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.
The first person she encountered as she crossed the passage to the ballroom was the languid figure of the Comte de Courcelles. As she stood there, unable to believe her eyes, she saw first puzzlement, then dawning recognition cross his features.
For one desperate moment, she believed he had not recognised her, then he stepped forward with both hands outstretched. ‘Can it be? Mon Dieu, what a transformation from Paris! Just as I suspected, Cass the valet makes a very beautiful young woman.’