countess?”

  “Her sister. Her name is Helena, and she’s twenty-one years old.”

  “Mmm, a bit young, but still delectable, with a delicate complexion that gives her the appearance of a fragile china doll, all sweetness and no vices. Pity. I’d give anything for that hair, though. And the widow’s peak. Are her eyes brown or hazel?”

  “Brown. Her brother’s are amber.”

  “Are they.”

  My gaze went to where he stood leaning casually against the fireplace, turned toward my aunt, but to my surprise, it was us he was watching. “He really is…well, there’s just no other word for it but magnificent, don’t you think?”

  “Very,” she said, without looking his way.

  I nudged her with my elbow. “Not Freddy, Griffin. That is, Mr. St. John. It’s just a shame his personality doesn’t match his external appearance.”

  She spared him a glance, but then urged me over to the sofa where Helena sat. “Yes, quite.”

  I made the introductions, taking my seat in chair upon whose arm Freddy lounged while Emma sat next to Helena.

  “Have you lived long in London?” Emma asked Helena.

  “Oh yes, for some time. I live with my brother.”

  “Indeed,” I glanced toward that person. His unblinking gaze met mine.