by Louise Clark
The woman's sincerity, and her willingness to sacrifice her reputation for the sake of her family, made Stephanie itch with uncomfortable guilt. Her beloved Papa was still in France and she had heard nothing from him for months. Once, months ago, St. Luc had offered to get her letters through to France for a price—a price she had refused to pay. Was her heart perhaps not as faithful as she thought?
Sensing Stephanie's weakness, Trouville continued her well-planned offensive. "You must tell no one. I am sure I can count on your discretion, but I am about to arrange an escape for my family. I fear that if I wait much longer it will be too late."
"I, too, worry—about my father," Stephanie said reluctantly.
Regine dropped heavy lids over eyes that gleamed with satisfaction. "That would be the Marquis de Mont Royale."
Stephanie raised her brows. "Of course."
Madame de Trouville tapped her chin thoughtfully with her fan. "To arrange papers and transportation for such an august man would be expensive, but I am sure you must have the funds. The Mont Royale diamonds alone are worth a fortune."
Unaware that Trouville had been the recipient of St. Luc's fury over the aborted attempt to sell the jewels, and that the woman was deliberately referring to them to taunt her, Stephanie merely said, "I do not have access to the jewels. I have collected a limited amount of gold to pay for the project."
"Saved from your pin money?" Regine asked derisively. She leaned forward. Brandishing her closed fun, she used it to emphasize every point she made. "It is dangerous for our sort in France now and a courier will not risk his life for a paltry sou or two. You must find other ways of raising the necessary funds. When you can prove that you have the money to back an expedition such as this one, come back to me and we will talk about the details. Until then, return to your comfortable home with the Earl of Wroxton and enjoy the social season under the auspices of the Dowager Countess. I have no time for those who merely play at caring about what happens to their loved ones in France."
Trouville turned away, but Stephanie's temper had flared into life at the mention of Nicholas. "And how do you suggest I acquire those funds, Madame?" she demanded haughtily, dark eyes flashing. "In your gambling den? There I am more likely to lose all I possess, than to win the fortune I need!"
Trouville pivoted slowly until she again faced Stephanie. Anger flashed from her brown eyes, but she said carefully, "Your relationship with the English Earl and his family is an excellent one. I understand that milord Broughton has an important post in the government, and therefore has access to the highest levels. I have friends who will pay very well to be kept up-to-date on what occurs within the government. Very well indeed."
Stephanie contrived to look down her nose at the woman. Contempt laced her every word. "You are asking me to spy for the odious republicans! Well, Madame, your base nature may allow you to freely sell your secrets, but I am not one such as you. Pray, do not attempt to speak to me again, for if you do, I shall cut you completely and allow the world to know why."
Unleashed fury blazed from Madame de Trouville's eyes. With deadly accuracy, she aimed her last poisoned dart. "The Marquis de Mont Royale, with his quixotic loyalty to the Crown, is doomed. Doomed, do you hear me! I know, for those contacts I cultivated, the very ones you despise so freely, have told me so. When your father is dead, Mademoiselle de la Riviére, remember that you could have saved him had you been a shade less nice in your protection of your honor!" She swept away in a blaze of malice that left Stephanie shivering in shock.
Her words festered deep within Stephanie's heart. Time and again, after that conversation, Stephanie counted her store of stolen gold and tried to figure out some way of stretching it to the amount that would be needed bring her father from France. Without Nicholas to soothe her fears, her vivid imagination took each fresh rumor and embroidered it further, until she was desperate with despair.
Five weeks after Nicholas had left for the Continent, Stephanie knew what she must do. It was not a decision made easily, and it was one that she was not sure was right, but it was her only option.
She would go to France herself.
There would be danger, of course, but she had learned much about avoiding the authorities while she was masquerading as the highwayman at Silverbrooke. As she had done then, she would assume the disguise of a young man for her journey.
She did not fool herself with the naive belief that it would be easy to get into France and out again without being caught. There was a very grave danger that by risking herself, she would lose all. But her alternative was equally bleak. For if she did not try to help her father, and he lost his life in another of the revolution's convulsions, her guilt would know no bounds. For the sake of her future with Nicholas, she felt that she must take this dangerous step and risk all on one last gamble.
Chapter 14
"Anthony, pray do sit down." Agitation showed in Madeleine's jerky motions as she gestured her nephew toward a chair. It spoke too, in her formal use of his given name. "Would you care for a glass of wine? Brandy?"
Tony Baxter draped himself negligently over one of the green wing chairs flanking the sofa on which the Dowager Countess sat, careful not to wrinkle the beautifully cut coat of sapphire blue superfine that was so perfectly tailored to his long frame. Raising one dark blond brow, he requested a mug of ale, rather than the stronger beverages his aunt had suggested. It was, after all, only ten o'clock in the morning.
Frowning, he watched silently as his aunt gave the order to the dignified Baines. She was dressed with her usual elegance in an open robe of somber blue-gray silk over a petticoat of pearly gray. A crisp white buffon filled out the bodice of the gown, completing her tasteful appearance. There was an edginess about her that was unfamiliar to Tony. She had always been so regally certain of herself and her actions; he had never seen her so... so...
The unfinished statement hovered in his mind, teasing him with a concept that lingered just out of conscious range. He scrutinized her strained features and understanding leapt forth.
So frightened. He had never seen her frightened before. But what had put the haunted look in her eyes and caused her to summon him so abruptly this morning? He leaned back in the chair, ostensibly at rest, but actually very tense. Frightened or not, Madeleine would choose her own time to reveal what was on her mind.
Baines disappeared and Madeleine got straight to the point. "I asked Gideon to come this morning as well, but I cannot wait any longer for him. Look at this."
She thrust a sealed letter into Tony's hands. It was addressed to the Earl of Wroxton. Tony looked at it dubiously.
"This is a letter for Nick," he said, turning it over to examine the seal. "What of it?"
"It is in Stephanie de la Riviére's handwriting." The statement was heavy with portent.
Amusement leapt into Tony's eyes. "Really? Is that the way the wind blows? I thought they were very thick while we were at Silverbrooke, but I had no idea..."
Madeleine wrung her hands theatrically, but the gesture was filled with honest emotion. "Anthony, Nicholas has gone off on some foolish diplomatic mission to the Continent and Stephanie has disappeared. Except for this letter, I'd assumed she had decided, in a mad fit of passion, to follow him there."
Drawing a deep, calming breath, Madeleine continued slowly, "At any rate, that is what she claimed to be doing in the note she left for me."
Tony blinked. "A moment, Aunt Madeleine. I'm confused. What is this about a note? And where is Stephanie?"
"I don't know! I thought she was in Europe seeking Nicholas."
Tony stared for a moment at the sealed letter he held loosely in his hands. When he looked up, his mouth was molded into a hard line. "What you are telling me is that Stephanie has disappeared, but left you a note saying she was following Nick to Europe." Madeleine nodded. "Until you found this letter addressed to Nick, you believed her. However, now you think she may not have followed him at all."
"Exactly, Anthony."
>
"When did you find it?" he demanded.
"This morning. I happened to be in the library and I noticed it lying on the desk. Naturally, I stopped to see whom the letter was addressed to. As soon as I saw her handwriting, I knew something was terribly wrong, and I asked you to come here."
"When did Stephanie disappear?"
"Three days ago."
"Three days—dear God, Aunt Madeleine! Why have you said nothing before now?"
"I did not want a scandal to erupt over this. When Stephanie and Nicholas marry..."
"God's Teeth! They will never marry if something happens to Stephanie! Did you make no attempt to find her? To stop her from leaving England?"
"Of course I did," the Dowager retorted indignantly. "I sent men to the docks, to see if she had arranged a crossing, and also to the Channel ports. No one had seen a young woman with a charming French accent seeking passage."
Baxter groaned. "Aunt Madeleine..." He stopped when Baines appeared with a tankard of ale for him and a pot of tea for the Countess. Tony sustained himself with a deep draft before speaking again. "Aunt Madeleine, if Stephanie was bound for the Continent, traveling alone—I take it she did not have a maid accompany her?" His aunt shook her head. "Traveling alone, I should hope she would have had the sense to disguise herself in male clothing." He added wryly, "She's done that before."
"But how could she? Her male clothing was ruined when she was shot at Silverbrooke! Besides, she did not go to the Continent. This letter to Nicholas confirms it!"
Tony eyed the thick creamy paper in his hand. "Perhaps, perhaps not. We don't know that she wrote this at the same time she wrote the note to you. It may be a much earlier piece of correspondence."
"Don't be absurd. Of course it belongs to this mad scheme! Why would she bother to write Nicholas and leave him a letter he never read? They were living in the same house. If she wanted to spill out her heart to him, she could do it more effectively in person."
There was good sense in what Madeleine was saying. Tony thoughtfully turned the letter over in his hand, then took a fortifying swallow of ale before he suggested dubiously, "Shall we open it?"
"I think we must."
"But what if it is—a love letter or something. Nick would not thank us for prying into his personal—"
"We will apologize, explain our concern and he will understand." They stared at each other, conspirators new to the game, but determined to proceed. Slowly, Tony put down his tankard so he could split open the seal and read the contents of the letter.
What he saw there made his mouth thin to a grim line. "God's Teeth, listen to this! As you must know by now, my Dearest Heart, the war goes badly for France. I have learned that the King's position is precarious; if he falls, so too will my dear father. I can wait no longer before doing what I must to ensure my beloved Papa's escape from France. The funds I raised are not enough for me to make the arrangements from London, so I am going to Paris. Tante Madeleine thinks I have run off to follow you to Europe. I did not want her to worry and I know she has only the fondest wishes for our future together. I pray that I will return not many days after you and that my dearest Papa will accompany me."
Tony folded the letter. "There is more, but it does not concern us." He looked at Madeleine and thought that his own expression was probably as aghast as hers.
"What are we going to do?" she asked hoarsely. "If Stephanie has returned to France, she is in terrible danger!"
"I'm going to talk to Gideon. He's the one who—"
"Who what?" Gideon demanded, striding into the room without waiting for the butler to announce him.
"Gideon, thank God!"
He bent to give the Dowager a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Madeleine, what is the matter? Forgive me if I sound brusque, but Honoria may begin her labor any moment and I wish to be with her." Tactfully, he did not add that he would have consigned the hysterical note sent by Madeleine to the fire when he received it. It had been Honoria who had convinced him that he should visit Wroxton House to see what was the matter. She had promised him that she would be all right, but still...
"It's Stephanie," the Dowager said woefully.
Gideon had a fleeting memory of his brother-in-law's derisive laughter the day he had suggested that Nick pretend to be Stephanie's guardian. A handful, Nicholas had called her. Gideon had a more colorful description in mind at this precise moment. "What the devil has she done now?"
Tony, fiddling with the letter in his hands, said bleakly, "She's gone."
Gideon looked from one to the other in dismay.
"Gone? Where?"
"To France," Tony said heavily.
Somewhat restored by Gideon's astonishment, Madeleine added gloomily, "To Paris, actually."
"Why the devil has she gone to France?"
Tony thrust the letter toward Gideon. "Read this. It will explain all."
While Gideon read the letter, Tony drank down the rest of his ale. It kept him from noticing too keenly the pathetic way Madeleine was watching Gideon's features as he read.
After a minute, Gideon folded the letter with careful precision. His expression was somber. "I thought they'd talked before Nick left."
"Talked?" The Dowager's voice rose. "About what?"
"Nicholas was going to Paris after he had finished his observations for me. I assumed it was to discuss Stephanie with the Marquis."
Madeleine brightened. "I knew it! He's going to ask Mont Royale for her hand. How utterly splendid!"
Tony's soft whistle was lost in the sound of the Dowager clapping her hands together delightedly. "Or he's going to try to convince the man to come out of France into exile."
"Mont Royale would never go," Madeleine said. There was such total certainty in her voice that it was clear she could not imagine why anyone would believe otherwise.
"Stephanie doesn't know that!" Tony retorted.
"And Nicholas loves her," Gideon added. "He would risk everything to give her what her heart desires."
The color drained from Madeleine's face. "Dear Lord," she whispered. "They are both in danger!" There was a dreadful silence, then she added more forcefully, "What are we going to do?"
"Nick has to be warned that Stephanie is in Paris," Gideon said. "I can send a message to him via our ambassador, Lord Gower, but I cannot go to Paris myself. Not at this time—"
Tony's blue eyes began to gleam with an unholy light. "But I can, Gideon. Get me the papers I need to give me diplomatic status in France. The sooner I leave the better."
* * *
France. Stephanie was seeing it again after nearly nine months from the deck of a smuggling boat that carried cheap English cloth to France in return for a cargo of expensive French brandy. The smugglers had been loath to take her at first, but they had relented when they had seen the color of her gold and the depth of her determination.
The coastline was unfamiliar to her, and the accents of the men who met the smuggling vessel were equally strange. Breton accents, she thought, vaguely aware that the west was fraught with rebellion against the new regime in Paris. It stood to reason that the smugglers could land with impunity in an area that was no longer loyal to the central authority.
At the cost of more of her precious gold coins, the smugglers' contact agreed to take her with him to Paris, where he intended to sell the cotton cloth. They acquired forged papers that identified her as the son of a country merchant. Thus, getting into Paris proved to be no problem. Leaving would surely be more difficult.
Paris was a nightmare of suspicion and fear, a city where on the surface life continued as usual, but underneath ran currents that scraped along the nerves of everyone, great and small; native born and foreign. The weather was hot, bread was scarce, and the Austrians sat upon the border, waiting to be reinforced by the formidable Prussian armies before swooping down to invade the French homeland. The Assembly was in disarray, for the Girondin ministers under Brissot, who had been instrumental in beginning the war against Austria, ha
d been dismissed by the King after one of the incessant internal struggles for power. No one was sure what would happen next, for the Girondins were not taking their dismissal easily. Paris was a city in ferment.
Prussia's declaration of war came as a surprise to Stephanie, for it had been proclaimed on June thirteenth, while she was crossing the Channel on the tiny smuggling boat. She learned of it on the nineteenth, when she went to the Palais Royale to find breakfast after a night spent in a cramped, but clean, lodging nearby.
The morning promised good weather throughout the day, for the sky was clear and bright. Stephanie sat under a tree and basked in the soft gleam of the early sun. She ate a roll that she had bought for an outrageous price. The baker had claimed not to have any bread at all, until she had offered him far more than the scrap of food was worth. Then the man's eyes had gleamed and, after a suitable pretense of rummaging around behind his counter, he had discovered that he did indeed have what she wanted. Disgusted, Stephanie paid for the bread and left the shop, hearing the proprietor's advice that she tuck it into her pocket or she would lose it.
What kind of place had Paris become? she wondered, as she delicately pulled apart the bread. Chewing thoughtfully, she pondered the sights and sensations that she had absorbed the previous day. The smuggler had dropped her off once they were past the barricades that guarded entry to Paris, and she had wandered about, trying to recover her bearings as she searched for a place to stay.
Physically, little had changed. No grand buildings had been erected by the Assembly, no streets or squares created, although names had been altered. No houses had been built. There was an air of dilapidation she had not noticed before, but which leapt out at her, now that she had been a resident in the rich, vibrant city of London for a time.