by Edith Layton
Pippa shot Maxwell a worried look and followed in her grandmother’s wake.
“I no longer envy you,” the gentleman told Maxwell as they watched them go.
“And I didn’t even get to introduce you to the grand dame. But she’s right,” Maxwell said with a frown. “It no longer matters. Events move too fast now. Still, her husband should be alerted. I’m afraid the lady is no longer existing in the present. That reminds me, I must go now too. I’ve a compelling letter to dash off and send before we leave the dock. Old Carstairs must be told of the goings-on here. Oh, and watch your back, Cyril. We seem to have achieved a certain fame. Not only are we being watched by that odd lame fellow scuttling around the packet and disappearing whenever I look at him, but some of the sailors are watching us too hard, and some of the passengers are making too much of a show of not watching at all. Lord knows how many other weird characters are following us. I think I know many of them from old times, that’s why their disguises are so absurd.”
“I thought so too. The big lame fellow is Roché, don’t you think? The size is right and I noticed that sometimes his limp is worse than other times.”
Maxwell smiled. “Very likely it is Roché. He’s the most inept spy I ever met, but somehow he finds out more than one would think. Could he possibly be intelligent? I’ve often wondered. What is the world coming to when we can’t trust our old adversaries?”
“Coming back to war, I think,” Cyril sighed. “Should I be following them now, do you think?”
“No. No point to it,” Maxwell said. “We’re going into their home arena. But I have to stay alert. Some of them mightn’t be French. There’s a bigger field of play these days. What I must do is remain calm and watchful, and do my best to get to France in one piece. It’s only polite. As you know, the Frenchies like to dismember their well-born enemies themselves.”
“How unforgiving. And you, half French. What would your mama say?”
“Maman knew and would approve. After all, she was clever enough to flee to England before she had to travel in two pieces. See you when I return, regards to Lord Talwin.”
Her grandmother sat in their tiny cabin and composed notes to everyone she knew in France. From the look of the growing pile of missives, Pippa thought that must be the whole of the city of Paris. She threw on a light shawl and went out on deck again.
The deck was mostly deserted. Pippa imagined most of the passengers where getting ready to disembark. The land she could make out in the distance through the early mist in front of the ship must surely be France. She walked to the rail.
France! She was actually traveling to a new land. Excitement was bubbling up in her as fast as the rapidly running waters the packet was cleaving through. She hugged herself.
But then her shoulders slumped. Surely it was wrong to be so happy when she still didn’t know where Noel was? And certainly it was wrong because, increasingly, she didn’t care. There was only one man she thought about constantly. She hugged her shawl closer.
“Mal de mer?” a familiar voice asked from beside her.
“Oh no, I’m an excellent sailor,” Pippa said without turning her head. “It’s just that events have been moving so fast I’m a bit bemused.”
She didn’t look at him. She didn’t dare. He was never far from her thoughts, and when he appeared in reality she found herself less and less able to deal with him.
“Second thoughts?” he persisted.
She nodded. “Now, when it’s too late, of course, I admit I’m beginning to think this venture, on my part at least, was a little…hasty. I’m sure it will be educational. But I wonder if it was necessary.”
He seemed surprised. “That’s a great deal to admit. I’m impressed. Is it an apology, I wonder?”
She turned to face Maxwell. “Perhaps it is. The truth is that if grandmamma hadn’t been so enthusiastic I mightn’t have insisted on it “ She frowned, and then looked up at him with sincerity. “I couldn’t let her go on her own, because it wouldn’t be safe for her. I don’t really know her anymore. Is this how she really is, exposed after years of being cooped up? Or is it something more sinister?”
“You think she’s a spy?” Maxwell asked with a smile.
She smiled back at him. “Of course. Don’t you?”
He cocked his head to the side. “I mistrust the world. But not her.”
“And me? Do you distrust me?”
“I don’t know,” he said seriously. “I do know that I mistrust myself with you.”
The boat skipped as it crested a swell. It gave Maxwell the chance to reach out to steady Pippa. Once he had her in his arms, neither of them moved until Maxwell lowered his head to kiss her.
She didn’t resist. She couldn’t. Instead she kissed him back with her whole heart. She was pressed so close to him she didn’t know if it was her own heart or his that she felt banging so loudly, pulsing throughout her body. His kiss stole her thoughts. He was warm and comforting, yet exciting and dangerous too. She wanted to be even closer to him and stay that way for a very long time. The ship, their journey, their plans no longer mattered. It was his mouth and their bodies that were her only concern—until she heard her grandmother’s voice. Then she quickly dropped her arms from Maxwell and stepped back, red-faced.
“Déjà vu?” that lady said as she crossed the deck to them with stately tread, like a ship breasting the waves, her maid in tow. “Or is the spell of France already at work? Ah me. Spring, France, and l’amour. I understand. But I cannot condone. This is not comme il faut. Phillipa, please leave. See that your luggage is in order.”
Pink as a rose now, Pippa ducked her head. With one backward glance at Maxwell, she turned and hurried to her cabin.
“And as for you, my lord,” Lady Carstairs told Maxwell, “let us please not repeat this scene.”
“My lady,” Maxwell said seriously, “I am entirely at fault. I lost my good sense, and I beg your pardon and promise it won’t happen again.”
“At least not in public, eh?” the lady answered with a wink. She turned and went back to her cabin, leaving Maxwell to stare after her. He was frowning.
Chapter 13
The first thing Lady Carstairs did when she arrived at her hotel in Paris was to denigrate the place.
“I’m used to so much better than this,” she said in a loud voice as her granddaughter winced, because the hotel manager seemed to understand English.
But she and her maid, her granddaughter’s maid, two footmen and hirelings from the dock waited with their cases at hand for Lady Carstairs decision as to whether to stay or not. Pippa had hoped for better too, especially since the inns they had stopped in on the way from Dieppe had been decidedly inferior. She’d slept on top of her clothes to avoid coming in contact with grimy much-used sheets and pillows. And now, this hotel seemed little better than some of the noisome places they’d stopped at.
“There is no better accommodation to be found,” Maxwell, who had accompanied them from the dock, said, as though reading her mind. “Paris is filled to the rooftops now that there is peace. And this place is clean and in a decent neighborhood.”
The lady finally accepted the facts. She bid farewell to Maxwell, called to Pippa, sent her hirelings up with her bags, and went to her rooms.
The first thing she did when she got there and the extra servants had left was to change her entire attitude. She flung the latticed shutters in her chamber wide open, leaned out, breathed deeply, and smiled. Pippa was puzzled. The view from the room was not inspiring.
But her grandmother had her eyes shut in what looked like a kind of ecstasy. Her bountiful bosom grew even bigger as she stuck her curly blond head out the window and took another theatrically deep breath.
“Ah, la belle France,” she said. “I remember it well. Come child, Paris in the springtime is something no romantic young filly should miss out on. Come breathe it in!”
Pippa went to her grandmother’s side. The houses in this district were so packed tog
ether that the view from their window was of rooftops, chimneys, pigeons, and church steeples.
“Come,” her grandmother insisted, “breathe it in. Fill your lungs. Paris in the spring! What a bouquet. Horse chestnuts in flower, roses, violets, lilacs, jasmine—all in bloom.”
Pippa leaned out the window and took in a deep breath. Her eyes widened, her nose wrinkled, she sprang back, reached into a pocket for a handkerchief and covered her nose with it. “It actually hurts! All I smell is cat urine and smoke, stale wine, horse droppings, and…more urine,” she said from behind the handkerchief. “This can’t be what you remember. Perhaps later when we go for a walk we can go to a park and I’ll know what you mean.”
Her grandmother scowled. “Nonsense! Where’s your nose? Stuck up so high in the air it doesn’t work anymore? Where are your dreams of romance? I don’t understand. Those are curious words coming from a girl who climbs a certain gentleman as though she was a draggletail slut trying to pay the rent every time my back is turned.”
“Grandmother!” Pippa said, shocked. “Your language!”
“We weren’t mealy-mouthed prisses when I was young,” her grandmother said with a sniff.
“And besides,” Pippa went on in agitation, “it isn’t true. Those encounters weren’t clandestine. I didn’t seek him out, either. They may have got out of hand, but not for long. They were just a…” she faltered and went on, ”a few accidental meetings with one gentleman.”
“Whilst you are affianced to another!” her grandmother retorted triumphantly.
Pippa lowered her eyelashes.
“Nice goings-on however you say it, eh?” Lady Carstairs said. “I knew this journey might be difficult, but I never guessed what hot tail feathers you had until this trip, my girl. Is that why Noel beat a retreat?”
“GRANDMOTHER!” Pippa gasped.
“No more of this,” her grandmother said, turning from the window. “Have your maid unpack for you, and be sure to dress nicely for dinner. There are dozens of my friends and acquaintances here in Paris and we may run into some of them. At any rate, even if we don’t, I’ve sent word to all my old cronies and they’ll surely come to visit, even this soon. They were always up for jollity. And everyone’s in Paris now! What good times we had! Tomorrow, we’ll go and look some of them up, no doubt in much nicer surroundings. In the meanwhile, rest so you can be bright as sunshine at dinner. I want to show you off.”
The lady dropped a kiss on Pippa’s forehead, as though she’d never uttered one harsh word. As Pippa left she could hear her grandmother humming a pretty dance tune. She appeared to be her old self. But that self was new to Pippa.
Pippa went to her own chamber next door. Her maid was busy in the tiny dressing room, arranging clothing and cases. Pippa sank to the tilted bed and thought deeply. She was tired and confused, and a bit frightened.
She felt alone and in danger. The facts were plain. She’d rushed into things without thinking again. She doubted she’d find Noel in Paris and, in truth, realized that he was no longer foremost in her mind. In fact, she no longer cared if he showed up or not. Noel and she, all the promises he’d made and the future they’d planned, were definitely over. Whatever happened, this was so. She’d known it before ever setting foot on the packet to France.
But she couldn’t have let her grandmother go abroad alone. Now she was in a difficult situation and didn’t know whom to turn to.
She was in a strange land with an unsteady companion and a dangerous gentleman who she needed a chaperone to meet with. Because in truth, Pippa thought as she curled up on the lumpy cot with a sad sigh, she wasn’t sure she had the good sense or sufficient self-control to chaperone herself any longer. She was weary and self-doubting. Pippa closed her eyes and welcomed sleep. A brief nap might clear her mind.
As she drifted off, between oblivion and wakefulness, she found herself wondering what she was worrying about, at least so far as the gentleman in question was concerned. Because she was four and twenty, and nominally engaged to be married to a man that the world knew had run from the altar rather than join her there. Even her grandmother doubted her honor. So what was she afraid of? Losing her reputation? Why? She had none. It was gone, if not when Noel had deserted her, then certainly now that she was fruitlessly pursuing him across the continent.
She thought about Lord Montrose. Maxwell. She shivered, although she didn’t feel cold, not when she remembered his warmth, his scent, his voice. He was handsome and clever, and a true gentleman. It was also true that he threw out lures to her. She didn’t have to take them. But she always did. She knew he’d never force her to anything. It was her own desires she feared.
Why? Was she afraid of losing her purity? Who would expect her to have any, after all?
That made her eyes open. It was true, though. And also true that the stark truth of it made her feel a bit wicked. The fear she’d had before was being replaced by a giddy new sense of freedom. Who knew about her physical state, or her past with men? Who cared?
She closed her eyes again. It might have been a frightening thought at home. But here, warm and snug and safe from the world, lying in a new bed in a new land with no one to count on but no one to disappoint, it only bemused her.
Perhaps Paris in the spring did put a spell on visitors, she thought muzzily. And then she slept, with a tilted smile on her lips.
“No one is here!” Lady Carstairs trumpeted.
Some of the other diners in the hotel’s crowded dining room looked up, and then back at their dinners.
“But grandmother,” Pippa whispered, “every table is taken.”
“No one who is anyone,” her grandmother explained. She pushed her empty soup bowl away. “I heard everyone was here. But where?”
“Most of your friends were in London,” Pippa said.
“Those feeble old creatures?” her grandmother said. “They’re out of juice. I mean all the friends I shared such jollity with last time I was in Paris, with your grandfather.”
“How long ago was that?” Pippa asked quietly.
Her grandmother scowled. “It doesn’t matter,” she said abruptly. “I heard everyone was here, but here—they are not. Some are doubtless too old to travel, but not everyone is dead or decrepit. It’s this bottom-of-the-barrel hotel. But never fear. Tomorrow we’ll meet the crème de la crème. I’ve sent out notes. I’d hoped that tonight would be amusing, instead we’re here with nothing to do. It’s too bad you’ve put on such a lovely gown for no reason.”
Pippa looked down at her light green gown. It was lovely, with puffed sleeves and tiny yellow flowers along the hemline. She knew she looked well in it, and didn’t think wearing it was a waste. It made her feel cheerier.
“Surely Paris still knows how to amuse visitors,” her grandmother said bitterly. “But where can two ladies safely go at any time, anywhere? To a dressmaker’s, of course. But after that? Where’s that Montrose when you really need him?”
“Aren’t you in least tired?” Pippa asked curiously. Her nap had been brief, and she thought she could do with some hours of solid sleep before she took on a strange new city.
“Tired? At ten at the night in Paris? Where are your wits, child?”
“But I confess, I’m a bit weary,” Pippa said. “I don’t think I’d be at my best, especially at some grand fete. We just arrived, Grandmother. I’m happy to rest before going out on the Town.”
“I suppose you’ve the right of it,” her grandmother said grudgingly. “We could use some beauty sleep.” She glanced up and broke out into smiles. “Aha! Perhaps we won’t have to! There’s Lord Montrose. He probably has fun in store for us.”
Pippa looked up, and her heart sank. She’d told her grandmother the truth. She was still a bit groggy from her brief nap and tired from traveling since sunup. But Maxwell was making his way through the dining parlor, weaving around tables toward them. He looked immaculate, well rested, and wore correct black-and-white evening wear. That meant he might have someplac
e to escort them to tonight.
“Ladies,” he said when he got to their table. He bowed. A waiter hurried with a chair for him, and he sat, facing Pippa and her grandmother. “Just some port,” Maxwell told the waiter, “I’ve already dined. Well, ladies, how are you?”
“Ready for merriment,” her grandmother chirped.
Pippa restrained herself from rolling her eyes.
“Not weary after your journey?” he asked.
“You’re obviously not,” Lady Carstairs said. “Why should we be?”
“But I am,” he said after a brief glance at Pippa. “I’ve only dressed this way because I’m staying with an old friend, and he has guests tonight. I plan to make my way back to his house and my bed as soon as I’m done here. Unlike you stalwart ladies, I need some sleep. I only came to ask after your health and also to ask if you’d care to come to some soirees with me in the coming week.”
Pippa let out a relieved sigh. Her grandmother looked disgruntled. Maxwell smiled, took some cards from his waistcoat pocket, and shuffled through them.
“Let me see,” he said. “Not the Janeways, no indeed. They’re English persons trying to slide into French society. Bon chance to them. Nor the musicale at Mademoiselle Pinchon’s either. She’s a dead bore and her company always tedious. Ah. But yes. Wait. Here it is. I thought you might want to visit at Madame Recamier’s salon this Thursday afternoon. Yes, she still holds them. They are something to talk about, if nothing else. And Madame Duchamps is hosting a little soiree this Friday night. They’re said to be amusing. And last but surely not least, Monsieur and Madame Fauchard are giving a ball this Saturday. They were supporters of Napoleon and now glory in the role of friends to the First Consul. It is even possible he may grace the company and show his face.
“Well?” he asked, looking up. “That’s the best of the lot so far. Which do you prefer? Any? None? Or all?”
“All!” Lady Carstairs cried. “What fun. Now we shall see Paris. Anything on the agenda for tomorrow night?” she asked greedily.