Christelle had to pull herself away from the curtain before Madame returned. It was tempting to stay and watch. There were some people who drew you to them with their aura of mystery, and she did not want to take her eyes off Lady Ashbury.
To judge by the exclamations Christelle heard, the lady was very pleased with her drawings. Pride swelled in her chest and her eyes began to fill with tears. She hurriedly wiped them away so they would not stain the silk of the dress she was sewing.
“When may I arrange to meet this girl?” Lady Ashbury was asking.
“My lady, I am not certain that is wise.”
Christelle jumped up and ran to the curtain to look. Why must she be hidden? She was tempted to show herself at once, but she knew she would lose her position if she did.
“Monique, I wish to meet her,” her ladyship said in a calm, authoritative voice. “You must know I do.”
Madame shook her head. “You must trust me. It is better this way.”
“I do not understand. I do not appreciate secrets. If this is to save my family from a horrid scandal, you will do me no favours by delaying my knowing.”
“Let me speak with the girl first.”
“Very well. You will send word?”
“Oui,” Madame whispered.
Christelle stepped back from the curtain as she heard the doorbell signalling Lady Ashbury's exit. What did it all mean? Why would the Lady wish to meet her? She could not stop tears from rolling down her face, nor could she move from the doorway. When Madame pushed back the curtain and stepped into the room, Christelle was still standing there. She stared at the modiste.
“What is wrong with me, Madame?”
Monique blew out a breath. “Come with me, child. There are some things you must know.”
Christelle followed Madame upstairs while the girls watched. She felt as though she was being led to the guillotine.
Chapter 7
The next day, Seamus received an invitation to dine with Lord Ashbury at White’s Gentlemen’s Club.
“More like a summons,” he muttered to himself, tapping the note against his fingertips.
After he had finished with his patients for the day, he went home and changed into appropriate evening attire and walked the few streets to White’s. He was shown through the hall and into the morning room, where Lord Ashbury was speaking with a group of gentlemen, Lord Roth included.
That gentleman saw him first. “Good evening, Dr. Craig.”
“Lord Roth. Gentlemen.”
“Does your father join us in Town soon?” Lord Ashbury enquired.
“I know the entire family intend to arrive for the Season. My youngest sister, you know.”
“Maili will give everyone a run for their money,” Lord Ashbury said with a chuckle. “I cannot wait.”
“Indeed she will,” Seamus agreed.
“You have been spared thus far, Seamus. I had three girls at once!”
All of the gentleman made sympathetic groans and patted Ashbury on the back.
“I must return home for dinner,” Lord Roth said. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Dr. Craig.”
The other gentlemen made their excuses and Seamus followed his step-grandfather into the dining room.
Once they were seated and served their brandy, Lord Ashbury looked thoughtful.
“Seamus, I asked you here because I wanted to see you, of course, but I also heard a rumour you took a young lady to Astley’s.”
“Lord Roth?”
“Yes, he mentioned he sat next to you and a beautiful young woman.”
Seamus had to fight a blush. For goodness’ sake, he was too old for blushing! He had done nothing wrong.
“I did.”
“My boy, you will need to be more discreet. Your father and I are well-respected members of Society. If you mean to keep a ladybird, please do so quietly.”
“Sir, Christelle is no ladybird. She is a friend.”
“Is this the girl you found work for at Madame Monique's?”
“She is.”
“You cannot court a seamstress, Seamus. You must see how the difference in your stations would make it impossible. She would not be accepted.”
“I do not run in Society’s circle, sir. I do not think people expect it of a physician.”
“A very well-connected physician, Seamus. Look at your father, look at your uncle, the Duke, and even myself. I fully expect you to be a household name very soon. Take tonight, for example.”
Seamus stared at his glass, thinking of what Lord Ashbury had said. “I think my father would expect me to be kind to her. I found her on Westminster Bridge, freezing to death after she arrived from Paris. I had to help her.”
“Which is admirable. I myself would have expected nothing less. So now you feel an obligation to court her?”
“No.” Seamus paused while the waiter placed the first course before them. “I did wish to ensure she was faring well at the modiste's shop, but I very much enjoyed her company. I strongly suspect she is a lady. She was schooled at one of the best learning establishments in Paris.”
Lord Ashbury paused.
“If what you say is true, why did she come here alone and needing work?”
“She was orphaned. The school asked her to leave when she could not pay.” Seamus stabbed his beefsteak, trying to control his anger when he thought of what she must have been through. He knew Lord Ashbury had a soft place in his heart for orphans. He even had a home for ruined girls in Scotland.
“It makes more sense to me now. I think you have done the right thing, Seamus. Perhaps we should make certain she has a maid to accompany her when you go out in public, for propriety’s sake.”
“I am not certain how to arrange that, sir.”
“Lady Ashbury went to see how the girl goes on this morning. She will know what can be arranged.”
“That is very good of you, sir.”
“Lady Ashbury would have my hide if she knew I had done anything less.”
After consuming most of their meal and the covers had been removed, Lord Ashbury swirled his glass of port and asked, “Why did this young girl choose to come to England? It is rather strange.”
“She said she found her birth certificate. She thinks her father was English and wishes to look for him.”
“How remarkable.”
“Quite.”
Christelle followed Madame Monique up the stairs to her room. Madame motioned for her to sit down, although she herself continued to stand silently for some time.
“You found your certificate of birth, chérie? Is that why you came here?” she asked gently.
“Oui.”
“May I see it?”
Christelle nodded and went to her trunk to pull the document out. She handed it over. Madame read the words before giving it back.
“Do you know my father? Is this why you hide me?”
Madame cleared her throat. “The good news is you do not appear to be illegitimate. I may know who your father is, but he is not why I wanted you hidden.”
“Then why?”
“Because of your mother.”
Christelle gasped. “What else do you know of my mother?”
“I think you are aware of what her occupation was in France.”
Christelle inclined her head slightly.
“She caused great scandal here too when she was married. That is why she was divorced. But when she came back, it was worse.”
Christelle had always believed it was not her maman’s fault the divorce had taken place, though she did not know any details. Why else would her mother have given up a marriage and life of privilege? Admittedly, Christelle had not thought too much about the reason—but she had not known the man who was her father.
“I do not understand. How could it be worse? She was not married this time!” Christelle was confused.
“Lillian was working with Lord Dannon. Did you know him?”
Christelle wrinkled her face in disgust at the mention o
f the second most horrid man she knew, after Clement. Lord Dannon owned the estate on Jersey where Clement had sent her mother to work, and where she had spent most of her childhood. Dannon was not kind to the women there, and her mother had been afraid he would want Christelle.
“I can see that you did. Unfortunately, Lillian made some poor choices regarding him. Her death was caused by those poor choices,” Madame said vaguely.
“I see,” Christelle said quietly, sensing Madame was withholding some of the story to protect her. “I do not understand what it has to do with me finding my father. He was not Lord Dannon. I do not look like my maman, so who is to know?”
“Dear child, if only it could be so simple. Perhaps you should visit Lady Ashbury. I will send her a note.”
Madame left, shaking her head and muttering, and Christelle was none the wiser as to what was wrong—except that her maman’s past was following her, even here.
Within two hours, a carriage had been sent for her.
Madame came into the office where she was sketching some new designs on the small table beneath the window.
“Lady Ashbury has asked you to tea. I will help you change.”
“Tea? All alone?”
“She is a kind woman and she can help you with the answers you seek. Now, what shall you wear?”
“I suppose I must wear the rose gown again. I have not had time to make another.”
“Oui, c’est parfait,” Madame agreed as she helped Christelle to slip it on and fasten it.
“What shall I say to Lady Ashbury? Does she know who my father is?”
“You are not like your maman. Lady Ashbury is the person most able to help you, chérie. When she sees this, she will do all she can for you. Now take the paper you showed me and tell her what you know.”
Christelle bit her lip to control its trembling as Madame fastened the bonnet atop her head and sent her on her way.
The carriage was the most luxurious she had ever seen. It was a beautiful white carriage drawn by white horses. The footman handed her inside and folded up the step. Christelle was afraid to touch the beautiful seat of ivory velvet and sat gingerly on its edge. As they pulled forward she had to steady herself.
They passed a few shops before turning onto a street with large mansions and manicured gardens. As the carriage pulled up in front of an enormous white stone townhouse, the footman opened the door and let down the step. When she climbed the stone stairs to the entrance, the door opened and a butler welcomed her.
“Mademoiselle Christelle?” he asked in a French accent.
“Oui.” She looked around in awe. Statues were in alcoves around the entrance hall, and the ceiling was painted with a mural of mortals and gods in deep hues of reds, yellows and blues. It was likely something from Greek mythology, but she did not have time to study it.
“Please follow me.” He led her to a dramatic marble staircase, which continued up the entire height of the house. It looked like a palace!
She was shown into an enormous drawing room and asked to wait. The room was square with high ceilings. The walls were covered in a golden brocade with a fleur-de-lis pattern. The ceiling was decorated with intricate carvings, and the floor-length terrace doors were framed by silk draperies. Several sofas and tables were arranged around the room. A portrait of three identical beauties, who had to be the triplet daughters, hung over the mantle. Christelle was staring at it, fascinated, when the drawing room door opened and the butler announced, “Lady Ashbury, mademoiselle.”
Christelle turned, and the woman exclaimed, “Mon Dieu!”
The lady’s face was white and Christelle was worried she would swoon. She ran to her side and led her to the nearest sofa to sit down.
“Madame? Are you all right?”
Lady Ashbury looked up with wonder on her face. “I do not believe it!”
“Shall I call for someone?” Christelle asked, wondering why the butler had not remained. He must have heard her exclamation.
“Non. I am not ill. I am in shock. I now see why Monique did not know what to do with you.”
“I wish someone would explain what the matter with me is. It is most confusing!”
“I must speak to my daughter first,” Lady Ashbury said, shaking her head.
“You know who I am?” Christelle asked with astonishment. “Yet, you will not tell me?” She began to pace back and forth across the elegant rug. How could this woman not help her?
“I believe I know who you are. I know who people will think you are.”
Christelle stopped and stared at this woman. She wanted to scream, but tears began to well up instead.
“Oh, ma chére enfant,” the lady said as she stood and put her arms around her. “Je suis désolé.”
“I want to understand,” Christelle babbled, and Lady Ashbury took her turn in escorting her to the sofa. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and began to dab away the tears from Christelle’s face.
“You are an orphan?”
“Oui. My maman died in an accident in London six years ago. She had left me at a school in Paris before she came here. Two weeks ago they asked me to leave.”
“Why did you come here, my dear? I suspect there was a good reason. It is not easy to travel here alone.”
“Non. It was not easy. But you are correct, I did have a reason. I found this.” She pulled out the document from her pocket and fingered it gingerly. Madame Monique had thought she should show her ladyship this. Christelle handed her the certificate.
“What is this?” Lady Ashbury asked as she took it and opened it. She sat there very quietly for a few minutes.
“Do you know who my father is?” Christelle dared to ask when she could no longer wait.
Lady Ashbury’s eyes darted up and met hers. They held for a moment before she nodded.
“Oui. May I speak to him first? This will come as a shock. He has no idea of your existence, I am quite certain.”
He did not know? It was a small comfort to think he might not have knowingly abandoned her, but Christelle would like to know who he was first. That had been her plan all along. What if she did not wish to know him?
“I do not know how I feel about this. Is he a good man, my father? I had hoped to keep finding him a secret,” she confessed with a frown.
“Ce ne sera pas possible, chérie,” Lady Ashbury whispered softly.
Chapter 8
Your father has a family now. I am uncertain how this will affect him.” Lady Ashbury’s words rang over and over in Christelle’s head as she travelled back to the shop. How would it affect her? She had a father. She might be able to meet him soon. He was here in England, possibly London! She swallowed hard. The carriage stopped in front of the modiste’s shop and she was helped down. She walked in a daze through the front door and beheld the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. The woman had striking violet eyes and silky ebony hair, which was partially pulled up while allowing long curls to fall down around her shoulders. Her dress was of a light lavender wool, with a matching pelisse trimmed with a white braid. Christelle stopped and openly stared.
The woman turned and, on seeing her, shrieked as she lifted her hand to cover her mouth.
“Madame? Can I help you?”
“Who are you?” the woman demanded.
“I beg your pardon?” Christelle replied.
Madame Monique burst through the curtain from the other room. “Christelle, what are you doing in here?” she asked in French.
“Lady Ashbury’s carriage dropped me at the front door. I left by the front door—I had not thought…”
“My mother? You have just come from my mother?” the stranger asked in obvious disbelief, though also speaking in French.
Christelle noticed there were other customers in the shop and they began to whisper to each other.
“Your Grace, may we go upstairs where we might discuss the situation in private?”
Monique began to escort the lady up to the sitting room. Christelle d
id not know whether to follow or not, but she crept quietly behind. This must be the Duchess everyone had spoken of, and she was more beautiful in person. Christelle was too confused with all of the possibilities that she could not begin to clarify what was happening.
The Duchess continued to speak to Monique in rapid French. “You and my mother are working together to hide my husband’s bastard?”
Christelle gasped. Her father was a duke? Her mother had said she had been married to an important man.
“At first, I was not certain, though the likeness is quite remarkable.”
“How could you, Monique? How could my mother? I do not believe this! How long have you known?” the Duchess asked, clearly incredulous, with her arms out and her voice straining.
“Only a few days, Your Grace. She arrived from Paris. Should I have left her to freeze to death in the cold?” Madame defended herself.
Christelle stood in the doorway, listening, tears streaming down her face. How could this woman, whom she had never met, say such things?
“Does my husband know?”
“I do not believe so, madame. Christelle knows very little. Her school in Paris asked her to leave when their charitable funds ran out. Her certificate of birth was in her mother’s effects, which the school gave to her when she left. It was the first she knew of her father.”
The Duchess sat in a chair and stared out of the window. She took a deep breath. “Who is her mother?”
“Duchesse, may I say she is nothing at all like…”
“Who is her mother?” she demanded.
“Lillian.”
Christelle saw a flash of pain cross the Lady’s face, and she could see her struggle to control her emotion. Had her mother done this woman ill?
“May I have a moment alone with…Christelle?” the Duchess asked after a few minutes' pause.
“Oui, bien sûr. But she knows very little,” Madame repeated.
Madame gave Christelle a sympathetic look as she walked past her and quietly closed the door, leaving them alone.
After the Rain Page 6