Miss Weston's Masquerade (17 page)

When he had gone, she let out her breath in a huge sigh of relief. She did not deserve to have escaped the night’s wild masquerade without discovery, she knew that. But she knew also that her heart would never escape the pain of unrequited love. Her fingers touched the jewelled snake and she sat up and unclasped it. The clasp unlatched easily now there was no need for haste.

The gold pooled into a supple coil in her palm and she stirred the jewel with her finger, evoking the touch of Nicholas’s finger on her skin. No, she had not escaped unscathed: she was no longer the innocent girl who had set out on this mad masquerade six weeks before. Love hurt.

Nicholas regarded Cassandra over the rim of his cup. She looked drawn and tired and he cursed himself for having woken her in the early hours. She seemed as heavy-eyed as he felt and she was certainly as silent as they sat down to break their fast at ten o’clock the next morning. The servants, obviously used to the effects of Venetian entertainments on visiting foreign guests, moved with unobtrusive silence around the table, then melted away discreetly.

Last night the overwhelming need to look at Cassie had drawn him to her door. After letting himself be so thoroughly duped by the artful mock-innocence of the young courtesan, he had had to reassure himself what true innocence really was. Cassandra must be about the same age as Antoinette, he supposed, although it was hard to believe as she sat there in prim black suiting, her face scrubbed and her hair tied back in a queue. What a contrast with that silken creature last night. And what a contrast with the scene he interrupted when he had gone looking for Antoinette. The ageing diplomat, flushed and dishevelled, ridiculous in his outrage. Nicholas shuddered and wondered if he was not so ridiculous himself.

Cassandra glanced up from the roll she was crumbling and caught his eye, her expression wary.

‘Don't look at me like that, Cassie. I’m not angry with you, I told you I was sorry I was so harsh. Don’t be frightened of me.’ Colour flooded her cheeks, and he made his voice more gentle. ‘I was angry because I was frightened for you. You don’t know how dangerous this place can be and you are too innocent to even guess at the viciousness beneath the surface glamour.’

‘No, of course I’m not afraid of you, Nicholas,’ Cassandra said briskly, pushing back her chair and getting up. ‘You said we were leaving, shall I go and direct that our bags are packed?’

‘I have already told Antonio to prepare for our departure,’ he said as he stood. ‘Now I am going out to arrange for our travel papers. Do you wish to come with me? It will be a long and tedious business, I fear.’ He wanted her out of there. Wanted her away from this place that made him act in a way that shamed him.

‘No, thank you,’ Cassie said and to his relief she smiled. ‘I would rather pack my own things myself.’

He met the major domo in the hall below as he was leaving.

‘Tell me, who is the occupant of the
palazzo
opposite?’

‘
La Puttana d’Oro
.’

‘The golden whore?’ Nicholas translated.

‘A very great and powerful lady,’ Antonio said drily. ‘And a dangerous one. She is said to have the
ear
, shall we say, of our most powerful senators. Few dare to cross her, for she has influence with many of the diplomats and ambassadors, and acts herself as their agent.’

‘I see,’ Nicholas said slowly. ‘Perhaps I have an enemy I am unaware of.’ He caught himself thinking aloud and added more briskly, ‘I am not certain when I shall return, Antonio, but make sure all is ready for an early departure tomorrow.’

‘As you command, milord.’

lf Nicholas would be gone all morning, it would give her the chance to slip across to Lucia’s house and return the wrapper and slippers, Cassandra thought. And she could satisfy her curiosity as to what had transformed Nicholas from lover to penitent.

When she heard the front doors close behind him Cassandra went back to her chamber, folded the slippers and jar of salve into a neat parcel inside the wrapper, tucked the whole parcel under her arm and tiptoed downstairs. Once more the door into Lucia's
palazzo
opened as if by magic. Cassandra wondered if the little maidservant was in truth a mute as she gestured her towards the stairs.

The courtesan was in bed, sitting up sipping a cup of chocolate. She looked tired, and for the first time since Cassandra had met her, she realised that Lucia was not in the first flush of youth.

Her skin, now bare of
maquillage
, was smooth, but there were fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Her hair had been captured into a long plait over one shoulder and the severity of the style emphasised the intelligence and experience in her face.

Cassandra could well believe that she was in the presence of a powerful and influential woman and wondered again at Lucia’s background and parentage.

‘Well, little one? How is your
Niccolo
this morning?’

Cassandra grimaced. ‘Subdued. Very out of character. I am not used to him like this. He apologised for being so angry with me.’

Lucia smiled, and it was not a pleasant expression. ‘And that does not make you happy that he is no longer cross?’

‘No, it doesn’t. I am sorry to seem ungrateful, Lucia, but I should never have done it, never agreed to such a deception.’

‘It will do you no harm to realise early what hypocrites men are,’ Lucia remarked coldly. ‘And your
Niccolo
is no exception.’

‘But what happened last night when I had left?’ Cassandra perched on the end of the bed. ‘I expected him to be angry, but he seemed chastened.’

‘A man like that is not used to rejection.’ She laughed shortly. ‘And he came across Sir Humphrey with me. Trust me when I tell you that Sir Humphrey was nothing if not ridiculous. Your
Niccolo
has the intelligence to see that what is exciting and romantic when you are young and dashing and firm-fleshed, is ludicrous and sordid when one is flabby and ageing.’

Cassandra was taken aback by the vehemence and contempt in Lucia’s voice. She experienced a flash of pity for Sir Humphrey, and to her surprise, for Lucia, too. The diplomat could not help aging and yet still wanting to experience passion – and she suspected that Lucia feared the march of time deeply for herself.

So, that explained Nicholas’s revulsion – he had seen sex and intrigue away from the glamour of the masquerade as ludicrous and sordid. Suddenly she wanted to be in the fresh air, away from the cloying scents and veiled malice.

‘I came to return these.’ She laid her bundle on the bottom of the bed. ‘And to say
adieu
, we leave early tomorrow.’

‘Goodbye, little sister.’ The courtesan’s hard face softened. ‘Do not despair. If you want him enough, you will get your
Niccolo
. Keep on loving him and one day he will realise he loves you, too.’

Cassandra shook her head. ‘No, I do not think he will ever love me. Perhaps you are right and he wants me, but that is not enough. Goodbye, Lucia, and thank you for trying to help.’ She crossed and hugged the older woman, surprised at the sentiment in her eyes.

Cassandra spent the rest of the day alone in her chamber, trying to convince herself she had made the right decision.

Nicholas returned late in the afternoon, a fat portfolio of visas and passes to show for his pains. His encounters with bureaucracy had not, as Cassandra expected, fatigued and irritated him. Instead he seemed stimulated, once more the self-assured Earl of Lydford.

‘It amazes me that we do not require permits to breathe in this city,’ he said as he tossed down the papers for her to look at.

‘How very impressive they are.’ Cassandra ran a finger over one embossed and self-important document in Italian. ‘What is this?’ It looked like an award of nobility at the very least.

‘A certificate stating that neither of us has the pox,’ Nicholas supplied wryly. ‘That cost me more than any others because I had to bribe the doctor not to examine you.’

‘Examine me?’ Cassie cringed inwardly at the thought of such an indelicate procedure, to say nothing of the scandal. ‘Thank goodness everyone in this city has their price! And this?’ She held up a scroll.

‘Our permission to leave the Venetian Empire. It is rather easier to get in than to get out because once having secured your person they demand a high price for your freedom.’

Antonio brought in wine and salted almonds. ‘The packing is complete, my lord. Do you dine at home?’

‘Yes, we do,’ Nicholas rejoined, with feeling. ‘And we will be retiring early.’

‘Now this looks like a
proper
passport,’ Cassandra exclaimed, examining a leather-bound document the size of a small book.

‘Indeed, it is. That is our entry into the Austrian Empire and once we enter Trieste, it will be the only document we need until we reach Vienna. And that,’ he added with feeling, ‘cannot come soon enough for me.’

Cassandra bit her lip. ‘I am sorry, Nicholas. I know I have ruined your Tour. You haven’t seen Rome or Florence or any of the great buildings and treasures you must have planned on visiting.’

‘Never mind, brat, it wasn’t your fault.’ Nicholas smiled at her as he poured himself some wine. ‘I cannot deny I shall be more relieved than I have ever been in my life when I hand you over to my mother’s care but, mad as it sounds, I have enjoyed this journey.’

‘You have? What has there been for you to enjoy? You have been embarrassed in front of your friends, near drowned in the Rhône, attacked by bandits, bitten by every flea in North Italy and last night…’ Cassandra shut her mouth hastily.

‘Last night?’ Nicholas’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What about last night?’

‘Well, you obviously didn’t have a very nice time,’ she said feebly.

‘No, I didn’t have a
very nice time
,’ he agreed with a grimace. ‘But that was my own stupidity, doing what I thought I ought to want and not what my gut should have told me I really wanted to do.’ He paused, looking deep into his wine. ‘I have enjoyed your company, brat.’ He raised his glass to toast her. ‘And you have been a good influence on me. No doubt my mother will say it was time I assumed responsibility for something other than my own pleasures.’

‘I am sure Godmama will say it is high time you were married,’ Cassandra observed tartly.

‘No doubt.’ He poured her a small glass of wine and pushed it across the table. ‘Within hours of my arrival, she will have a bevy of eligible young women ready for my approval. The only consolation is that she has better taste than my Aunt Augusta.’

‘Do you not want to get married?’

‘I know I must marry. There’s the title and the estates to consider. But I want more than an alliance, more than a social arrangement.’ He twisted the stem of the glass between finger and thumb. Cassandra held her breath and sat still. It was almost as though he were thinking aloud to himself. ‘To me, marriage should be better than that. I want a wife with character and a lively mind, not some little mouse who acquiesces because I am her husband.’

‘Surely there are young ladies in the Marriage Mart who would fit the bill?’

‘I have yet to encounter one.’ He pitched his voice into a mocking falsetto. ‘Yes, my lord, anything you say, my lord. Of course, the moon is made of green cheese, Lord Lydford, if you say so.’

Cassandra laughed at him. ‘Surely they are not all such silly ninnies?’

‘Of course they are not. Not until their mamas school them in the ways of husband-catching. No, what I really need is a wife like you.’

Cassandra went very still. There was a ringing in her ears as her pulse raced and she realised her fingers were cramped on the arms of her chair. ‘Me?’ she croaked.

‘Not
you
, of course, but there must be one of them with a sense of fun. Someone with your resourcefulness and spirit. But I expect yours will disappear when you climb into petticoats again, more’s the pity.’

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.