Miss Weston's Masquerade Read Online Free Page A

voice it aloud. Life with Papa had taught her that men needed their dignity preserving, however ridiculous they could be.
    ‘Do you trust me to look after your linen?’ she enquired with mock seriousness, eyeing the careless elegance of his attire. The dressing gown had gone, to be replaced by a dark blue double-breasted coat, a snowy cravat and shining Hessians over buff breeches.
    ‘Looking at the way you are turned out, I have the deepest misgivings.’ He eyed her dubiously. ‘Where did you get those garments? The stable boy?’
    ‘Yes, as it happens. They are his Sunday best.’
    ‘But hardly suitable for the valet of an earl. I’ll see what I can do with your hair, meanwhile.’ He tugged the bell pull. ‘Come back into the dressing room and we’ll see to that. Ah, Peacock, what do you have in the way of clothing that would fit my new valet?’
    Cassandra hopped off the bed with alacrity, glad to escape from the bedchamber. Not that she felt threatened in any way. Naturally she had no experience of how a man should react to finding a girl in his bed, but it seemed to her that Nicholas was unflatteringly unmoved.
    In the dressing room, she submitted meekly to being swathed in a towel while he dragged a comb through what remained of her curls. ‘This will have to be a severe crop if you are not to look as though the moth’s been at it.’ He snipped quickly and deftly, the fine hair falling on to her face and making her sneeze. Nicholas brushed it off her cheeks with surprising gentleness.
    Peacock entered the room without knocking, a suit of dark clothing over his arm, disapproval etched on every feature. ‘The under-footman’s church clothes, my lord,’ he announced frostily. ‘An undersized youth. They should fit Miss Weston.’ He departed, stiff-backed.
    ‘He knows who I am?’
    ‘He seems to have recognised you at second glance. He has been with the family twenty years, so he certainly knows who my mother’s godchild is.’ Nicholas tossed aside the towel impatiently. ‘Hurry up and get dressed. It will soon be noon. We will eat on the road at the first change of horses.’ He paused with one hand on the doorknob. ‘If you need anything, ring for Peacock. Don’t be seen outside these rooms. And hurry,’ he urged as the clock chimed once more.
    The under-footman’s Sunday best was a good fit. Cassandra tucked the ends of the neckcloth into the black cloth waistcoat and straightened a wrinkle in one of her stockings before examining herself in the long glass. The waistcoat was rather tight, but that was a good thing, she reflected. It served to flatten her breasts and for the first time she was grateful for their unimpressive size. When she shrugged on the coat, the effect was complete. No-one would guess she was not a boy, she assured herself. Many youths were positively effeminate in appearance, after all.
    Ten minutes later, Nicholas’s keen scrutiny confirmed what she had seen in the glass. ‘Passable, in fact, more than passable. It’s a good thing you’re not pretty. Just remember to stride when you walk, stand up straight, and don’t say anything unless you have to.’ He seemed oblivious to the hurt look Cassandra gave him. She knew she wasn’t pretty, but he might at least have said she made a good-looking boy. ‘That’s right, scowl like that,’ he added, blithely piling insult on injury.
    Cassandra followed him down the curving staircase to the hall where Peacock handed him into his caped driving cloak. ‘Is the luggage stowed, Peacock?’
    ‘It is, my lord, and the heavy baggage should have reached Dover this morning. Your gloves and hat, my lord.’
    Trying to ignore the butler’s disapproving glance, Cassandra ran down the steps to where the curricle waited with a diminutive tiger holding the heads of four matched bays. ‘I shan’t be needing you, Jem. Have a holiday.’ Nicholas swung up onto the box, gathered the reins in his gloved hand and steadied the