The look on Nicholas’s face was so comic that Cassandra stepped back quickly before laughter got the better of her. The table she backed into rocked, she made a grab for it and a vase went tumbling to bounce on the carpet and roll slowly, inevitably, out from behind the screen.
‘Nicholas, what is that? Is there someone in the room?’
Cassandra seized a pile of freshly pressed shirts and scurried head down from behind the screen towards the door.
As she pulled it closed behind her, she heard the formidable voice demanding ‘Who was that?’ Controlling her breathing with an effort, Cassandra pressed her ear to the panels.
‘Why, my new valet, of course, Aunt.’
‘That scrubby boy? Are you out of your senses?’
‘It’s Franklin’s nephew. He will do until I reach Paris. Beggars can’t be choosers.’ Even through the oak, Cassandra could hear the enjoyment in Nicholas’s voice. She suspected he rarely had the advantage over his aunt and was relishing it now. Abandoning her post, she tiptoed down the landing and let herself into the next room.
She realised she was in Nicholas’s bedchamber and through the linking door to the dressing room she could hear his voice and the more strident tones of his aunt. Goodness knew how long Lady Augusta would stay, she may as well make herself comfortable.
The freshly-made bed looked inviting. Cassandra put the shirts carefully on a dresser, kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the mattress. It was wide and soft with a mountain of white pillows. Surely it would do no harm to settle down here for a few minutes?
‘So that’s where you’ve got to.’ Cassandra struggled back to consciousness to find Nicholas standing at the end of the bed. ‘You can come out now, she’s gone.’
‘Are you going to Woodham Park to stay as she asks?’ Cassandra sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
‘And abandon my trip for a week of hideous embarrassment while she throws the simpering niece of Lady Hare at my head? I think not.’
Cassandra saw a wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘Your aunt will be very displeased.’
‘All the more reason for not being here,’ Nicholas said with a grin. ‘Hurry, get up, I have had an idea. We have a lot to do – finding you clothes that fit for a start.’
‘Why, you are running away from her,’ Cassandra said as she swung her legs off the bed. ‘I do believe you are frightened of her.’
Nicholas’s mouth twisted into a rueful grin. ‘There is not a man in Christendom who isn’t, not if he’s any sense of self-preservation. Her late husband was terrified of her. But we will not be here to experience her wrath.’
Cassandra pricked up her ears at the we. It sounded as though, whatever the plan, he did not intend leaving her with the housekeeper after all.
‘You have a scheme for me?’ She looked at him, but his expression was preoccupied and he was not attending to her.
‘I must do something about trimming your hair,’ he began. ‘And I think I can find you some clothes to fit.’
‘But Nicholas,’ Cassandra shook his arm to gain his attention. ‘What are you going to do with me if you are going to France? And are you going to France without a valet?’
He looked down at her, a slow, mischievous smile curling his lips. ‘But I have a valet. I’m looking at him. Or, rather, at her.’
‘Your valet?’ she said incredulously, as his words sank in. ‘You want me to pretend to be your valet?’
‘I don’t want you to pretend to be anything. I want you to be twenty-five miles away in Hertfordshire under your father’s eye. But you’re not, are you? You’re here in my bedroom. On my bed.’ He crossed his arms across his chest and leant against the bedpost, ignoring her blushes. ‘And if Aunt Augusta walked in now and found you, I’d be marrying you, not Emily Hare.’ His smile was somewhat grim. ‘I don’t think either of us would thank her for that, would we? Well? Do you have any better ideas?’
Her mind seemed to be composed of porridge. Beds, marrying Nicolas… Under the coarse neckcloth, Cassandra could feel the rising heat of embarrassment. Marry Nicholas? He had been her idol for so long, a wonderful ‘big brother’, she could never think of him in that way. He was jesting, of course, believing her to be so young. And, of course, he was making it quite evident how unthinkable the idea was.
Cassandra got a grip on her rioting imagination. ‘I… why cannot I stay here with your housekeeper until Godmama returns?’ She broke off, realising he was still talking.
‘…there is no saying when my mother will return. After all, she is her own mistress with no-one to please but herself. My aunt, on the other hand, will not give up organising my life so easily. Quite simply, she must not find you here.’
‘But surely she’ll think the house is empty?’
‘All the more reason for frequent visits to supervise the servants. You cannot hope to remain here undetected and, I can assure you, my aunt is of the old school. If your father says you must marry Lord Offley, then marry him you will. She would have no truck with disobedience.’
Cassandra could well imagine Lady Augusta’s reaction if she discovered an unmarried girl who had run away from home and taken refuge in a gentleman’s bed chamber. She would have to marry Lord Offley, or Nicholas, or be ruined in the eyes of Society.
She was conscious of Nicholas’s silence. He had made a suggestion, now it was up to her to decide. Travel with him and take the risk of public exposure and ruin, or go back and face a marriage she abhorred. She shivered, remembering Lord Offley’s lascivious gaze. She may have led a sheltered life, but she was a countrywoman and she knew exactly what was in his mind when he looked at her like that.