by Louise Allen
‘Nicholas, that isn’t fair! I thought he had killed you.’ Her throat tightened with hurt. ‘I didn’t want to shoot anybody.’
‘Lydford,’ his mother began sharply, but Nicholas had already jumped to his feet and taken one of Cassandra’s hands in his.
‘I’m sorry Cassie, that was unworthy of me. You were wonderful.’
Time seemed to stand still as she let her hand rest in his, and their eyes locked and held. Then Lady Lydford cleared her throat, and the moment was gone.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Cassandra,’ Miss Fox hissed in reproof, yet again.
Hastily Cassandra roused herself from her daydream and resignedly waited for the criticism that was surely to follow. She glanced down to check that her skirts were modestly arranged and that her satin slippers were still on the picnic rug and not on the springy woodland turf.
But no doubt Miss Fox was about to point out, as she had been doing all week, that Cassandra had once more committed some error of deportment or etiquette.
‘The chicken leg,’ Miss Fox continued, low-voiced. ‘Do not gnaw it.’
She was not aware she had been, but weeks of pretending to be a boy, staying in wayside inns where daintiness would have betrayed her, had made settling back to being a demure young lady extremely difficult. Her sheltered home life was no help, either. Cassandra soon discovered she had absolutely no talent for social small talk. Papa believed one should only open one’s mouth when one had something worth saying, and gossip about gowns, affairs of the heart and the weather were outside her experience.
Sighing, she dropped the well-nibbled bones back on her plate, and dutifully turned her attention to the conversation of the other two young ladies sharing the rug with her and Miss Fox.
Lady Hartley had been as good as her word, and had arranged this picnic outing to the woods to introduce Cassandra to her daughters’ circle of female friends. The elder daughter, Charlotte, secure in her new status as affianced bride, was holding court to a little gaggle of confidantes, all agog to hear of her bride clothes and wedding plans.
Lucy, the younger and more beautiful, caught Cassandra’s eye and giggled. The two girls next to Cassandra had filled the past twenty minutes with an impassioned discussion on the relative merits of smocked or ruched edgings for a new gown, and Cassandra smiled ruefully back at Lucy.
‘Will you not walk a while, Miss Weston?’ Lucy called, already getting gracefully to her feet.
With hardly a glance at Miss Fox for permission, Cassandra scrambled up, managing not to catch her toe in her hem as she was inclined to do, and joined her new friend.
‘May I call you Cassandra?’ Miss Hartley asked. She slipped her hand through Cassandra’s arm as they gained the gravel path encircling the ornamental lake which made this such a popular picnic spot.
‘I wish you would,’ Cassandra confessed frankly. ‘I find all this formality rather daunting.’
‘And you must call me Lucy.’ They strolled on in companionable silence for a few minutes, then, when they paused to admire some ornamental waterfowl, Lucy said, ‘I believe Miss Fox said you have not been much in Society? That you have lived quietly in the country with your father? I do envy you. We scarce see anything of dear Papa these days, he is always so engrossed in diplomatic affairs.’
Cassandra smiled wryly. ‘It certainly affords the opportunity to study the character of one’s parent,’ she said ambiguously.
‘Indeed, it must.’ Lucy took the comment at face value. ‘I understand he is quite a noted Classical scholar? And you yourself, I think, are quite an accomplished student.’
Oh, dear. Cassandra groaned inwardly. That would be another black mark from Miss Fox, who had impressed on her vigorously the absolute necessity of avoiding the label of blue stocking.
‘It would quite ruin your chances if the gentlemen thought you scholarly,’ she had said forcefully. ‘Your little…’ Miss Fox paused with a shudder, ‘jest last night about the relative characters of Napoleon and Julius Caesar, while no doubt very clever, is precisely the thing to avoid.’
‘Oh, no,’ Cassandra denied hastily now. ‘I am no scholar, although I can read some Greek and Latin. It does make it more interesting when one visits antique sites.’
‘You have travelled then?’
‘Er, no. Not yet, but I hope to, if Godmama is so kind.’ Every conversation was fraught with traps. Cassandra was finding guarding her tongue every second very tiresome, even with someone as pleasant as Lucy.
‘I do think your Godmama splendid,’ Lucy said enthusiastically. ‘I am so looking forward to her party tomorrow evening.’ She paused, and added, not quite casually enough, ‘Is the Earl intending to be there?’
‘I presume so, I scarcely see him,’ Cassandra admitted truthfully. It was almost as if he were avoiding her. but that was silly. After all, he had his own life to lead, why should he concern himself with a debutante his mother happened to be launching into Society? Everything was different now and she was hardly the Cassie with whom he had shared those weeks on the road. By the time Godmama and Miss Fox had finished with her, she would be just another insipid young lady.
‘Oh,’ Lucy appeared disappointed. ‘I was looking forward to renewing my acquaintance with him. I knew him years ago,’ she added rather quickly.
‘He has been out a great deal meeting his friends since he arrived. And I believe he has been seeing his tailor.’ And, no doubt, attending the Opera and ballet and less reputable entertainments. Cassandra stifled the thought of opera dancers and actresses, and added, ‘And, of course, Godmama has been taking me about so much to visit and to the modiste. I hardly see Ni… the Earl.’
‘He is a very fine man, is he not?’ Lucy quite failed to sound uninterested. ‘So handsome, so well-dressed.’
‘And so eligible,’ Cassandra finished, rather drily. Thinking about Nicholas and actresses was doing nothing to improve her frayed nerves.
‘Indeed, yes.’ Miss Hartley’s blue eyes were sparkling. Cassandra looked at the piquant little face and the artlessly arranged ash blonde curls and wondered just how well Nicholas knew her. What was it like to be fragile and dainty and so beautiful it took men’s breath away? To be fair, she had to admit that Lucy seemed quite unaffected by her own loveliness, quite unconscious of the effect she produced.
Combined with her friendly charm and lively wit, Cassandra could quite understand why Lucy was the reigning beauty. And if Nicholas was a good catch, then so, too, was the well-connected, well-dowered Miss Hartley. Perhaps Godmama and Lady Hartley were even now planning to bring them together. It was a painful thought, but not quite as difficult to face as the thought of Nicholas allied with one of the silly peahens they had left behind in the glade just now.
‘Nicholas,’ His mother fixed him with a chilly eye as he strolled into the dining room the next evening. ‘Where do you think you are going in those clothes?’
Clearly startled, he glanced down at his irreproachably tailored trousers and evening coat and replied simply, ‘Out. Why?’
There was a slight pause while he took his seat and the soup was served. Across the polished expanse of walnut, Cassandra caught her godmother’s eye and raised her own brows in response.
‘You cannot have forgotten that tonight is the party I am giving for Cassandra. Why are you not wearing knee breeches?’
Nicholas put down his spoon. ‘Oh, lord, I had forgotten. I’m engaged to play cards with Morton this evening.’
‘Send a note and you can go on later.’ His mother was crisp. ‘I want you here to greet our guests. It is very important that you are here to lend Cassandra your support at her first soirée.’
‘I’m sorry, Cass,’ he began. ‘Of course, I’ll be there.’
‘Do not call her Cass!’ his mother wailed despairingly. ‘How will I ever get her launched successfully if you don’t watch your tongue?’
Cassandra and Nicholas ate lamb cutlets in attentive silence, while Lady Lydford rehe
arsed the guest list. It appeared to her goddaughter that the guests had been chosen with two purposes in mind: to launch her, certainly, but also to introduce Nicholas to as many eligible young women as possible. And, of course, he already knew Miss Lucy Hartley.
At the end of the meal, Nicholas vanished to change into satin knee breeches and evening coat. Cassandra, too, went up to her room for her abigail to tidy her hair and adjust her dress.
Godmama had decreed that a cream voile was entirely suitable for a first party gown. Looking in the long pier glass Cassandra had to agree it made the most of her rather unconventional looks.
With her chestnut hair and brows debutante white would have looked insipid, while the modestly scooped neck and high waist made the most of her height and slight figure.
In the hands of a skilful hairdresser Cassandra’s boyish curls had been transformed into a modish crop set off by a simple tiara and Godmama had presented her with a pair of simple pearl drop earrings.
‘My dear, you look simply charming,’ Godmama said from the doorway. In her hands she was carrying a pair of kid evening gloves. ‘Here you are, Cassandra, let me help you with these.’
Cassandra smoothed on her first pair of grown-up evening gloves with a shiver of almost sensual pleasure at the smoothness of the fine leather. Then the pleasure turned to apprehension at the daunting thought of being the centre of attention at her first real party.
‘Don’t worry, Cassandra.’ Godmama tipped up her chin gently and looked into her eyes. ‘I’ll be there, and so will Nicholas.’ She made no comment at the sudden flush that tinged Cassandra’s cheeks and added, ‘I know this week has been a difficult one for you, but you are quite ready to go into Society now. Forget your worries and enjoy tonight.’
An hour later, Cassandra realised, to her own amazement, that she was having fun. She had bobbed curtseys to all the formidable chaperones and heard many of them complimenting her to her godmother. Their charges were all girls she had already met, and suddenly small talk and chatter came easily.
It was exciting to meet so many pleasant young men, and flattering to observe their open admiration as they competed to fill her dance card. Lady Lydford had engaged a string quartet to play country dances and had invited enough young people to make up twenty couples, but as she had said to Cassandra, ‘No waltzes, we will save those for your ball.’
Godmama had opened up the Large Salon for the dancing, and arranged for card tables in the library for the older guests. As the dowagers soon became engrossed in their whist, the younger party were able to enjoy themselves without the close supervision of their elders.
Even so, Cassandra knew she must not dance more than two dances with any one gentleman, and was laughingly resisting the blandishments of Christopher Hartley to join him in just one more set, when Nicholas strode over.
‘My dance, I think, Miss Weston.’ The smile he bestowed on Mr Hartley was perfectly pleasant, but the young man hastily relinquished all claims and retreated.
‘Nicholas,’ she protested as they took their places in the set. ‘This isn’t your dance and you were very short with Mr Hartley.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t flirt,’ he said with no sign of teasing.
‘I wasn’t,’ Cassandra said, as they joined hands and parted again.
‘You’ve danced with him twice already this evening.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with that, and I wasn’t going to dance with him again. I was telling him so when you interrupted.’ It was very difficult having a satisfactory quarrel in the middle of a country dance. ‘And in any case, why are you counting? You are not my chaperone.’
The music was ending with a scrape of violins and Cassandra dropped a cursory curtsey and raised her indignant gaze to meet his. There was an expression on his face she could not recognise. Despite all the moods she had seen in Nicholas over the past weeks, she had never experienced this one. ‘Are you cross with me?’ she hazarded, her indignation overtaken by puzzlement.
He seemed about to reply when Lord Stewart appeared by her side, claiming the next dance as his. ‘Sorry, Lydford,’ he said heartlessly. ‘The lady’s mine.’
Lord Stewart, against whose frivolous high spirits she had been warned by Miss Fox, proved to be a thoroughly entertaining partner. He was witty and amusing and his flirtatious sallies, while quite unthreatening, were flattering in the extreme. Cassandra found herself laughing up at him, completely captivated by his easy charm.
Lady Lydford emerged from the card room to find Nicholas, arms folded, glowering at the sight of her laughing goddaughter.
‘Ah, Nicholas, there you are. Doesn’t Cassandra look charming this evening? And young Stewart is obviously captivated. You know,’ she said, lowering her voice and leaning towards him confidingly, ‘I have great hopes of that particular connexion. He might be only the second son, but his grand-uncle left him his entire fortune and Sir Marcus speaks very highly of him for the Foreign Office.’
Nicholas snorted inelegantly. ‘Popinjay.’
‘Nonsense, dear, he is merely high spirited. I think they look charmingly together. Oh, see now,’ she added, apparently unheeding of the effect this conversation was having on him, ‘He’s making Cassandra blush now, the naughty man.’
Nicholas did not reply immediately as he followed the couple’s progress with his eyes. ‘I would have a care, Mama,’ he said eventually, turning to face her. ‘I would not place too many hopes on securing Stewart. He has a reputation as an accomplished flirt.’
‘Like you, Nicholas, dear?’
‘Just like me, Mama,’ he replied evenly. He could not lose his temper with his mother, although goodness knows, she was doing her best to provoke him. ‘And it is just as futile for you to strew my path with all these hopeful young ladies. Now I must join Morton’s party.’ He bowed gratefully over his mother’s hand and left while he still had some control over the urge to punch Stewart.
Cassandra watched him leave and became aware that hers was not the only gaze that followed the tall figure. Lucy Hartley’s concentration falter momentarily before she smiled at her partner and danced on.
Well, that was one consolation. Nicholas might, for some reason Cassandra didn’t understand, be out of charity with her, but he had paid her more attention than he had any of the other young ladies present.
She recognised a small flame of hope and ruthlessly suppressed it. Nicholas was not for her, she had to resign herself to that. But, enjoy the company of other men as she might, it was Nicholas she loved and wanted, and always would.
‘May I escort you to supper?’ Lord Stewart was at her side.
‘Yes, please.’ Cassandra rewarded him with a smile and allowed herself to be led away. A breaking heart was no excuse for bad manners, she told herself firmly.
The next morning, searching for her locket, Cassandra came across the jewelled snake necklace coiled at the bottom of a drawer. She stared at it, suddenly cold, remembering Venice, remembering how close she had come to betraying both herself and her love for Nicholas.
It was too dangerous to keep, both for itself and for the memories it evoked. And if she found a respectable jeweller and sold it, she would have a little money of her own for emergencies. Cassandra slipped the jewel into her reticule and went downstairs thoughtfully.
She had the breakfast room to herself. Godmama, as usual, was partaking of chocolate and sweet rolls in her room and Miss Fox, according to the butler, had gone out for a walk.
‘And Lord Lydford?’ Cassandra enquired casually, toying with a little thin ham.
‘He was up early this morning, Miss. He went out about eight o’clock, intending to ride.’
The butler bowed himself out. Left alone, Cassandra regarded the breakfast table. The ham was excellent. She helped herself to another slice and buttered some bread then sipped her coffee and contemplated Nicholas’s puzzling behaviour. What had put him so out of sorts? He had acted like an elder brother, and a particularly proprietorial one at
that.
She was still musing when the door opened and the object of her thoughts strode in, banging it shut behind him. He was looking pale and fatigued and thoroughly out of temper at finding the breakfast room occupied.
‘Coffee, Nicholas?’ Cassandra enquired sweetly.
‘Thank you.’ He jerked the chair opposite her away from the table and slouched in it, long booted legs thrust out.
‘Have you had a nice ride?’ Now she had him alone, perhaps she could provoke him into revealing what was wrong.
‘Not particularly,’ Nicholas was obviously disinclined for conversation. He took the proffered cup and unfolded a newspaper with an irritable snap.
‘I didn’t realise you read German,’ Cassandra remarked, peering across at the heavy Gothic script.
‘I don’t. I was merely trying to indicate – tactfully, I thought – that I would prefer to eat my breakfast in peace and quiet.’
‘Well, have some ham, then,’ she suggested helpfully. ‘You know you’re always irritable in the morning until you’ve had something to eat.’
There was a deadly silence while Nicholas lowered the paper and regarded her with hard green eyes. ‘I suggest you watch your tongue, Cassandra. My mood early in the morning should be quite outside your experience – do not forget our acquaintance is supposed to be of a week’s duration. Mama can scheme to her heart’s content, but it will all come to nothing if you cannot curb your tongue.’
Cassandra counted up to ten in Greek beneath her breath, very slowly. ‘It is excellent ham,’ she said out loud.
‘Damn the ham!’ he exploded, jumping up from the chair, which fell back on the polished boards with a clatter.
‘Nicholas.’ Cassandra assumed an expression of outrage. ‘You should not use such language in front of me, it is most improper.’ She knew she was goading him, but here he could not threaten to send her packing back to her father, or put her over his knee as he had in Venice.
