“Mademoiselle, you are unwell?” The voice was gentle with only a very slight French accent.
Odette struggled for self-control and finally lifted her head. She looked again into his face and was not mistaken. No serious student of ballet would fail to know him. Even from a painting, the expressive eyes and sensual month of Jean-Georges Noverre was instantly recognizable.
“I am fine, Monsieur Noverre.”
“Ah, so you know me.”
“Yes… ah… no… I recognize you from… from a performance in Paris I once attended. I had not expected you to be here.”
“I had not intended to be here. I have delayed my departure as a favor to Madam Garrick. We, my company and I, are planning to leave England. The atmosphere is not so congenial for Frenchmen at the moment.”
Odette knew this to be true. Noverre had come to London in hopes of developing a more naturalistic style of dance with the help of David Garrick. During that time, he had staged many ballets. But the only production directed under his name, Les Fetes, was destroyed by rioters on the eve of the Seven Year War.
He still worked with the theater but only from hiding. How could she have forgotten? That he was here now, in front of her, Odette felt like she was meeting a god.
“I must tell you, mademoiselle, your performance was most unexpected.”
Odette laughed a little hysterically. “Yes, well.” She waved her hand flippantly. “I was taught by an obscure master and all that. He is… almost certainly… dead.” She confusedly killed off the retiring Mister Blasis. “His academy was shut down by the authorities, and his few students cast out—I as well. It was all very, very sad.”
She heard the absolute ridiculousness of her story and knew if he dug any deeper, she would crack. But how could she have known? Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined standing face-to-face with the Father of Modern Ballet.
Instead he said, “It is as if you have emerged fully formed from my mind.”
She looked at him intently, her golden eyes aglow with admiration. “But I have, Monsieur Noverre, I have.”
Chapter 16
Odette sat on the window seat in the snug parlor and watched raindrops bang against the glass. Their watery paths created a maze of crisscrossing tracks which she randomly traced with a lazy finger.
The garden was drenched and muddy, but she could see a green sheen along the grass. Tree buds were just beginning to unfurl. She pushed open one of the panes and leaned out to feel the warm rain on her face. The air was heavy with oxygen and nutrients. Just breathing it could cure almost anything, she thought. She was going to miss this place.
“Odette, please do your best not to fall out or get struck by lightning.” Cara bustled in from the bedroom holding a hatbox in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. “For the life of me, I can’t find the blasted sealing wax. It should have been in the desk with the stationary,” she muttered.
“Oh.” Odette looked at her guiltily and rose to weave her way among the various packing materials. She stopped at a battered trunk with an impressive array of drawers and compartments. “I’m sorry. It’s in here with my other stuff.”
Cara cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips irritably. “I don’t know why I’ve made this list if you are going to snatch things willy-nilly and squirrel them away in that monstrous trunk.”
The two had made an agreement that Odette was responsible for packing her ballet belongings, and Cara was responsible for everything else. Cara had very definite ideas about packing and, for the most part, Odette could care less.
“It wasn’t willy-nilly, Cara. I’ve found that sealing wax works well when warmed. I can wrap it around my toes.”
Cara sighed. “Is there anything else on this list that you’ve appropriated for your feet?”
Odette looked at the list and then back up at the parlor overflowing with boxes, cases, and trunks.
How have we accumulated so much in such a short time?
As if reading her thoughts, Cara said, “Honestly, I think we’re going to need another coach just to carry our belongings.”
Odette slouched back to the window and sat down heavily. The last few days had been busy and exciting.
Fortunately both Monsieur Noverre and Mrs. Garrick had attributed her near emotional collapse to the “exertions of the dance,” as Noverre had so delicately put it. A change of clothes and cup of tea later, Odette was situated with the other three in David Garrick’s spacious office discussing the next step in a collaborative ballet.
At first Noverre was inclined to try and entice Odette back to France with him. Eva’s stern response soon put an end to that notion. “Nein. Nein, Jean! She came first to us. I will not hear of it! The work must be done here.”
He looked at her in his mild way and reminded her, “The work is difficult for one such as me to do here.”
Her expression softened and she reached over to pat his hand. “I know, I know. But we will make it easier. I promise.”
Since Odette had no intention of going to France, even with the great Noverre, she sat silent and let Eva do the talking. From there the discussion veered into several different directions. What would be Odette’s role? How would she work with the other dancers? Can Cara recreate the costuming for an entire company? How much help would she need? And the pointe shoes, was it even feasible to try and teach the other dancers?
Insisting that it was the fundamentals of his developing technique that would best help his dancers evolve, Odette repeatedly deferred to Noverre. Much of what she did was a mere extension of his work. “Little tricks,” she said. Odette often found him looking at her perplexedly, but he never gave voice to his curiosity.
Twice during this marathon session, a messenger was sent to inform the coachman of the delay. By mid-afternoon Odette and Cara finally emerged from the theater moving against the stream of patrons attending the day’s performance.
Back at the inn their news was heralded by Barbara as, “Splendid!” Her mother merely smiled and herded them into her private parlor for tea and scones demanding a full accounting of events.
Odette stared out again at the rain-soaked garden and sighed. Only a few short days and everything had changed. Her plan was working better than she could ever have imagined.
So why do I feel listless and deflated?
“Miss Swanpoole.”
Odette looked up and perceived the source of her dissatisfaction in the doorway.
He stood neatly attired his coat exactly tailored to set off his broad shoulders. While he didn’t wear a wig his fair hair was, for once, powdered and tied back in a fashionable manner. He had studiously avoided her. But when they did chance to meet, she could sense his disapproval in the overly polite manner of his address.
“Certainly, Miss Swanpoole.” “My pleasure, Miss Swanpoole.” “Mary can most assuredly help with packing, Miss Swanpoole.” “I would be happy to ask my uncle’s assistance in finding you lodgings, Miss Swanpoole,” and so on.
He was accommodating in everything. It was like he couldn’t push her out the door quickly enough. The fleeting intimacy in the garden was never repeated. He took great pains not to touch her.
She looked at him now and felt angry with herself.
Why am I letting this sanctimonious stuffed-shirt make me feel bad?
“What do you want, Mister Wright?” She waved her hand around languidly. “As you can see, I am quite busy.”
She turned her head to look back out into the garden and didn’t see the frown that creased his forehead. He stepped cautiously into the room and cleared his throat. “My mother would like to invite you and Miss Mills to supper tonight before your departure in the morning.”
Odette turned her attention back to Gabriel. Whatever her son’s behavior, Josephine Wright had been nothing but kind to them. She stood and walked over to him. “We would be most honored,” she said with feeling. “We owe her so much.”
Odette looked up at him, her face soft with
gratitude. She was like no one else he had ever known, lovely and graceful, kind and intelligent. He had avoided her like the plague.
A dancer… he could hear it now… the bastard and the ballerina. To his ears, only one of these sounded obscene. She was never the threat to his mother’s respectability that he was. Nothing could remove the stain of his origins. Not his mother’s reassurances or even his stepfather’s love.
He would marry a conventional girl. When he was established, he would marry a girl whose breeding could cover up the stain. Nothing could remove it, but it could be hidden.
Odette, open and brave, would only expose it and think nothing of the damage she did. She would think it stupid and insignificant. She would tell him it meant nothing. And he would believe her and be lost.
Misinterpreting the frozen look on his face, Odette felt a burning sensation of anger shoot through her. “Well, Mister Wright, I can see that just being in the same room with me is causing you considerable pain. Please, feel free to leave. And you won’t offend me if you are absent from the supper. I realize that my presence will only pollute—”
She got no further. She heard only his strangled reply before all thought was obliterated from her brain.
Odette stood alone in the room her hand to her lips. He had kissed her!
Who had moved? She hadn’t. Had he?
She couldn’t even remember his face close to her own. She had felt the pressure of his lips on hers. She could still feel the imprint of his hands on her face.
“My, my,” cooed Cara from the sitting room doorway. “Now that was impetuous and manly.”
Odette stared at her wide-eyed. Her hand dropped to her side.
What did he mean by “tainted?” What on earth was he talking about?
*
Lady Caroline Winter was worried. It was a sensation she seldom experienced. At thirty-five she was a woman in full possession of all her impressive faculties, both internal and external. She was accustomed to a level of control that few of her gender attained. This gave her a serenity of bearing that was often remarked upon in polite society but rarely approved of. Such a self-possessed woman was hardly natural—her disregard for the opinions of others indicative of a freakish nature.
Just now, however, Lady Caroline’s serenity and self-possession were severely disrupted. Many would have been shocked to see her agitatedly pacing the length of her opulent parlor. Elegantly gowned in green silk and coiffed in an elaborate powdered wig, she still looked the part of the disinterested society beauty. But her long strides and balled fist belied all indifference.
The door opened softly. “My lady.”
She turned and smiled absently. “Aamod,” she addressed the tall, Indian man standing at the door, “What is it?”
“Mister Gabriel Wright to see you.”
She breathed deeply and relaxed her hands. “Yes, thank you. Please show him in.”
Gabriel crossed the threshold and smiled. Just to see Caroline in this absurdity of a parlor was almost enough to make him forget his horrific blunder of the morning.
The brightly colored silk billowing down from the ceiling combined with a multitude of cushions, ivory screens, golden statues, and beaded tapestries were designed to make most society visitors uncomfortable. Gabriel only laughed and bent over his hostess’ hand.
“My, Gabe, but you get more handsome every day,” she purred with exaggerated sensuality.
Gabriel looked at her with genuine affection. He knew many found her beautiful, but he had never thought her so. She was much more than that. The high cheekbones, long straight nose, and square chin had too much strength for mere beauty. Her deep-set, gray eyes were heavily lashed and looked out on the world with cynicism and a great deal of compassion. She was good, Gabriel had long ago concluded. She was a very good woman.
“I think I shall marry you, Gabe. Yes, we shall marry. You will be my finest possession, the prettiest thing in my very, very big house.”
“What? So you can grow bored of me and leave me like that many-armed statue gathering dust in the corner.”
She looked up at him lasciviously. “Oh, no… no, Gabe. I have no intention of keeping you in the parlor.”
Neither of them could keep it up for long, and soon both were laughing uproariously on the sofa. This ridiculous banter was a prelude to all their private conversations and, Gabriel assumed, a way to dispel any possibility of sexual tension between them.
Caroline breathed in deeply and hugged a cushion to her chest. She leaned a shoulder against the sofa back and faced him. “What brings you here, Gabe?”
“Do I need a reason to visit my favorite member of the nobility?”
Caroline smiled again and looked at him closely. “A woman… definitely a woman.”
Barbara had been incorrect when she described Caroline as a woman completely unrelated to him. She had, in fact, been married to the younger brother of the man responsible for Gabriel’s birth.
According to Caroline, Thomas Winter was everything his brother was not—kind and loving, fair-minded and generous. He married her barely out of the schoolroom. She was only eighteen, and he twenty years her senior.
“Not at all!” Gabriel feigned surprise. “I wanted to discuss another matter.”
She sighed dramatically. “And here I was hoping for something interesting.” She peered at him provocatively from under her lashes.
“Well, if this matter involves a woman…”
She clapped her hands and bounced a little on the sofa inching closer to Gabriel. “I knew it! I knew it!”
He really didn’t know how she did it. Her perception was legendary. If one had a secret to keep, it was best not to come within breathing distance of Lady Caroline.
People whispered that it was all her years lost in India. She had been presumed dead with her husband, both of them killed by marauding bandits. Only two years a bride. But somehow she had survived. She arrived on English shores ten years later, fabulously wealthy and with an Indian servant.
It was believed that she had been a raja’s concubine… that she had studied with the Hindu mystics. No one knew for sure, and Caroline was just disobliging enough not to tell. Gabriel never asked.
She leaned back now and propped her expensively shod feet upon an ottoman. She crossed her arms over her chest and arranged her face in the serious expression of an advisor. “Well, go on, go on. Do tell,” she demanded impatiently. “If I’m to help you, you must tell me everything.”
He did. It all began with Odell.
“Yes, yes, I remember. Rather lost, poor boy. But by no means defenseless. Also a little arrogant, I fear.”
He told her of Odette’s arrival.
“Ah, the woman.”
“…with her friend, Miss Mills.”
“Another woman, even better. Beautiful, you say. But it’s the younger one, Odell’s sister, who interests you. Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t glare at me. You think I can’t tell.”
He told of the arrival of Ethan Graham at the inn. Gabriel at the time had been puzzled. The boy’s description was similar to the one he had seen at the coffeehouse, although it was general enough to fit many boys. He wondered aloud if Ethan had followed the boy from the coffeehouse and, if so, why? That his search had ended up at The Ferrous Swan seemed an odd coincidence.
He finished his story with Odette’s warning about Ethan’s connection to Sir Archibald Brandon, but stopped short of revealing his embarrassing actions of the morning.
By the end of his recital, Caroline was sitting up straight her hands neatly folded in her lap. She got up and walked over to the window.
She looked out onto the vast gardens below and asked, “And Odette, she… what? Guessed that Sir Brandon might be spymaster to the Crown?”
“Well, there are rumors, or more like whispers. Until she told me, I didn’t even know Ethan and Sir Brandon were acquainted.”
“And I didn’t know you were acquainted with Ethan Graham.”
&nbs
p; “Do you know him then?”
“I’ve met him once or twice. He’s not a man I’m likely to forget.”
“Interesting,” he mused, “half the time I don’t even know he’s there.”
Caroline smiled down at the floor and whispered, “A useful talent.” Looking up, she said more loudly, “So now Odette is headed to London. To draw out this evil man who has her brother captive.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds even more incredible. I’m afraid Odette may be suffering from the same malady as her brother.”
Caroline chewed her lower lip indecisively. “Gabe, I don’t think Odette is a lunatic, nor is her brother. I had a visitor today. Someone you wouldn’t know. Someone nobody here would know. His news was disturbing.”
He stood and walked over to her. “What are you alluding to? Spies? Treason?”
“No, Gabe. Worse… much worse.”
*
Lady Caroline sat cross-legged on the floor of her boudoir a silk robe slipping off her oiled shoulders. The air was heavy with incense. She breathed in deeply and lolled her head back onto the broad shoulder of the man sitting behind her. She felt his hands message her scalp. Large hands kneaded the skin through thick brown hair, relaxing her.
She had told Gabriel very little. She hadn’t wanted him to think her a lunatic. “There is powerful opposition to any new way of thinking,” she had told him. “My visitor spoke of a scheme, or a conspiracy of sorts to silence progressive thinkers.”
The man behind her brought his hands together under her jaw and pressed his thumbs against the base of her skull. She sighed and convulsively clutched at his naked thighs on each side of her. He moved her a little away from him and let the robe fall off her shoulders to rest loosely tied at her waist. His hands slid down her neck and over her shoulders bringing pressure to bear on the tight muscles between them.
Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 Page 14