‘Lydford,’ the Dowager began frostily, after one comprehensive look at the shivering figure, ‘what leads you to believe that bringing your fille de joie into the Ambassador’s Residence – into my rooms – is acceptable behaviour?’ Her small figure seemed to grow by degrees as indignation filled her. ‘In what way did I fail in your upbringing that you believed I would be complaisant? Or did you merely assume my eyesight was failing?’
‘Mama, this is not a fille de joie,’ Nicholas said firmly.
‘Godmama,’ Cassandra interjected, falling on her knees, her cheeks burning with mortification. ‘He hasn’t… I mean… I’m not..’ Her voice faltered with nerves and emotion.
‘Cassandra?’ Lady Lydford said in a voice of utter incredulity. ‘Can it truly be you? Here? Dressed like this?’ There was real anger in her eyes as she turned to confront her son. ‘Lydford, what is the meaning of this outrage?’
‘Godmama, don’t blame Nicholas. It is not his fault,’ Cassandra pleaded.
‘Hold your tongue, Cassandra,’ Nicholas interjected. ‘Mother, this is not how it looks. Can we all sit down and I will explain everything.’
There was a long, considering pause, before his mother replied evenly, ‘Very well.’ Thankfully, Cassandra sank into an armchair next to Nicholas.
Beside her, she heard him draw a deep breath, but his voice was steady when he began the tale of their adventure. ‘Seven weeks ago Cassandra came to the London house seeking you. It was a foolish thing to do, but when I tell you that her father was coercing her to marry Lord Offley, you will see what desperate straits she was in.’
‘Offley?’ The Dowager shuddered. ‘He must be mad, that man is no suitable bridegroom for a gently-reared young lady.’
‘Exactly. Cassandra was desperate and, lacking all female friends with any influence, she had no one to turn to but yourself.’
‘I disguised myself as a boy and took the stage to London. It never once occurred to me you might not be at home,’ Cassandra interrupted.
‘My poor child.’ Lady Lydford reached out and gently touched her cheek. ‘What a terrible position to find yourself in.’ Her tender tone became barbed. ‘And, of course, my intelligent and resourceful son could find no better way to settle the crisis than to drag you across Europe dressed like that?’
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ Nicholas said firmly. ‘At first I was going to leave her with the housekeeper, then Aunt Augusta turned up and my valet broke his leg.’
‘Oh, do stop rambling, Lydford. What has my sister to do with your valet breaking his leg?’ She broke off and regarded him through narrowed eyes. ‘Did you say seven weeks ago? Am I to understand that for all that time you have had Cassandra in your company, unchaperoned and dressed like this?’
Chapter Eighteen
‘It seems like seven years, I have to confess, Mama.’ Nicholas flashed a teasing smile at Cassandra as she glared indignantly at him. ‘But when we got to Paris – ’
‘Paris? Why were you in Paris?’
‘I thought you were still there. I was going to leave Cassandra with you and continue my Grand Tour.’
‘As if nothing had happened, I suppose,’ his mother said drily. ‘There are moments when you remind me so much of your dear father. If you had troubled to read my last two letters to you, you would have been aware of your Uncle Marcus’s posting to Vienna, and my intention to accompany him. But in any case, it does not take over a month to travel from Paris to Vienna.’ Her dark brows rose interrogatively.
‘We went via Lyons, Nice and Venice,’ Nicholas admitted.
‘And then there was the accident on the Rhône and the footpads on the coast road,’ Cassandra added helpfully.
A delicate shudder passed through the Dowager’s frame. ‘I think we will save the detail for later. Nicholas, go away. I am quite out of patience with you. And remember, you have no valet and you have not seen my goddaughter for ten years. I don’t want to see you until dinner. Cassandra, stay with me.’
After the door had closed behind Nicholas, Cassandra turned imploringly to Lady Lydford, ‘Please don’t blame Nicholas, Godmama, he had little choice.’
‘Nonsense,’ the Dowager said crisply. ‘I can think of at least two perfectly sensible courses of action.’ Then she smiled. ‘So like his dear father, so impetuous.’ She drew Cassandra down to sit beside her. ‘I suppose he took off without a thought to the practicalities of the situation. You have been travelling as his valet, I apprehend and that would necessitate a degree of intimacy I assume?’
Cassandra blushed, remembering the kiss in Paris, sleeping in his arms in Nice, the heat of his passion in Venice. ‘We had to share a bedchamber on occasion, but Nicholas was always, I mean, he never… there was always a screen around my bed.’
‘And nobody penetrated your disguise?’ Lady Lydford’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘For myself, I knew as soon as I saw you that you were no boy.’
‘Peacock, your butler knows. And after I fell in the Rhône, and nearly drowned, the keeper of the inn, a French gentlewoman, she knew my secret. And in Venice, the major domo of the palazzo where we stayed, he knew, but he assumed we were…’ She couldn’t complete the sentence under that critical gaze.
‘Quite. But, of course, no such thought entered either of your heads.’
‘Of course not,’ Cassandra protested, trusting her averted gaze would be mistaken for modest shock, not a guilty conscience.
‘And you would have me believe that my short-tempered, self-centred, pleasure-seeking son remained equable and considerate throughout this escapade? You have had a thoroughly pleasant time in his company?’