“Probably at the bottom of the sea,” Suzanne said dryly. “Jean-Louis would have brought such trappings with him to Naples so that the locals would know his rank.”
Simon shrugged. “So the title is an empty shell. I never aspired to it and I certainly never expected to inherit any money or property from my cousin.”
“Titles can be useful socially,” Suzanne said with amusement. “Much grander to be announced as the Comte and Comtesse de Chambron when we attend a ball.”
Simon chuckled. “You are already the Comtesse de Chambron, milady. But apparently now you will no longer endure the humiliation of having a commoner husband. Will you mind if I renounce the title? It seems wrong to claim it when my future lies in Britain.”
“The title holds no joy for me,” Suzanne said slowly. “I do not wish to be the Comtesse de Chambron again. I am much happier as Mrs. Simon Duval.”
He caught her hand for a moment and their gazes met with mutual agreement. He kissed the back of her hand before relinquishing his clasp.
Monsieur Morel gave a discreet cough. “There are more provisions that will interest you,” he said. When he had his guests’ attention, he continued, “Jean-Louis did leave a not inconsiderable amount of property. Since Château Chambron was not entailed, he left it to his ‘beloved son, Philippe Duval.’”
“So the estate really is his!” Simon said. “He’ll be very happy to know that. Perhaps he can sell some of the land to raise money to restore the rest of the property.”
“That shouldn’t be necessary,” the notaire said. “Because of the uncertain state of the French economy, I persuaded Jean-Louis to transfer the bulk of his fortune to England. London is banker to the world, and the investments I made on his behalf have prospered. Most of that sum was bequeathed to Philippe. He won’t have wealth unlimited, but the income will allow him to make the estate profitable again if he uses it carefully.”
“I think he will,” Suzanne said. “Philippe seems truly dedicated to the land and now he will be able to restore it to productivity. This will be a great comfort to him and Marie. They are expecting a child, so their lack of resources was upsetting.”
“You are both very generous,” Morel said, tilting his head to one side curiously. “You want nothing for yourselves?”
“As you know, my mother was English and her fortune remained there,” Simon explained. “My inheritance provides all that we’ll need.”
“There is another important provision of the will,” the notaire said. “Madame de Chambron, you were so young that you probably weren’t aware of this, but your father was an expert negotiator, and the marriage contract drawn up with Jean-Louis protected your dowry to a remarkable degree. That money is also in England, and it’s quite a substantial amount.”
Suzanne’s jaw dropped. “So when I was doing piecework to keep from starving, I had a fortune sitting in a bank a few miles away?”
Simon gave a slow whistle. “How ironic.”
After a long moment of silence, he said, “You could have kept all this money for yourself, Monsieur Morel. You have been a remarkable protector and manager of the Duval family assets.”
Hearing the unspoken question, the notaire said dryly, “I serve the law, Monsieur le Comte. Honor is not the sole preserve of the aristocracy.”
“So I have found myself,” Simon agreed. “I trust you have been well compensated for your efforts?”
“My fees are quite adequate.” The notaire cleared his throat in a meaningful way. “The Morels have handled the affairs of the Duvals for generations. I gather your financial life will be based in England, but naturally I will be pleased to handle any matters that involve France.”
Simon glanced at Suzanne, who gave a small nod. “We will welcome your assistance here,” he said.
Looking pleased, Morel continued, “I would like to meet Philippe Duval when he has the opportunity to come to Saint-Denis.”
“I’ll tell him that,” Simon said. “I’m sure he’d like to meet you also.”
With the prospect of Philippe becoming an important client, Morel asked, “How was he raised? What has he been doing all these years?”
“His mother’s family raised him on a farm in the general area of Château Chambron,” Suzanne replied. “He was well educated for a farmer’s son. He went to war several years ago.”
“As one does,” Simon said dryly. “He was an officer in an infantry regiment.”
“What of his wife? What is her background?”
In other words, would Marie be an appropriate wife? “Marie is from Lorraine,” Suzanne said. “Her father was also a man of the law, but an avocat, not a notaire. She is intelligent, practical, and she and her husband are devoted to each other.”
“Good, all good,” Morel murmured. His voice became brisk. “What I’ve given you today is an overview of your situation, but I must prepare official documents for your signatures and get the most up-to-date figures for the bank accounts. Can you return in two days so all that might be finalized?”
“Of course. Can you draw up two copies of everything? I’d like to have them in separate places if we should chance to be stopped at road barriers on our way back to Brussels.”
The notaire grimaced. “That’s a wise precaution, but I’ll need another day.”
Suzanne said innocently, “That will give us time to see a little of Paris. It’s been so long since either of us has been here.” She would enjoy seeing the sights, and Simon could observe troop movement and perhaps gather other information. “Monsieur Morel, can you suggest a hotel in Paris that might be a good place to stay? Convenient and not too grand.”
The notaire considered. “The city is full to the brim with all the, mmm . . . political excitement, but one of these hotels should be able to accommodate you.” He wrote down several names and addresses and handed them to Simon. Rising, he said, “Then I shall see you in three days, and let me say it has been a pleasure to meet with you both.”
He shook Simon’s hand, then bowed to Suzanne. “Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” He rang for the clerk, who escorted them out.
As they stepped outside, Simon asked quietly, “If you’d known you had a fortune, would you have accepted my proposal of marriage?”
Suzanne was silent as they waited for a wagon to pass before they crossed the street. “No,” she said at last. “I felt too damaged to marry again. I would have refused you.” She turned her head to gaze up into his gray eyes, cool to mask his feelings. “And that would have been the greatest mistake of my life.”
Chapter 30
Suzanne felt as if they were on a second honeymoon, one very different from the blissful peace they’d enjoyed at White Horse Manor. They found a room at one of Monsieur Morel’s suggested hostelries, a small inn on a side street not far from the Tuileries, the great sprawling imperial palace where Bonaparte was rebuilding his empire. Paris buzzed with energy, marching troops, and an undercurrent of danger.
Like any couple on a honeymoon, they admired the sights of a great city in springtime, and as Suzanne had predicted, no one took much notice of them. She’d actually spent a good deal of time in Paris because Jean-Louis had preferred it to the country, but she’d seen only the narrow aristocratic society inhabited by her husband. Though she’d made friends among the women and had lived well, she’d never walked the teeming streets with an interesting, protective man at her side.
They crossed the bridges over the Seine to the Left Bank and back again, then visited the glittering jewel box of Sainte-Chapelle, which was surely the most beautiful chapel in France and quite possibly the world. They ate food from street vendors and looked into some of the most fashionable shops in Europe. They even walked by the grand mansion where Suzanne had lived with Jean-Louis, but she felt no connection or nostalgia for it. The girl she’d been and that life she’d lived felt infinitely far away.
Suzanne’s favorite place was the glorious Cathedral of Notre-Dame, where they admired the stained glass wi
ndows and lit candles for the people they’d loved and lost. She even lit one for Jean-Louis, her thoughts bittersweet. He hadn’t been a particularly good husband, but she would never forget how entranced she’d been by the handsome, charming man she’d wed when she was only a child. A different lifetime.
Simon knew the city at street level and he enjoyed showing her around, but even he couldn’t identify all the different kinds of troops they saw marching in the streets. Most were infantry, but there were also cavalry units in flamboyant uniforms and once a procession of horse artillery, the wheels of the gun carriages making a deafening clatter on the cobblestone streets.
On the second day, they’d been strolling in the Tuileries Gardens when they saw a group of colorfully garbed soldiers leaving the palace. In the center of the group was a handsome, impatient man with dark red hair. Soldiers began bringing out horses. The redhead mounted his and waited for his aides to do the same.
Simon drew Suzanne back to the edge of the gardens as they watched the soldiers. “That is Marshal Ney,” he said softly. “He was called the Bravest of the Brave by Napoleon himself. A cavalry leader and one of the best soldiers in Europe, though perhaps a little too impetuous, which is not always a good thing in a subordinate.”
Fascinated, she said, “Isn’t he the one who became a commander for King Louis XVIII and vowed he’d bring Napoleon back to Paris in an iron cage when the emperor escaped Elba and returned to France?”
“The very one,” Simon agreed. “When he and his troops encountered Napoleon, his men began shouting, ‘Vive le emperor,’ and the whole force put itself under the emperor’s command. Led by Ney.”
She frowned. “How could he betray his vows to the king so easily?”
“He changed his mind,” Simon said dryly. “I’m not sure it was done easily, but it’s hard to look at the face of a man with whom you’ve ridden into battle and order your soldiers to shoot him down.”
She shivered as she tried to imagine doing such a thing. “Do you think the emperor ever considers what his actions cost everyone around him?”
“If he did, he would never be able to do the things he’s done.”
Ney and his aides had ridden off, so she took Simon’s arm and they headed back to their inn. They would be leaving in the morning, first to go to Monsieur Morel’s office, then on to Brussels after they’d signed the necessary papers.
When they reached the inn, the garrulous innkeeper, Monsieur Gagnon, greeted them after they rang to be let in. “Eh, my children, have you enjoyed your time in Paris?”
Suzanne generally let Simon do the talking, and she did so now. “It’s a grand city, Monsieur Gagnon. It makes our Brussels look like scarcely more than a market town,” Simon said. “Though my business here didn’t prosper, I’m happy to visit again after too many years away.” He glanced fondly at Suzanne. “And to show Paris to my bride.”
Suzanne smiled and batted her lashes, trying to look not very bright since she didn’t want Gagnon to think much about her.
“Ah, you are newly married?” the innkeeper said jovially. “Come into my quarters and have a glass of wine with me.”
Simon agreed readily since he was always interested in hearing what people had to say. Gagnon shared a cozy ground-floor apartment with his aging mother, who poured wine for her son and his guests, then retreated into a rocking chair in the corner and lit up a foul-smelling pipe. After they were seated on worn but comfortable chairs, Gagnon asked curiously, “You mentioned that your business hadn’t prospered?”
“We came from Brussels to look into a possible legacy from my wife’s uncle. Luckily we expected little, because that is what we found.” Simon sipped at his wine, a robust red. “There was about enough to pay the costs for this trip.”
Suzanne said innocently, “But we’ve seen Paris, and in such exciting times!”
Gagnon snorted. “Too exciting! The madness of kings and emperors.” He shook his head. “Most Frenchmen want a liberal government with a Parliament that speaks for the people. Rather like what the British have, but better because it would be French. But what do we get? Tyrants who make promises to obey the will of the people, but then go ahead and do whatever they want. They listen to no one. Bah!”
His mother pulled her pipe from her mouth long enough to spit out, “Hang the bloody emperor!”
Gagnon said uneasily, “That’s not a wise thing to say, ma mère.”
“I spit on the emperor’s grave!” She jammed the pipe stem back in her mouth and began rocking furiously.
Gagnon lowered his voice, looking nervous. “Pay no mind to my mother. My father and both of my brothers died fighting for France. It is a hard thing for a mother to accept.”
“No mother could forget such losses,” Suzanne said warmly, thinking that Gagnon probably didn’t like Napoleon, either, but was too discreet to say so to strangers. “We women pray for peace. Do you think there will be a new war?”
Looking troubled, he poured himself more wine. “No one knows. But it is easier to rally a nation to fight the enemy than it is to agree on bitter political issues.”
Simon sighed. “I fear you’re right, Monsieur Gagnon.” He swallowed the last of his wine. “Come, ma petite. We have a long journey ahead of us and it’s time we retired. Thank you for the wine and your thoughts, monsieur. We’ll return to Brussels and pray for peace.”
Suzanne also rose and took her leave of the innkeeper and his mother. She and Simon didn’t speak until they were in their bedroom. As she set her cloak and bonnet aside, she said, “Do you think he’s right about what the people of France want?”
“Yes, most people want peace and prosperity with a good job, enough to eat, and time to enjoy friends and family.” He peeled off his coat. “But leaders like Napoleon find no glory in peace.”
* * *
They left Paris early the next morning when the streets were largely empty except for farmers driving in carts of produce from the country, and the ominous stamp of marching feet as new military units entered the city.
Their stop at the notaire was only long enough to sign the required papers to the accompaniment of coffee and pastries. Then Monsieur Morel sent them off with best wishes for a safe journey. Simon felt there was unusual intensity in that farewell, and suspected that their return to Brussels would not be as smooth as the journey to Paris.
His feeling was confirmed not far north of Saint-Denis when he saw a manned barricade across the road ahead. He said under his breath, “Look dull, ma petite. I believe we are about to have our papers checked.”
She drew in her breath. “Napoleon doesn’t want information about Paris moving north toward the Allied headquarters?”
“That’s my guess.” He pulled up his horses at the barrier and greeted the guards politely. The guards studied the identity papers and asked questions about why they had come to Paris all the way from Brussels. Simon answered the questions patiently, avoiding any unnecessary comments. Suzanne sat beside him looking nervous and mousy. Eventually they were waved on.
Suzanne breathed with relief as they continued on their way. Simon warned, “I doubt this will be the last time we’re stopped and searched.”
“I think we should conceal the documents from Monsieur Morel. They aren’t obviously valuable like jewels, but they represent a considerable amount of money. If the guards can read the bank statements and see how much is involved, they might think we’re aristocrats fleeing Napoleon’s return.”
“That’s a good idea. What kind of concealment are you thinking about?”
“I’m a seamstress. When we stop for the night, I’ll stitch one set of documents into my cloak and the other into the lining of your travel case.”
Simon nodded. “With luck, they won’t be disturbed. But if hidden documents are found, we’ll look very suspicious.”
“I thought of that. It will make me feel better to be doing something that might help us to get out of France safely,” she explained. “I have a couple of
other ideas that might be useful. Even if they aren’t, staying busy is better than fretting.”
That was a sentiment he understood. At least he had driving the carriage to help occupy his mind.
They passed through two more road barricades that day, and the farther north they traveled, the surlier the guards became. Their Belgian credentials weren’t challenged specifically, but the level of suspicion was rising.
As darkness fell, they reached a posting inn where they’d stayed on their way south. “Let’s stop here for the night,” Simon suggested. “It’s reasonably comfortable, and after dinner, I’ll talk to the landlord about different routes north, and what he’s heard from other travelers. A slower, less traveled road might have fewer guard posts.”
“You can work on that while I hide the documents.” Suzanne made a face. “I’ll be glad to get back into Belgium!”
After an adequate dinner, Simon sought out the landlord while Suzanne ascended to their room and pulled out her travel sewing kit. Besides concealing the legal documents, she had a couple of ideas that were so foolish she wouldn’t even tell Simon. But in an uncertain situation, they might be useful.
When Simon joined her later, he said, “I hope you’ve been more successful than I. There is a turnpike that will go part of the way, but we’ll have to get back on this road eventually. The landlord thinks that civilians like us are getting through to Belgium, but he isn’t sure.”
“Then we must continue to look dull and harmless. The sewing project has gone well, though.” Suzanne displayed what she had done. Her cloak was a double layer of felted material and she’d been able to tuck one set of the documents between the layers of the upper back. The fabric was heavy enough that the addition of the documents was barely noticeable.
“Very nice,” Simon said as he inspected the cloak. “What will you do with my travel case?”
“I’ve already done it,” Suzanne replied. “The case had a hand-stitched oilcloth lining already. I was able to unpick one seam, insert the documents, and sew it up again.”
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