Believe in Me

by Ella Quinn

  Her gaze was still on the bronze man and horse. “Oh, yes.” She started walking again. “I was caught up in a thought.”

  “Which thought?” Her head must be full of them. She seemed more distracted here than in England.

  “He brought order to a country that was steeped in chaos. If he had not attempted to conquer the rest of Europe, he might have been a hero to us as well.”

  Phinn mulled that around for a moment. She had a valid point. “I believe you’re correct.”

  Sighing, she shrugged. “Sadly, I cannot change history.”

  Several minutes later they reached the Bibliothèque nationale de France and entered a good-sized hall with a marble floor. Doors were situated on the sides, a corridor on either side of the hall led to the back of the building, and stairs led to the upper floors.

  “Durant.” Augusta turned to the footman. “I shall be at least an hour. Would you like to look around for a bit?”

  “No, my lady. I will wait here.” A small cloth-bound book appeared in his hands.

  “We must find—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, a middle-aged man in a dark cloth suit of no particular note addressed them in French, “Good day, I am Monsieur Clement. May I assist you?”

  “Oui,” Phinn responded, continuing in the same language. “I am Lord Phineas Carter-Woods. I have come to look at the Oaths of Strasbourg.”

  Clement glanced at Augusta. “This is not a place for entertaining a lady.”

  Phinn gave the man a hard look. He supposed it had been unrealistic of him to think he could merely walk in with her and not have her presence questioned. He drew her forward a little. “Lady Augusta, this is Monsieur Clement”—as if she had not heard the man introduce himself. “Monsieur, this is Lady Augusta Vivers. She is even more knowledgeable about the treaty than I am.”

  The man scowled disapprovingly. “Is this the young woman about whom Lord Harrington contacted the director?”

  “It is. However, when you would not allow her to view the document herself, I offered to escort her. I am a member of the British Royal Society.” A lie, but how would anyone know?

  “There are no women allowed.” The man started to turn his back.

  Augusta had not come all this way to have some self-important little man stop her. Phinn moved to grab him, but she kept ahold of his arm—accosting Clement would not help them. Using her best Old French, she said, “Do you speak and read Old French, monsieur?”

  Stopping, the man faced her, astonishment writ on his heavy features. “What did you say?”

  She raised her chin. “I asked you in Old French if you either spoke or read the language.”

  He glanced at Phinn, whose lips were twitching. “I believe you were informed that she knew the language.”

  “But how—” Augusta remained as calm as she could as the man struggled with himself. Finally, he signaled for them to follow him. “Do not tell anyone.”

  A sense of accomplishment and success surged through her. She had never been so excited in her life. I’ve won! I am really going to be able to see the treaty! For the first time I am being treated as a scholar.

  This is what attending university will be like. It will complete my dreams.

  She glanced at Phinn, whose silver eyes were full of pride as he returned her gaze. He inclined his head, and they followed Clement down a corridor to a large room with a domed ceiling and desks set up in rows.

  Taking out a set of keys, he inserted one in the lock of a small wooden door built into the end of the room. “Choose a place to sit. I will return with the treaty.”

  Augusta shivered with excitement. She had tried to view The Song of Roland, which was housed in England, but no one had had the time or credentials to accompany her. Yet Phinn had the qualifications and he had made the time. “Thank you.”

  Before he could answer, Monsieur Clement returned holding a worn and aged manuscript, placing it on the table in front of her. “Mademoiselle, I ask that you read the first page to me. I have only heard one other person speaking my original language.”

  “I would be honored.” As she turned the pages to the beginning of the treaty, her hands trembled, and her heart pounded. Augusta could barely believe she was touching the same paper, would be reading the same words, that were touched and read eight hundred years ago. Words that brought an end to war and suffering. She took a breath, but her voice still trembled as she read in Old French. “‘For the love of God and for the Christian people, and our common salvation, from this day forward, as God will give me the knowledge and the power, I will defend my brother Charles with my help in everything . . .’”

  The writing was better than the copies and, as she read, the language flowed as if it was begging to be used again. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back. Elation rose in her as her voice filled the almost-empty room. While she read, Augusta began to envision the men writing the agreements that King Charles the Bald entered into with his brothers in the year 842.

  She had expected Clement to leave. Yet, an hour later, when she had finished, he was still there, tears blurring his dark eyes.

  He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “I have never heard anything so beautiful. Thank you for insisting you be permitted to read this document.” Gathering the manuscript, he rose. “Now, you must be parched. I have wine in my office. Will you allow me to give you and his lordship a glass?”

  “Yes. I would love a glass of wine.” The privilege was not lost on her. She was being treated as an equal.

  After he’d disappeared into the other room, Phinn’s thumb caressed her cheek. “You did it.”

  She covered his thumb with her hand and realized he was wiping tears away. “No, we did it. I would never have had an opportunity to change his mind if you had not brought me.” Augusta wanted to kiss the palm of his hand, but that would not be prudent. “I have never felt so, so elated.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I know. It’s like that when one has achieved ones greatest desire.” He handed her his handkerchief. “You might want to use this.”

  She dabbed her eyes then blew her nose. “Thank you. I am indebted to you again today.”

  “Never.” His tone was suddenly sharp, so serious it startled her. “No matter what I do for you, I do not want you to feel as if you owe me for it. I have and will do anything I am able to ease your way.”

  Once again, Monsieur Clement returned before the conversation could continue. “Mademoiselle, monsieur, please follow me.”

  He led them to a light-filled room on the same floor and poured glasses of a fine claret. For several minutes he spoke of her reading and his love for his language before saying, “The Sequence of Saint Eulalia is the most perfect example of the spelling and sound of Old French. It is in Valenciennes. If you are able to travel there, I will give you a letter for the director, allowing you to read it.” He heaved a sigh. “My only regret is that I will not be there to hear you read.”

  Valenciennes was north of Paris. Would it be possible for her to talk Hector into taking a detour? Augusta finished her wine. “If it is at all possible, I will travel to Valenciennes.”

  Phinn rose, holding his hand out to her. “Thank you, monsieur.”

  Clement stood as well. “No, thank you for allowing me to listen.”

  When Clement kissed her and Phinn on both cheeks, she almost went into whoops at the look on his face. Shortly after that, they entered the hall where Durant was waiting. “Got to read it, my lady?”

  “Yes. It was as wonderful as I thought it would be.” She linked her arm with Phinn’s as they regained the street. “Where are we going to eat? I’m famished.”

  “Au Chien Qui Fume. I am told it is an excellent restaurant.” They headed back the way they had come. “It is not far from here.”

  “I was so nervous on our way to the library, I did not notice much of the surroundings. It will be nice to take in the views.”

  As they ambled through th
e streets, Augusta took time to notice some of the differences in fashion and decided she would visit the modiste as well. A lady with a beautiful silk bonnet adorned with flowers sauntered by. “I just thought of something. If we pass a milliner, I would like to buy bonnets for my sisters. They are fifteen and adore hats.” On second thought... “Although, it might be better for me to go with my cousins.”

  “I shall have you know that I shall take umbrage at the suggestion that I do not know anything about fashion.” Phinn cut her a look. “I may not be an expert, but I know what I like.”

  Augusta cast her eyes at the sky. “Very well. You may help me select the hats.”

  They reached the restaurant without finding a milliner.

  “My lady?” Durant said. “There is a tavern across the street that would be more suited to me.”

  “If you wish.” She was about to ask if he needed money, when Phinn handed him several coins.

  “Thank you, sir.” Augusta watched as he took a table outside.

  The maître d’hôtel showed them to a round table with two chairs on the wide pavement in front of the main restaurant. Phinn ordered wine. Unlike the tavern across the street, the other people eating, or drinking wine, or whatever was in their cups, looked more fashionable than she did. It was definitely time to visit the dressmaker. “What shall we eat?”

  “A waiter will come out and recite today’s menu.” He held out a chair for her and she sat on the round cane seat.

  After the waiter had finished, Augusta said, “Pommes frites? Have you had them?”

  “I have. They are thinly cut pieces of fried potato. I enjoyed them.”

  The potatoes sounded tasty. “And steak au poivre? I assume there is pepper in it.”

  “A pepper sauce is served over the steak. It will also have pommes frites.”

  Three other dishes had been mentioned, but two of them she had eaten at home. “I will have the steak au poivre and the salad.”

  “I’ll have the same thing. Would you like wine or tea?”

  Augusta would have liked another glass of wine, but she did not dare go home in her altitudes. “Do you think they would have the Vichy water here? I have heard some of the restaurants serve it.” When the waiter returned, Phinn ordered the food, then asked about the water. Augusta was pleased to discover that they did serve it.

  Her meal was very good. The sauce was excellent and the pommes frites were as delicious as they sounded, crunchy on the outside but soft on the inside. The water had bubbles. Like champagne. But other than that, it tasted somewhat like the spring water at home.

  As pleased as she was with luncheon, it was the experience of dining outside at a restaurant that she enjoyed most. Being able to watch people of all sorts walking up and down the street was fascinating. She kept an eye on Durant, but he seemed to be doing well. He was even conversing with some of the others around him. Were they English? Or perhaps Irish. Then again, he could have picked up enough French for simple conversation.

  “It’s nothing like England, is it?” Phinn said.

  “It is not.” He had finished his luncheon, and now swirled the wine in his glass. “Even if we had restaurants with tables on the pavement, ladies would not be allowed to give them our custom.”

  “I can understand the male wish to protect ladies.” Raising his brows, he shook his head. “However, I do not comprehend creating whole societies dedicated to the oppression of the female sex.”

  She had seen the males in her family protect or try to protect the women, but even Merton learned he could not control what Dotty decided was the right thing to do. “Nor do I. Some men treat women as if their ideas or thoughts are a threat to them.”

  “The gentlemen in your family don’t appear to believe that.”

  “Well, not most of them.” Thinking of Dotty and Merton again made Augusta grin. “It took my cousin Merton some time to come around.”

  Phinn leaned forward slightly, creating a cozy atmosphere. As if they were the only persons present. “I had heard he was much different before his marriage.”

  “You could say that.” She laughed. “Her father is a Radical. He even believes every man and woman in Britain should be able to vote.” His jaw dropped and Augusta laughed again. “Even you are not that forward thinking.”

  One of his eyes closed slightly as he canted his head. “I’m not so sure about that. Quite frankly, I have never given it much thought. When I inherited my estate and became eligible to vote I was out of the country, so I have not been involved in politics.”

  “I would like to say universal suffrage will come, but I doubt I will see it in my lifetime.”

  “Unfortunately, I believe you are correct.” Phinn finished his wine.

  Tomorrow she’d have a glass.

  A church bell pealed, and she glanced at the watch pin. It was almost three o’clock. Augusta had been having such fun, the time had flown. “We should start back.”

  “Yes, indeed. Especially if I am going to be allowed to squire you around again.”

  He paid the shot, and signaled to her footman. On the way back to Harrington House they took their time, ambling through the Tuileries, the beautiful and famous gardens designed and planted by Marie de’ Medici. London should have gardens like this that everyone could visit. “Perhaps the next time we can see the Seine.”

  Phinn grinned. “Or we could visit Notre Dame.”

  Augusta smiled. “Or we could do both.”

  As they strolled she could not remember a time when she’d had so much fun. Phinn seemed to enjoy himself as well. Could something come of it? Probably not. “You did not completely answer my question about what you are doing in France.”

  Just then they came upon artists lining the pathway. “They are fascinating.”

  Augusta stood watching while a pastelist sketched a young woman. “I had heard artists from all over the world come to Paris to study.”

  Once again, Phinn had managed to evade answering her question about his presence in Paris. This time, by distracting her with street artists. Who were marvelous and something one would never see in London. But what was he trying to hide?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Artists from all over the word study in Paris and Rome as well.” The image of Phinn with Augusta in Rome was so clear and strong, it surely must happen.

  “Yes, of course. I shall travel to Rome when I have school holidays.” She tugged on his arm. “Look, there is a woman drawing with charcoal. I wonder if she will be able to make her name.”

  “Most of the well-known female artists come from artistic families.” Another area where men were against women. How had he never noticed the differences in England before? When he was with the Spanish in Mexico, he’d thought it was just their culture. He hadn’t realized how pervasive the fear of women was. That could be the only reason to keep them from spreading their wings.

  “It is the same for women scientists and musicians.” They passed out of the gardens and onto the Rue du Faubourg, still talking as if they could change the world.

  By God, Augusta deserved the chance to attend university. Phinn didn’t think it would teach her much, if anything at all. But she deserved to experience what she wished. She warranted being honored for her knowledge. And the only way that could happen was through a university.

  By the time they finally reached Harrington House, it was time for tea.

  “Will you join us?” Augusta asked, removing her hat.

  “Augusta, dear,” Mrs. Addison said, “you have just spent the entire day with Lord Phineas. I am sure he has other things he must do.”

  He’d rather spend more time with her, but not under the watchful eye of her cousin and Lady Harrington. “Shall I see you at the ball this evening?”

  “Yes.” Augusta sounded none too happy about it.

  Taking her hand, he bowed. “Until this evening.”

  When he didn’t ask for a dance, her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Very well.”


  Phinn remembered seeing a flower seller near his hotel. Fortunately, the man still had bouquets left when he got there. One of the posies filled with yellow and white flowers reminded him of Augusta in her yellow carriage gown. He handed the vendor a few coins, and strode straight to his rooms where he took off his gloves, took out a sheet of paper from his traveling desk, and sat down at the cherry desk. Using the hotel’s pen and ink, he wrote to Augusta.

  Dear Lady Augusta,

  Please do me the honor of standing up with me for

  the first waltz and the supper dance.

  I hope you enjoy the flowers. They remind me of you.

  The messenger will await your answer.

  Yr. Friend and Servant,

  P. C-W

  “Musson,” Phinn called.

  A second later the man appeared from the dressing room. He handed his valet the flowers and note. “Please have these delivered to Lady Augusta at Harrington House. I want the messenger to wait for her answer.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Phinn paced the room while he waited. It seemed like hours had passed before a knock sounded on the door. “Come.”

  “My lord.” Musson entered the room holding out a missive. “From the lady.”

  “Thank you.” Taking the note, Phinn turned it over, noticing the precise, firm, but feminine hand. Just like Augusta herself. What caught his attention above all else was the image of an open book on the seal.

  He held the message, almost afraid to open it. He’d thought he had a good idea, inviting her in private to dance, instead of in the presence of her cousin. But did she agree? He had been told that normally a young lady would not be the first to see a letter. Yet he knew she had a wide-ranging correspondence that no one monitored. Taking a breath, he popped the seal and shook it out.

  Dear Phinn,

  I would be delighted to stand up with you.

  The flowers are lovely. Thank you.

  Your Friend,

  A. V.

  Letting out the breath, he wondered why he’d been so concerned. As far as Augusta was concerned, they were simply friends. Nothing else. The problem was how to make her think of him as something more.