“I need to see him, Jonathan, and I can’t wait much longer.”
“I know.” He turned toward the house and offered her his elbow. “Dance with me?”
She hesitated briefly, but the lamplight in the distance once again reflected his smile of assurance, even comfort and honesty, and at this point she could do nothing but trust him.
Smoothing her skirts, feeling composed once more, the gravity of the moment gone, she grasped his arm, walked to the bench to retrieve her fan, then strolled gracefully beside him along the garden path and back into the house.
Chapter 10
The ballroom had grown from warm and stuffy to hot and stifling, but Natalie hardly noticed. She opened her fan, swishing it without thought, studying the gentlemen guests with returned interest. Jonathan walked beside her, cool as usual, or at least not openly sweating like the others. But many people were already wandering outside again, and the windows had been opened fully now, so perhaps there would be a reprieve from the heat after all.
Then she saw Annette-Elise, in the center of the dance floor waltzing with her father, and her mind began to race. She stopped and stared, which forced Jonathan to do so as well. He shifted his gaze to the place where she fixed hers, then leaned over to whisper in her ear.
“Stunning, isn’t it?”
Natalie knew he meant the necklace. Annette-Elise, as a woman of eighteen, could only be described as modestly attractive, with light-brown hair piled high on her head and a ruddy complexion she tried to hide with ringlets about her face. Her body was thick, though not fat, just . . . shapeless, with no breasts or waistline to speak of, and unfortunately from lack of experience she actually tried to draw attention to both from the cut of her gown. And her choice of clothing for the occasion had obviously been made with the supervision of her stepmother, as she wore the most unbecoming dress of mint-green satin, accented by huge, emerald-green bows and yards of white lace along the full skirt. But everything about her went virtually unnoticed after only one glimpse of the necklace.
It was magnificent—breathtaking—and Natalie couldn’t help but stare. Its design was angular and sharp, not round and soft, and quite unusual. The thick chain of gold was likely only fourteen inches long, and yet at least one dozen emeralds covered the entire length of it, spaced about a quarter of an inch apart from each other, and cut into thick sections, each about one-half-inch squared. But what made it so unique was that the emeralds didn’t hang in a circle attached to the gold necklace at the top of each gem. An experienced jeweler had taken an enormous amount of time in sectioning each emerald perfectly, then attaching each one individually at the exact place on each jewel, whether it be at corners, to the sides, or somewhere at the top or bottom, adding gold if needed, so that each one hung absolutely straight at right angles to the others and the ground when worn. The emeralds themselves were probably worth a fortune. But the necklace, intact as it was like this, was unquestionably priceless, and she had never seen anything like it in her life.
“That’s what he’s here for,” she whispered with growing wonder. She glanced up to Jonathan who was once again watching her, faintly amused. Then without response, he led her onto the dance floor, only giving her time to grasp her fan against the soft wool on the arm of his frock coat and lift her skirts with the other hand as he took it in his.
The contact shocked her as they began to move rhythmically in time to the music, not because he held her closer than appropriate, but because to her the memory of waltzing with him years ago was the most vivid she possessed. Perhaps he recalled the kissing and touching to the particulars, but she remembered the dance, his eyes, strikingly rich, piercing hers from a face and soul hidden behind a black satin mask. In five years she’d thought of that night often, sometimes dreamily, sometimes with extreme discomfort, but always with a detail as fine as if it had all happened yesterday.
“What are you thinking?”
His words cut into her thoughts, and she caught herself, blinking quickly to reality. “That I want to be there when he steals them.”
He laughed softly, though his gaze never wavered, tightening his hold of her waist to draw her closer as he expertly twirled her around on the floor. “You think that’s what he wants tonight?”
“Don’t you?”
“I suppose it’s as reasonable an assumption as any,” he admitted.
She ran her thumb back and forth along his as he held her hand. “But I also think there’s more going on,” she disclosed with the briefest spark of excitement. “I think the reason he’s here is political.”
That comment grabbed his full attention. “Really? Why so?”
She lifted her shoulders negligibly. “The Black Knight isn’t known for stealing items for money, and if that’s all he wanted he could just as readily steal from the English. Madeleine and I had a discussion about this very thing earlier tonight, concluding that if the Black Knight does indeed make an appearance, he will steal jewels worth something more than their monetary value.” She leaned very close to his face to whisper, “I believe those emeralds are priceless, likely stolen, and probably worth something politically, either to the French or English government.”
Jonathan stared into her eyes for a moment or two. His expression never changed as he gauged whether her spoken thoughts were from knowledge or conjecture, as the hem of her thick gown hugged his legs while their feet traced the parquet floor in a soft click of rhythm to the crescendo of music and the murmur of conversation around them.
Finally, in a voice low but firm, he asked cautiously, “Did Madeleine tell you this?”
It irked her at once that he wouldn’t think she could deduce this on her own. She pulled back a little, feeling color creep into her cheeks. “We talked about it at length and concluded it together.”
“Oh, I see.”
It was a pat acknowledgment revealing nothing. He was pacifying her, and she didn’t like it at all. Of course, stealing the jewels could also have something to do with the discussion she’d overheard upstairs in the library less than an hour ago, but that seemed unlikely, and she wasn’t going to mention it to Jonathan. The French were always considering ways to oust the current king from power, and most of it was just impractical and boastful talk brought out by too much drink, especially at a function like this one. What she’d heard was interesting to note, but not serious, and telling him as if it were something significant would likely make her look foolish. Still, she refused to let the subject end there.
“Can you think of a better reason for him to be here, Jonathan, darling?” she asked through batted lashes. Then her eyes grew round with exaggerated innocence. “Maybe he’s after my cameos!” she whispered with a surprised gasp. “I certainly hope you’ll protect my sensibilities as a devoted husband should he come after my jewels in one of comte d’Arles’s darkened hallways.”
His eyes flashed with a sort of admirable regard for her comeback, and he almost laughed, making every attempt to keep his features neutral, which she noticed with not too much difficulty.
The waltz ended, but another began immediately, and he never let her go, just danced with her as if he didn’t hear the change in music at all.
“Cameos are semiprecious at best, Natalie, and hardly worth his time.” He cocked his head slightly, his gaze traveling intimately over every section of her face. “Perhaps after one good look he’ll rather have you.”
She tossed him a somewhat mocking smile. “And you’ll protect your precious wife from his ardent advances?”
“Oh, with my life, Natalie, darling,” he avowed in fast response.
Although she knew he was now being as sarcastic as she, the words melted her within, satisfying something she couldn’t exactly put her finger on.
Abruptly he changed the subject. “What else did you and Madeleine discuss?”
Perhaps it was simple intuition, but Natalie was certain she detected in his question a slight note of . . . anxiousness? She absolutely had to play th
at for all it was worth.
“We discussed you, Jonathan,” she revealed sweetly.
“Did you?”
She knew he was more than intrigued, though unwilling to admit it or pry for answers.
“Actually, Madeleine seems to like you, as all women apparently do.” She shot a quick peek at the gilded ceiling, forehead creased in recollection. “Together we decided you are charming and quick-minded, self-confident, and agreeable to look at.”
Her eyes returned to his face, and he was smiling fully, whether because these were positive traits or because he simply enjoyed being discussed by women, she wasn’t sure. But she refused to stop there.
“I also said I thought you were a bit too sportive and frivolous with your wealth, roaming the world at your leisure for nothing more than little bits of unimportant items and the opportunity to play. But then Madeleine defended you by insisting you have more depth than I give you credit for.”
“I do,” he stressed with a sudden serious air, smile fading just enough to imply he was no longer being quite so whimsical with her.
Uncertainty hit her in a dousing wave. It wasn’t jealousy she felt exactly, but a kind of mild resentment that the Frenchwoman might be more closely acquainted with him than she was. And it made her hot with anger that she should feel this way. Curtly she said, “I wonder how she knows this, Jonathan.”
“Her eyes are open, Natalie,” he returned baldly.
Somehow that was the most hurtful thing anyone had said to her in a long time, and he knew it affected her that way, too. She could see it in his now-penetrating stare, his rigid brows, the tightness of his jaw, and his thinned lips—not quite smiling anymore, but daring her to respond with a wry, almost noticeable smirk.
“Perhaps you’d like something to eat,” he said as a statement of fact, releasing her as their second waltz together came to an end.
Before she could respond, he took her by the elbow and guided her through the crowd toward one of the refreshment tables. Madeleine stood beside it, tall and elegant in her beautiful gown, conversing congenially with a middle-aged gentleman. Several feet from Madeleine, also next to the buffet table, stood Annette-Elise, eating chocolates with dainty fingers, her stepmother and father beside her, and all of them surrounded by four or five acquaintances of the local affluent class, either discussing the emeralds or perhaps guarding them. Stealing them like this, from around the lady’s neck and in front of hundreds of people would be an incredible feat. For the first time, Natalie felt a shred of doubt in the Black Knight’s abilities.
Madeleine turned to them as they approached. “How was your walk?” she asked with genuine interest.
“Lovely,” Natalie replied levelly.
“But of course too short,” Jonathan added without hesitation, tightening his grip on her elbow. “All alone as we were, I think my wife would have liked to . . . linger.”
She couldn’t believe he’d said that. Her cheeks warmed again, and she opened her fan, desperate for air movement, unable to look at him. She didn’t need to when she felt his burning gaze on the side of her face.
“And a most romantic setting for lovers,” Madeleine offered with a slight twist of her mouth. Then she tactfully dropped the subject, turning to the gentleman standing on her left. “Monsieur et Madame Drake, may I present Monsieur Jacques Fecteau, a longtime acquaintance of my late husband, Georges. He is a jeweler from Paris, traveling through Marseilles on business. I haven’t seen him in, oh”—she looked at the Frenchman—“five years?”
“At least that long,” he confirmed brightly in excellent English. “But now we meet again. What coincidence, non?”
Natalie offered him her hand. The man was about Madeleine’s height, stout yet expertly clothed in a dove-gray frock jacket and trousers, white shirt, and black cravat. He sported thick side whiskers and oiled hair the color of wet bark, a large jovial mouth, and eyes that crinkled in delight when he smiled. He gave her his full attention as he clasped her fingers with his palm, lightly kissing her knuckles.
“Madame Drake. A pleasure.”
“Monsieur Fecteau.”
He glanced up at Jonathan. “And Monsieur Drake, Madame DuMais has told me of you already, and your interest in European estates. Are you enjoying your stay in Marseilles?”
“Oh, indeed, Monsieur Fecteau. And you?”
Natalie played her part well as they all exchanged pleasantries, learning the man had traveled extensively abroad for several years while mastering his trade, which accounted for his firm grasp of their language. But for all her effort, she had trouble focusing on the conversation, which, on the whole, seemed remarkably stilted and mundane, although Madeleine and Jonathan remained particularly attentive. For more than five minutes Jonathan stood erect at her side, hands behind his back, engrossed in Monsieur Fecteau’s account of what he described as a harrowing trip south the week before; something about his coach losing a wheel and plunging into a muddy embankment, forcing him and two ladies to wait in smothering heat for hours before they could continue their journey, one of the ladies fainting, which consequently forced their driver to revive her with a splash of cold water from a nearby creek.
It was the most out-of-place discourse going nowhere that Natalie had ever been a part of, and she wasn’t sure why. It just seemed so superficial to her. Contrived. They should have been dancing, mingling, drinking champagne, basking in the excitement, and still Jonathan and Madeleine nodded and commented accordingly, standing by the food table, listening intently to a Parisian discussing the differences between the dry heat of northern France and the moist heat of the south.
And then it happened. Madeleine stepped subtly to her right toward a plate of sweetmeats and nut bread, leaning ever so gingerly behind Annette-Elise who was now eating at her side, and Jacques Fecteau stopped talking in mid-sentence as he stared openmouthed at the emeralds, now quite plainly in his line of sight and only several feet away.
“Good heavens, that’s a marvelous piece,” he sputtered in awe, switching to his native tongue.
Silence fell around them while Fecteau moved closer, suddenly absorbed by the craftsmanship of the necklace, the glitter from the jewels and the luster of gold.
Natalie felt an immediate change in atmosphere. Music, dancing, and festivity continued around them, but none in their vicinity took notice. Jonathan continued to stand beside her, quiet and watchful. On her left, two feet away, stood a very tall man with unusually sensitive features, Michel Faille, vicomte of . . . something, she couldn’t recall, followed by Alain Sirois, vicomte de Lyon. She’d met both of them through Madeleine earlier that evening. The comte d’Arles stood between Alain and Claudine, his wife, who leaned one hand on the edge of the buffet table. And all were surrounding Annette-Elise and her priceless emeralds.
Fecteau moved closer, concentrating on the jewels, oblivious to everything else. “Stunning,” he whispered. “Excellent workmanship.”
Henri straightened, a boastful smile tugging at his mouth. “A family heirloom. We are quite proud that our daughter wears the emeralds so beautifully on this occasion.”
“Indeed,” Fecteau mumbled.
Henri’s eyes narrowed. “I do not believe we’ve been introduced, Monsieur . . . ?”
“Fecteau,” Madeleine finished for him, her voice and manner light and charming. “He is a former acquaintance of my late husband, Comte, and a jeweler from Paris. He arrived in Marseilles only yesterday, much to my surprise, and I asked him to escort me this evening.” She reached out and touched Henri’s arm, eyes sparkling with a delicate familiarity. “I hope you do not mind that we somehow missed introductions before now.”
Henri looked stumped, blushing and uncomfortable, yet enjoying perfectly the rather candid approach of such a lovely woman.
Claudine cleared her throat, returning brusquely to the point. “You are knowledgeable where priceless jewels are concerned, Monsieur Fecteau?”
“Oh, I’ve been in the business for more tha
n twenty years,” he answered graciously, dismissing the note of doubt in her words and her indelicate manner. Then he looked back to the necklace, his eyes round pools of wonder. “My experience is in forgery—paste—and never have I seen a better one than this.”
Someone gasped, and Fecteau, without notice, looked directly at Henri for the first time, smiling confidently. “Outstanding work. You paid a great sum, did you not?”
Natalie’s first inclination was to applaud at the rejoinder, appropriate and tactful, and probably not something Claudine and her simple mind would even grasp without explanation. Then she felt an unmistakable shift in mood. Tension became a tangible thing surrounding them, hot and pressing, the reason unclear but unmistakable even to those innocent of its meaning.
She stood motionless, heart pounding suddenly, the moment becoming illusory like no other she’d experienced. For seconds nobody said anything. Then Annette-Elise went pale as she raised her fingers to her throat.
“Papa?”
Henri blinked quickly then seemed to recover himself. “You are mistaken, Monsieur Fecteau. Your experience is lacking. I assure you these emeralds are real.”
The orchestra stopped playing in that instant, turning small discussions above music in the ballroom into a level drone.
The jeweler seemed taken aback. “I-I am terribly sorry.” He licked his lips, eyes wide and confused. “I assumed you knew.”
“Knew?” bellowed Michel Faille, his full mouth thinning as the muscles in his neck strained against his shirt collar. “What we know is that these emeralds are priceless and that they once belonged to the queen of France. What we do not know is who you are, exactly, and what your purpose is in spreading false information regarding jewels about which you know nothing.”
Adele Ashworth Page 17