could live off her wits. Rubbing shoulders with all classes, speaking French, pretending to be a boy, were all new experiences. A few weeks ago she would never have believed this could happen. When she’d run away from home she was only seeking sanctuary, not this new world of vivid impressions.
But the most unexpected boon was this companionship she and Nicholas had achieved. If that was what it was. Cassandra looked at the fan again, biting her lip with indecision. If only she knew what he felt about her, what his reasons were for giving her the fan.
She’d missed Nicholas in the street below, she realised as the door behind her opened and he strolled in whistling, hands in pockets.
‘You sound very cheerful,’ Cassandra remarked, wondering who was responsible for putting the twinkle in his eye and the spring in his step.
‘The sun is shining and not every young woman in Lyons is toothless.’ He tossed his cane and gloves to one side. ‘So, you decided to get up at last. Are we packed?’
‘No, because you didn’t tell me we were leaving this morning.’ Cassandra scrambled off the seat, then remembered the fan. ‘Thank you for the, er,..’ She could feel herself blushing and blundered on. ‘The fan… it is very beautiful.’ She gazed at the buckles on her shoes, wondering why it was so difficult to thank him.
‘Oh, it’s nothing. You’ve been a good girl, and I couldn’t resist the look on your face, like an infant in a toyshop.’ He flicked open the top of the chocolate pot to see if any remained, then threw himself down in a winged chair. ‘You can put it somewhere safe until you’re grown up.’
A good girl? Cassandra burned with indignation, within an ace of telling him just how old she was, then bit back the words. What would he do if he realised she was eighteen? Pack her off to Vienna with a respectable widow – or give in to the instincts that had brought them so close to a kiss yesterday?
Cassandra couldn’t decide which would be worse, when all she wanted was to stay with Nicholas on this long route to Vienna, to build on the friendship that was growing between them. Anything else was too complicated.
‘Cassandra?’ Nicholas had obviously been speaking to her for a few moments. ‘Do wake up! The cases need to be packed. See to it while I talk to the postillions. We’ve got a boat to catch.’
A boat ? Cassandra was still asking questions when they arrived on the quayside. The postillions unhitched the horses, were paid off by Nicholas and clattered away, leaving the carriage stranded on the cobbles.
‘But where’s the boat? And we can’t leave the carriage here.’
‘Stop tugging at my coat tails and watch.’
A group of men swung a crude wooden crane over the carriage and heaved until it dangled precariously in the air. The wheels were removed and handed over the quayside into a large, flat-bottomed boat where they were laid flat, half submerged by dirty bilge water. To Cassandra’s horror, the body of the carriage was swung over and down until it rested upon them.
‘We can’t go in that,’ she protested looking at the crude boat rocking on the swift flowing River Rhône. ‘It’s nothing but a giant punt!’
‘That giant punt is costing me seven guineas. Would you rather jolt over miles more road? Or perhaps crowd onto the public boat? We can stop at night, there are inns all along the banks.’
Cassandra looked dubiously at the vicious swirl of the current and felt her stomach contract. ‘I can’t swim, Nicholas.’ The ship on the sea was one thing, this virtual raft, so low on the water, quite another.
‘Nonsense, nobody’s going to fall in. And look how much you enjoyed crossing the Channel.’
She wouldn’t let him see how nervous it made her. Cassandra watched the four boatmen making ready their long poles and sorting ropes. A rather more practical problem asserted itself. ‘Nicholas.’
‘Hmm?’ He was watching them make the carriage
But the most unexpected boon was this companionship she and Nicholas had achieved. If that was what it was. Cassandra looked at the fan again, biting her lip with indecision. If only she knew what he felt about her, what his reasons were for giving her the fan.
She’d missed Nicholas in the street below, she realised as the door behind her opened and he strolled in whistling, hands in pockets.
‘You sound very cheerful,’ Cassandra remarked, wondering who was responsible for putting the twinkle in his eye and the spring in his step.
‘The sun is shining and not every young woman in Lyons is toothless.’ He tossed his cane and gloves to one side. ‘So, you decided to get up at last. Are we packed?’
‘No, because you didn’t tell me we were leaving this morning.’ Cassandra scrambled off the seat, then remembered the fan. ‘Thank you for the, er,..’ She could feel herself blushing and blundered on. ‘The fan… it is very beautiful.’ She gazed at the buckles on her shoes, wondering why it was so difficult to thank him.
‘Oh, it’s nothing. You’ve been a good girl, and I couldn’t resist the look on your face, like an infant in a toyshop.’ He flicked open the top of the chocolate pot to see if any remained, then threw himself down in a winged chair. ‘You can put it somewhere safe until you’re grown up.’
A good girl? Cassandra burned with indignation, within an ace of telling him just how old she was, then bit back the words. What would he do if he realised she was eighteen? Pack her off to Vienna with a respectable widow – or give in to the instincts that had brought them so close to a kiss yesterday?
Cassandra couldn’t decide which would be worse, when all she wanted was to stay with Nicholas on this long route to Vienna, to build on the friendship that was growing between them. Anything else was too complicated.
‘Cassandra?’ Nicholas had obviously been speaking to her for a few moments. ‘Do wake up! The cases need to be packed. See to it while I talk to the postillions. We’ve got a boat to catch.’
A boat ? Cassandra was still asking questions when they arrived on the quayside. The postillions unhitched the horses, were paid off by Nicholas and clattered away, leaving the carriage stranded on the cobbles.
‘But where’s the boat? And we can’t leave the carriage here.’
‘Stop tugging at my coat tails and watch.’
A group of men swung a crude wooden crane over the carriage and heaved until it dangled precariously in the air. The wheels were removed and handed over the quayside into a large, flat-bottomed boat where they were laid flat, half submerged by dirty bilge water. To Cassandra’s horror, the body of the carriage was swung over and down until it rested upon them.
‘We can’t go in that,’ she protested looking at the crude boat rocking on the swift flowing River Rhône. ‘It’s nothing but a giant punt!’
‘That giant punt is costing me seven guineas. Would you rather jolt over miles more road? Or perhaps crowd onto the public boat? We can stop at night, there are inns all along the banks.’
Cassandra looked dubiously at the vicious swirl of the current and felt her stomach contract. ‘I can’t swim, Nicholas.’ The ship on the sea was one thing, this virtual raft, so low on the water, quite another.
‘Nonsense, nobody’s going to fall in. And look how much you enjoyed crossing the Channel.’
She wouldn’t let him see how nervous it made her. Cassandra watched the four boatmen making ready their long poles and sorting ropes. A rather more practical problem asserted itself. ‘Nicholas.’
‘Hmm?’ He was watching them make the carriage
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