by Regan Walker
Perhaps if she’d met him before Lord Ormond….
Chapter 13
Mary had just finished a letter to Elizabeth when her uncle joined her for tea in the parlor of their apartments. They sat on either side of a small round table next to the large bay window looking out on the tree-lined street. A few blossoms still clung to the branches, but with the recent rains she realized sadly that they would soon be gone.
Turning her attention to a silver tray laden with tea and pastries, she waited until the servant left and raised her teacup to take a sip. “Do you remember I told you I thought Joseph Decazes might be hiding something?”
Her uncle studied her with keen interest. “Has something happened?”
Mary nodded. She then recounted the conversation she’d overheard the night before with General Kleist. She had already determined not to tell him about the writing in German she’d found in the hall at the Tuileries. Not sure what it might mean and determined to see for herself, she would keep it secret for now.
Pulling from her sleeve the small paper she’d taken from the cathedral, she passed it to her uncle. “While we were touring Notre Dame this morning, when he thought I was otherwise engaged, the vicomte hid this behind a statue. Your German is better than mine, but I believe it speaks of troop placements.”
Her uncle took the note and read it quickly. His face grew strained. “You were not seen?”
“No, I am quite certain I was not.”
Her uncle reviewed the paper, and his countenance grew grim. “Indeed it does speak of troop placements. Our troop placements.”
“There is something else about it that occurred to me,” Mary said.
“What?”
“The writing,” she pointed out. “The hand is not the same. I know the note I read on the minister’s desk the last time we were in Paris was in French and this one is in German, but the letters are formed quite differently. Assuming Joseph Decazes wrote this note, he did not write the other.”
“Ah. Thank you. That gives us much to consider.”
Though she did not understand all the ramifications of her information, she was pleased she had contributed.
Her uncle’s brows furrowed, and he spoke almost to himself. “At the moment, the fact the vicomte is willing to share knowledge of British troop placements with the Prussians is troubling.”
“Uncle,” she asked, “how would he know the movements of English soldiers?”
He sighed and glanced at her. “It could have come from a French source, I suppose. Wellington reports our troop numbers and general activities here in France to the king.”
“Assuming we are correct that the use of German indicates its intended recipient, why would the vicomte be giving that information to the Prussians?”
Her uncle paused. “I don’t know. I can speculate, maybe. If the Prussians were planning something they knew we would oppose, they would want to know how many soldiers we have near Paris that can be called upon. I suppose you might have guessed, but if not…I should tell you: Joseph Decazes is one of England’s agents.”
“A Frenchman?” she said.
“Yes, but working for us.”
“Good heavens.” She considered the idea, and a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Only for England, Uncle?”
“Ah, you are perceptive today. That is the question Ormond has been asking. Certainly it seems now that Decazes is involved with the Prussians. Those damned Prussians. If only we knew what they were up to…but we have no spy in their camp.”
Mary fingered the other note in her pocket, the one she had found on the floor of the hall in the Tuileries. She couldn’t say why she had kept it back, but she wasn’t quite ready to divulge everything to her uncle. “From his conversation with Father Verbert, I had the impression the vicomte is a frequent visitor to the cathedral. Perhaps the message he left there is not the only one.”
Her uncle looked worried. “Mary, this could become dangerous. I am concerned you are taking too much of a risk. What if you had been seen?”
“I do not believe I was, and Decazes will not know it was me who took the hidden message. Others could have discovered it. As long as he is willing for me to travel about the city with him, I might as well keep my eyes and ears open for what I may learn.” Maybe she could make a contribution to the welfare of both France’s king and England. That was what she’d hoped for all along.
“I won’t argue your point,” her uncle allowed. “You are in a unique position to see and hear things to which I am not privy. When are you to see him next?”
“Other than tonight?” There was another reception and dinner to be held that evening at the Tuileries. The vicomte had told her he was looking forward to seeing her, and there was talk the king might even attend if he was feeling better.
“Yes,” her uncle said, “other than tonight.”
Mary thought back to their last conversation. “He said something about wanting to show me a gallery of some favorite painter tomorrow. I expect he may mention it to you tonight.”
Her uncle took a drink of his tea and set down his cup. “I must meet with Comte Decazes tomorrow to discuss the French budget. It seems there is concern the French deputies may renege on payments owed the allies, and the allies are threatening to remain in France unless the king dissolves his Chamber of Deputies. As a result, I will not be available to escort you. Are you comfortable being with Decazes in such a setting? If you feel at all strange—”
“Of course I don’t! Your business is too important to worry about me. And we will not be alone. The vicomte intends to ask General Koller if Theresa might join us. I like her. She is interesting, and I really want to see the gallery.”
Her uncle sighed. “All right, I will allow it, but please be careful.”
“I will, Uncle. Paris really is an education all in itself.” She blushed as she thought about what she’d realized just before Joseph Decazes dropped her off. “Oh, and I think I should tell you the vicomte may have a personal interest in me.”
Lord Baynes barely reacted. “I would not find that surprising, Mary. Not with all the time he has given you. He is beginning to look less like an obliging Frenchman and more like one of your suitors.”
She felt embarrassed to be discussing it, but she had raised the topic and so she continued. “Today he asked me if I have ever considered living in Paris.”
“I see,” her uncle said. “But you do not appear smitten.”
“No. I am not,” she agreed. “Still, I enjoy his company.”
Her uncle looked thoughtful. “Hm. Though it would be unusual for a vicomte to ask for the hand of an English noblewoman, it isn’t out of the question. It could happen. Indeed it might. But you will have other options, perhaps better ones.”
“I am in no hurry, Uncle.”
He shook his head, and she wasn’t sure if he was serious. “This is precisely what has me worried.”
* * *
She gave a last tug on the bow of her dark red sash as her maid helped her with the final touches on her appearance for the evening, then she went downstairs to meet her uncle.
“What a lovely gown, Mary,” he remarked, offering his cravat for her to straighten as she so often did.
“It’s the one I wore in London; you suggested I bring it to Paris.”
“Oh, yes. I remember now. And I like your hair done up with pearls. It’s quite attractive.”
“My maid labored over it for some time. She thought the style made me look French. What do you think?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but yes, I can see the Parisian influence. I approve.”
Mary winked at him and took his arm. “Our carriage awaits!”
* * *
Hugh had been in many of the impressive palaces of Europe, but the staterooms in the Tuileries Palace were among the finest.
Huge oil paintings of bewigged French aristocrats decorated the walls, reminding him of an earlier era. The gilding the French so loved was displayed o
n the walls, chairs and side tables, and of course on the crystal chandeliers and large mirrors. The wooden floors were inlayed with different-colored exotic woods, and the wallpaper in many of the rooms appeared to be gold brocade cloth, which he supposed it was. Extravagant, for a country that had endured a people’s revolution, but he reminded himself, this was once again the home of a French monarch.
He and Lord Baynes stood together at one corner of the elegant reception room. Each had a French cognac in hand; thank God Napoleon had been fond of the drink and assured a continuing supply. He scanned the room and saw Mary some distance away drinking champagne while talking with that damn vicomte and the Austrian girl, Theresa Koller. When Mary laughed at something the vicomte said, Hugh had the sudden urge to drag her out to the gardens.
“Does he never leave her alone?”
He hadn’t realized he spoke the thought aloud until his companion chuckled. “Not often.” As Hugh continued to glare at the Frenchman, Lord Baynes leaned in to whisper, “I think he may be in love with her. He seems quite besotted.”
Hugh’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Decazes was smiling at Mary now. Stupidly.
“Take a walk with me, Ormond. I need to tell you what has happened,” Lord Baynes remarked.
The two of them strolled out of the hall and onto a wide terrace. Alone at one end and mostly hidden in shadows, the older man explained to Hugh what Mary had observed and the message she’d recovered from Notre Dame.
“So, he is not merely an agent for us and the French, he is also working for the Prussians?”
“We have to at least consider the possibility.” The diplomat’s tone was serious. “But even with that, he could be acting for France. Who his real master is remains a mystery.”
“It is good Martin has limited his information to that which we are willing to reveal.”
“Yes,” Lord Baynes agreed. “I would say it was a wise move. And is your friend—Sir Martin Powell, was it—the vicomte’s only contact now?”
“Yes, for some time. Oh, and by the by, in France he is known as Martin Donet. He takes his French mother’s name as part of his disguise.” Hugh pondered the new information he’d learned. “I wonder what the Prussians are planning.”
Mary’s uncle appeared grim. “There has been bad blood between Louis and the Prussians for some time. I witnessed some of that bile during my work with the Congress of Vienna. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were hoping to undermine Louis’s new government, or even the king himself.”
“There is more to this than the Prussians,” Hugh decided, thinking about his recent conversation with Martin.
“Mary is to see the vicomte again tomorrow—a trip to a gallery, I believe, with General Koller’s younger sister. Perhaps she will learn something more.”
“Is that a good idea?” Hugh didn’t like Mary involved in what was becoming more than just an indirect observational role.
Lord Baynes shrugged. “Though I have my reservations, you cannot deny these circumstances are an excellent opportunity for you to gain information. Based on how he feels about her, and on his family’s standing with the king, I do not believe he would put Mary at risk. Besides, she is determined to go. I think we have little choice but to play this out and see what she discovers. Unless you want to tell her no….”
Hugh frowned. “Her love of adventure and her attraction to danger do not bode well.” How could her uncle allow her to take such a risk? What kind of a guardian would be so cavalier about a young woman’s safety?
As if her uncle read his thoughts, he said, “Mary thrives on this, you know.”
“My concern exactly.”
Lord Baynes pinned him with keen eyes. “Ormond, you have reminded me. A series of meetings with the allies will have me outside of Paris for a few days. It cannot be avoided. The allies are up in arms about the French following through on commitments, and I must be there to preserve Louis’s point of view and allow Comte Decazes room for his needed reforms. Mary will have her friends to occupy her during the day, particularly Germaine, who has taken a great interest in her, but since your work with Martin Powell—or rather, Monsieur Donet—will keep you here…would you be willing to watch over her, especially in the evenings?”
“Of course,” said Hugh. He didn’t see how he could say no, though more time alone with Mary would severely test his restraint. Especially as she was set upon a dangerous course of action.
“I’d be most grateful. Your protection of her would give me peace of mind while I am away.”
Hugh wondered if he would find any peace of mind, himself.
Chapter 14
Mary was keenly aware of Lord Ormond each time he came near, which thus far had been only during evenings at the Palace. She had no idea what occupied him during the day, but she supposed it was some business with her uncle. He certainly hadn’t been seeking out her company.
She wondered if he was avoiding her. Much to her dismay, in her evenings at the Tuileries she found herself scanning the room for his tall imposing figure. It disturbed her that her heart beat more rapidly when he came into sight and that her eyes sought out that dark head of hair rising above the others. She still feared his reputation and thought his designs on her dishonorable, but despite all that she found herself wanting to be near him. Perhaps Elizabeth had been right when she suggested he was yet another adventure. But no. Mary knew it was more. How much more was what worried her.
Just now he was nowhere to be seen. She had been talking with Theresa Koller and Joseph Decazes for some time and relishing some very good French champagne. The subject was their planned visit the next day to see work by Jacques Louis David, a favorite French artist of the vicomte, though as Mary recalled he was somewhat controversial.
“Wasn’t he a supporter of the Revolution?” she asked, surprised the vicomte would want to see David’s paintings if that were true.
“Yes, Lady Mary, you are correct. He was quite enamored of Napoleon, but King Louis has granted him amnesty, even offering him the position of court painter. He is a splendid artist.”
“Has he accepted the king’s offer?”
“No. Much as we might wish otherwise, he has chosen instead to live and paint in Brussels. We can still enjoy his paintings, though, for some are here in Paris. I thought you might like to see them.”
“Oh, I would.” Mary was genuinely eager. She had heard about David’s art. She also wanted to observe the vicomte’s activities; she was beginning to think his visits around the city with her were more than just interesting diversions or even an attempt at courting her. “I am looking forward to it.” She smiled at Theresa and Decazes and added, “But just now I need to find my uncle. Please excuse me.”
As she started to walk away, the vicomte stopped her. He seemed anxious. “Would you like me to accompany you, Lady Mary?”
She laughed, amused. “No, please stay with Theresa. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Though it was obvious to Mary he wanted to join her, he stayed with her friend and they resumed their conversation as she turned to go. Mary hurried out of the room and down the corridor, passing walls lined with paintings of French aristocrats. How different they seemed than the noblemen of England. Even their dress was more flamboyant: more lace, more ruffles. Many of the men wore powdered wigs that were no longer in fashion.
She rounded a corner and spotted a set of tall, paned glass doors leading outside. Just as she was thinking about going through them, they opened and her uncle and Lord Ormond stepped into the corridor.
“Look who we have here!” exclaimed her uncle. “Mary, are you alone?”
“Yes, I was hoping to get some fresh air. It’s very hot in the main room.”
“Well, I am certain Lord Ormond would be happy to escort you out.”
Ormond said, “It would be my pleasure.” He looked a bit uncomfortable, however.
Still he offered Mary his arm as soon as her uncle left, turning back toward the doors. “Shall we?”
/> “Yes, thank you.” There was little Mary could do but take his arm. Her uncle had reminded them dinner would soon begin, so they didn’t have much time.
As they stepped through the doors, Mary felt lightheaded. Just putting her hand through the crook of Ormond’s elbow sent chills down her back. He was so close and so warm. Once again she was reminded of how powerful his body was, how she liked touching him, but the sensation was also disconcerting, like taking a stroll with a pirate. A very handsome pirate. A pirate who at any time might take what he wanted.
There were others seeking the night air. Couples walked the terrace, and some lingered at the surrounding balustrade. Toward the disciplined hedges bordering the Palace gardens Hugh led Mary down a set of stairs.
“You seem to always be escaping into gardens, Lady Mary. Why is that? I shall have to call you ‘Lady Mary of the Gardens.’”
She thought about that. “I guess I eventually find myself more comfortable outside with my thoughts than with all those people, much as I enjoy some of them.” She was embarrassed at how it sounded, but she tired easily of large crowds and longed for quiet after a time.
“You might be surprised to learn we have that in common.”
She caught his smug look. “I see I have become a source of amusement for you.”
“Not at all. Even you admit to liking gardens, Lady Mary. Is it wrong that I should as well?”
She smiled. “No. No, I suppose not.”
“Are you enjoying yourself in Paris?”
“Very much.” She had grown to love the city and the richness of its culture, despite the unsettled nature of the place—which made her think of the war and her conversation with Germaine. “You seem to know Madame de Stael well. Have you met her before?”
“I have known her for some years, from when I was here…”
“Before?” she finished.