Le Chevalier

by Mary Jean Adams

  “Pardonnez-moi?” Marie asked, arching an elegant eyebrow.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” She set her hand on Marie’s arm. “It’s just you are unmarried too. Did you never meet the right man?”

  “Something like that, chérie.” Marie’s choked laughter made Alex hope she hadn’t opened a painful wound for her new friend.

  The door handled rattled, making them both jump.

  When it opened, a woman stood silhouetted in the doorway. “Ah, there you are.”

  “Angelina,” Alex muttered, shrinking into her chair.

  Perfect Angelina. She belonged in this world of silks and satins. Alex’s longing to return to her tavern hit her with the force of a hammer.

  “I wondered where you had taken yourself.” Angelina sashayed into the room like royalty, her scarlet and gold gown sweeping behind her.

  Marie stood, and Angelina stopped short, eyeing the stranger with an arched eyebrow as though just noticing her. It was possible. Other than Alex, whom Angelina had plagued since they were seven, other women didn’t factor much into Angelina’s daily existence. However, when Marie stood, she could not be ignored.

  “Who is your friend?” Angelina asked, not taking her eyes from Marie’s face.

  “Mademoiselle Marie Noielles,” Marie answered, before Alex could form an introduction.

  “Mademoiselle,” Angelina said, extending a hand.

  Marie grasped it, returning Angelina’s cat-like smile with one of her own. Alex squirmed as the women clasped hands longer than necessary. What could Angelina be thinking? Despite Marie’s beauty, she was too old for Angelina to consider her competition.

  “So, where is that obnoxious brother of yours?” Angelina asked, turning to her as she released Marie’s hand. “Out terrorizing the countryside with the Bandys when he could be here dancing with me?”

  “Reid doesn’t like parties, Angelina.” Alex was quite certain Reid didn’t like Angelina much either, but she had enough grace not to say so.

  “I know how he feels,” Angelina replied.

  Angelina’s usually hard voice held such a wistful note that it gave Alex pause. Did she know Reid’s sentiments, so an explanation was unnecessary? Or did she mean to imply she didn’t like parties any more than he did? Alex shook her head at the impossibility. Angelina lived for a party.

  “Alex! What in heaven’s name have you done to your dress?” Angelina asked, putting her hands on her hips as her gaze settled on the burgundy stain forming a sash across Alex’s chest.

  “A bit of a mishap, I’m afraid,” Alex replied.

  Angelina dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “Well I for one am glad of it.” She sniffed and then wagged a gloved finger at Alex as though admonishing a child. “You never should have bought that silly gown in the first place. You looked positively gorgeous in the rust-colored one. If you’d learn to take my advice, you wouldn’t have to be like a flower on the wall all evening.”

  Marie coughed into her gloved hand.

  “But that one was three times as expensive,” Alex reminded Angelina.

  “Oh, don’t give me that excuse,” Angelina countered. “Turner’s Tavern has been doubly prosperous since you took over. I know you can afford it. You just don’t want to.” She poked a finger into Alex’s forehead just as she had done when they were children and she wanted to annoy Alex. “You’re afraid of life, Alex Turner!”

  “I am not!” Alex protested, swatting at Angelina’s hand.

  She spared a glance for Marie to see how her new friend took this childish spat.

  A smile tugged at the corner of Marie’s lips as she busied herself with returning her sewing kit to her reticule.

  “Then why else would you even begin to consider spending the rest of your life with Nathanial Brown? I maneuvered an invitation to the Lancasters’ ball for you because I thought you needed to meet some men—” Angelina gave Marie one of her most devilish smiles and added, “real men.”

  Alex had nothing to say to that. Unexciting? Yes, Nathanial was definitely that, but also stable, hardworking, and devoted, if not affectionate. More to the point, he did not hide his interest in her. Alex had never had a man court her before. Would it be such a terrible thing if she let herself enjoy it-at least for a little while?

  “Look sweetheart,” Angelina said, grasping Alex’s hand, “you are living your life in the past. The tavern. Your father’s books. I know how important they are to you, and no one is asking you to give them up, but if you’re not careful, life will have passed you by before you know it.”

  “Angelina? Angelina? Where are you, my love?” Colonel Montgomery’s slurred call echoed from the hallway.

  “Duty calls.” Angelina flashed a smile at Marie before sweeping from the room.

  Marie watched her go then turned to Alex. “What did she mean ‘duty calls’?”

  “Oh, uhm…” Alex searched for the right words.

  Actually, she didn’t know the answer herself-at least not fully. To the best of her knowledge, Angelina favored powerful men, but Alex had no idea how far she took those favors. Right now, Colonel Montgomery held her affections. A handsome and wealthy man, Alex had always thought he came across as a bit empty-headed. With Angelina turning her charms on him, one almost felt sorry for the man. Within a fortnight, she would be wearing half his fortune around her neck.

  ****

  In the dim light cast by the hallway candles, shadows accentuated Alexandra’s frown. If he read the meaning behind her furrowed brow, she did not know the details of the relationship between Angelina and the colonel. Judging by her frown and the set of her jaw, she did not want to know.

  He wanted to know, however.

  There was no mistaking Angelina’s cleverness. Quite possibly, she had seen through his disguise the moment he stood. His shoulders tensed as he remembered the way her eyes had raked him from his coiffed head to the slippers on his feet. It had not been the kind of perusal a beautiful woman gave to another woman, but the kind of assessment a man made of a potential enemy.

  Yet for some reason, she had decided to keep the knowledge to herself. One of the first things Mont Trignon learned from his father was that information retains the most power when kept secret. Had she kept his secret in case it became useful later?

  Or perhaps she had not wanted Mademoiselle Turner to be discomforted. However unwelcome it may be, Angelina’s interruption had been well-intended. He could easily imagine her playing the older, worldly sister to Alexandra’s more reserved demeanor.

  His focus returned to the woman slumped in her chair like a wilted flower, and he hid his grin behind his fan. His latest puzzle had proven to be quite diverting.

  “Does what your friend said bother you?” he asked.

  A half-hearted smile replaced Alexandra’s frown. “Not really.” Then her lips drooped. “But I do wonder sometimes if Angelina is right.”

  Alexandra’s dispirited expression reminded him so much of his younger sister when she was disappointed. “I think you are still young. Perhaps you have not awoken to all of the possibilities that life has to offer.”

  Then the crimson stain across her lush breasts drew his gaze, and his thoughts turned anything but brotherly.

  “Such as?” Alexandra asked.

  Her unexpected question brought his attention back to her face, and the blatant openness of Alexandra’s expression caught him by surprise. He fumbled about for an acceptable response. He certainly could not tell her one of the possibilities he had in mind involved her and the deep, feathered mattress in his bedroom.

  “I have the feeling you do not realize how lovely you are.” He tried his best to adopt a serene smile, despite the ache in his groin. Before he could stop himself he added, “Or maybe you do, and it scares you?”

  “Scares me?” Alexandra gave a nervous little laugh.

  “For example, you wear your hair so tightly bound. It is as though you are trying to hide it.”

  As he re
ached for the pins in her hair, Alexandra leaned back in her chair. He paused, arms raised, but continued when the tension eased from her posture.

  As he removed the pins, one by one, her long tresses fell against her shoulders, dark and rich, like the chocolate his sisters favored for breakfast.

  He reached up and splayed her hair about her shoulders. He could feel their satiny softness, even through his gloves.

  “See?” he said, hearing the breathiness in his own voice. He had to focus to keep his voice to Marie’s higher tones. “I knew your hair was beautiful.”

  “But I can’t go out there like this,” Alexandra protested, in a harsh whisper. “I look like I’m getting ready for bed.”

  “Hmmm. That is perhaps the best way to attract a man,” Mont Trignon said, with a wink.

  “Marie!”

  The heat from Alex’s cheeks caressed his fingers through his gloves as he continued to arrange tiny tendrils about her face.

  “Do not worry, chérie,” he said. “We will make you presentable before you go out in public.”

  He picked up the pins and coiled her hair in the same unfashionable chignon she had worn earlier. He had no choice. His sisters had taught him many things, but hairdressing was not one of them. He much preferred removing Alexandra’s hairpins to putting them back anyway.

  “Well,” Mont Trignon said, replacing the last pin. Then he stood and placed his hands on his hips. “We have repaired your gown, and your foot does not seem to be broken but…” he waved a hand at the dried burgundy stain on the front of her gown. “I am afraid that color does not suit you. We will need to get you out of that dress.” An intriguing idea, but he fought to push the image away. “Could we offer you a ride home, chérie?”

  “We?” Alexandra asked, with an inquisitive tilt of her chin.

  “Yes, I am here with my nephew, the Marquis de Lafayette.” He hoped the marquis would find becoming his nephew as amusing as he did.

  “Marquis, huh?” Alexandra said, her frown returning.

  “So, you do not like nobility any more than you like officers?”

  “Even less, I’m afraid.” She bit her lower lip as she reconsidered. “Although, I have honestly never met any French nobility. It probably isn’t fair to judge them by the actions of their English counterparts.”

  Mont Trignon gave a throaty laugh. “I assure you, my nephew is harmless. And even if he were not, I will be there to protect you.” He tucked Alexandra’s hand into the crook of his arm.

  And the marquis would be there to protect Alexandra from him, he thought as he led her out of the library.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh, there he is,” Marie said, raising a gloved hand to catch the attention of a young man standing in the spacious foyer.

  The man flashed a warm and welcoming smile in their direction. At first glance, Alex thought his velvet suit a little stuffy looking with too much lace, but he didn’t look to be such a bad sort. Or so the ladies hovering about him must have thought. Discreet gazes lingering on the marquis, they whispered and giggled behind their fans while awaiting their silk cloaks and the arrival of their carriages.

  He ignored them as he watched Marie and her new friend approach through the arched doorway, his intense gaze taking in everything from Alex’s loosening chignon to the stain across her chest. Yet his smile did not waiver.

  Alex slowed her pace as doubts assailed her. She wouldn’t normally accept a ride home from a man she did not know, but the late hour meant her only other choices were to walk or to lay out the coins for a hired cab. She could wait for Angelina, but she might not leave for hours yet.

  Besides, she would not be alone with a strange man. She tightened her grip on the solid arm beneath her gloved fingers. She would be safe with another woman. Alex grinned as she looked at the broad forearm under her own petite hand. If anything, Marie looked sturdier than her nephew.

  “Come, my nephew appears ready to leave as well,” Marie said, setting her free hand on Alex’s and giving her a small tug to hurry her along.

  A servant appeared, as if summoned, from behind a large arrangement of gladiolas in the middle of the foyer. He handed their outer garments to them, but Marie waved off his offer of further assistance. She then helped Alex with her black woolen cloak before donning her own cloak of a watered blue silk that matched her exquisite gown.

  The best cloak Alex had, the black wool had cost her more than she cared to admit. But as she tied the strings holding it about her shoulders, she knew she looked like a poor country cousin next to Marie’s splendor. She longed to leave it off, but her stained muslin dress looked even worse.

  Marie didn’t bat an eyelash over the difference in their attire. As soon as she had her own cloak secured with a silver brooch, she tucked Alex’s hand into the crook of her arm with the familiarity of an old friend and led her down the granite stairway to the marquis’s carriage.

  As they approached, Alex expected the marquis to inquire about her presence, but he gave them a gracious smile and held the carriage door open for the ladies without a word.

  Marie helped Alex up the steps before climbing in to sit beside her.

  “Where can we take you, chérie?” she asked, as she arranged the folds of her satin skirt over her lap.

  “Baker Street, please.”

  Alex had always loved her less than affluent neighborhood filled with struggling families and working class people. Far from the bawdy houses lining the river, it was quiet and cheap. Her neighbors were common people, hardworking and concerned with their own affairs, but willing to lend a hand when need be. Many of them were regular customers of the tavern.

  She looked about her at the thick, red velvet cushions and the glass windows covered with matching curtains and doubted the marquis would be impressed. Would a man like him object to his aunt’s befriending someone of such lowly stature? Even in relatively egalitarian America, there were those who thought people should stick to their own kind. Surely, it must be so in France.

  She studied the marquis’s face as he stood at the door of the carriage, awaiting his aunt’s instructions. For herself, it did not matter, but she hated to cause her new friend any trouble.

  If Marie had any familiarity with her neighborhood, she gave no indication of it as she relayed the address to the marquis who, in turn, relayed it to the driver.

  The marquis then set a booted foot on the carriage step and pulled himself up, rocking the carriage on its springs. A liveried footman raised the steps and tucked them inside before shutting the door with a solid click of the latch.

  Muffled notes from the tireless orchestra drifted into the secluded interior as the marquis arranged himself opposite the ladies. When at last he had settled into a suitable position, he rapped on the roof with his cane, and the carriage trundled to life with the sound of crushed gravel beneath spoked wheels.

  As they rumbled down the drive, Alex grasped Marie’s arm for support when a hard bounce threw her against her friend’s side.

  Marie gave her a reassuring smile then turned to her nephew. “Gilbert, I would like to introduce you to my new friend, Mademoiselle Alexandra Turner. Alexandra, this is my nephew, the Marquis de Lafayette.”

  The marquis’s eyebrows rose for a fleeting moment before he bowed his head. “Enchanté, Mademoiselle,” he said in a smooth voice every bit as honeyed as his aunt’s.

  Alex stiffened. What had the man’s raised eyebrows signaled? Disapproval? Surprise? Whatever the emotion, it disappeared as fast as it came.

  Marie broke in before Alex could give it another thought. “Pardonnez-moi, Gil. I should have mentioned that Alexandra does not care much for nobility or officers.” She laid a gloved-hand on the marquis’s knee in a gesture that made Alex shift in her seat. “Although, to be fair, I had not yet told her of your desire to become a general in Washington’s army. I did not want her to think too poorly of you on your first meeting.”

  “But, I am French,” the marquis protested, wit
h a wide grin showing straight even teeth between his fleshy lips.

  Alex bit the inside of her lower lip. Had he intended the response to be a jest?

  Marie laughed. “Even if that were to save you, I am afraid she does not care much for men at the moment either.”

  Alex’s chest prickled as the warmth in her cheeks spread, and she turned away, feigning interest in the passing line of shadowy oak trees along the private lane.

  “Again, my answer is the same. I am French.”

  Alex yanked her attention away from the dark lawns lit only by filtered moonlight and narrowed her eyes at the marquis, attempting to make out his expression in the darkness.

  What she could see of his face through the shadows showed an implacable mask of cordiality, even though his voice had held an unmistakable note of laughter.

  The marquis sat perched on the edge of his cushioned seat, one hand resting on the head of his cane, a waterfall of lace billowing from the end of his brocade sleeve. He looked out the glass window as though he too had an interest in the Lancasters’ sweeping gardens.

  In profile, his features were pointed with a long nose and prominent chin and forehead. All in all, he looked every bit as she imagined an aristocrat should—arrogant and aloof.

  Did he mock her? Or, was his jest the sort of humor common in France among the highborn? Either way, with her skin itching from the dried wine plastering her chemise to her chest, she was in no mood to be the butt of a joke she didn’t understand.

  Alex inhaled and turned to the window, letting the air seep from her lungs. What point could there be in searching for faults in a man she had just met? Perhaps he meant only to set her at ease and had just done a poor job of it.

  She took several more calming breaths as the carriage pulled past the first of the shops marking the beginning of her world, the darkened windows of the closed establishments telling of the late hour.

  Alex jumped when the marquis thumped his cane on the wooden floor of the carriage. Evidently, he had not said all there was to be said.

  “You are probably used to the Englishmen or the Americans. Unless you have been with a Frenchman, you have not experienced a man,” the marquis said, conviction ringing in his voice.