The French Duchess

Home > Other > The French Duchess > Page 4
The French Duchess Page 4

by Rue Allyn


  Chapter Three

  April 2, 1814, Brighton outskirts

  Mari descended the steps of the hired coach and marched into the Bull and Hare. She’d hoped to rest the night closer to the Brighton quays in order to catch the first ship leaving in the morning. However, the ancient coach she hired had proven inadequate against the incessant April rains that would have slowed even the well-sprung personal vehicle her plans forced her to leave behind.

  The most effective way to get to René was to arrive in Brighton in the guise of a governess going to a new post with a military family billeted in Marseille. That way, she could travel without the retinue and folderol that accompanied a duchess and drew too much notice. She’d obtained the appropriate papers with the help of the local magistrate. Flattered by a few smiles, Squire Beesman had been more than happy to provide documents to expedite the travel of her “friend,” Miss Anthea Twitchenholm.

  After promising to send daily letters, Mari left Stonegreave in the ducal carriage with mounds of baggage and her standard retinue. In London she left her maid—carriage, retinue, and all—with a stack of letters arranged in careful order, to be sent one per day to Tante Vivienne. Mari herself had hired the ancient posting coach, then proceeded alone to Brighton with a carpetbag of clothing bought second-hand. Once in France, she could travel with a bit more freedom. News of Napoleon’s surrender had reached Stonegreave the morning of her departure. Thank heaven. With Napoleon fixed at Fontainebleau awaiting his fate, finding René would be much easier. Extracting him, however, would be more difficult without the distractions of an army encampment.

  As the inn door closed behind her, silence fell in the entry hall, and the gaze of three men, the innkeeper, and a woman whose dress identified her as the innkeeper’s wife all turned on Mari. “My good man.” She swept toward the innkeeper and set down her single piece of luggage. “I will require a private chamber, a hot bath, and a meal, served in my room, in that order.”

  The men stared. The innkeeper’s jaw dropped, and the goodwife’s face reddened. She pushed her way to the center of the circle of men, and looked Mari up and down. The woman’s lip curled. “We ain’t got no private chambers nor baths for the likes of ye. An’ y’ll takes yer meals in the common room, likes all the other common folk. If ye gots the coin to pay fer it, that is.”

  Mari drew herself up to give the dame the set down she deserved but closed her mouth on the words. She could hardly act the duchess if she was supposed to be a governess on her way to a new post. The glow of satisfaction that her dowdy garb had succeeded battled with the icy disdain the goodwife’s demeanor deserved. Mari lowered her gaze and twisted her hands in an attempt at embarrassed humility.

  “Well?”

  Mari watched the leather-shod toe of the other woman’s foot tap impatiently.

  “Ahem, yes, well, that is, I would very much appreciate a private chamber.” Mari lifted her head and unclasped her hands to reach for her reticule. “If one is available. My employer provided me with funds, so I can pay. I’m willing to forgo the bath and will happily dine in the common room. I certainly would not wish to put such kind hosts to any trouble.”

  “Hmph. I’ll not take cheek from . . . ”

  “Wife,” the innkeeper warned.

  Mari glanced at him.

  “The miss says she can pay. Send Gertie to prepare the front chamber on the right side. I’ll take care of business with Miss . . . ?

  “Twitchenholm.” Mari supplied the name on her travel papers. “Miss Anthea Twitchenholm.”

  “Well, Miss Twitchenholm, how long will you be staying with us?”

  His wife harrumphed, turned, and clumped off toward the back of the inn where Mari could hear her haranguing several employees.

  Deprived of entertainment, the three men drifted away toward the common room, and behind Mari the inn door opened, letting in a gust of wind and rain along with the newest arrival.

  “Only tonight, sir. I must be at the docks tomorrow if I am to meet Major Standish of the 16th Regiment before he leaves for Marseille. I’m to be governess to his three daughters.” She chattered rapidly in hopes of covering over her earlier, too noble demeanor, stopping only when she realized she revealed too much information.

  “Then I suppose ye’d like to retire as soon as possible. Just sign the register, pay fer yer room and board, and my wife will escort ye above stairs. Supper will be served in an hour.”

  “Thank you.” Mari signed and provided enough coins to cover the cost of the room and her dinner. She lifted her traveling bag just as the goodwife arrived. The woman eyed Mari closely but said nothing, just led the way up two flights of stairs to a small, cozy chamber.

  “Charming,” said Mari.

  “We run a respectable house, miss.”

  “That’s gratifying to know,” Mari said, ducking her head in dismissive humility.

  The innkeeper’s wife studied her guest before leaving with a rustle of starched skirts.

  Mari closed and locked the door before heaving a great sigh. She had to be much more careful in the future. The fate of Europe depended on the success of her venture. She could not afford to fail before she’d truly begun.

  • • •

  Leaving his curricle and four in the very capable hands of his tiger, Richard entered the inn. As he drew off his gloves, he saw a woman speaking with the innkeeper. Ordinarily he would have dismissed any woman as dowdy as this one, but she spoke in the clear, dulcet—and surprisingly humble—tones of Marielle Stonegreave. What demon had conjured her away from Hertfordshire? He shook his head. She couldn’t be Marielle, yet she must be. The raven’s wing hair and slim form could belong to many women, but not that voice. The woman was now claiming that she was to be governess to the daughters of Major Standish of the 16th, Richard’s own regiment.

  She lied.

  Richard waited until she disappeared up the stairs before questioning the innkeeper about the young miss who had just left.

  “Claims she’s a governess, sir.” The man’s waggling eyebrows indicated he believed otherwise. “Be she governess, doxy, or wayward lady, she must not ‘ave traveled much. Di’nt seem t’ know what t’ say an’ what not t’ say.”

  “I see your point. But perhaps she’s only inexperienced and does not understand that discretion is a primary subject and usually taught by example.” He stepped up, signed the register as plain Mr. Campion. He examined the signature above his, recognizing the handwriting with little trouble. He took a piece of foolscap from a stack on the desk.

  “I wouldn’t know ’bout such. Only know she’s a might full of herself fer a governess.”

  She would be, since she’s no governess. What in the world was the Duchess of Stonegreave doing masquerading as a governess traveling alone on the outskirts of Brighton? “Sounds like she could use a little advice from an experienced traveler about how to go on when she journeys.”

  He scrawled a message onto the foolscap then handed it to the innkeeper. “Would you be so kind as to deliver this to the young miss? I’ve invited her to dine with me in the common room, so all is above board. She may be more amenable to my wisdom if well fed, and governesses never have enough cash. She’ll probably accept a free meal even if it comes with a bit of a lecture.”

  The innkeeper raised his brows, looked at the note, then nodded. “’Right y’ are, Mr. Campion, sir. Since yer clearly not planning anything havey-cavey, I’ll deliver yer note, but if the miss declines, I’ll not ’ave ’er forced in any way. If y’ take my meaning, sir.”

  Richard smiled. “I would never compel an unwilling innocent.” Marielle’s innocence was in question, however, and he would find a way to compel her to tell him what she was doing here.

  “Right then. ’enry!” the man bellowed the name. A lad on the edge of manhood came running.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The innkeeper gestured at Richard. “Help this gentleman with ’is bags and show ’im t’ the front room on the left.”
<
br />   “Yes, sir. This way, sir.”

  After approving the chamber, Richard handed the youth a coin. The door closed behind him, and Richard reviewed the facts that would trap Marielle when they spoke at dinner.

  Major Standish had been a staff officer in the 16th. The man had no wife, let alone any daughters. He wasn’t even in France. Richard knew from dispatches he read at the War Office that, having received orders posting him to a Canadian unit, the major was most likely at sea. She must have taken the bait in the false letter he’d given her? If so, her fate was sealed. His current mission and Bruskingly’s speculation about Marielle Stonegreave’s French connections made her activities appear suspicious.

  We know a French agent will deliver to Napoleon the plans for Louis’s return to France. The agent will leave from Brighton in the next two days.

  As little as Richard wished to have anything more to do with Marielle, he could not avoid her. The timing of her incognito journey was too convenient to be coincidental. If she were not herself the French agent, he would wager that she knew something about the agent and his or her activities. Shaking his head, he completed his toilette and descended to the common room. Would the duchess heed his summons? The note had been innocuous, to any but that lady. To her, his signature would be a threat, especially if she was as guilty as she appeared to be. She didn’t strike him as the type of woman to ignore a threat. But she was female, and it could be some time before she made her appearance. He sent for a newspaper and coffee and settled down to wait.

  • • •

  Long past sundown, hunger drove Mari from her room. Surely Richard had retired by now. Of all the people she never expected to see, why did it have to be someone she’d climbed trees with? With luck, she could avoid him now and be long gone in the morning before he even rose from his bed.

  The innkeeper was gone from his post, so Mari slipped into the dimly lit common room. She stood by the entryway and searched for signs of the serving maid while her eyesight adjusted.

  “At last, Miss Twitchenholm. I feared you intended to decline my invitation.”

  With considerable effort she refrained from yelping at the smoky voice that came from her right.

  “Captain Campion. I sent no acceptance. Indeed, I gave your impertinent note the least thought possible.” She lifted her chin in a display of indifference and stepped into the room, heading for a table at the farthest corner.

  He rose, blocking her way and standing much too close.

  She cast a wild glance about the room, hoping to see another diner, a servant, even the innkeeper’s disapproving wife. Too soon she was forced to return her gaze to the room’s only other occupant. “You are in my way, sirrah!”

  The frosty tone she intended emerged as a breathy whisper.

  He took her hand. “Now that you are here, accept anyway. I doubt you would find the alternative pleasant. Allow me to show you to our table.”

  She retreated one step, tugging at the hand he refused to relinquish. “I must disagree. The alternative is for me to dine alone and undisturbed. I would find that much more pleasant.”

  “Tsk, tsk.” He shook his head. “Surely a governess would be grateful for a free meal in a public setting, and there are other options.” He placed his other hand on her elbow, compelling her closer.

  “Grateful is an interesting word to apply in this situation. Options?”

  “Such as the option in which I compel you to accompany me on a moonlight walk. Then on our return loudly thank the Duchess of Stonegreave for our rendezvous. Before you rise in the morning, word will be all over London that you have chosen another lover. Or perhaps you’d prefer to have our discussion in a place where we could not possibly be seen or overheard, such as my chamber. Of course, I would have to ask at least one of the inn servants to keep mum about my assignation with the duchess.” His tone remained so ordinary that she almost disbelieved the threat in his words.

  She suppressed a dismayed and a disappointed sob. Even after his visit to Stonegreave, she’d hoped he shared Jennings’s belief in her innocence. Clearly Richard did not. How could he imagine she would betray her fiancé? Where was the lifelong trust and friendship the three of them had shared? She pressed her lips together against the questions. He’d judged her and found her guilty. She would not plead with him. Let him believe what he wished. Everyone else did. Nonetheless, it hurt that Richard had so little faith in her.

  She took in the gleam in those blue-gray eyes. One might think he found the situation humorous, and she’d thought him no longer capable of humor. This forbidding man was nothing like the laughing friend of childhood. Her brow wrinkled. He was a conundrum.

  He snaked his hand to the back of her waist and with almost no effort propelled her forward. Heat spread over her back, rushing around to fever her brow. How embarrassing to be manhandled under the guise of outward courtesy. She could not allow this to continue.

  “No one would believe you.” He could force her with little effort, and to avoid greater scandal she would offer no protest.

  He guided her to a corner table.

  “On the contrary. You bungled your governess act so badly that no one believes you now. The innkeeper confided that he thinks you’re either a courtesan or a well-born lady meeting her lover. I’ll be happy to encourage him in that thinking. Or you may join me at this table.” He gestured toward the polished surface before her. “The choice is yours.”

  He’d left her no true choice.

  “Since you insist on taking my time, I’ll listen to what you have to say. Afterward, I wish to dine in peace and solitude.”

  He shrugged, then seated himself and snapped his fingers to summon the serving maid. “You may as well eat now. After our discussion, you may feel differently.”

  What could possibly make her think differently about escaping from his presence?

  The maid appeared, carrying a tray piled high with food.

  “Good heavens,” she muttered. “You cannot possibly imagine I would wish to eat all of that.”

  “I did not. Since I have not eaten, I took the liberty of ordering for both of us.” She kept her hands in her lap. Her earlier appetite deserted her.

  “You need not have waited.”

  “It would have been rude to force you to eat alone.”

  Years ago, she would have taken great pleasure in sharing a meal with Richard, Jennings, or both. Seeing them off to school had caused hours of tears. Only the reassurance that they would return consoled her. How different those treasured memories were from the present. She could not wait to be rid of Richard.

  “Well, now that I am here, you may indulge.” She waved her upturned palm across the table.

  He heaped a plate with food and extended it to her.

  She stared for a moment then turned her head, clasping her hands in her lap. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  He placed the food in front of her then did the same with the tankard of liquid he poured. “I regret this inn has nothing better than small beer. But I’ve stayed here often enough to know that it is a fine libation. You’ll sleep quite soundly.”

  She’d not sleep at all. The aroma of roasted meat, onions, and potatoes wafted past her nose, and her mouth watered.

  He tucked into his beef, chewed, swallowed and smacked his lips. “Lovely. You’re missing a delicious meal.”

  She sniffed and immediately regretted inhaling more tantalizing aromas. “No, thank you.”

  “When I travel, I make it a practice to eat whenever I get the chance. You never know how much time will pass before you’ll eat again.” He sipped from his tankard then bent once more to his food.

  Was he threatening to starve her into submission? Hah! She would be long gone before he could even try. Nonetheless, he had a point. Why starve on his account? Her hunger only hurt herself.

  She sighed picked up her knife and fork, cut a small piece of beef, and chewed delicately.

  He eyed her and looked as if he might comment,
then turned his attention to his vegetables.

  Some time later she pushed her platter away and dabbed her lips with her napkin. “I could not eat another bite.”

  He studied her then placed his napkin on the table. “Then it is time we talked.”

  “I can’t imagine what you think we would have to converse about. We have little in common beyond our childhood friendship with Jennings, and we exhausted all we could say on that subject the last time we met.”

  “On the contrary, you have much you can tell me. I’d like to know what are you doing here. Why are you masquerading as a governess? What is your destination? Who are you meeting? A lover or someone else?”

  Eyes wide, she pressed back into her chair. “That is the second time you have impugned my morality. You’re no better than the London gossips.” She wished she could strike him, but that would draw too much attention.

  “What I am is curious. Now answer the questions.” He carefully folded his napkin, keeping his gaze focused on her.

  She fisted her hands in her lap, moderated her anger, and tried a different tack.

  “That’s quite the inquisition. I am in Brighton to take the waters. Not that my actions are any of your business.” If only her voice did not quaver with the lies.

  His gaze narrowed, his lips thinned, and a muscle in his jaw ticked.

  He had to believe her. She could not have him following her to France.

  “I wonder why you did not choose an inn closer to the spa. I question you because everything about you concerns me, your grace. Perhaps I failed to mention, I promised Jennings I would watch out for you.”

  “Did you? How very presumptuous of you to promise and of him to ask. Jennings had to have been out of his mind with pain or fever to have made such a ridiculous request.”

  She stood, barely able to contain her offended pride and something suspiciously like disappointment. Of course she was disappointed. Her friend would not have maligned her in any fashion.

  “You were his fiancée. Certainly, he had some responsibility for your care.” Richard stood too.

 

‹ Prev