AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Clocks struck seven throughout the house and Nicholas drained his wine. ‘We must dress for dinner. I will tell you then my plans for the journey over the meal.’
Cassandra glared at his retreating back, fighting down the urge to throw something at him. Not her, of course. Miss Cassandra Weston was quite unsuitable.
She had a sense of fun, and resourcefulness and spirit, so he said. There were even moments when he found her attractive, however hard he tried to forget it. But was he so obtuse that he could not put these ingredients together and recognise that she would be the ideal partner for him? Or was it that Miss Weston was not good enough for the arrogant Earl of Lydford and therefore beyond consideration?
‘Oh – !’ She kicked the table leg, wishing it were Nicholas’s well-muscled calf. Just let him wait until they reached Vienna and she’d show him she was the same person in petticoats or in breeches.
‘I cannot believe it is only two months since I left Ware,’ Cassandra marvelled out loud as their carriage threaded its way along a highway lined with heavily imposing palace and town houses, the Imperial splendour a world away from the sedate buildings and maltings of her home town.
‘It seems like six,’ Nicholas replied repressively. He regarded her sombrely from the opposite corner of the carriage, ‘You are going to have to behave yourself here, brat. This isn’t Venice.’
‘What do you mean?’ Cassandra asked, her eyes on a magnificent team of horses pulling a carriage, its door emblazoned with a coat of arms, every panel glinting in the sunlight.
‘For one thing, the city is full of diplomats and their wives from every corner of Europe. If you make a scandal, there will be nowhere to retreat to and no corner where your business will not be known. As I said, this is not Venice. Here, Society is regulated and regimented. If it is discovered that you had spent just one night in my company, no allowance will be made for the predicament you found yourself in. One slip of the tongue and you will be ruined.’
Cassandra contemplated him thoughtfully from under her lashes, her excitement quite gone. If she was ruined, what would the scandal do to her Godmama and Nicholas? His words chilled her and, for the first time in many weeks, she was afraid. Both she and Nicholas had concentrated on attaining the goal of reaching Vienna and his mother, without thought of how their unexpected appearance could be presented to Society.
And for the first time doubts bubbled up in Cassandra about Godmama’s attitude to her flight from Lord Offley and her home. What if Godmama agreed with Papa? If she thought Cassandra wilful and disobedient in not going through with the marriage? And what if she blamed Cassandra for compromising Nicholas and blighting his chances of a good alliance? The thought of him marrying anyone else but herself was agony, but she knew it must happen.
It was a very subdued and nervous Miss Weston who finally climbed down from the carriage in the courtyard of the English Ambassador’s residence, a voluminous cloak concealing her valet’s clothes, the collar turned up around her face.
Seven weeks in Nicholas’s company had made her sensitive to every nuance of his voice and, through her own distress, she recognised the tension underlying his apparent composure as he dispatched the major domo to announce his arrival to the Dowager Countess.
‘Stand over there,’ Nicholas hissed at her, gesturing to a more shadowy corner of the sunlit room while he paced restlessly over the Turkey carpet.
Minutes later the servant reappeared and bade them follow him to Lady Lydford’s suite.
‘Are the Ambassador and my uncle, Sir Marcus Camberley, at home?’ Nicholas enquired, engaging the man’s attention as Cassandra followed quietly in their wake. ‘It is several weeks since I read a newspaper, but I imagine they are very much occupied with the Treaty.’
‘There are still many negotiations in progress, my lord. Although the Congress has long ended, there is much business to attend to
. However, we expect both His Excellency and Sir Marcus to return for dinner.’
The major domo flung open the double doors into the Countess’s salon and announced, ‘The Earl of Lydford, milady.’
As the doors closed behind them and Nicholas strode forward, Cassandra shrank back against the gilded panels, wishing she could melt into them and vanish.
The Dowager Countess was seated on a bergère armchair, a white Persian cat on her lap and a most becoming lace cap on her dark curls. From the drift of paper at her feet and the gilded chocolate cup at her side, it was evident her ladyship had been engaged with her morning’s correspondence when the news of her son’s unexpected arrival had been brought to her.
‘Nicholas, darling!’ She extended both hands in greeting, the heavy ruffles on her morning gown falling back to reveal smooth white arms. The movement sent the cat jumping to the floor, its plumy tail waving in irritation.
‘Mama.’ Nicholas stooped to kiss her on both cheeks, then stepped back to regard her. ‘You look even more ravishing than the last time I saw you. How do you manage it?’
‘I do, don’t I,’ she riposted with a twinkle in her dark eyes. ‘I was stifling in London with those boring matrons with their boring little daughters. No conversation, no intrigue. And the fashions.’ She shrugged delicately, ‘What could I do? Your uncle needed me, at least, so I told him.’
She regarded her tall son shrewdly, and Cassandra saw the sharp intelligence behind the coquettish pose. ‘Sit down, Nicholas, and tell me why I have the unexpected pleasure of your company. I am, of course, delighted to see you, but why are you not in Florence admiring the frescoes, as my reckoning tells me you should be?’
There was a silence while Nicholas took his time settling in a chair. He crossed one long, booted leg over the other and brushed an invisible speck of dust from the knee of his breeches. ‘It’s a long story, Mama.’
Cassandra held her breath, catching her lower lip between her teeth. The white cat stalked over to where she stood and showed its displeasure at being neglected by sinking its claws into her stockinged ankle.
Cassandra let out a shriek of pain and clutched her leg. Lady Lydford’s sharp gaze moved rapidly from her son’s face to her standing by the door, apparently noticing her for the first time.
‘You, boy! Come here and stop provoking my cat.’ The summons was sharp. Lady Lydford had obviously sensed her son’s reticence and was becoming suspicious.
Cassandra obeyed, limping over until she stood directly in front of her godmother. She waited, eyes cast down, fingers twisting in the cord of her cloak.
‘Take off that cloak,’ Lady Lydford ordered quietly. Swallowing hard, Cassandra let it drop and stood revealed in breeches, waistcoat and shirtsleeves.
