Andelot averted his gaze to the dark night beyond the glass window at his shoulder. “I had to let them go.” Andelot seethed out a breath. “Then the Revolution swept through Paris turning my beloved France into a nation of savages. Many did not even wait for Robespierre to condemn the elite. They did it themselves. They torched homes until the summer day sky was as dark as night and tossed respectable, titled women into crowds and raped them in public whilst their husbands and children watched. Then they would butcher them all with knives out of their own kitchens. And the worst of it? They did it with pride. They did it whilst waving their blood-spattered flags.”
The duc grew quiet. Those lips parted in deep thought before he eventually whispered, “My father was arrested and guillotined. That man brutalized me my entire life – my entire life –but even I knew he wasn’t deserving of having his head cleaved from his shoulders. The only reason I had not been seized by the tribunal myself was because I was half-British and my mother’s entire family from England was petitioning Robespierre in exchange for favors. With what little time I had due to their petitions, I dismissed all of my servants to keep them from harm and harbored aristocrats whose names were on the list of the condemned. I tried planning an escape, but no one was willing to provide us transportation. Not even for the children. All of France had gone mad.”
Andelot rubbed at his jaw. “And that was when Thérèse re-appeared in my life. I was…astounded. She came to me as if she could hear my prayers drifting through a city filled with smoke. She brought food and arranged for transportation for all of us to leave the country courtesy of one of her bourgeois lovers. A part of me wanted to refuse her assistance, but there were others I had to think of. So I allowed for it.” Andelot rigidly tapped at his masked face. “As you can see, I barely escaped France. She never saw what was done to me. I made sure of it.”
Konstantin numbly held the book between hands that were heavy with disbelief.
Andelot lowered his gaze. Fingering his cane, he murmured, “Long after I came into wealth again, after countless years of toiling and travelling and re-investing what my mother’s family in England had generously bequeathed me, I wanted to know if she and my son…needed anything. So I hired men to find them. It took years. Unbeknownst to me, they had left France. Less than a year ago, one of the informants finally had information.”
The duc rapidly blinked. “Whilst Thérèse was fine, and I am blessed knowing it, my Henri was dead and had been for a long time. He had died here in England.” His voice cracked. “But he left behind a daughter. Maybelle. She lives with Thérèse. And that is why I am here. I want to be part of my granddaughter’s life in a way I was unable to be part of Henri’s. I simply have not been able to bring myself to knock on that door knowing I have no face and that…men still flock to Thérèse as if she were twenty.” Andelot rolled his eyes. “I have heard she associates with an array of men because of some school where she gives men advice on-on…private matters.” He shook his head. “She was always outrageous. She lived for it.” His fisted hand hit the seat hard, reverberating through the carriage. He settled himself against the seat. “I need a brandy,” he breathed out.
Of course the man needed brandy. “So you have been in London these past few months and still have not called on her or your granddaughter?”
The duc tossed his cane from one hand to the other, back and forth. “My face aside, I genuinely doubt Thérèse would permit me to have an association with Maybelle. She and I did not part on the best of terms.”
Konstantin gave him an exasperated look. “How do you know what she will or will not allow if you have not called on her?”
Andelot glanced toward the window and the night beyond.
“Call on her.” Konstantin leaned closer. “After everything you survived, including a whole revolution, there is no shame in what you endured or why you wear a mask. Call on her.”
Gently tapping the cane against the floor of the carriage, Andelot fixed his sight at nothing in particular. He kept tapping the cane against the floor. “Will you go with me if I call on them?”
Konstantin’s chest tightened. “It would be an honor. When do you want to go? Shall we go tomorrow?”
The duc’s gaze snapped toward him. “Are you mad? No. The day after. I need time to trim my hair. As do you.”
Konstantin bit back a smile. “The trimming of our hair should only take a half hour.”
Andelot lowered his chin. “Whilst I appreciate your intentions, I ask that you refrain from any further comments.”
Konstantin held up a hand and then set it against his mouth.
Two days later
At the home of Madame de Maitenon
Konstantin dragged a heavy hand through his overly arranged, tonic-fussed hair, which had been trimmed well beyond what he was used to, and warily watched the duc get up and sit in three different upholstered chairs set around the small parlor.
The duc kept shaking his head and openly muttering, “Useless. The woman’s taste in comfort is absolutely useless. These furnishings are for the devil.”
Konstantin doubted the furnishings were actually the problem.
Andelot eventually decided on a plush green, empire-style chair. He settled into it with a grunting huff and adjusted the red ribbon against his hair that held his mask in place. Crossing his polished riding boots at his ankles, the duc pulled his coat over his waist. “I cannot believe I am doing this. What if she refuses to see me?” Andelot’s blue eyes perused the doorway.
Konstantin was beginning to feel nervous for the man. “Everything will be fine. I am certain she will—”
The harried clicking of female heels against the wood floors, that hinted at a half-run, made Konstantin scramble to feet.
The duc uncrossed his boots and sat up but did not rise. “Tell me to calm down.”
“Calm down.”
“I am trying.”
Within moments, a very attractive elderly woman appeared in the doorway of the receiving room, partly out of breath with a cane in hand she leaned against for support. Her thick, silver hair was meticulously arranged in fashionable curls around her pale face. Rose-tinted silk flowers had been woven through her tresses, fashionably matching the shade of her elegant lace gown that showcased a slim, well-corseted frame. A long, expensive-looking string of pearls had been draped from her slender throat to her waist as if to emphasize and draw attention to the sizeable breasts surrounding them. Enigmatic bright blue eyes veered toward the duc.
Konstantin set his hands against his back. Waiting.
They stared wordlessly at each other in the pulsing silence.
If the tension visible between them could have been measured by the size of a flame, those stares would have created a blaze the size of whatever burned the sun.
The duc shifted his jaw beneath the mask. He rose. Adjusting his black leather gloves in the manner a duelist might, he walked toward her, his booted steps steady and determined. He paused directly before her.
Widening his muscled stance, the duc gruffly announced, “We will speak in English for the duration of this conversation. Because all things French are dead to me since I left Paris.”
She inclined her head toward him, her eyes never once leaving his masked face.
Konstantin cringed for him.
Andelot squared his jaw. “I am here because I wish to see my granddaughter. I wish to have the sort of relationship with her that you never allowed me to have with my son. I know I am asking for a lot, given how we parted, but I believe I have long since grown as a man and am worthy of that honor.”
In a sultry French-accented voice, she announced breathily, “I never thought I would see you again.” Madame de Maitenon searched the duc’s masked face. “You look well for yourself.”
The duc snorted and leaned in. “Oh, come, my dear. You need not lie. In answer to the question you have not asked, beneath this mask, half my face is gone.”
Madame de Maitenon’s expression
stilled.
Andelot cleared his throat and tugged on his coat. “Can I meet my granddaughter? Is that at all a possibility?”
She brought her hands together and softly said, “Maybelle has left London with her husband.”
The duc’s lips parted below the mask. “She is married?”
“Yes. She married quite recently.”
“And is she happy with the union?”
“Yes. Very.”
“Ah.” He half-nodded. “I am glad to hear it.” He hesitated. “Who did she marry?”
“His Grace the Duke of Rutherford. They are currently on tour and will be visiting every city in Europe before travelling into Egypt. They are not expected to return for another eight months. When she does arrive back into London, you may call on her. I have no doubt she would want to meet her grandpére. As such, I will…I will gladly notify you the moment she returns into town.”
A breath escaped the duke. “I would appreciate that.”
She nodded. “Where shall I send the missive when she arrives, Gérard? So she might call on you in person?”
The duc hesitated and lowered his chin. “I am living at 32 Belgrave Square. I ask, however, that you do not address me by my birth name. It would give me too much hope.”
Madame de Maitenon said nothing.
Andelot set his shoulders and after a few pulsing moments offered, “I thank you for your time, Madame. It was an honor to see you.”
Her blue eyes softened. “And you.”
Konstantin felt like he was watching something he shouldn’t. It felt very personal.
Andelot inclined his head. “I wish you a good-day.” He rigidly rounded Madame de Maitenon, brushing past her. Disappearing into the corridor, he called out, “Levin, in case you have not noticed, I am leaving.” The man opened the door to the entrance and walked out, leaving the door wide open, allowing the afternoon summer air and wind to blow in.
The elderly woman glanced toward Konstantin, tears now visibly gathering in those overwhelmed bright blue eyes. She pursed her lips in a noble attempt not to cry.
Konstantin swallowed. “He needed to see you. He was sitting in a carriage outside your window every night for weeks.”
A trembling hand touched her face as she blindly attempted to use the cane to walk to a chair. A sob escaped her.
Konstantin darted toward her and grabbed her hand and her corseted waist, knowing full well she wasn’t going to make it. He turned her and gently eased her into the nearest chair, his chest tightening.
She swiped at her tears with one hand, her manicured fingers trembling. She grabbed Konstantin’s arm, searching his face with a tear-streaked pale face that flickered with distraught emotion. “Where did the scarring come from? The ones hidden beneath the mask? What happened to him?”
Knowing he owed the woman a measure of comfort, he offered, “He never told me. But he mentioned it happened whilst trying to escape France. After you had arranged transportation for him.”
Her hand jumped to her mouth. She closed her eyes, letting another tear slip down her cheek and said through her quaking hand, “Leave me.”
He seated himself in a chair beside her. “I will leave once I am assured you are less distressed.”
“Whilst kind,” she choked out, “that will take more time than you have.”
“I have time, Madame,” he gently offered. “Do you require anything? Shall I call for one of your servants?”
“No. Thank you.” She lowered her hand and sniffed softly. “Might I ask who you are to him?”
He inclined his head. “I am Mr. Levin. I am a friend.”
“How long have you known him?”
“A few months. Though most of it was never in his presence.”
“You have a heavy accent.” Her eyes cut to his. “Are you from Russia?”
“Yes.” Konstantin shifted toward her in his seat. “I wish to assure you that in my country, Andelot is well-known for being everything a man should be. He is a legend in Moscow and is a patron to the poor and all things good. He is incredibly generous. Overly generous. To me and to everyone.”
She reached out and delicately touched his arm. “Care for him, Mr. Levin. I am afraid I was always too proud to do right by him. He needs a true friend. The sort he has never had due to his status and upbringing. Promise me you will be a good friend to him.”
It was obvious this woman was still in love with Andelot. “I will ensure he stays out of trouble.”
“Merci.” She removed her hand. She hesitated. “Please tell him I am engaged to be married to Lord Hughes. He needs to know.”
Oh, damn. The duc was going to have a fit. And yet…Konstantin sensed she was telling him as if she was hoping Andelot would do something about it. “Pardon my asking, but is there any hope for him?”
She hesitated. “I am not ready to answer that. Thank you for staying, Mr. Levin. It was very kind of you. I am quite well now.” Her tone hinted that she wanted to be alone.
“Of course.” Konstantin rose and also inclined his head. “Should you require anything, please send a missive to me at 32 Belgrave Square and address it to my name. I should be there for at least another two weeks until I find a place of my own. When I move, I will forward the new address.”
“I appreciate your generosity.” She swiped away the last of her tears. “Au revoir, Mr. Levin.”
Konstantin hesitated, nodded and then awkwardly turned, a raw heaviness eating away at his chest and his mind. Once he was outside the townhouse and had gently shut the entrance door the duc had left open, Konstantin hissed out a breath in complete exasperation. He had clearly walked into the middle of a broken affair that had been simmering for well over twenty years.
Jogging down the stairs and landing on the pavement, he paused, realizing the duc was leaning against a lamppost two doors down.
Two younger women with parasols slowed and stared at the duc’s masked face.
The duc inclined his head.
They grabbed each other’s arms and scurried by with a quick rustle of skirts as if they had just glimpsed the devil.
Konstantin sighed and strode toward the man. Coming to a halt before the man, he confessed, “I think you did well.”
Andelot held his gaze, all emotion hidden beneath that black velvet mask. “Why were you in there so long?”
“She was crying. I was trying to console her.”
Andelot glanced away. He said nothing.
Konstantin cleared his throat, knowing he needed to say it. “She uh…she wanted me to inform you she is engaged.”
Andelot snapped his gaze toward him, his chest rising and falling visibly. “Is that what she said?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus.” The duc pushed away from the lamppost with a gloved hand and rasped, “Have you ever loved a woman so much that the very breath in your throat is no longer yours but hers?”
Konstantin swallowed. He didn’t know about love, but he did know he still couldn’t sleep at night without thinking he could smell Cecilia’s perfume on his own skin. And every time he looked at his watch, he thought of how she had lain naked with it, her slim fingers opening and closing the silver lid in playful fascination. “I have come close to knowing it.”
“Pray you never do.” Andelot veered in close. “Did she tell who she is marrying?”
“A certain Lord Hughes.”
Andelot squinted. “Hughes. I know that name. I see him from time to time over at the…” Andelot glanced back toward the townhouse. After a few pulsing moments, he swung away. Striding back to the carriage, whilst tugging on the sleeves of his coat, he said, “I deserve this.”
Konstantin huffed out an irked breath. “So you are just going to walk away? You are going to let her marry this Hughes? Is that what you are saying?”
The duc jerked to a halt. He turned and quickly strode back to Konstantin. “I have no face.”
Konstantin glared. “There is more to you than your face.”
&nbs
p; “Such sentiment is beautiful on the tongue but in reality, it is untrue. I have to pay women to bed me.”
That was a little too much information. “You should go back and talk to her.”
“No.” Andelot swung away again and headed back toward the carriage. “She knows where I live.”
Konstantin swallowed and genuinely wished he could help Andelot. But who was he to give advice about women? He couldn’t even hold onto the woman destiny had handed to him in a coach at midnight.
Nine days later – 10:03 p.m.
Next door to 32 Belgrave Square
Konstantin’s warm hand smoothed away the pinned curls from her forehead as he leaned in and trailed soft, soft kisses up the curve of her throat. The tips of his calloused fingers gently skimmed down toward her breasts, that lingering touch promising her a lifetime of all things beautiful and romantic. It was pulse rending. It was genuine. It was divine.
She didn’t want to wake up.
But of course she did.
A tap on her shoulder startled her awake. “Mother,” Abigail’s voice whispered down at her. She tapped Cecilia’s shoulder a bit more aggressively. “Mother, are you awake?”
No matter how old they got, they still interrupted one’s sleep. “I am now,” Cecilia murmured, drowsily rolling toward her daughter and dragging the linens with her. She squinted up at Abigail, realizing all three of her daughters were standing at different heights beside her four-poster bed, fully dressed in their morning gowns and satin slippers as if it were two in the afternoon. The eldest, Giselle, regally held up a candle that illuminated their pale, oval faces in a soft, wavering glow of the bedchamber.
Her girls only ever came to her as a group when there was a problem. A serious one. Cecilia sat straight up, her heart pounding. “For heaven’s sake, what is it? What happened? Why are all of you dressed?”
Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) Page 12