Miss Weston's Masquerade

‘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.’