Miss Weston's Masquerade (19 page)

‘Exactly so,’ remarked Miss Fox, leaning back once more in her chair. ‘You may readily understand, dear ladies, why, when I received a letter from Sophie telling me of her goddaughter’s predicament and entreating my aid, I lent myself to a scheme that under other circumstances, I would not have countenanced.’

The ladies could hardly contain their excitement at these horrid revelations. Lady Lydford inflamed them further by saying in a voice of quivering intensity, ‘I know, dear friends, that I may rely on you all for the
utmost
discretion and support.’

There was a chorus of murmured assent around the little circle, as she continued, ‘I arranged for Cassandra to slip away, with her maid, of course, and meet my cousin in London. From there, they set forth on their journey to Vienna for my god-daughter to seek sanctuary at my side.’

‘And not a mile too far from the influence of such a man,’ added the Ambassador’s wife. Seeing the most influential lady present had endorsed the plan, the others lost no time in adding their voices in support.

‘But are you certain she was not seen on her journey? What if he has hastened after her?’ enquired Mrs Spencer, anxiously.

‘I am quite certain,’ said Miss Fox, straight-faced, ‘that she was not seen in my company on the journey.’ Cassandra smiled wryly at the skill of the two ladies in manipulating the conversation. Miss Fox’s obvious utter respectability and Lady Lydford’s scandalous revelations combined to make a most titillating tea party.

‘Now Cassandra is off his hands, her father will not concern himself further with her. I intend to bring her out myself, and, of course, present her at Court when we return to London, once mourning for Princess Charlotte is over.’

‘A large fortune, you said?’ ventured one of the ladies, as if it were a mere detail.

Lady Lydford tilted the heavy teapot on its stand and replenished a cup. ‘Oh, more than respectable,’ she rejoined, equally casually.

Watching through the gap in the screen, Cassandra admired her godmother’s skilled manipulation of her audience, then found her admiration replaced by a small frisson of apprehension. If Lady Lydford was as intelligent as she appeared, it was going to be very difficult to keep secrets from her. How could she hide the way she felt for Nicholas from his mother?

She was jerked out of her brown study by Miss Fox enquiring if she should fetch Miss Weston from her room.

‘If you would be so kind, Araminta.’ Lady Lydford turned to her guests. ‘I am sure our friends will be sensible of a young lady’s feelings and not allude, in any way, to the distressing circumstances.’

Cassandra picked up her skirts and tiptoed out of the door behind the screen. She found Miss Fox waiting for her at the head of the grand staircase which swept up in a double curve from the ballroom.

‘Could you hear all that passed?’ Miss Fox paused to tease out one of Cassandra’s newly-dressed curls high on her forehead. ‘You look quite charming, my dear,’ she added, nodding with approbation at the high-waisted, high-necked sprigged muslin gown. ‘Just arrange your shawl a little lower on your arms. There, that should have given the old pussies time to smooth down their fur before your appearance.’

When Cassandra looked at her in astonishment at her frankness, she added drily, ‘If you had spent as many hours in the company of clerical wives as I have, my dear, you, too, would be an expert on gossiping middle-aged ladies.’

Cassandra’s heart was thumping uncomfortably by the time she was ushered into the salon by Miss Fox, and she felt her colour rise under the scrutiny of the assembled ladies.

Her embarrassment and the effort of remembering not to stride in her unaccustomed skirts kept her almost tongue-tied as the presentations were made, and she sank down gratefully at her godmother’s side and accepted a cup of tea.

‘From Ware in Hertfordshire, ma’am,’ she said, replying to the Naval Attaché’s wife, while trying not to listen to Mrs Spencer whispering to her neighbour.

‘Such a pretty child, and quite nice style.’

She caught her godmother’s eye and received a small nod of approval, which gave her the courage to respond quietly and calmly to the unexceptionable questions the ladies were asking her.

She was just asking her godmother’s permission to join a party driving into the country the next day, when the major domo announced, ‘The Earl of Lydford, my lady.’

Cassandra felt herself go pale, but fortunately the ladies were far more interested in the eligible Earl of Lydford than in her reaction to him.

He stood just inside the room, self-assured and extremely handsome in a coat of deep blue broadcloth, his long legs encased in a pair of white trousers which Cassandra knew were new. His waistcoat was pale yellow silk with a broad grey stripe that she had helped him choose in Lyons, and at his throat, the snowy folds of his cravat were impeccable.

Nicholas strolled across to bend over his mother’s hand, calmly ignoring the frigid glint in her eye. ‘Mama, if I had any inkling you were entertaining so many charming ladies, I would have hurried home sooner.’ He began to bow to the ladies in turn. ‘Mrs Spencer, it must be at least two years since I had the pleasure, Lady Hartley, I trust I find you in good health. Miss Fox, I was sorry to miss you at breakfast. I must admit to rising late after yesterday’s journey.’

Cassandra watched him making his rounds of the room, leaving the ladies flushed and fluttering in his wake. His technique, she realised, was to make each and every one of them believe that were it not for the inconvenient existence of their husbands, he would be slain by their charms.

‘Mountebank,’ she whispered as, finally, he stopped before her, eyes twinkling.

He bent low over her hand. ‘At last, Miss Weston. Or may I call you Cassandra, for we are as good as cousins? Last time we met, I was in a ditch rescuing your puppy, was I not?’

‘Up a tree, and it was my kitten,’ Cassandra replied tightly.

‘Of course, it was. May I sit here?’ Not receiving a reply, he sat down anyway and accepted a cup of tea from his mother while assiduously avoiding her eye. ‘Even at the tender age of fifteen, I was your devoted slave.’ Nicholas gave her a sudden grin which made her heart lurch.

‘So far from being my slave,’ she countered, ‘you did nothing but pull my pigtails and twit me about my freckles!’

The ladies laughed at these childish reminiscences, but Lady Lydford cut in hastily. ‘Enough of this, Nicholas, you must not tease Cassandra. You forget, she is no longer a child of eight, but a young lady.’

‘There is no danger of that, Mama,’ he said smoothly, turning his attention to Miss Fox as the colour rose hectically in Cassandra’s cheek.

The infuriating man!
Cassandra set down her cup with a sharp click, and schooled her face so as not to scowl. What game was he playing? He had obviously not been expected at this afternoon’s tea party, that much was obvious from Lady Lydford’s reaction, however well she covered up her irritation.

But if she thought Nicholas had done with his sparring, she was mistaken. ‘Another
macaron
, Cassandra?’ He offered her the plate with a warm smile.

‘Thank you, no,’ Cassandra replied coolly, trying to think of a safe, neutral topic of conversation. Finding none, she lapsed into silence.

‘Forgive me,’ he said in a slightly lowered voice. ‘My teasing has discommoded you.’

‘Not at all, my lord.’ She was pleased at the indifference in her tone. ‘I am sure you were only humouring me, for you think of me as a child, one who was an inconvenient brat in the past, perhaps?’

‘My dear Cassandra, now you are threatening to discommode
me
.’ She had certainly succeeding in disturbing some of his air of assurance. There was a glint in his eye that was not all amusement, and one finger tapped the arm of the sofa.

‘Oh, no, my lord,’ Cassandra protested sweetly. ‘Why, I declare nothing could discommode you, not raging torrents, nor foreign footpads.’

‘
Touché
, Cassandra,’ he whispered. ‘Changing from breeches into skirts has done nothing to improve your temperament.’

Their secret squabble was interrupted by the Ambassador’s wife rising to her feet, apparently a signal to the lesser ladies to take their leave also.

In the flurry of goodbyes Cassandra received several promises of future invitations. Lady Hartley said that her daughters would be charmed to take her about with them. ‘I expect you, Lydford, will have many calls on your time,’ she remarked archly as he bowed her out.

As soon as the door closed behind the last guest he collapsed gracefully into a chair, legs stretched out on the carpet. ‘Mother, I congratulate you. A more worthy collection of influential gabble-mongers you would be hard put to meet anywhere. And, if I recollect, only Lady Hartley has daughters to dispose of.’

‘You are out of touch, Nicholas. The elder is betrothed to Sommerson, and the younger is the reigning beauty in Vienna. She has no need to fear competition.’ Lady Lydford dismissed the Marriage Mart and turned to her son in renewed irritation. ‘What were you about, Lydford? You nearly ruined my entire strategy, arriving like that. Why, you might have put Cassandra completely out of countenance with your foolery.’

Nicholas snorted inelegantly. ‘Ha! Nothing puts Cassandra out of countenance, as I have found to my cost these last seven weeks. Why, if someone particularly disturbs her, she takes a pistol to them.’

‘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.

‘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 rehearsed 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.