Miss Weston's Masquerade (21 page)

Beside her, Lord Stewart was describing delightful rides in the Viennese countryside and she responded with every appearance of interest, while inside her heart felt like lead. She must have been insane to have deluded herself that Nicholas felt anything for her. His behaviour last night was simply that of a rather over-zealous cousin, concerned to protect the reputation of an inexperienced relative.

And his anger this morning, she thought miserably, stemmed from the discovery of her wanton behaviour, her apparent spiteful desire for revenge.

‘Lydford, why do we not make up a riding party tomorrow, if the weather is good, and take the ladies to see that wonderful view you get from the western hills? Miss Hartley, Miss Lucy, would you accompany us?’

Lady Lydford agreed with the scheme, and suggested Miss Fox as a chaperone.

‘Splendid idea, Stewart,’ Nicholas agreed. ‘But if I may suggest, rather than all go on horseback, it would be an excellent opportunity to give you that driving lesson I have been promising you, Miss Lucy. Come now, say you will.’ His voice was warmly persuasive and Miss Lucy showed no inclination to resist.

‘If Mama permits,’ she dimpled prettily. ‘I would love to, if you think me strong enough to control your horses.’

‘Don’t be afraid, I’ll be there all the time, right beside you,’ Nicholas assured her.

Cassandra ungritted her teeth with an effort. The mental picture of Miss Lucy in a dashing riding habit with the Earl's strong hands enveloping her tiny gloved ones on the reins was too much to bear.

‘Unfortunately, I do not possess a riding habit yet. It has not arrived from the dressmaker’s,’ Cassandra said tightly.

‘Oh, what a pity,’ Nicholas replied carelessly. ‘Never mind, I expect you and Stewart can join us on another occasion.’

‘Nonsense, she can borrow my habit,’ Lady Lydford said cheerfully, as the young ladies rose to make their farewells.

When their guests had left, the Dowager regarded her son and goddaughter with complacency. ‘Well, what a splendid afternoon we have had. Almost all the invitations are written, Nicholas – and did you see the lovely flowers Lord Stewart brought Cassandra?’

‘Very handsome,’ he remarked lightly. ‘Perhaps I have misjudged him. Should I enquire what his intentions are towards Cassandra, Mama?’

‘A little premature, I think, but I will not deny I have hopes. Now, don’t blush so, Cassandra, you seem to have quite a partiality for his lordship.’ Having effectively rendered her goddaughter speechless, she turned once more to her son. ‘And as for you, Nicholas, I really am most pleased with you, I have had great hopes of your finding a suitable wife in Vienna. Miss Lucy Hartley would be ideal.’

‘I will do my best not to disappoint you, Mama,’ he said smoothly, opening the door to allow the Dowager to leave.

‘Nicholas…’

He turned to Cassandra, his eyes as hard as emeralds and held up a hand. ‘No, don’t say anything. I have no wish to cause my mother pain, so I have decided we will say no more about Venice or what happened this morning. As far as I am concerned, the subject is closed.’ The door closed behind him with the thud of finality.

The Embassy ballroom blazed with light from the hundreds of candles in branched wall sconces, and in the great chandeliers hanging at intervals down its length. It had taken a team of workmen most of the week to lower them, polish each lustre, and hoist the great weight up again.

At the far end, chairs and music stands were being set out for the orchestra and beyond that, the double doors stood open into the long drawing room where supper would be set out. The Ambassador had granted permission to use the Embassy silver, as well as the ballroom and his servants, and the overall effect, Cassandra thought, was as grand as a palace.

She had slipped in on her way down to dinner for a last look at the flower arrangements she had been helping with all afternoon, and had stopped in amazement at the transformation. With the dust covers removed, the lights ablaze, and watering cans and flower stems tidied away, the room was magical.

‘It looks very fine,’ said the Ambassador behind her, causing her to jump. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, didn’t mean to startle you.’

Cassandra bobbed a quick curtsey. ‘Not at all, sir, and I must thank you for letting Godmama have the ballroom and all the servants this evening. It must have put you to a great deal of inconvenience.’

‘Not at all.’ He consulted his pocket watch, then offered her his arm. ‘Time to be gathering for dinner. Will you do me the honour?’

Sweeping into the reception room on the Ambassador’s arm to be presented to the minor royal who was the guest of honour, Cassandra had to pinch herself to bring her feet back to earth. Could it truly only be ten weeks ago that she had climbed out of her bedroom window and down the apple tree to escape Lord Offley?

Never, in her wildest imaginings, had she dreamed of a night such as this, held just for her. Whatever happened in the future, whatever became of her and Nicholas, tonight would be a special memory to treasure always.

Having made her curtsey without a stumble, and exchanged stilted conversation with the somewhat plain Grand Duchess, Cassandra thanked the Ambassador and slipped away to join her godmother.

‘Come and stand quietly with me, dear,’ Lady Lydford said kindly. ‘Let me look at you.’

Her gown, her first ever silk gown, was not in white or pink like most of the debutantes, but a deep cream, trimmed with old lace around the deeply flounced hem. The bodice and tiny puffed sleeves were smocked and caught with gold knots and the high waist caught with a broad golden ribbon which matched the tiara in her hair.

Godmama’s hairdresser had pomaded her chestnut curls until they gleamed and clustered around her head and, as a finishing touch, Godmama had given her a pair of gold drop earrings.

Cassandra pointed one toe to admire her new satin slippers, then smiled at her godmother who smiled back. ‘You look a picture, my dear. Every man at the ball will fall in love with you.’

Cassandra was laughing off the compliment when Nicholas arrived, impeccable in knee breeches and swallow tail coat, a filigree holder of dark yellow roses in his hand. She had scarcely seen him during the last week, since the outing to the western hills with Lord Stewart and the Hartley sisters.

He had been cold, distantly polite, but she would not let herself give up hope that his behaviour proved that he cared for her. Looking at him critically, she thought he looked pale, and his face, handsome as ever, showed signs of strain.

Having kissed his mother, he turned to Cassandra with a slight bow. For one wild moment, she believed he was about to offer her the roses, they went so perfectly with her gown.

‘Nicholas, how lovely,’ she began impetuously, stepping forward smiling, her hand already outstretched to take the flowers.

He raised a brow in apparent surprise, took the proffered hand and bowed over it, kissing the air a good half inch above her fingers. Then he turned and made his way across the salon to where Lucy Hartley stood. She blushed prettily as Nicholas bowed over her hand and presented the flowers.

Cassandra stood cringing with embarrassment, convinced everyone in the room had witnessed the rebuff. Then the butler came in to announce that her ladyship was served.

The ball might be her come-out but, as a very junior debutante, Cassandra found herself seated well down the table, between the Ambassador’s nephew and someone’s
aide de camp
. Neither of them seemed greatly inclined to conversation, allowing Cassandra ample opportunity to watch Nicholas.

He was seated next to the Grand Duchess, nodding gravely at appropriate moments in the conversation she was dividing between him and Sir Marcus. He appeared to be managing royalty with aplomb, but the Grand Duchess had neither the charm nor the looks to engage his total concentration.

Their eyes met as he glanced down the long polished table, and without thinking Cassandra gave him a small, conspiratorial smile. To her joy he returned it, suddenly the old Nicholas again, sharing a secret joke in some wayside inn. Then he turned back to his duty, leaving Cassandra glowing with an unexpected hope.

It was almost half past ten when the dinner party made its way through to the glittering ballroom. Cassandra took her place between Godmama and Sir Marcus at the head of the sweeping double staircase, and the next hour passed in a blur of compliments, bobbed curtseys and unfamiliar faces. Sir Marcus’s diplomatic connexions and Lady Lydford’s social circle had combined to produce a dazzling assembly of notabilities. Lady Lydford intended to make this ball the talking point of the Season, and already she recognised with satisfaction the heady buzz of. a truly successful occasion.

When the receiving line thinned to a trickle, Lady Lydford dismissed Cassandra. ‘Off you go into the ballroom now, dear, and dance with your beaux. Enjoy yourself.’

Cassandra stepped into the ballroom with some trepidation. It seemed so full of unknown faces as the mass of dancers passed by in a swirl of coloured silks, a confusion of dress uniforms, and the dark elegance of male evening attire.

Then the music stopped and as couples came back to the gilt seats around the walls, she began to recognise people. Soon she was the centre of a cluster of eager young male admirers, all clamouring for a place on her dance card. Laughing, she pencilled in names, trying to save space for Nicholas.

Surely he would come and ask her to dance soon? Surely that shared, secret smile meant something? She was clutching at straws, but to give up would break her heart. Cassandra looked around, hoping to see him, but could only catch a glimpse of the back of his head, bent as he listened to a group of young ladies across the room.

‘Dare I hope you are looking for me?’ Lord Stewart was at her side, having displaced, with no apparent effort, a number of less effective young men.

Cassandra, her heart already engaged, was able to admire him dispassionately and realise that she was an object of considerable envy by many of the debutantes present. Anthony, Lord Stewart, was as blond as Nicholas was dark and nearly as tall. He carried himself with a careless elegance that drew the eye to the sombre magnificence of his evening attire, moulding the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his well-muscled legs.

The arrangement of dark Palma violets in a filigree holder his messenger had brought earlier was a perfect complement to the cream of her gown and Cassandra thanked him warmly, holding the fragrant posy up to her nose to inhale the rich scent. Across the room, she saw Nicholas watching the little scene. He gave a slightly mocking bow, as if in reference to his jibe that she was trying to ensnare Lord Stewart.

Cassandra allowed herself to be swept into the next dance by Lord Stewart. Perhaps her optimistic plan, that she might pique Nicholas into recognising feelings for her he would not admit to, could yet succeed.

As they passed Nicholas and his partner on the floor Cassandra was laughingly protesting, ‘But Lord Stewart, I could not possibly call you Anthony! That would be most improper.’

For a moment, she thought Nicholas was going to ignore the provocation, then as she glanced out of the corner of her eye, he bent towards her and whispered in her ear, ‘Minx.’ Before she could make a rejoinder to this almost affectionate scold, the movement of the dance separated the two couples again.

‘Can I hope you will be remaining in Vienna for the whole Season?’ Anthony Stewart enquired, as he escorted her back to her seat against the cream and gold pilasters.

‘I am entirely at Godmama’s disposal,’ Cassandra responded demurely. ‘Do you intend to remain here, too, my lord? I felt sure I had heard Nicholas say you intended to leave next week.’

‘So I did,’ he responded easily. ‘But then Fate took a hand, and I find my plans changed.’ The look he gave her was warm and full of meaning.

‘How inconvenient for you’ Cassandra murmured, as she sat down and unfurled her fan.

‘May I?’ He sat beside her, took the fan from her hand and began to wave it gently to and fro. ‘I do not find it particularly inconvenient. Perhaps you can guess why?’

This was going too fast for Cassandra. If he were in earnest, and he was too accomplished a flirt for her to tell, she could not risk wounding his feelings. Loving Nicholas as she did, it would be dishonourable to accept any other gentleman’s suit without telling him why she could not return his regard. And, equally, she should not be encouraging a serious flirtation from a man such as this.

The young men of her own age were safe. They were too young yet to fix their interest and think of marriage, and a flirtation was safe and enjoyable for both parties. But Lord Stewart, like Nicholas, was too old and experienced to be taken lightly.

Flustered, she moved involuntarily and the heel of her slipper caught in the lace flounces at her hem with an audible rip.

‘Oh, dear.’ She twisted to look down at the damage. ‘I had better go and pin it up before it tears further. If you will excuse me, my lord?’

Some of the smaller rooms off the ballroom had been set aside for just such an emergency, and Cassandra slipped quickly through the throng, holding up her skirt carefully to avoid further damage. She remembered Godmama ordering one of the ladies’ maids to remain in the smaller room with pin cushion and
sal volatile
to attend to whatever emergency might arise, and she pushed open the door, confidently expecting to find the woman in attendance.

A screen had been set just inside the door to afford privacy to the ladies and Cassandra was just about to slip round it when she heard voices.

Lucy Hartley was saying in a voice breathless with excitement, ‘But, of course, I promise! I won’t breathe a
word
.’

Blushing with confusion to have so nearly interrupted an intimate conversation, perhaps even a declaration, Cassandra gathered up her skirts and prepared to tiptoe out silently.

Then she was arrested by Lucy’s next words. ‘Oh, Nicholas, I am so happy!’

Cassandra felt as if her heart had stopped in her chest, and she reached out blindly to grip the door frame for support. Nicholas? Nicholas and Lucy Hartley? Her worst fears had come true.

But there was still hope, she realised dazedly. The man had not yet spoken, Nicholas was not an uncommon name. Perhaps it was another man and not
her
Nicholas.

Between the leaves of the screen was a narrow gap. Holding her breath, Cassandra put her eye to it just as Nicholas,
her
Nicholas, said, ‘Lucy, you are a darling. What you tell me makes me so happy. You cannot believe the torment I have been through.’ Through the crack, all Cassandra could see was the dark head bent towards the blonde and Lucy’s white arm coming up as she reached up to his shoulder to draw down his face to hers.

Cassandra choked down a shattering sob and backed away from the screen in desperate silence. To be discovered there, to have those two feel sorry for her, pity her, was a humiliation she could never endure.

Every foolish hope, every foolish dream she had ever harboured, that Nicholas could feel for her as she did for him, lay shattered at her feet. All that mattered now was to escape undetected, her dignity intact. Now he was engaged to another woman, he must never guess how she felt about him. No wonder he was unwilling to talk further about Venice. What did it matter to a man who was in love, and was loved in return, by a beautiful young debutante?

Cassandra found sanctuary in the retiring room next door and sat shivering with reaction, unheeding of the abigail who pinned up the torn flounce.
I must have been mad
, she thought, her thoughts chasing round like a rat in a cage.
How could I have mistaken his careless kindness, his protective anger, even the fleeting moments of passion, for love?

How am I going to get through the coming weeks of betrothal celebrations and wedding preparations?
Lucy would expect her new friend to rejoice with her and share in her plans. But what alternative was there for her now? To throw herself at Lord Stewart’s head?

Cassandra sensed that if she gave him enough encouragement, he would declare himself. But she could not do that to him, she liked him too well to hurt him. And to marry him without love would be to dishonour both of them.

‘Miss, I’ve finished.' The maid had obviously been trying to attract her attention for some moments. Absently, Cassandra thanked the girl and stood up. Opposite, a mirror showed her reflection, her eyes glistening with the tears she was determined not to shed tonight. She smoothed down the cool silk of her skirts, remembering the hope with which she had dressed, then straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath and opened the door.