“I have my reasons.”
“Clearly, because even Richard made mention of your stiffness and coolness toward him last time he came by.
Her mother’s cheeks flushed profusely. “It is a long story, and I, daughter of a true aristocrat, have no desire to air my reasons over hot coals. Suffice to say I have no wish to meet with Francois, for he is no doubt his father’s son in every way. As for Angelica, I am quite happy for her to remain your friend.”
At mere mention of Francois tears welled, and Diamonta fought them back. “He’s probably dead, for Angelica has received no word to say he is alive and safe out of France.”
“Probably for the best.” With that her mother turned, and flounced off.
Now, more than ever, she wished to know what reason her mother had to hate Angelica and Francois’ father. She would never be able to ask outright if Angelica knew of a rift between the families, but a few subtle inquiries might bring something tangible to light.
A ride over to Park House Estate to pay visit seemed an admirable idea. After all, neither she nor Richard had ever stood on ceremony in exchange of visiting cards nor that of set times for audience. They just called in, dropped by or bumped into one another when out riding. Such had been their friendship for so long, until his return from France.
Now when he came to visit it was to see Leohne, and although she chaperoned her sister it was the lovers whom walked together and she and Angelica for the most part excluded by their intimacy. So time with Angelica, alone, would be a treat indeed. Already attired for a morning ride, she drew on her gloves tucked her riding crop under arm and made her way to the stable yard. Today was as good a time as any to delve into the history of the de Boviere family.
~~
He dismounted and stood surveying the land where fields sloped away downhill to woodland. He listened to birdsong as his and his horse’ breath misted on the ether. Despite bitter chill in the air and light frost upon the ground, moments alone like this afforded him time to think, to plot and to plan his course ahead.
Here he was in a strange land and little to his name save a few jewels and small stash of gold and silver he’d managed to wrest from France. He hated to be beholden to the charity of another for providing a roof over his head and that of his sister’s.
It pained him too, to think he was so close yet so far from Diamonta, for it was impossible to pay visit at Oakley Manor. But, if only, if only news of his miraculous escape from France could reach her ears, he felt absolute sure she would make haste to Park House as soon as able. Perhaps he lived in vain hope Miss Whitaker had eyes solely for him?
It still amused him, how on occasion of their first meeting he’d made his interest known but she’d remained cool toward him. In fact it was as though she had disliked him intensely. Yet, when they’d met at the Élysée Palace, under the supposed watchful eye of its owner, Diamonta had implied much interest in his whereabouts.
A smile crept to his face, the memory of their second encounter sweet. For a glance now and then in her direction had met with coquettish smiles, her glittering blue eyes having tempted him come hither. Sadly, business engagements had prevented his paying court to her alone, for keeping company with Louise Marie Thérèse Bathilde de Bourbon had been imperative at that time, and the princess herself gracious enough and of good wit.
Back then he was not altogether master of his own destiny, and as a king’s spy had often had to engage with people who were quite distasteful, despite some of the women most appreciative of his attentions. It was true he had a reputation as that of a rogue courtier, and such had served him well in gaining entry to houses where otherwise the door would have been shut in his face. After all, as a member of the grand lever du roi, shady characters at court needed to be sure of his rogue status or they would not have confided in him and invited him into their circle of acquaintances.
It all seemed like another life now, the weeks and months that had passed since his escape had set him on a quest he may never realise. Once a man of importance at court, now his estate on home Island of Guernsey had been seized by revolutionary forces and the house proclaimed property of the République.
How lucky he was to have reached home, where a few weeks of rest had served him well, and afforded time to gather a few valuables to add to those acquired en route by means of robbery. Not that robbery had been his intention when calling at various châteaux during his mad escape from the hunting lodge. But with several of the great places left abandoned, not a soul in residence and silver and gold and jewellery too left where discarded: why not? Obviously the owners had fled in much the same way as Angelica, and had only taken bare essentials with them. The treasures of Saint Mont Marche were now secured by his hands and lay hidden, and one day he would return to retrieve them, for they were his and his sister’s inheritance.
He could not deny he thought himself luckier than most, for with the shores of England reached, a horse and livery acquired, he prayed Angelica safe and in the county of Wiltshire. It had only taken a few questions asked in wayside inns to gain knowledge as to the locale of Park House Estate and that of Oakley Manor.
All too aware of his father’s dishonourable behaviour toward Chloetilde de la Roche, he could understand how Diamonta’s mother might view him the Devil’s spawn. To venture there had been impossible and remained so. But, on arrival at Park House he was received with open armed welcome and tears from his sister and a slap on the back from Richard Courtenay, Viscount Somerton.
It came as no surprise, when at dinner later that evening Richard had declared once knowledge of his presence was known at Oakley Manor, it would be unlikely for Diamonta to be allowed to pay visit to Park House, therefore it was best no word be sent to Diamonta of his miraculous escape. Now all he had to do was wait. Wait until Diamonta chose to ride over to Park House.
Sense of Jack Frost had begun to creep to the bone. He turned up the collar of Richard’s riding coat, pushed the viscount’s hat firm to head and remounted his horse. About to set off back to Park House he heard horse hooves at the canter, and a female voice reached out to him across the escarpment.
“Richard, Richard” she shouted, slowing from canter to trot. “I’ve been trying to get away for days now, and . . .” He’d turned to face her and she reined in close, her face alight with what? Shock? Joy? It was hard to define, yet the way she said, “Francois?” as though disbelieving he was right there before her, pure music to the ears.
“I take it you are pleased to see me.”
“Oh I am. You have no idea how Angelica and I worried for your safety. All these months with no word, and now you are here. It’s wonderful, and I cannot express how pleased I am to see you looking so well.”
He reined his horse closer to hers, removed his hat, leaned across and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I think I know very well how delighted you are to see me.”
A coquettish smile swept to her face, her response, “You take liberties, sir.”
Her hand to his resting on horn of her saddle implied a kiss to cheek was very formal, and he chanced a kiss to lips. The sweet taste of her lips for his pleasure drove the chill from his bones, and fire within seared his heart like never before. Yes, he had wanted to be sure his sister was safe from the revolutionaries but his staying here was all to do with Diamonta. He wanted her, and had wanted her since that second meeting at the Élysée Palace, and then she’d vanished back to England.
“Tell me,” he said, eager to know the truth, “tell me why you left in such a hurry that time from the palace.”
“Shall we ride on?” she said, urging her horse forward. “I shall have you know I’ve come to see Angelica.”
He laughed, placed hat to head and reined his horse about to ride alongside her. It was obvious she had no intention of revealing her reason for hasty departure from France. No matter, he knew where her heart lay, and at a guess knew why she had run away from him in Paris. For that is precisely what she had done. Angelica had said
as much, and had claimed Diamonta had feared her heart lost to him and he only interested in her as that of the libertine and womaniser that he was.
Given time he would prove otherwise, and tell her that when he had first spied her in Paris she had stolen his heart right there and then. Angelica had believed him and had agreed to lure Diamonta back to France, but no one at that time had imagined the revolution would bring with it the horrors of Madame Guillotine.
He shuddered at the thought of all those heads fallen to basket, his main objective now to recoup much-needed funds, one way or another. The jewels brought with him would have to be sold, the gold and silver too. It was imperative he rent a house and some land. His imminent future might prove tough, thrilling and utter mad at times but there was little choice in what he could do to raise money to purchase quality horses, for they would be his greatest asset.
With the path mapped in his head and Lady Luck riding with him he would secure his heart’s desire in no time at all. Why then should Diamonta’s proud mother turn a blind eye to a princely sum and grand estate, which Francois De Boviere, Compte of Saint Mont Marche would soon own if but on Foreign as opposed to French soil.
Chapter Six
~
Leohne fair flew through the door of the drawing room, air of excitement quite apparent, and Diamonta sensed good news. The news she had been expecting, though her little sister knew nothing of Francois presence at Park House. Nor did her mother.
“Oh mother, mother, Richard is going to have a masked ball at Park House. We are all invited.” She swirled about, in pretence of dance. “Isn’t that wonderful news?”
“Sit down, sit down, you make me quite giddy with your silliness,” said their mother, a flicker of a smile. “And what date is this ball to be held upon?”
Leohne handed their mother a rather grand gold leaf embossed card. “It is a month tomorrow.”
“Oh my goodness,” exclaimed their mother. “So little time to . . .” She glanced up from the card. “No doubt you will both wish to have new gowns, is that not so? Her eyes then veered to Diamonta. “I dare say you were aware of this proposed masked ball before today, and never so much as thought to tell me.”
Why did her mother always sniff out sense of deception, and then attempt to pin it on her. “It was talked about, and I sworn to secrecy. For good reason I might add, which will become apparent on the night.”
“Oh do tell, Diamonta, do tell,” screeched Leohne with delight. “Is it because it’s my birthday on that day? Is it in my honour?”
Her mother thankfully realised big sister’s plight though for the wrong reason, and turned her attention to Leohne. “Must every thing be about you, young lady?”
Leohne’s expression turned mutinous if but for a brief moment, her former sweetness quick to return in conciliatory manner. “Forgive me. I just thought . . .”
“Young ladies of grace and manners think in silence,” snapped their mother, rising from her chair. “You would do good to remember that, my girl. Now, let us make plans for this masked ball. What shall you both wear? What shall I wear?”
Leohne’s face came alight, their mother’s former scolding tone a gentle reminder of formal upbringing within the upper echelons of the French aristocracy. She held out her hands to both, and clasped their hands quite tight as she drew each in turn to her lips. “My beautiful daughters, and I so proud of both.” She let slip their hands and marched off. “Come, for we shall go to the ball . . . All three, and Charles of course.”
~~
At Park House for luncheon, Diamonta assumed Francois to be keeping a low profile so that Leohne did not happen upon him by chance. She’d sensed Angelica was bursting to tell her something from the moment of setting foot in the house, and now luncheon was over and done with and Leohne and Richard engaged in intimate chatter, Angelica lowered her voice to a mere whisper, “Francois took leave yesterday and ventured to London on business. He may not be back in time for the ball. But that might be a good thing, being as your mother will be here at Park House all evening.”
“But it’s two weeks hence. Surely he will have returned by then? It was disheartening to know he might be away so long and that he might not be in attendance at the ball. “I have so dreaded a chance meeting between him and mother because I know he and Richard ride out together, and mother, of course, is apt to drag us out go for a carriage ride in nice weather. I’m astonished his presence has remained secret for so long.”
“Yes, five months now. But never fear, we will be moving into a house of our own very soon.”
Her heart plummeted, for she would have liked details of where they were going and how soon they were to leave Park House, but Leohne stole the moment. “Diamonta, have you heard. We have a highwayman in the county. How exciting.”
“Exciting, indeed,” said Richard, a chuckle. “Yesterday, the blighter accosted Lady Fortnum on the London road and robbed her of jewels and coin. The old dear near fainted with fright.”
Diamonta stifled a giggle. “Oh, I should have loved to have been there. Lady Fortnum can be quite bullish in dealings with others.”
A smile streaked across Richard’s face. “Formidable lady, yes, but to be frightened in such a manner and at the gates to her own estate. Well, bold fellow indeed.”
Her heart faltered; a mere blip, and partnered with the memory of Richard’s face when confronted with Francois pistol. At the time Francois had meant no harm, nevertheless she thought it best not to remind Richard of their encounter with a fake highwayman. But, perhaps that very encounter had stirred something within Francois. He was after all, as good as penniless, and how was he to provide for Angelica and himself? How could he afford a house elsewhere, and where had he come by monies to do so?
Leohne drew her from reverie. “I would not really want to be held up by a highwayman for I in all probability would fall vagary to the vapours,” she said, clinging to Richard’s arm, “unless Richard was beside me.”
He laughed, yet she saw something else more serious reflected in his face. Diamonta had known him for so long she could almost predict his thinking, but today there was air of difference about him, as though he was party to some secret they were not and never would be enlightened to. Did he suspect as she did, that Francois was the highwayman?
Angelica caught her arm, said, “Pah, let this highwayman hold me up and I will shoot him.”
“Shoot him?” Blood drained from Richard’s face, his eyes darting from Angelica’s to hers, and that alone stilled her heart.
“Why not?” Angelica’s reply, along with head held haughty. “I shall carry a pistol when ever I take to the highway by carriage.”
Diamonta had to say something, her silence drawing everyone’s attention “I shall do as I did in France, and wear nothing of great value when out and about.”
“And your mother?” enquired Richard, a tentative smile. “Will you advice her of the same notion?”
“Of course, though I imagine she may follow Angelica’s example of arming herself. She is not a woman who will take kindly to being accosted by a vagabond, and might I remind you, she’s remarkably handy with a pistol. She shot at rabbits who dared venture into the herb garden, and bagged each one.”
“Oh Lord,” exclaimed Richard. “I’d best . . . What I mean is, the poor fellow will be food for the crows if he mistakenly halts a carriage with your mother aboard.”
Mistakenly . . . Why mistakenly? Ah, so the highwayman would know where Angelica was and with whom, but what had Richard almost let slip? Why had he said I’d best . . . Best what?”
“What of the ball?” said Leohne. “What if this highwayman hears about the ball? Will he not envisage rich pickings from guests attending in all their finery?”
Was it her imagination or did she spy a fleeting frown to Richard’s brow. “Yes, Richard, how shall you protect your guests from the terrible indignity of robbery on the highway?”
He glanced her way, his expression suddenly as white
as a sheet of bleached parchment, his tone agitated. “How is it my concern to protect guests on their journey here?”
“It isn’t really. But I was of mind you might think it wise to employ some sort of protection, at least for the distance from the village and up to the main gates. After all, the byway up the hill past the woodland would be a most suitable spot to ambush a carriage.”
His heavenly blue eyes as glorious as sparkling sapphires almost seemed to laugh at her, and his chuckle wicked indeed. “Happen the bounder will be here at the ball. What say you to that idea?”
Leohne shivered. “He would not dare, surely?”
“Why not?” He glanced from face to face, as though enjoying the prospect of a highwayman cavorting with guests, the villain’s identity unknown. “Don’t look so worried,” he added, a hearty chuckle, “Mass robbery. I think not.”
Diamonta suddenly envisaged Francois carrying out that very act, and although it was wrong to think it, frisson of inexplicable excitement rippled down her spine. “It would take a very bold highwayman to venture here and commit such a crime, and I for one would dare him to do so. I fear, though, he would not make safe his escape with so many men present.”
Richard looked directly at her, and something in his eyes caused her to shiver in response. “Be careful what you wish for, Diamonta.”
There was a disturbance in the hall, and Richard made toward the door. The next thing a pompous man entered followed by Richard, who rapidly introduced the visitor, though both her and her sister were well aware as to who had just entered.
“Mr. Langtry, ladies,” said Richard, looking to Angelica. “Justice of the peace, and joint master of Battlebury Hunt.”
“You ride to hounds, Mr Langtry?” Angelica’s curtsy was almost indiscernible, her smile nonetheless genuine. “I too have ridden to hounds, quite recent with my host.”
“Indeed, young missy. Then you must come out with us for a good day’s sport.”
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