The Lady Travelers Guide to Happily Ever After

by Alexander, Victoria

  “How thoughtful of you.”

  “Thoughtful is one of my best qualities.” He wagged his brows at her, and she resisted the urge to laugh. Admittedly, he was amusing, but amusing was not nearly enough.

  “Yes, well, we shall see.”

  She ignored the look in his eyes. As if once more he had won. What a dear, sweet, stupid man. She hadn’t even begun to play.

  VIOLET WAS RIGHT. It was impossible to think clearly knowing James was in the next room. And just as impossible to sleep. Despite the lateness of the hour when they arrived at the Grand Hotel, she had done nothing but toss and turn since she’d climbed into bed. Of course she’d done nothing but toss and turn last night, as well. Apparently, a complete lack of sleep was the price to pay for having anything whatsoever to do with James Branham.

  Last night, she had indeed decided to return to London and adhere to the time limitations decreed by the will. At least for now. Her reasons for agreeing to abide by the stipulations in the first place hadn’t changed. Still, knowing the kiss that had changed both their lives forever wasn’t a mistake, it was difficult to feel grateful for the life James had given her. Certainly, if he hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t been forced to marry her and then sent her off to lead her own life, she wouldn’t have become the woman she was now. Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if James had made any effort at a real marriage. Or if he hadn’t kissed her at all, for that matter.

  Would she now be happily wed, with a husband who cared for her, and a house full of children? Or would she be alone, the spinster sister of the incomparable Caroline? The unmarried subject of pity and comments behind gloved hands. Wasn’t it curious how one sister was so lovely and delightful and the other, well, the other was well-read.

  Forgiving James for a mistake was one thing. Forgiving him for a deliberate act was something else altogether. If he truly wanted her forgiveness, he was going to have to work for it even if it meant forcing him to visit every country on earth.

  Thankfully, James’s hotel bed did not creak even though she found herself listening for it. At long last, her eyes drifted closed.

  A knock sounded at the door to the suite’s parlor. Another minute and she would have been fast asleep. Violet threw back the covers and pulled on her robe.

  She moved to the door and flung it open. “Yes?”

  James froze, his hand fisted as if he were preparing to knock again. “Good. You’re awake.”

  “I wasn’t until a moment ago,” she lied. “What do you want?”

  “I can’t sleep.” His hair was slightly tousled and he had the endearing look of a little boy. He wore his deep blue dressing gown, the one that perfectly matched his eyes, over silk pajama trousers. With the dressing gown belted it was impossible to tell if he wore the shirt, as well. Not that she cared, of course.

  “Perhaps you’re not trying hard enough.”

  “You can’t sleep, either,” he said with a knowing smile. “Your bed creaks, I heard it.”

  “My bed does not creak.” Although it did a bit.

  He ignored her. “You don’t look like someone who was sleeping soundly.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  He frowned. “Was that a compliment?”

  “Yes. Now, good night.” She started to close the door, but he stopped it with his slipper-clad foot.

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Yes, I know, you said that.” She sighed. “Apparently you think I can do something about your failure to sleep. What is it you want me to do?”

  Surprise flashed in his eyes then he grinned.

  Heat washed up her cheeks. She ignored it and raised a brow. “Really, James? You expect me to join you in your bed simply so that you can get a good night’s sleep?”

  “I can’t think of a better way and it’s an excellent idea, but...” He chuckled. “That hadn’t occurred to me until a moment ago.”

  “I’m not sure whether to be offended that it didn’t occur to you sooner or offended that it ultimately did,” she said without thinking, noting what might have been the merest hint of disappointment. She shoved it aside.

  “Actually, there’s a chess set in the parlor and I was wondering if you played.”

  “Of course I play.” She stepped past him and moved into the parlor, where the board was already set up on a small round dining table. “But no more than two games, perhaps three if we each win one.” She sat down at the table. “Although I daresay that won’t be necessary.”

  He grinned and sat down. “You expect to win, do you?”

  She smiled.

  “What shall we play for?”

  “Satisfaction.” She nodded at the board. “You may be white.”

  “And move first?” His brow rose. “You’re willing to give me that advantage?”

  “I don’t consider it an advantage.”

  “Very well, then.” He moved his queen’s pawn, a fairly expected opening move.

  She mirrored his move with her own. “I can’t show you the entire city in an afternoon, you know. Visitors take weeks to see all there is to see in Paris.”

  “I don’t expect you to.” He moved another pawn.

  “Is there anything you particularly want to see?” She countered with her king’s pawn.

  “Nothing comes to mind.” He moved his knight. “Show me what you think I should see. Something to make me less ignorant and provincial, perhaps.”

  “Not possible,” she murmured, her gaze on the board. “That’s rather courageous of you, putting yourself in my hands.”

  “Indeed it is.” He paused. “I can be courageous.”

  “Are we back to that hero nonsense again?” She moved a rook.

  “Only if it’s working.” He moved another pawn. “Is it?”

  “No.”

  “But I don’t think you’re as angry with me now as you were yesterday.”

  “You’re wrong.” She studied the board. “Did you bring your valet along?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” She moved her knight. “I thought every gentleman traveled with a valet.”

  “I get the distinct impression you are baiting me. Waiting for me to say the wrong thing so you can point out how very wrong I am.”

  “Nonsense.” Although he wasn’t entirely wrong.

  “I did not bring my valet because you did not bring your maid.” He moved his bishop. At once she realized his strategy and bit back a grin.

  “I prefer not to travel with an entourage. It’s much less cumbersome and expensive that way. Besides, most good hotels provide maid and valet services.”

  “And it’s easier to be alone.” He shot her a quick smile. It wasn’t the least bit wicked but something rather genuine and appealing. She ignored it.

  The first game was quickly played and she won with hardly any effort. Apparently James was not paying as close attention as he should because the second game was much slower and more thoughtful and the man played well. For a moment she even thought she might lose. Until she noticed he was playing exactly as Uncle Richard had played and was able to keep ahead of him.

  James was a very good player. But then so was she. She’d had no doubt she’d beat him tonight. As for the larger game they were playing—simply by following her to Paris he had indeed won this round and taken her by surprise. Admittedly, it was perhaps a nice surprise even if his motives were in doubt.

  Now, it was her turn to surprise him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THIS WASN’T AT all what he’d expected. He’d assumed Violet’s errand was more in the manner of a stop at a milliner’s or a consultation at one of the city’s celebrated fashion houses. Instead, their carriage pulled up in front of an ancient gray stone edifice on the outskirts of the city in an area that was just one side of respectable. He wasn’t entirely sure
which side. The building had the distinct look of a school, large but not grand enough to be a manor.

  “You seem less angry today,” he said and helped her out of the carriage.

  “I’m not,” she said. “But it serves no purpose to be less than civil to you.”

  “I thought I was wearing you down.”

  “You’re not. And you needn’t keep asking me if I’m less angry than I was the day before. I don’t foresee my anger diminishing in the near future.”

  He stifled a grin. She could deny it all she wanted but there was the tiniest crack in the armor she’d erected against him. “My mistake then.”

  “One of many.” She paused and surveyed the house. “I thought you’d like to see where some of your money goes.”

  “I thought it all went for travel and fashionable gowns and whatever else women spend money on.”

  “Not all.” She surveyed the area with a satisfied smile. “And it did seem wrong not to share your generosity.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” He looked around. “What is this place?”

  “A sanctuary, James.” Violet started toward the door. “A haven, if you will.”

  “A haven from what?” He trailed behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “The inequities of life.”

  “I have no idea what that means.” He followed her up the stairs.

  “This is a place for women who have been abandoned by men—fathers or husbands.” She shot him a pointed look, which wasn’t the least bit fair. “They live here as long as they need to and learn skills necessary to support themselves. So they can earn a decent living when they leave.”

  He frowned. “I did not abandon you.”

  “Semantics, James. Abandoned, discarded.” She shrugged. “In the end, they are much the same.”

  “Tell me something, Violet. Are you angry about the first kiss or the second, or that I never fought for you?”

  “Or the fact that you lied to me for six years?”

  “That, too.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “All of it.”

  “Although I should point out, I didn’t lie to you for six years. I lied once and simply never acknowledged it.”

  “Oh, that is a distinction.” Sarcasm edged her voice. “I shall bear it in mind.”

  Apparently, this was the reward one received for being honest. For confession. It might well be good for the soul, but that was the extent of it. He would keep that in mind the next time he decided to reveal secrets best kept to himself.

  The door opened and a short, dark-haired woman stepped out to meet them. She was older than he, in her fifties perhaps but, as with the comtesse, it was impossible to guess her age. Obviously there was something timeless about French women. She was surprisingly lovely and moved with a grace and bearing at odds with her simple attire. The lady greeted Violet with open arms and the women broke into excited chatter—in French, of course.

  James adopted a polite smile and stood by, feeling like the idiot he no doubt appeared.

  “In English, please, Marceline,” Violet said at last and nodded in James’s direction. “I have a friend with me today.”

  “So I see.” Marceline smiled and inclined her head toward Violet. “This is not the same friend you’ve brought before.”

  “No. This is Lord Ellsworth,” Violet said smoothly, failing to mention he was her husband. What other friends had she brought here? “James, allow me to introduce you to Madame Gagnon.”

  “Madame.” James nodded a bow.

  “Welcome to Maison d’Espoir, my lord.” Madame Gagnon peered around them. “Mrs. Ryland is not with you?”

  “Not today,” Violet said. “She is seeing the sights of Paris today.”

  Marcus had been eager to have Mrs. Ryland show him around the city, even though the man had visited just last year. It struck James that his friend wanted to be alone with Mrs. Ryland every bit as much as James wished to be alone with Violet. He did need to have a serious talk with Marcus about that woman.

  “Marceline is a cousin of the comtesse’s.” Violet waved at their surroundings. “All this is her doing.”

  “Is it?” His brow rose. “She started this?”

  “Indeed she did, but it is a very long story. Madame Branham will tell you all about it when you leave.” Madame Gagnon took his arm. “But now, would you like to see our humble enterprise?”

  “Very much.” He nodded.

  “Excellent.” Madame’s eyes twinkled. “And when we are done, you will no doubt wish to contribute to our efforts.”

  Violet grinned.

  He chuckled. “A tour for a donation?”

  “Not at all.” Madame shrugged. “The tour is free. But, should you wish to donate, I will be happy to take your money.” Her smile faded. “It is not easy to do what we are trying to do here. No one really cares, you see. Funds make it possible, but there is never enough. Violet is a great help and Julienne does what she can.”

  James nodded.

  “And last night’s ball always raises a substantial amount,” Madame added.

  James pulled his brows together. “I thought it was in celebration of the comte’s birthday.”

  “And what better way to celebrate one’s birthday and one’s own good fortune than by asking one’s friends to give to others rather than give to you? Gerard has requested donations for us instead of gifts for himself since we first opened our doors.”

  “Very generous of him,” James said.

  “He is a good man.” Madame paused. “One would think it easy to be generous when one has so much yet I know of many with wealth who resent giving it to those who desperately need it.”

  “But if one throws a grand celebration that is both exclusive and fashionable, and it becomes the high point of the season, no one seems at all hesitant to contribute to a worthy cause to win a coveted invitation.” Violet and Madame exchanged grins. “It’s really quite brilliant.”

  “Indeed it is,” James said with a smile and made a note to check with his accountants as to what charities Uncle Richard had supported that James now supported. It was embarrassing to realize he had no idea. Worse, it hadn’t even occurred to him to check. There was simply a regular notation in reference to charitable donations on the accounting books he looked at every month.

  “Now then, my lord,” Madame Gagnon began, “on this floor we have mostly schoolrooms to learn a trade...”

  She led him past one classroom after another, most filled with women of all ages. He noted some barely in their teens and others older than Madame. In one room they were learning millinery skills, in the next fine dressmaking, in another students were engaged in bookbinding and in one women practiced illustration. On the upper floors were private living quarters as well as classrooms dedicated to teaching reading and writing, mathematical and accounting skills. Madame explained they also had programs to train nurses and teachers. She pointed out with pride some of their past residents now owned shops of their own and nearly all the women trained here had gone on to paying positions, including a fair number who had found employment in the fashion houses of Paris.

  “And this is a private concern?” James asked when the tour was concluded. “You receive no help from the government or the church?”

  “The government is run by men who have no interest in what happens to women.” Disdain sounded in Madame’s voice. “As for the church...” Madame wrinkled her nose. “There are many charitable endeavors that are run by the church. And while they are most worthwhile, there are strict requirements as to the practice of religion.

  “Here, we are unique. We don’t care how you choose to pray or if indeed you do pray. We have rules regarding comportment, attendance and behavior that are necessary when you have dozens of women living together, but we do not require obedience to the rules of Rome. We believe God h
elps those who help themselves. We make it possible for our women to help themselves.” She smiled. “There is, however, a church a short distance from here, and most of our residents, including myself, are there every Sunday. One does like to err on the side of caution.”

  James laughed. They chatted for a few more minutes then returned to the carriage, but not before James promised a sizable contribution—not merely to impress Violet, although he wouldn’t mind that, and not to ease a somewhat guilty conscience about his own charitable giving—but because Maison d’Espoir was indeed unique and helping a problem he had never paid any attention. A problem obviously close to Violet’s heart. It struck him that his wife, and nearly every woman he knew, was no more than a step or two away from financial disaster. The loss of a husband or a father could see them on the streets. No doubt why Uncle Richard had thought it necessary to arrange a trust for Violet.

  Violet gave the directions to the driver, and they headed back to the hotel.

  “That was...” James began.

  “Yes?” Violet studied him closely.

  “Rather remarkable.”

  “I think so.” She smiled. “I don’t believe there’s anything like it anywhere.”

  “Your friends saw a great need and instead of ignoring it, did something about it.” He nodded. “Most admirable.”

  “Maison d’Espoir opened its doors more than twenty years ago. It has helped a great many women through the years.”

  “Madame said you would tell me how it began.”

  Her brow rose. “Are you really interested?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Very well.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “When the comtesse was quite young, her father died and she was forced to wed a much older man. She was far too young to marry, really, but she had no other choice. Even though her parents were of noble birth, her father left little with which to support his family. The marriage was brief, only a few years if I remember the story correctly, and then he died, leaving Julienne a considerable fortune.”

  “So she started this to help women in her situation?”