Miss Fortescue's Protector in Paris

by Amanda McCabe

  Emily closed her eyes and tried to picture it. A lovely old house, curtains fluttering in the open windows, chickens scurrying in the garden. Chris sitting in the shade of a tree, waiting for her. It was an image to take into her dreams, as she drifted on amid the soothing patter of the falling rain and let sleep and dreams take her while she lay safe in his arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Laura, Lady Smythe-Tomas, sighed as she looked over the letters in front of her. All seemed to be going ahead just as planned. Her real contacts in Berlin reported that Friedland thought she was on his side, deeply rooted in his schemes to discredit the Crown Princess, while Princess Vicky had no idea what was really happening around her. Her mother, the English Queen, who railed against female suffrage, would never know what other, independent women went through to keep her safe.

  Laura had once been rather like the Queen, herself. Married much too young to the older Lord Smythe-Tomas, sheltered and spoiled, knowing only the silk-covered walls around her. It had taken her a while to realise that those walls, as luxurious as they were, could only be a prison. Everything, everyone, around her conspired to keep her from thinking, doing, even feeling for herself. She was just a toy for others, an ornament for their world.

  But she knew how to read, how to listen, how to use that disregard to her own advantage. Lord Smythe-Tomas never realised how she took back her own power, one hard-won inch at a time.

  And then he died and she found out that all the money was gone. Lost by him in foolish investments. Everyone expected her to marry again right away, because a beautiful, pampered woman like her could surely do nothing else. One daring friend had even suggested she try being a courtesan; her style and looks would surely be worth a great deal in such a market.

  She had even considered it. Surely it would be better than being married and in her widowhood she had discovered that men could even be rather fun in their place. But she had also realised she could never again give up even a fraction of her freedom. And then Lord Ellersmere had come along to offer her new work. A new purpose.

  * * *

  The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, and she suddenly realised she would be late for her appointment across the arrondissement. She put down her pen and reached for her hat, a confection of blue taffeta bows and peacock feathers from Gordston’s. Looking her stylish best, she had found, was just as important for her work than if she had indeed become a courtesan.

  She smoothed the skirt of her blue-silk gown, reached for her gloves and reticule, and made her way downstairs to the cobbled street. At that hour the lanes were quiet, filled with flower carts and the scent of fresh-baked baguettes, lovely and peaceful. She was quite sure she could happily stay in Paris for ever.

  ‘Lady Smythe-Tomas,’ she heard someone call and looked up to see James Hertford across the pavement. He looked the very image of handsome English aristocratic manhood, with his fine grey suit, his glossy dark hair, but she had learned long ago not trust appearances. He was always a bit too eager.

  ‘Mr Hertford, how delightful,’ she said, with one of her brightest smiles. ‘Where are you off to this evening?’

  ‘The theatre, though not until later. Are you on your way to an engagement yourself?’

  ‘Supper at Le Grand Véfour. Would you care to walk with me for a while? It’s a wonderfully cool evening, is it not?’

  ‘That is kind of you. I would—well, I would rather like your advice on a matter.’ He looked intriguingly abashed.

  ‘Of course. I am always more than happy to share my wisdom of the world.’

  He offered her his arm and they set off down the lane towards the busier squares of the city. ‘I saw that you were with Miss Emily Fortescue at the races.’

  Laura realised it was romantic matters he wanted advice about, and on her possible protégée. Interesting. ‘Yes. She is quite a lovely lady, I think.’

  He nodded eagerly. ‘And so do I. I would like to pursue her, seriously of course, but I cannot think she sees me in the same way. She never seems to give me any consideration at all, and it makes me feel quite maddened. Perhaps she considers me to have some—uncomfortable friendships and she associates me too much with matters I have no control over.’

  Laura thought it might be his too-desperate grasping that put the lady off. ‘Unfortunate friendships?’

  ‘Yes. People she does not like. I would do anything to make her see me in a new way. It is driving me quite mad.’

  She felt a touch of disquiet and wondered if this was a moment to trust her intuition. Mr Hertford had always seemed to her a rather nice sort of man, if a bit too insistent on that ‘niceness’. ‘What do you like so very much about her?’

  ‘She is quite beautiful and, as you said, has a great deal of conversation. Maybe a bit too much independence for a lady, but what can one expect with a father like Fortescue? I am sure she is just waiting for a proper marriage, a proper home. She is so gentle underneath, she would make a fine hostess for any man’s house.’

  Laura realised he did not care so much for the ‘real’ Emily, a woman of rare independence and fortitude, but instead saw her as an angel in waiting, a lady just longing for the kiss of a man to bring her to her true purpose, her true worth. She’d seen such things many times before. ‘Perhaps she wants to be appreciated for who she is, her real accomplishments. Her brains, her talent for business.’

  He looked astonished. ‘But she is a lady. Surely she wants a home to run, a family? And I can give her that. If she saw what I can really do for her, how I can see her true desires! If she could see what I have already done...’

  Her doubts grew stronger. ‘What you have done?’

  He shook his head, a quick, jerky movement of frustration. ‘But she will not see. She sees only rogues like that Blakely, who can never give her the life she deserves. Like so many women, she can’t see a nice man like myself. I must make her see. But how?’

  Laura was suddenly worried, about both Emily and Chris. When someone started decrying the fact that women were perfidious creatures who only wanted men who treated them badly, not nice men like themselves, it never boded well. Self-proclaimed nice men were never nice at all.

  ‘Mr Hertford, if you truly do care about her, you must be honest with her. Tell her your feelings, let her make up her own mind. I have found Miss Fortescue to be a lady of sense and intelligence, she will listen to you fairly.’

  He shook his head again. ‘I have tried and she will not. I must do something more.’

  They had reached the door of Véfour and Laura saw her group waiting for her in the foyer. She felt relieved to be soon free of Mr Hertford’s suddenly oppressive company. ‘I must say, that is my best advice, Mr Hertford. There can be no way forward in romance without being honest with a lady—and accepting what she has to say in return. Romance is no easy task, no matter what poetry tells us. I am sorry I could not be of more help.’

  His mouth was drawn tight, but he gave her a polite bow. ‘No, indeed, Lady Smythe-Tomas, you have been of tremendous help. I see now what I must do to save her. I must show her what I have done.’ He tipped his hat to her. ‘Good evening, do enjoy your party.’

  Laura watched him disappear into the evening crowd gathering on the stree, and she shivered a bit with the sudden cold touch of doubt. She had made a career of reading people—and she had met men who sounded like Mr Hertford before. Men who thought themselves entitled to a woman’s attention just because they wanted it.

  She should talk to Emily, warn her. And soon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chris stared at himself in the mirror as he tied his cravat, smoothed his hair. He was due for dinner at Diana and Will’s in an hour and he was most uncharacteristically nervous about attending a family dinner. His hands were even shaking a bit.

  Maybe, he thought, it was the tiny velvet box in his pocket than weighed so heavily on him.
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br />   After he left Chaton, left Emily at her hotel with a kiss on her hand, he didn’t know what he thought or felt at all. His romantic encounters were almost always of the light variety, ladies who wanted a bit of fun as much as he did, and who laughingly tossed him out of their boudoirs after. Women who didn’t want anything emotional, dangerous. That was what had suited his life of secrets and shadows perfectly.

  Emily was entirely different. She was something he had never encountered before. She haunted his thoughts and he couldn’t think of anything but her. Of anything but what had happened to them in that rain-wrapped chamber, hidden in the countryside.

  When they parted, after a silent train ride, she had tried to laugh it off, too, kissing his cheek and sending him away outside her hotel. Yet he knew Em. She was strong, yes, and fiercely independent, but also a lady. She had a name to protect, a business. She was his friend. He had to do the right thing by her. Yet how was he to know what the ‘right thing’ was, when Emily was not like any other person? What had happened had cracked his world open, made him see everything differently. His next step could make everything far worse, if it was the wrong one.

  When he saw the ring, a modern, fashionable ruby surrounded by diamonds, in the jeweller’s window on the Rue Faubourg, the next step suddenly seemed clear to him. He had to ask Em to marry him. What was more, what really shocked him to his core, was that he wanted to ask her to marry him. He wanted her in his life.

  But marrying her would mean lying to her, possibly for the rest of their lives. He couldn’t involve her in his work. He had to keep on protecting her. He was good at acting, yes, but could he carry it off for so long? And with Emily, whose hazel eyes seemed to see everything?

  He only knew he had to try. He felt the fierce, primitive urge to keep her safe, from everything in the world that could hurt her—even himself.

  He put on his coat and felt the weight of that ring box in the pocket. Whatever happened tonight would surely change everything.

  * * *

  ‘The amber combs, Miss Emily, or the diamond aigret?’ Mary asked.

  Emily, startled out of her faraway thoughts, glanced in the mirror to find her hair was already curled and pinned in place without her even noticing. Mary held up the two ornaments.

  Emily just couldn’t decide. Maybe it was knowing that Chris would be there that had her worried about her appearance. Usually she just chose a fashionable gown, put it on and left. Now she wondered what looked best. What looked attractive but respectable, distant but kind? ‘The combs, I think. They should go well with the gown.’ She had chosen one of her more subdued new gowns, black lace over dark green satin, drapes of black beads over the narrow sleeves. She didn’t want to look as if she was trying too hard, but she did want to look pretty.

  ‘You’ve been terribly distracted since you got back from your errand in the country, miss,’ Mary said, pinning the combs to the back of Emily’s hair. ‘I hope that rainstorm hasn’t brought on an ague.’

  ‘Hmm?’ Emily knew she had been distracted. How could she help it? Her world had changed utterly. She couldn’t even focus on her work, which had been her life for so long. Instead she remembered what it felt like when he kissed her, the way everything else just disappeared. She wondered what he thought of her now. What would happen when they saw each other next.

  She had managed to stay busy, to avoid him for a few days. But he was there none the less, in the bouquet of white roses on her desk that he had sent just that morning. She was sure he would be at Diana’s tonight.

  Emily took a deep breath. She had to stop being a coward, to face Chris and what had happened! To face her own feelings, once she could decipher what they were. Emotions were so much more difficult than ledger books.

  She reached for her emerald earrings and fastened them on, hoping her jewels, the new gown, would be like armour tonight. She needed them.

  * * *

  ‘Oh, my dear!’ Diana cried as Emily stepped into the Blakelys’ hotel sitting room. She saw to her relief that Chris wasn’t there yet, that the room was dimly lit, cosy and intimate in its green-silk walls. ‘I am so glad you could come tonight. It’s all been dull embassy events for weeks and weeks, it seems, they are never-ending. But tonight we can have some fun. Chris should be here at any moment and Alex and Malcolm. It will be just like old times.’

  ‘It is lovely to see you again, Em,’ Will said, handing her a glass of champagne. ‘Though Di does rather exaggerate. I haven’t exactly been chaining her to the embassy yoke. She’s managed a visit or two to Gordston’s, and one ruinous fitting at Worth.’

  ‘I only bought one Worth gown! Every embassy wife must have one. But I found this one in Gordston’s own new fashion line,’ Diana said, twirling in her aqua silk and ecru lace dinner gown. ‘Isn’t it divine? I do think Malcolm has hired the most clever designers. It’s the least Will owes me for all the work I have done for him lately. Trying to chat with Frau Wiesbach, wife of the German consul, over tea this morning. She barely speaks English and never reads a book or sees a play. Conversation is most trying, it’s all about her ten children and shooting parties in the Black Forest. Germany sounds dreadfully dull.’

  Emily thought of the slippery Herr Friedland and had to agree. ‘They say Herr Wiesbach believes ties with England must be loosened if Germany is to reach her full potential.’

  ‘Do they say that indeed?’ Will said with a frown. ‘You are well informed on our German friends, Em.’

  ‘I do try to keep up with the news. We do a great deal of business with German wine merchants these days. Surely the Queen must find the treatment of her daughter in Berlin distressing?’

  ‘I was thinking of writing an article for the Ladies’ Weekly on Princess Vicky’s charitable work, all the good she tries to do that is suppressed in her own court,’ Diana said. ‘But Will and Chris say I should wait, as things are quite delicate at the moment.’

  ‘Chris thinks that?’ Emily said, wondering why he thought about politics at all if he merely pushed pencils around his desk, as he claimed.

  Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘His work does concern foreign matters, as well, whether he likes it or not.’

  Emily took a quick sip of her champagne, trying to conceal her interest. ‘I thought he counted pencils at a desk all day.’

  ‘He is moving upwards,’ Will said. ‘My brother is far cleverer than people like to credit him. Or that he will credit himself.’

  Emily knew that very well. Chris was a slippery one when he wanted to be, concealing so many things. ‘I have often thought he gives himself far too little credit.’

  ‘He is quite fond of you, too,’ Diana said, with a secret little smile, and Emily remembered them teasing her about her ‘courtship’ at Gordston’s. Was it all becoming real now?

  The sitting room doors opened and Alex and Malcolm appeared. Alex wore a very stylish, Grecian-draped blue-silk gown and embroidered shawl that barely concealed her growing waistline and she glowed all golden and cream. Malcolm kept a protective touch on her shoulder. Behind them was Chris, unusually subdued in plain black and white evening dress, watching them all carefully, quietly.

  Emily gulped down the last of her wine and gave them a bright smile, determined to pretend nothing was amiss. That nothing at all had changed in their little world.

  * * *

  At first, all went well and she even began to relax a bit among her old friends. Chris did not come near her and she was able to chat with Malcolm Gordston about their plans for more cafés in his stores. Alex’s husband looked like a medieval warrior, tall and powerful, with long, dark gold hair, complete with a lovely Scottish brogue, but he was a kind and intelligent man, and a very shrewd businessman. It was just the sort of conversation to put her at ease.

  But then Di was called away to see to some dinner difficulty and Alex went to play a tune at the piano to distract everyone. Emil
y went to follow Malcolm, when Chris gently took her hand.

  She looked at him, startled, and he gave her a small, wary smile.

  ‘Will you walk with me on the terrace for a moment, Emily?’ he asked quietly.

  Emily glanced across the room, but no one was paying attention to them. They were too busy drinking champagne and singing along to the piano. ‘I don’t...’

  ‘Just for a quick word, please, Em,’ he said and she reluctantly nodded. Otherwise, she would spend the rest of the evening not being able to look at him.

  Chris offered his arm and they slipped through the glass doors on to the dimly lit terrace. Paris was spread about beyond the hotel garden, a sparkling blanket of bright windows beyond which she imagined every sort of party happening. But their terrace was silent and the marble balustrade was chilly when she leaned against it.

  She steeled herself to face him. He looked very solemn in the shadows. ‘Chris, we really don’t need to speak of—of anything at all, really. Not here. Not anywhere, I think, and—’

  ‘Emily,’ he interrupted. She had never heard him sound quite like that before, almost stern, and it made her fall silent. He seemed to be steeling himself, too.

  She swallowed hard. ‘Yes?’

  He reached inside his evening coat and took out a tiny velvet box.

  Emily suddenly couldn’t breathe. ‘Is that—what I think it is?’

  He opened it and she saw that it was indeed what she thought it was. A gorgeous ruby ring gleamed in the Parisian night.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she whispered.

  ‘Just listen to me, Em,’ Chris said. ‘We have been friends for a long time. We know each other well enough. Perhaps I am not exactly what you may have pictured as a husband...’

  ‘Indeed,’ she muttered.

  ‘But I—like you. I think you like me. I would give you as much freedom as you would like, anything you want. I just—want to do the honourable thing.’

  Emily stared at him in growing horror. He liked her? He had to do the honourable thing? This was certainly not the way she had ever imagined getting engaged. Especially not with Chris. Not after all they had been through.