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‘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.
