Le Chevalier

by Mary Jean Adams

  “Marie, I have so longed to speak with you,” Alexandra whispered, as the women changed the topic of conversation to other men they considered “a catch.”

  “Chérie, whatever is the matter?” he asked.

  He had been so amused at hearing himself described as something akin to Madame Montgomery’s paramour he had not noticed Alexandra’s fallen expression. Her brows knitted above uncertain eyes.

  She looked into her teacup and sighed. “I suppose now is not the time to unburden myself, but perhaps we can meet afterward so I may avail myself of your counsel?”

  “Certainement, chérie. I am here for you.” He squeezed her hand.

  His reassurance did nothing to ease the lost look in her eyes despite her smile of gratitude, and he longed to pull her into the next room and demand she tell him what troubled her so.

  “What does your nephew, the marquis, say about it, Marie?” asked Cassandra, tearing his gaze but not his thoughts from Alexandra.

  Cassandra must have seen the blank look on his face because she added, “Does he think Philadelphia is in danger?”

  “Ah, I do not see my nephew often as he is a general under Washington’s command.” Mont Trignon did not add the confidences his “nephew” shared were not meant to be passed on to a group of gossiping girls. “But I do understand Washington has stationed troops only twenty miles from Philadelphia. Surely, if General Howe does land his troops, they will be turned back before reaching the city.”

  “Well, I for one don’t care if they do come,” Alice said, with a slight pout. “The sooner this war is over, the sooner we can get back to our lives.” She looked down at the chintz teacup in her dainty hand. “I am simply dying for a real cup of tea.”

  They all shared the sentiment, and the topic of discussion turned toward the boycott of tea and the restrictions on trade to and from the states. They also discussed which ingredients, from ground and boiled chickpeas to various flowers, made the best substitute for their precious tealeaves. None of it could compare to a good stiff cup of English black or the more refined taste of Darjeeling. Alice remained the most expressive in her contempt for the war that prevented her from enjoying the finer things in life.

  “I think I would be careful about expressing your sentiments about the war too freely, Alice,” Angelina warned, her teacup settled in her lap and her beautiful face solemn as the afternoon sun bathed it in a golden glow.

  Alice gave her a look of contempt, causing Mont Trignon to wonder if Angelina had managed to snatch away one of Alice’s beaux.

  “Oh yes, I forgot. You are Colonel Montgomery’s special friend.” The way Alice spat out the word friend betrayed her thoughts on what sort of relationship existed between the colonel and Angelina.

  “And our hostess is the honorable colonel’s mother,” Angelina reminded Alice, with the arch of on eyebrow.

  Alice had the grace to look sheepish as she took a sip of tea.

  “But more to the point, how well do we know where the loyalties of our fellow Philadelphians lie?” Angelina asked.

  Her eyes scanned the room, catching and holding the gaze of each of the women. Her own gaze lingered on Mont Trignon as she added, “How well do we really know each other?”

  Considering her words, the women looked at each other with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

  Mont Trignon caught Angelina’s cat-like smile just before she took a sip of tea.

  “Take Marie for example,” Angelina continued after swallowing. “How well do we know her?”

  Mont Trignon sensed Alexandra tense beside him, and he knew she readied herself to defend her friend. He reached over and laid a gloved hand on her arm. She may have known Angelina her whole life, but this was not her element. Better he should defend Marie if need be than to have Alexandra call unwanted attention to herself.

  “Oh, Marie, I don’t mean to cast aspersions on you. We all know you are above reproach. And as a Frenchwoman, this isn’t even your fight, so I hope you will allow me the liberty of using you as an example.”

  “But, of course, chérie,” Mont Trignon responded, eager to see where Angelina would take the discussion, yet wary of where that might be.

  There could be no doubt she knew Marie’s true identity. Would she continue to toy with him, or would she reveal him to these women?

  If she were as clever as he imagined her to be, she would prolong the game, since there could be no real advantage to unmasking him in room full of women. She would wait until she stood to gain something from it.

  His breathing turned shallow, and tingles raced across his skin as if he were preparing to meet an opponent in a fencing match. Only when Angelina spoke her next words, would he know what sort of contre-attaque would be called for.

  “Thank you.” She nodded to accept his permission to use him as the foil in her game and then turned toward the other women. “Marie sits with us, enjoying a cup of tea. She appears to be a modest Frenchwoman, probably descended from French nobility. Although she doesn’t have a title herself, she is the aunt of a marquis.”

  All side conversation ceased as the girls and Mrs. Montgomery immersed themselves in Angelina’s monologue. The web of intrigue she spun even captured Alexandra, and her eyes fixated on her old nemesis. However, the wrinkle between her brows spoke of her concern on Marie’s behalf.

  “But do we know where her loyalties really lie? There are many foreigners on both sides, all of whom fight for many reasons having nothing to do with the yolk of British tyranny.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Cassandra scoffed. “Marie can’t fight. She’s a woman.”

  “Perhaps she is not fit to march with the soldiers, no. But what about this Mont Trignon you are so eager to have join us for tea? Would you speak as easily in front of him?”

  Angelina gave Mont Trignon a calculating appraisal, making his blood run cold.

  “Well, we certainly wouldn’t talk quite as much about how we feel about other young gentleman in front of him!” Cassandra said to peals of laughter from the other girls. “And those are the only secrets we know.”

  A knock sounded at the salon door, and Mrs. Montgomery’s butler stepped into the room. “Begging your pardon, Madam, but there is a Mister Brown here to collect Miss Turner.”

  Alexandra’s confused expression told Mont Trignon she hadn’t been expecting Nathanial to call for her.

  “Who is Mister Brown, Alexandra?” Mary asked.

  “Her intended,” Angelina answered, before she could respond.

  Angelina ignored Alexandra’s fierce glare and gave her an indulgent smile.

  “Oh, I should love to meet him, chérie,” Mont Trignon responded, saving Alexandra from having to answer any questions about her relationship with the dull, lifeless Monsieur Brown. “And I confess I am somewhat fatigued this afternoon. Perhaps you will allow him to escort me as well?”

  “By all means,” Alexandra responded, a touch of relief in her voice.

  With the elaborate niceties even Philadelphian society dictated, Mont Trignon and Alexandra bade goodbye to Madame Montgomery and her guests. When they emerged from the mansion, a dour Nathanial Brown waited at the bottom of the steps.

  “What are you doing here, Nathanial?” Alexandra asked in a harsh whisper.

  His eyes raked her from head to toe. She had wrapped her shawl about her, but Mont Trignon had no doubt Nathanial had some idea of the alluring design beneath the modest covering. His pinched face declared his disapproval louder than words ever could.

  “Thou did not tell me about the tea at the Montgomery mansion. Why not?” he demanded, ignoring the six-foot tall woman in the brocade gown standing behind his intended.

  “I didn’t think I needed to.”

  “I do not know that I approve of thee having tea at the home of a soldier,” Nathanial said.

  “To be precise, we were having tea with his mother, and I do not know that there is anything for you to approve of,” Alexandra responded, her pert nose in the air
.

  “I certainly—”

  “Quelle horreur! I have neglected to introduce myself,” Mont Trignon interrupted, before Nathanial could be more insulting and before Alexandra dug herself into an even deeper hole with this man whose head was harder than the granite beneath their feet.

  “I’m dreadfully sorry, Marie,” Alexandra said. The blush creeping up her cheeks told Mont Trignon she realized the faux pas was hers alone.

  “Nathanial, this is my special friend, Marie Noielles.”

  “So you are French as well,” Nathanial said by way of introduction and with little more than a nod before he put his arm about Alexandra’s shoulders and ushered her forward, leaving Mont Trignon standing by himself on the bottom step.

  Mont Trignon frowned at Alexandra’s timid acceptance of Nathanial’s high-handed behavior. Had a man treated one of his sisters that way, she would have handed his arm back to him.

  “As well?” Mont Trignon asked, following behind the couple.

  “I had the misfortune to become acquainted with one of your countrymen—a Mister Mont Trignon.”

  “You did not approve of him?” he asked, longing to correct the man’s pronunciation.

  It was even more abysmal than Alexandra’s. At least when she butchered his name she did it in her sweet voice, and she had the grace to use his title.

  “No, I did not. I believe he is not a good influence on Alexandra and could lead her down an evil path.”

  Mont Trignon clenched his teeth to suppress a grin. If only the prudish little man knew the path he intended to lead Mademoiselle Turner down once he completed his mission. Monsieur Brown would declare him the devil himself.

  “I see,” Mont Trignon said, working hard to keep the laughter from his voice. “Then I shall be certain to watch over Mademoiselle Turner and ensure she does not fall into the chevalier’s evil clutches.”

  Alexandra looked back over her shoulder and smiled, but Nathanial merely grunted in response. They spent the rest of the lengthy stroll to Alexandra’s unfashionable abode in silence.

  “Alexandra, we will talk about this later,” Nathanial warned, as they reached the short flight of steps leading to her front door.

  Mont Trignon sighed with relief, grateful the odious, little man made no attempt to invite himself in, nor did he offer to escort “Marie” to her home.

  “Perhaps I can interest you in some sherry?” Alexandra asked, as soon as Nathanial rounded the corner.

  “That would be delightful, chérie.” In truth, he could use something a little stronger, but in the guise of Marie, he would have to be content with a small glass of the sweet liquid ladies favored.

  Mont Trignon linked his arm in Alexandra’s, and together they climbed the short steps. He let her go to allow her to fetch the key from her pocket and release the lock on the worn front door.

  “Aprés vous,” he said, opening the door for her.

  Mont Trignon followed her through the dark, cramped hallway and into her small parlor. A sense of unrelenting dreariness assailed him as he surveyed his surroundings. Paint peeled from the mantel around the fireplace, and the toile fabric on the chairs and settee looked as though it had born at least three generations of derrières upon it. His first impression did not improve when she opened the faded blue curtains, and the afternoon sunlight shone on a carpet so worn in places the patterns were no longer distinguishable.

  Yet despite the shabby furnishings, he could see Alexandra’s touch. A fresh vase of flowers sat on the rickety table in the center of the salon. A great number of books filled the bookcases lining the walls, and many more lay in teetering piles on the mismatched side tables.

  He picked one up and opened to the first page.

  Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus…

  “My father’s,” Alexandra whispered, as though he handled a sacred relic. “Other than the tavern, they are all I have left of him.”

  “Have you read them all, chérie?” he asked, looking around at the full shelves.

  “Yes. I’ve even read a few of my favorites more than once.”

  Mon Dieu! There were not nearly as many books here as in his own father’s library, but he had certainly never read so many. He set the book back down on the table, humbled by her achievement.

  “I am sorry I only have the pewter. I inherited them along with the tavern.” Alexandra poured a liberal amount of sherry into a mug and handed it to him. Her lopsided grin showed her embarrassment. “It doesn’t affect the taste—much.”

  “These are so much better than crystal,” Mont Trignon responded. When Alexandra raised a questioning eyebrow, he added, “They can hold more.”

  Alexandra chuckled and raised her mug in a toast.

  “I am sorry for Nathanial’s behavior this afternoon,” she said, after taking a healthy swallow of the sweet liquid. “He is a Quaker, and they have certain ways about them.”

  “I do not believe a belief in God has anything to do with the boy’s problems,” Mont Trignon said, while reminding himself he was supposed to be encouraging their engagement—at least for now. Perhaps his plan required more thought. “Expecting your complete obedience is one of those ways you speak of?”

  Alexandra laughed. “Perhaps you’re right. I’m not sure that expectation has as much to do with his being a Quaker as it does with his being a man.”

  Is that what she thought of all men? He would have his work cut out for him once this mission was finished.

  “You might be surprised, chérie. I think you would find quite a few men who would be most interested to have a woman as strong as you for a wife.”

  “Do they welcome a woman’s independence in France, Marie?”

  “French women would not have it any other way,” he said, slicing the air with the flat of his hand.

  “Hmmm, that would be nice,” Alexandra said, pursing her lips. After a moment of silent contemplation, she asked, “Do you really know your nephew’s friend? The Chevalier de Mont Trignon?”

  “Yes, I know him rather better than I allowed.” He fought the urge to smile at the irony in the claim. “But do you know him as well?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I do.” Alexandra took another healthy sip as though to give herself the courage to continue.

  “Afraid?” Mont Trignon asked.

  An odd choice of words, and not the ones he had hoped to hear.

  “He’s become acquainted with my brother, Reid, and we have crossed paths several times.”

  “And how did you find him?” he asked, sounding nonchalant even while his stomach churned.

  “Oh, he is very agreeable.” She smiled and looked down into her mug.

  Relief unclenched his insides. Not the exact reaction he sought, but agreeable might serve as a solid foundation for better descriptors in time.

  “That is good,” he said, hoping the less he said the more she might expand on her thoughts about the chevalier. He didn’t have long to wait.

  “He is so easy to talk to. I don’t know how to explain this, but he seems to really hear what I have to say.”

  “I think I know what you mean, chérie.” He took a sip to hide the pleasure her words gave him.

  “Yes, you would. That’s just it. Talking with him is almost like talking with you.” Alexandra smiled. “He would have made an excellent woman had God seen fit to make him one.”

  Mont Trignon choked on the sherry halfway down his throat.

  “I’m sorry, chérie, but I hope you did not share that insight with him,” he said, when his sputtering had stopped.

  He knew she hadn’t, of course, but words failed him. Merde! Had he become so competent at impersonating a woman the affectations had become second nature? He vowed to watch himself a little closer. He need not be as boorish as an Englishman, of course, but he would not become a fop.

  “Of course not!” Alexandra assured him. The familiar color crept up her cheeks. “I hope you don’t find my comments too forward, but I find it pleasa
nt being around him. He makes me feel like I’m worthy of his attention even though we travel in such different circles.”

  “But I am sure you are, chérie!”

  “Oh, Marie, you are too kind. You only see me as a friend should see another friend. However, I’ve had twenty-two years to become thoroughly acquainted with myself. I have neither the position nor the appearance to be worthy of a man like that.”

  “You sell yourself short,” Mont Trignon argued. And apparently, everyone else in her young life had been selling her short as well. “Do you think you will see him again?”

  “I don’t really know. He said au revoir last time we parted. He told me it means ‘until next time’.”

  “Then I am certain you shall see him again. A Frenchman is always true to his word.”

  “But it has been more than a week. Is there a time limit on au revoir before the promise expires?”

  She laughed, but he could not miss the hopeful look on her face.

  “Do not let your sentiments for this man die, chérie. I am certain he has every intention of seeing you again.” As soon as he possibly can, Mont Trignon vowed to himself as he rose to take his leave.

  Alexandra startled him by clutching his gloved hand and regarding him with glistening eyes.

  “Marie, swear to me I can trust you,” she pleaded. “I need someone I know I can count on.”

  Mont Trignon sat down again and grasped her delicate hands in his two large ones. “Of course you can, chérie, but what has you so worried?”

  “Perhaps it is just that I spend too much time around my brother.” She paused.

  “Has he said something? Has he done something to upset you?”

  “No, but I confess I share Reid’s opinion that Philadelphia isn’t entirely secure. I know you said Washington protects us, but…” she twisted her face, indicating her reluctance to disparage the commander so many held in high esteem.

  “It’s the uncertainty of it,” she continued. “Even when my parents were at death’s door, I knew my life would never be the same after they passed. Yet, I also knew I would have the tavern to support me and Reid to share my pain. I would miss them dreadfully, but life would go on much as it had before.” She looked about her, her gaze lingering on her cherished possessions before returning to him. “Now I feel as though everything is about to undergo an irrevocable change.”