Lady Scandal

by Shannon Donnelly

  "Good. We will see to them later." Taliaris frowned, and glanced behind him. He had split his forces to send a detachment after the coach. They would return with less speed than this messenger. And he had split his forces again to more thoroughly search for their quarry—now he had men spread across the main roads in North France.

  They had also lost time going through that inn, and the village. Eventually, however, Lieutenant Paulin had ferreted out that the blacksmith had seen his neighbor, one Monsieur Degau, talking to a stranger. After that, to pull out the rest of the story from Degau, of how he had sold his horses and carriage, came easily.

  This Marsett must have the devil's tongue, for he seemed to have not just the Englishwomen willingly with him. He seemed able to charm almost everyone he met. Degau, fearful as he was, kept repeating what a gentleman Marsett had seemed, despite his unkempt dress. And how polite he had been.

  Taliaris glanced at the dusty messenger and his tired horse. He gave a nod to his lieutenant, and Paulin ordered the man to fall in. The messenger saluted again, mounted, wheeled his horse and trotted to the end of the column.

  Frowning, Taliaris scanned the horizon. Somewhere out there in the French countryside was Marsett. He could not have gone that far—not in a farmer's decrepit carriage.

  They would find him.

  And Marsett would not only pay for his crimes. He would suffer also for causing so much trouble!

  #

  Two days later, Taliaris found himself wishing again that he was back at the barracks in Paris for saber drills. The trail had seemed so promising, but now....

  Taliaris glanced at Paulin, standing stiff before him in the temporary headquarters they had established in Clermont. Marsett had passed through here. And then—nothing. Taliaris frowned. "Two women and a man travel in a gig pulled by a pair of farm horses—one brown, one a red roan. They must be making for the coast, and yet they slip through our hands. How is this so?"

  Paulin shifted on his feet as if his boots had shrunk. "Perhaps they make for Belgium or Germany?"

  Taliaris picked up his wineglass and stared into the deep burgundy. "Why? They are English. Why would they not think of home? That means the English Channel."

  "Then perhaps they turned towards Le Havre?"

  "We have men on that road. And to Calais, and to Boulogne, and Dieppe!"

  Putting down his wineglass, Taliaris shook his head. He strode to the window, his hands folded behind his back. In the yard, under a chestnut tree, a half dozen of his men rested, sitting or standing, smoking pipes, drinking, sharing stories. When the next group returned from scouting, these would go out. But to find what?

  More useless drill!

  Taliaris turned. "This Marsett. He must have guessed we would find the farmer who sold him the gig. What would you do if you had his shoes?"

  Paulin shrugged. "Buy faster horses."

  "Or slower. Or different enough that everyone looks blank when we ask. That must be it. We ask the wrong questions, Paulin. We ask about a gig and farm horses!"

  "But, sir, what else should we ask, other than after a man who might be injured, or...?" Paulin let his words fade. His captain had on a smile that left Paulin uneasy. He did not understand his captain. But he did not care for that. He took orders. He did his job. He was a good soldier, and if he kept at it, he would have a good retirement someday.

  He straightened even more as Taliaris said, his tone brisk, "Change the questions, Lieutenant. Ask after a girl with golden hair and blue eyes—a beauty like that is not forgotten. Ask after her and we shall find Marsett! Now go. And I want answers by sunset!"

  #

  Two days and two nights on the road took their toll on his Andria. They had had to avoid a dusty troop of French infantry who seemed to be escorting cannons some place—a sign Paxten took to mean that they neared the coast. He could not imagine that troops would be anywhere but near to the borders, and marching out to stand between France and England. After glimpsing the uniforms, he kept to narrow tracks that had not so much as a milestone marker upon them.

  The rain, however, broke his will to keep to the open countryside.

  It started in the afternoon on the second day, a light mist that drizzled steadily. Not a cold winter downpour, but enough wet that only flowers and spring crops could enjoy it. Alexandria huddled under the blanket that Paxten had put over her shoulders, and even Diana's perpetual cheer diminished as the rain thickened.

  Long before dark, Paxten found them a barn. A few coins persuaded the farmer who owned it to give them its use. But that did not put dry clothes on Alexandria. And even Paxten was tired of the cold bread and cheese they had been given as a parting gift by the dour, black-eyed Madam Lafeu. That, and potatoes stolen from a field, had filled their stomachs, but Paxten noticed that Alexandria only nibbled at their meal.

  He could not blame her. With the smells of roasting meat coming from the farmhouse, this seemed poor fare.

  Seeing nothing else to do, he made up a bed for them of sweet-smelling hay. At least it was dry. He persuaded Alexandria and Diana to strip from their wet outer garments and to wrap themselves in blankets. The ease with which Alexandria agreed showed how tired she was. But he could see that already in the deepening of the fine lines around her eyes, the pallor of her skin, and the sagging of her shoulders.

  Diana, unwilling to rest, and with her blanket now worn like a Roman toga, amused herself with the barn cat. She seemed, Paxten had noticed, to have appointed herself her aunt's guardian. He had not been able to do more than kiss Alexandria's hand, or touch her as he handed her into or from the donkey cart, without the niece interrupting him. Even now, the girl hovered close to her aunt. But it was not long until she, too, was yawning. And her eyelids drooped low.

  The light of the lantern pooled around them as dusk fell. The quiet patter of rain against the stone walls of the barn, the soft shifting of the cows, the pleasant aroma of hay and the warmth from the animals, soon wove a lassitude that sank into Paxten's bones.

  He sat with his back to the wall of the barn, the farmer's barn lantern nearby and flickering low.

  Alexandria lay asleep on her hay bed, her deep, steady breathing that of someone exhausted. Her brown hair fanned around her on the rough blanket, touches of gold and silver glinting in the light, the mixture of strands tempting him to touch them. She had the other blanket wrapped tight around her, leaving one white shoulder bare and peeking out from the thick, brown wool. An enticing picture. But not one he could act upon. His mouth lifted. Two cows, three chickens, and Diana hardly made for the most seductive setting. Outside, rain pattered harder.

  Would this have been their life if Alexandria had come with him nearly a decade ago? He certainly had known lean times, and he had lived in worse conditions than this. What if she had brought her son with her? Traveling with Diana made things complicated enough, but how much more trouble would a boy have added?

  Perhaps it had been a good thing that his Andria had not come with him. But such thoughts did not ease the ache and resentment in him. How different might it all have been if he had had her with him. For her, after all, he would have changed his life. She had cheated him out of that chance.

  He glanced at Diana. The girl had fallen asleep with the strand of twine that she had been using to tempt the kitten still in her fingers. She lay with her head pillowed on her arm. A pretty thing, that one. But much too much energy.

  He glanced back to Alexandria.

  She had woken and now stared at him, the expression in her gray eyes unreadable. And she asked, her voice wistful as a child's, "Do you think we might stop in the next town—just for one night?"

  CHAPTER TEN

  Instinct urged Paxten to deny the possibility. Where some soldiers were, more would be, and that meant danger. To him, and to her and her niece. They must be only a few days from the coast. Less perhaps. Or more if they got lost. Which they might, if it gave him the time he needed to seduce her.

  He smiled
at himself, and gave up. His Andria might sit straight in the cart every day. She might eat cold food without complaint. She might smile even when she rubbed what must be an aching neck. But while he wanted revenge on her, having her endure conditions that were hard enough when one was accustomed to them had not been in his plans.

  "Ma chére, we shall stop at the next inn and dine like royalty and sleep on featherbeds."

  Smiling, she closed her eyes. "I should settle for hot soup and a bath."

  He promised himself she would have both. And he told himself that it was only to his advantage, anyway, to gain her trust and carve that path to her heart that he wanted for his own use.

  Shutting his eyes, he pretended to sleep as well.

  The rain had stopped by morning, leaving the air fresh and the ground soft. Their still-damp clothes clung to them, but the sun rose warm in a sky dotted by white clouds as Paxten asked the farmer the direction of the nearest village.

  Their luck held. Not only was it less than two miles, but a local fair was to start that day. Lodging might be difficult to come by, the farmer warned. But Paxten knew they would be not so memorable in a crowded fair town.

  Diana seemed delighted by the treat of a fair. Alexandria merely tightened her smile another notch, and so Paxten put an arm around her and drew her close. That earned him a glower from the niece, which prickle along the back of his neck.

  However, he put his attention on Alexandria who had stiffened at his touch. "Remember, we have a pretense to keep up of being a married couple."

  "I do not know any married couples who share embraces in public," Diana muttered, her tone as censorious as an old spinster's.

  He glanced at the girl. "All you know are aristocrats who marry for land. The rest of the world is different, ma fille." He distracted her by telling of other fairs he had been to, watching jugglers and actors in Naples, performing bears in Russia, and fortune tellers in Spain.

  The farmer's prediction proved correct. Even though they arrived before mid-day, they found only a single room for let, in an attic of the inn nearest to the town square, and therefore closest to the noise and bustle.

  The room smelled musty, but a bed was a bed, after all. And this one was wide and soft.

  Catching Alexandria's eye, Paxten gave her a wink. She glanced at the landlord and edged closer to Paxten. His pulse lifted. Was she thinking what he was—that there could be more use to a bed than sleeping? Tugging on his arm, she pulled him a little away from Diana and the landlord. He followed, wishing the others anywhere but here.

  She wet her lips and anticipation hammered in him. Yes, ask me. Ask me the question I already see in your eyes. Ask me if we can share a room, just the two of us tonight.

  But she said, "Do you need another of my broaches to pawn for money?"

  For a moment Paxten only stared at her.

  Alexandria noted the shock in his eyes. His dark eyebrows lowered and his lips parted as if she had offended him. Had she? But she did not think he would mind. Not Paxten. When had he ever paid any heed to matters of money? She remembered, however, that he had said he had changed? Had he really done so?

  After a moment, his mouth curved, and amusement flickered in his brown eyes. "I think not. If there is a fair, there must also be a horse race, or a fight, or something else to gamble on."

  She started to protest, but realized she did not have enough French to do so. He grinned at her, and she knew he was thinking the same thing about her lack of language skills. He turned away. With a few words to the landlord and an exchange of coin, they seemed to acquire the room for the night.

  Alexandria glanced about the small room again with its slanting, low ceiling and its bare, white walls. A few days ago she would have scorned its mean size, and she would have wondered how they could possibly be comfortable with a single bed and hardly enough room to turn about. Now this seemed almost luxury. Or it did until Paxten slapped her backside.

  She swung around to glare at him.

  He said something in rapid French that she could not follow, and tucked two of his coins into her bodice before she could pull away. His fingers brushed her skin, leaving behind a warm shiver.

  "Buy yourself something pretty," he said, his French slow enough that even she could understand. With a nod to the landlord and a wink to Diana, he sauntered away.

  Frowning after him, Alexandria turned aside, dug out the money, and asked the landlord about a meal and the price of a bath.

  The landlord insisted he had not the time nor the staff to heat water to bathe—not with the fair on—so they had to settle for cleaning as best they could with sponges and basins in their room. Diana at least procured sufficient hot water to wash her hair. Alexandria contented herself with a good brushing and cleaning the stains from her dress.

  Looking presentable again, they went to find food.

  Diana ordered and they ate in the common taproom, a room so crowded they barely found seats tucked into the corner. Alexandria forgot the low company around them when the food arrived.

  A plump, red faced girl brought out spring pea soup, gammon pie, roast mutton with a wine sauce, and a desert of strawberries tarts. The wine could have used another year in the barrel, but Alexandria could find no fault with anything else. Steaming dark tea and thick cream put her into a charitable mood with the world.

  Since Paxten still had not returned by the time they had eaten their fill, they set out for a stroll around the town's main square.

  Diana admired everything—the stone buildings, the cobblestone square, the ancient fountain in the center around which children played, the bright streamers hung for decorations from tree limbs and balconies. Everyone seemed to be in their best clothing, bright yellow scarves and vivid red waistcoats and pretty white muslin gowns. None of it compared with the fine silks and satins of Paris, but Alexandria found she did not mind as much as she once might have.

  She stretched the rest of the coins far enough to buy her niece a wool shawl. She argued down the price by simply shaking her head over and over again. Finally, the woman added embroidery thread to embellish the cream shawl, and Alexandria agreed.

  Time had slipped away from her, she realized.

  The crowd in the street had thickened. Daylight had ebbed. Music now flowed through the town, the fiddles loud and the tempo fast. Alexandria glanced about them, uneasy.

  The lanterns hung from the trees and above doorways had been lit and the sky had darken overhead to deep purple with the first scattering of stars glinting. Shadows rose deep and dark from the corners of the buildings and in the spaces where the flickering lanterns did not reach. Outside the inn, the landlord had set up a length of board across two barrels to sell wine, ale, and roast meats. Men stood about, slouch hats pushed back or their heads uncovered, colorful kerchiefs knotted about their necks, shirts sleeves rolled up. And they stared at Diana with a little too much admiration, Alexandria thought.

  And a complete stranger—a rough faced fellow with a red nose—winked at her.

  Cheeks warm, Alexandria took hold of Diana's hand to retreat to their attic room. Diana protested, but Alexandria knew her duty—and that included keeping her niece safe from such low company and such increasingly raucous disorder.

  Paxten returned not long after, smelling of ale and with his hair disheveled. From her seat on the bed near a lamp, with Diana's shawl in her lap and one corner now decorated with looping vines, Alexandria glanced up. Diana turned away from where she had been standing beside the deep-set window that overlooked the merriment below.

  Frowning, Paxten glanced from one to the other. "What are you both doing here when all the amusement is outside?"

  Alexandria ignored the question. "Did you lose our money or win?"

  "I lost—" he said, spreading his hands wide. As her expression tightened, he added with a grin, "Nothing."

  "You wretch! But did you win?"

  "Enough to celebrate. And why not? We have only a few days between us and freedom."


  She started to say she would rather retire early, but she glanced at Diana. Longing lay in her niece's eyes. Except—how could she sanction anything to do with that rabble?

  "It is a bit crowded," she said. The words sounded prim to her and not like the sensible reason it had seemed in her head.

  Paxten waved away the objection. "No more so than any Paris salon."

  She tried again. "Everyone sounds drunk."

  "None as drunk as a lord. What is it? Can you not forget you are a lady and just enjoy being a woman for a night?"

  That stung. He made it sound awful to have a seemly reserve. Even worse, Diana came and took her hand, pleading, "Please, aunt. Could we not just go down for a short while? For the dancing at least?"

  She might have resisted one of them, but not both.

  Perhaps she had been too sheltered. She had only been to formal balls, and sedate musical evenings, and proper affairs. Any May Day or fair she had attended had been with male escort and servants to fetch for her and the status of her position wrapped around her.

  A burst of laughter drifted to their room, and suddenly she wanted to know what she was missing.

  She stood, but with her palms damp and her insides quivering. "Well, only for a short time then."

  Paxten smiled, as he if had known all along that she would not hold out against him.

  He ushered them out of the inn, and when they reached the street he put an arm about each of them. Alexandria frowned at this, but he only whispered to her, "I'm not dressed to have you take my arm as if I were a gentleman."

  She could almost wish they were dressed as ladies and a gentleman as they stepped into the noise and the crowd and the smells of ale and torches burning and the musky aroma of heated bodies. It really was not as crowded as a fashionable Parisian salon. But in Paris, elegant society moved gracefully, slowly. Here laughing maids ran from grinning lads who chased after them. Farmers danced bouncing jigs, whether they stood close to the musician or not, and careless of the tempo. A few men staggered with tankards in their hands, singing or simply grinning like fools. Woman laughed loud and drank their ale as bold as any man.