His Parisian Mistress (Scandalous Family--The Victorians Book 1)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Vaughn was innocent of the charges,” Richard muttered.

  “Not according to the findings of his trial.”

  “He was found culpable because he was a director,” Richard ground out. “All the directors were found guilty. All of them were imprisoned.”

  “All except one, I believe. Uriah Darnell has never been found.”

  “You are well informed about British banks,” Richard said.

  “The scandal was reported in French newspapers, too, Mr. Devlin. It was not the collapse of just any bank. Over two million pounds of investors’ money disappeared and has never been found to this day. The bank dissolved, family fortunes disappeared instantly, businesses were shut down. I believe even a small country in South East Asia was forced to declare bankruptcy. It was a financial disaster only slightly smaller than that which would ensue should the Bank of England collapse.”

  Richard grimaced. “And I thought Paris would be far enough away. How foolish of me.”

  Bertrand nodded. “You are tired Mr. Devlin. I will release you into the custody of your cousin. Ève will take you home.” He paused. “Not that it is any of my business, since I have released you, but let me offer a little advice. Trying to run away from your past is a waste of time. It always catches up, eventually.”

  “Yes it does,” Richard said bitterly. “Until it does, though, I can live an almost normal life.”

  “And when it does?”

  Richard shrugged. “Then I move on.” He got to his feet. He was not only tired, but he was hungry and thirsty and disgustingly dirty. He longed to step out into the fresh air. He longed to be able to spend a few minutes not thinking about anything at all.

  “That is not a good way to live, Mr. Devlin,” Bertrand replied.

  “It was the only choice given to me,” Richard replied.

  Ève moved to the door. He opened it for her and followed her out of the police station.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Great Aunt Annalies’ Boarding House for Ladies, Grosvenor Square, Mayfair, London.

  Elise and Anne waited in the shabby front hall for long minutes before someone answered the ring of the bell which Elise had found on the side table.

  It was not a butler who came to greet the new arrivals, but Great Aunt Annalies herself. The elderly woman wore black as always. Elise had never seen her wearing anything else. The locket at her throat was the only embellishment or jewelry she wore. Elise had never seen inside the locket although she suspected it held a picture of Great Aunt Annalies’ late husband, Rhys.

  Despite her advanced age, Great Aunt Annalies was an upright figure and moved freely. Her back was not bent. Nor were her shoulders, as so many older women’s were. Her eyes had always been those of a young woman.

  “Anne and Elise, you came at last. How was the train? How is York? I imagine they are just beginning the plowing in Northallerton. Are your father and mother well? Do come in! I’m sure we can scare up a pot of tea, while we catch up. Come along!” Annalies turned and moved toward the drawing room.

  Elise cleared her throat. “Our trunks, Great Aunt Annalies?”

  Annalies whirled, a hand upon her hip. “My goodness, you didn’t leave them out on the pavement, did you?”

  “No footman came to help us,” Anne said, her voice small.

  Great Aunt Annalies rolled her eyes. “That is because I do not have a footman. Nor do I have a butler. I was forced to let Smith go the last month. Oh dear…”

  “I suppose we can carry them between us, sister,” Elise said, keeping her tone diplomatic and smooth.

  Anne looked horrified. Then she shrugged off the expression and painted a smile upon her face. “I suppose I must get used to lifting things, mustn’t I?”

  Annalies moved to the front door and opened it wide. “There they are.” She moved out of the house and down the broad steps to the pavement, where the pair of trunks sat together. Annalies bent and picked up a handle and tried to straighten. She let go of the handle quickly, her other hand moving to her back.

  Alarmed, Elise hurried down the steps to her great aunt and put her hand upon Annalies’ shoulder. “Why don’t you get the pot of tea?” Elise said softly. “Anne and I can carry the trunks between us.”

  Great Aunt Annalies nodded. She brushed off her hands with a brisk movement and patted her pure white hair back into place. “Yes, tea would be appropriate right now.” She moved inside the house, while Anne watched her go.

  “This is awful!” Anne declared softly, as soon as Annalies had disappeared. “I am quite sure Mother and Father had no idea about the true state of this place when they suggested we live here.”

  Elise looked toward the wide front door, which showed graceful lines and hints of a former glory, despite the fading paint. “Oh, I suspect Father knew exactly what he was sending us into. You know how his mind works. Besides, we are Yorkshire girls, and a little bit of hard work is nothing to us, correct?”

  Anne sighed and bent to pick up the handle of the trunk closest to her. “As I am to be a secretary as of tomorrow, I suppose I must learn to do without footmen and butlers. Ready?”

  Elise helped Anne carry the trunks one by one into the front hall of the big old house. They shut the door and moved into the drawing room, where Great Aunt Annalies was pouring tea from a chipped china pot.

  “I understand you both have positions to report to, tomorrow,” Annalies said, as she pushed the cups toward each of them. There were no biscuits or cake to go with the tea, but neither of them pointed it out.

  “Anne begins her work tomorrow,” Elise said. “I begin my new position in three days’ time.”

  “And your position is?” Annalies asked, with interest in her voice.

  “I am to assist the owner of Carter’s Haberdashery, on Oxford Street,” Elise said.

  “You are to be a shop girl! How marvelous!” Annalies said.

  They both stared at her, startled.

  Annalies put her cup down. “You don’t know how much I envy you. When I was a girl, I would have given anything to be afforded the opportunity to work for a living. It simply was not done then and besides, I had that pesky title of mine getting in the way. But to earn one’s own income provides independence, and…” She sighed. “Well, I suppose I am independent now.” She looked around the shabby room. “There are ten other ladies living in the house. None of them are home at the moment. They are all attending their own work, today. Tonight, at dinner, you will be able to meet them all. You should relax for today, unpack your trunks and appreciate the quiet. With you two, my favorite great nieces, there are now fifteen of us living in the house and the evenings become very noisy indeed.”

  “I don’t quite follow,” Elise said. “With ten other ladies, my sister and me, and you, that makes thirteen. You said fifteen.”

  “I have a cook,” Annalies said. “Mrs. Brown is unswervingly loyal to my family, and has served them all her life. I have not been able to afford her wages for nearly a year, yet she insists she has nowhere else to go. Then there is her daughter, Colleen, who helps her in the kitchen and helps me with the heavier tasks around the house. Colleen also insists she has nowhere to go, so I let them stay. I would be quite lost without them, I imagine.” Great Aunt Annalies’ voice was wistful. “As much as I wish it otherwise, sometimes I simply cannot move as fast as I would like anymore.”

  Elise and Anne remained respectfully silent.

  Annalies gave them both an effortful smile. “Did you know that both of you were named for me?”

  Elise raised her brow. “I know Mama thinks the world of you, but I did not know that.”

  “Ann-Elise. Annalies.” Great Aunt Annalies shrugged. “Although now, of course, you must get used to being referred to by your last name. You are in a type of service, now.”

  “I suppose we are, aren’t we?” Anne said quietly. She stared into her tea, not smiling.

  Annalies patted her knee. “Buck up. Once you grow used to it, you will like the f
reedom which comes with it. You will see.”

  Annalies said nothing. She was not about to dispute her great aunt, whom everyone generally described as being the smartest woman they knew. She found it difficult to believe Great Aunt Annalies, though. Their father was the son of royalty, yet through a turn of fate completely beyond their control, they had now been reduced to working for wages and living in a shabby house in London.

  There was not a single positive aspect in that at all.

  Ève’s pony, Estelle, remained obediently where Ève had left the gig outside the police station. It had taken many weeks for Estelle to learn to obey a trailing rein. Ève picked up the reins and patted the white pony’s nose.

  She moved back to the gig, scooped up the hem of her skirt and carefully climbed onto the platform and settled herself on the bench.

  Richard looked up at her. “You drive?” It was impossible to tell from his tone or his face if he was surprised by that, disapproved of it, or was completely indifferent. Even last night, Ève had been baffled by him. Richard held everything inside him.

  Growing up, he had been one of the rambunctious cousins, a loud boy who teased and laughed and got into mischief, with wavy black hair, blacker eyes and a mouth which seemed to be constantly curled in amusement.

  When she was fifteen, Ève had thought herself in love with Richard. That had been the last gather her father and mother had attended. Gathers had stopped a few years later, so that had been the last time Ève had seen Richard.

  Only seven years had passed since then, yet Richard looked considerably older than the twenty-seven she thought he was. He was worn. Worn down, she supposed.

  Ève merely said, “Get in,” and plucked the whip from the crevice where it lived when she was not using it.

  “A cab would not be more comfortable?” he asked, as he climbed up onto the platform with slow, careful movements. There was blood on the back of his collar—his head was likely aching.

  “By driving myself,” Ève told him, “I free myself from the necessity of having to find a cab or depending upon a man to find one for me. That also avoids a great many complications. Where am I taking you?”

  “If you work for Bertrand, do you not already know?”

  “I do not spend my days inside the police station. I only arrived a few minutes before I saw you. As far as the prefecture are concerned, I am merely a visitor here. If anyone cares to ask me—and no one has ever asked me so far—I would tell them that Bertrand is a friend of the family.”

  “Your immediate family only, I hope?” Alarm sounded in his voice.

  “Of course. So, where am I taking you?” she enquired again.

  He grimaced.

  “Are you staying at a hotel?” Ève asked, as her suspicion grew. “You…do have somewhere you are staying, do you not?”

  He rubbed the back of his head, then winced and touched it gingerly, as he discovered the bruise back there. Wariness and a hint of another quality she could not name emanated from him. She wondered if the odd quality was embarrassment. As Richard held everything inside, she could only guess. So she said with a brisk tone, “I have seen you both drunk and arrested. You could hardly demean yourself any further by revealing your true circumstances.”

  Richard’s gaze met hers. “A pension, by the Siene…only, if I return there, she will ask for rent I haven’t the money to pay.”

  Dismay touched Ève’s middle and made it curl. Even though her family had felt the impact of financial depletion, public scandal and shame, too, they still had a roof over their heads. Through her father’s and mother’s constant hard work, they had food to eat and clothes to wear.

  Not being able to pay even for a bed to sleep upon must be utterly demeaning.

  Ève made a decision. “What time is it?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know. My watch stopped, hours ago.”

  She glanced at the clouds overhead. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she said. “No matter the time, I will take you home. To my home. You can stay with us.”

  Richard stiffened. “No, that would not be…I would embarrass your family, Ève. They would have to explain themselves to your neighbors and friends. Why do you think I did not visit when I first arrived?”

  “Because you are a fool who has forgotten what our family is really like at the core.” She clicked her tongue and Estelle trotted eagerly forward. The pony knew a warm stable and oats waited for her.

  “Not that all-for-one nonsense,” Richard said tiredly.

  “It is not nonsense,” she said firmly. “When Papa Iefan and Mama Mairin were trapped in Algeria, the whole family came to rescue them. That isn’t nonsense at all. It saved their lives.”

  “That is completely different to…to my circumstances,” Richard growled. His whiskers rasped as he rubbed defensively at his jaw. “That was a different time. It’s all changed now.”

  “It has changed, or you have?” Ève asked, disappointment trickling through her. “Your mother risked everything to be with your father and the family stood behind—”

  “Do not talk about my mother,” Richard snapped. He bent and put his face in his hands and scrubbed at it. “Just…don’t.” His voice was hoarse.

  Ève realized her mistake. Aunt Natasha had died the day Richard’s brother, Vaughn, was arrested. Her eyes pricked with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  She turned the gig into Boulevard Saint-Michel, which ran past the Luxembourg Palace. The quiet street where they lived was opposite the palace gardens.

  After a while, Richard straightened. He kept his gaze ahead, his expression unreadable. He had returned to the solitary, enclosed man who had confronted her last night, when he had not known who she was.

  “How is it you are working for a man like Bertrand?” he said.

  “He really is a friend of the family—of my father in particular,” Ève said. “He has heard me singing many times around the family piano. One day, we had a conversation about my father—my real father, Etienne. Bertrand knew Etienne, too, and called him a man who loved adventure. He wondered if I was like Etienne and if I would like a small adventure of my own.”

  “Spying for him in the cafés of Paris?” Richard said dryly.

  “If you wish to call it that, you may,” Ève said, keeping her tone even. “It is a useful thing I do. I help Bertrand in ways no one else can. What I do makes a difference.”

  Richard scowled. “That is what I thought I would do, one day. Make a difference. I was…” He paused. “I was going to enter politics and change the world for the better.” The bitterness in his voice made her heart ache. “Do not get used to it, Ève,” he added, his voice strained. “Things change too quickly to take it for granted.”

  He looked away, staring at the palace gardens as they flowed by.

  Ève turned the gig into Rue du Val-de-Grâce. The narrow street was lined with white stone houses with elegant scrollwork iron balconies. The seventh on the left was her home. Ève’s shoulders straightened proudly as she pulled the gig to the curb.

  She held out her hand, as Richard looked up at the many-floored house. “Richard.”

  He glanced back at her.

  “There is one small thing…”

  His black eyes narrowed. He had long lashes, which she had only now noticed in the late morning light.

  “It is just…” she began, “My father believes I work as a secretary for Bertrand.”

  His face shifted. His jaw flexed. For a moment, Ève thought she could see amusement in his eyes. “How do you explain your evenings away from the house, then?”

  Ève felt even more uncomfortable. “I have let everyone believe I am seeing one of Bertrand’s junior officers. Sometimes, Bertrand sends Jacques to escort me in the evening, too.”

  “To reinforce the lie,” Richard said flatly.

  Her heart squeezed. “Please…let my parents remain ignorant,” she said quickly.

  Richard stared at her. “Lies upon lies,” he murmured.
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  “Just this one lie,” she said. “Please.”

  Richard rubbed at the knee of his worn trousers with his thumb, considering it. Ève realized their positions had been reversed. Now Richard sat in judgment of her values and she could feel that he disapproved.

  How strange that a man with his stained and disreputable history should feel morally superior to her! Yet he did not seem to notice the oddity. Despite his worn clothing and wrinkled spirit and the closed-in borders of his character, there was still an iron core inside him which thought it perfectly reasonable to question the necessity of her lie.

  Bertrand had not hesitated to facilitate the illusion, and Papa Iefan called Bertrand one of the most upright and honest men he knew.

  Richard shook his head. “I don’t think it is right, but then the world cares nothing about what I believe, anymore.” He jerked his head around as the front door of the house swung open and Adam strode over to the gig.

  “I will take the gig around for you, Ève,” Adam told her, holding his hand out for the reins. Adam loved to muck about in the small stable at the back of the house. He liked to be alone with animals. They liked him, too.

  Adam glanced at Richard, on her right. His eyes widened a little. “Why…cousin Richard, yes?” He switched to English. “Whatever are you doing in Paris? Are you here for lunch?”

  “Apparently, I am,” Richard said, shaking Adam’s long hand.

  “Papa Iefan will lock you in the library with him, afterwards,” Adam said. “It has been too long since we had news despite all the letters Mama sends.”

  Ève suspected Papa would find Richard an even poorer source of gossip than her mother’s letters, although she said nothing as she climbed to the footpath and waited for Richard to circle around the gig to join her.

  The front door still stood open and she could hear voices lifted in conversation, and the clatter of china.

  Richard tugged his jacket into place with sharp movements, his gaze upon the elegant house.

  “It will be all right,” Ève told him.