Pierre laughed. “You do not care for champagne? That is the finest in all of Paris.”
I smiled. “Perhaps I’d like the least fine. In all honesty, I’d love a cup of tea.”
He smiled with me. “Then you shall have it,” he said. He snapped his fingers at a servant and bent to whisper in his ear. The servant rushed off.
Lillian and Nell drew near, eyelashes fluttering. Andrew and Vivian stood off in a corner, as if they really didn’t care to be here any longer. If he accepts me, I thought, they surely don’t wish to accept him. “Tell me, Lord de Richelieu,” Nell said, “are any of your other family members at home? Are there others?”
I covered my smile by looking downward. Clearly, the girl was wondering if there might not be a few younger brothers around the corner…
“My friends are my family,” he said, throwing his arms wide, gesturing toward all of us. “Won’t you help me fill my empty halls by staying with me for the duration of your time here in Paris? I will introduce you to my other friends, and tomorrow, I am to host a masked ball. You all must be in attendance.”
The girls chattered in excitement. “A masked ball!” Lillian said, clapping her hands. “Father hosted one when I came of age.”
“I’m certain the young gentlemen came from far and wide to present themselves,” Pierre said, nodding toward her.
Antonio had been right. Pierre was truly sweet, but he also embodied flirtation, from head to toe. I’d have to watch myself around him.
“The only question is if we can get you all costumed in time. I do not suppose you travel with costumes.”
I let out a little laugh. “Uh, no.” What sort of people might travel with costumes in their trunks, other than actors or performers?
“I thought not. But it’s quite the elaborate function, you see, and many have had their costumes on order for months.” He paused, chin in hand, and then raised a finger. “I have the solution.” He spoke in hushed tones with a servant. The man hurried off just as the first arrived with my cup of tea.
I looked around as scents of licorice and lavender wafted up to my nose. Three more servants were stationed about the room, ready to do Pierre’s bidding.
The bear was at my elbow. “If you are certain that we will be no imposition, we’d be honored to be your guests, my lord,” he said. “We depart on Saturday for the countryside.”
“So soon?” Pierre frowned. Then he waved a hand, his expression easing. “No matter. I shall send word to my many friends. They will be your hosts wherever you wish to go.”
“You are most generous,” the bear said.
I sighed in relief. Two new couples arrived, as well as a group of single men and women. Pierre moved off to speak to them, and Vivian sidled near. “Just what do you think you are doing?” she said in a strained whisper.
I gave her a sidelong glance. “Merely taking matters into my own hands for once, sister.”
She stiffened. “You risked our whole experience in Paris with such a declaration.” She did not look at me, only out to the others, smiling demurely toward the newcomers and our host.
“You yourself did the same thing in London. Why is it all right for you to tell of family secrets and not me?”
“You are not family.” She said it so lowly I wondered, for a moment, if I misheard her. “You do not have the right to make such decisions.”
I raised my chin and thought on that for a moment. “The truth affects me, more than any,” I said.
“How selfish of you!” she said, taking a glass of champagne from a waiter. My tea was rapidly cooling in my cup. “Our futures are inextricably entwined. You would do well to remember that.”
“Yes,” I said. “And so would you.”
She looked away, then back to me. “We shall tolerate our ties through the end of the summer, but only until then. After that, you shall go on your way, with whatever guilt money Father feels he must fill your pockets with, and we shall go ours. Agreed?”
I stared at her. Could she possibly be so cruel? And was she truly speaking for the whole group? Not that I wished to be together forever, nor had I thought of anything beyond the summer. The idea of sharing a Christmas with this cold woman and her bristly beau made me nauseous. “I can’t imagine ever wishing to see you again,” I said brightly.
Her eyes narrowed. “Good, then.”
“Good,” I repeated. I moved away, my eyes inexplicably filling with tears. She’d wounded me, just when I’d thought she’d already done all she could. I thought I was ready to handle them all, head-on, shoulders back, chin up.
But over and over again, she found new ways to twist the knife.
“Cora,” Will said lowly, eyebrows lowered in concern, reaching out to me as I passed. But I shook my head and brushed by, out into the hall and down it. I turned a corner and went to the end of that, drawn by tall doors covered by curtains. I was relieved to find them unlocked, and I hurried through, quietly closing them behind me.
I was alone on a small balcony. Taking deep breaths of the cooling evening air, I desperately tried to hold back my tears. Why do I care, Lord? Why do I care if Vivian accepts me? I clenched the marble balustrade in my hands and leaned against it, lifting my face to the sky. I was resolving to not care, to pretend as if Vivian did not exist, to show her, when my mother’s words came back to me. Bitterness leads nowhere but down. Accept God’s love, even if you don’t understand His ways. And out of respect of that love, love others, even when you don’t wish to.
She’d said it in reference to my anger over Papa’s stroke, my railing against the heavens for lowering him so, just when we had been poised at the door of such a sweet future together. In those first terrible days, I could sense God’s presence, Him holding me close even when I felt so completely, achingly set adrift. Now here I was again, feeling terribly lost, but I felt none of that holy reassurance. I sighed and closed my eyes, concentrating on nothing but my breath, my heartbeat, the sound of the birds in the air, the breeze on my face.
I thought of my papa, his arms around my shoulders, holding me. I thought of my mama, taking my face in her hands and leaning forward to touch my forehead to hers. Of suppers when we spoke of nothing but the weather, or the cows, or the sprouts, or old Mrs. Chandler down the road, who needed help with the chores when her rheumatism acted up. I wished I was sitting down at the old pine table tonight, with the knots that looked like faces and food that was simple and served on one plate all at once.
But I wasn’t. I wasn’t.
“Help me remember who I was,” I whispered to the wind. “Who I am. And show me, please show me, who I am to become.”
CHAPTER 26
William
Uncle Stuart crowed over their good fortune and spouted praises of the French until Will fought the urge to ask him to be quiet. They were sharing a room in the hotel, but tomorrow their party would move to Chateau Richelieu, which, in Will’s eyes, was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, they’d be accomplishing what Uncle Stuart wanted most—to introduce their clients to each city’s society—and Will wouldn’t have to share a room with the old man. But on the other, they’d be in the hands of this city’s society, and there was something about Richelieu that Will didn’t entirely trust—beyond the fact that he clearly had an eye for Cora.
Uncle Stuart finally stopped yammering and gave in to slow breathing, which eventually became great, faltering snores. Will sighed and turned over, pulling his pillow on top of his head. The squeaking springs made his uncle pause, as if he’d awakened him, but then slowly, the snoring resumed. Will was utterly exhausted, but his mind was racing. He thought about Cora’s surprise announcement, and a part of him was proud of her for taking matters into her own hands, the other part aghast at the risk she took. But Cora’s expression had been so tense as Vivian spoke to her, and when she’d fled the room as if driven from it, he worried about what the eldest Kensington had said. Cora was quiet through dinner and seemed to revive only when the costumer arrived, m
ethodically taking notes and measurements in order to find the right outfit for each one, as well as a proper mask for the ball the following night, among previously worn and stored gowns and suits.
The thought of his charges all being in costume, in a sea of costumes, agitated Will. How was he to watch over them, protect them, in such a setting? He doubted this would be a small affair. According to Richelieu himself, it would be quite elaborate. Three hundred? Five hundred? The chateau could certainly hold that many. Uncle would have to have a firm word with the group about not taking the proffered champagne at every pass, or Antonio and Will would end up carrying each one of them upstairs as the evening wore on.
On and on his thoughts went, until he finally gave in to sleep in the wee hours. It seemed mere minutes later that his uncle was shaking his shoulder, urging him up. They were to visit Napoleon’s tomb and ride through the Arc de Triomphe on horseback, as the great leader had once hoped to do himself. Then they would return and change for the journey back out to the chateau, to prepare for the evening’s festivities.
Will groaned and made himself sit up, rubbing his face.
“What’s wrong, my boy?” Uncle Stuart said. “Did the bed not agree with you?”
“Something like that,” Will muttered.
“No doubt you were kept up late thinking of pretty Cora in Master Richelieu’s arms.”
Will frowned. Was the old man baiting him? “No. I had other concerns on my mind.”
“No? Well, good then. You know how I feel about fraternizing with—”
“Yes, Uncle Stuart. I know.”
The old bear paused, the ends of his tie in his hands. “So what is it, then? Out with it.”
“It’s the ball. A masked ball? How are we to keep track of the Morgans and Kensingtons? Usually, we don’t encounter such things until Venezia…”
His uncle made a dismissive noise and turned to the mirror to finish tying his knot. “They’ll be fine. It’s precisely this sort of event that will live long in their memories.” He leaned over to pick up his jacket and slipped it on. “And it’s this sort of event that will garner you future tours.”
Will’s eyes shifted to meet his uncle’s gaze. “Truly? You’re ready for me to move on without you?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” the old man said, waving a dismissive hand. “This constant travel is rather wearing. Too wearisome for a man of advanced years. I need to take my retirement upon some lovely porch where I can smoke my pipe, watch sunsets, and flirt with the local widows.”
Will smiled, hope growing in his chest. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Uncle Stuart.”
“Not at all, not at all, my boy. You’ve earned it.”
He looked at his pocket watch and then gave Will a meaningful look from beneath his bushy gray eyebrows. “Best be about it, then, boy. I’ll go and meet the clients for breakfast. Come along shortly?”
Will nodded his head and rose, moving to the sink to run some cold water and splash some onto his face, while his uncle shut the door behind him. He stared at his reflection and grinned. So the old man really is ready to move on… He’d been waiting for this day forever. Uncle had hinted, intimated that he’d like to retire, but he’d never said that this would truly be his last tour.
Next year, freedom. Back to university, perhaps securing a loan for the entire year, guide another group come summer, and with luck, be able to finish the following year. Then he’d be his own man. With a degree in one hand and a map in the other.
Traffic was far worse that day on the streets than any other they’d experienced in Paris. But then they’d never arrived so close to the annual celebration of the French Bastille Day. Will frowned over his shoulder in concern for the group on horseback, as they struggled to stay in pairs, knowing they were safer riding together than they were riding single file. At least it keeps Cora and Vivian from racing, Will thought. It’d be impossible here anyway, in this crowd. One or both would very likely end up with a broken neck.
He rode beside his uncle. “Perhaps this is the last year to include this particular excursion,” he said to the old man. “With Bastille Day around the corner.”
“Perhaps,” Stuart returned, his face settling into deeper lines. “Though it seems wrong to approach the Arc in any other manner other than as Napoleon wished to.”
Two touring cars nearly collided in front of him, and one sounded its horn. Will’s horse shied, and his uncle’s mount reared. Will wrenched his reins left as one vehicle swerved by him on the right, still beeping in frustration. The girls, directly behind him, screamed. But his eyes were on Uncle Stuart. The old man’s horse faltered, shifting dramatically to the left, but remarkably, his uncle clung to his seat.
When the horse was again on all four hooves, prancing about, Stuart circled and took in his group, returning his focus to his clients. “Well, that gave us quite a fright, did it not?” he asked jovially, still looking peaked. “Never fear. We’ll be at the Arc in short order. Onward!” he called, raising one hand as if lifting a sword.
Will shook his head and laughed under his breath. Only he could see the slight tremble revealing his uncle’s fear. He had to admire the man. He had a good forty-five years on Will and seemed able to manage days and nights that would put a far younger man in bed for days. He could still outwalk and outtalk many, and he could outdrink more. He was a force, a legend. And Will couldn’t imagine that Uncle Stuart was truly ready to hang up his hat after this tour.
Day by day, Will told himself. With what I know to be true. Who knew if Uncle Stuart would change his mind tomorrow? Take another tour? Or twelve…
Finally they made it to the Arc and ran their reins through old brass rings on posts.
After everyone had had some water to drink, they set off on the narrow, winding stairs to the terrace atop the arch, which boasted one of the finest views of Paris’s streets anywhere in the city. After two hundred and eighty-four steps, they emerged to the bright sunlight of midmorning. The younger girls traded flirtatious glances with some locals while Andrew and Vivian went off to a far corner, holding hands. Only Cora, Hugh, and Felix listened to the bear droning on about Haussmann’s webbed design for the twelve avenues, Napoleon’s wishes for the arch to become Paris’s symbol of power, the Grand Axis that allowed one to see all the way from the arch to the Place de la Concorde. Will moved over to the edge of the terrace and looked down the wide Avenue des Champs-Élysées.
It truly was a grand design. His hands itched to sketch it, to measure it out and see it on paper as well as by sight, to learn how others had done it so he could emulate the masters. He sighed. Did he really have it in him to be an architect? It was difficult enough, seeing his way to getting through his bachelor’s degree. How long would it take him to become a full-fledged architect if he was taking every summer to guide tours?
He wanted a wife, a family. His fortunes had been cast. He was to be the next great bear, leading the finest Grand Tours of Europe for America’s coddled and spoiled. Why couldn’t he settle into it? Uncle Stuart was retiring; he could run next year’s tour as he wished. But the thought of spending every summer and perhaps more with the likes of Cora’s siblings, tracing the same paths, pointing out the same nuances in each place, avoiding any true and meaningful connections because he was the bear, and they the clients—
“Are you all right?”
Will turned in surprise toward Cora. She was looking up at him with concern in her beautiful eyes. In the sunlight, he could see that her lashes gave way to blonde at the ends, matching her hair. “What? Oh, I’m fine, fine,” he lied, looking away, conscious that he was staring.
“Well, good. You seemed…your expression…well, you appeared sad.”
“Sad in one of the most joyous cities of the world?” he said, forcing a smile. “I think not.” He gestured outward. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“Tomorrow we’ll go to Versailles, so you can see the grand chateau. I think picnickin
g on Marie Antoinette’s favorite hill, and this view from the Arc, live long in the memory of those who come to France.”
“Mmm. I imagine.”
He turned to move toward his uncle, who was waving. Cora moved alongside him. “We’ll ride bicycles—do you ride?” Will asked.
“I do.”
“Good. We’ll ride bicycles around the perimeter of the lake and have a picnic. As grand as Versailles’s chateau is, it’s far grander to be on her grounds.”
“That will be welcome. I don’t know how many more monuments or grand homes my mind can take in.”
He laughed in surprise. “But we’ve just begun.”
“I know,” she said ruefully.
“It is a lot,” he whispered. “I’ll try to get him to slow down.” He nodded toward the old bear.
She smiled back in appreciation and then moved off.
At least when he was bear, he told himself, he could modify the schedule to better suit himself and his clients. It wasn’t all he wanted, but it was something.
As they were returning, Will caught a headline on a newsstand and circled back. A boy hawking papers turned to him and said, “Paper, monsieur?”
“Oui.” He fished a coin out of his pocket, and the boy handed him a folded newspaper. Will eyed his clients, who had paused up ahead to wait for him, and then scanned the paper, looking for what he sought. There.
“Montana Copper Strike Averted,” he translated from the French. His eyes widened—it was about the Kensington-Morgan mine in Butte. He was deciding to read and share it with his clients later when a line caught his eye. He double-checked it and then grinned, remembering Cora at the dinner table at the lake and her suggestion. He nudged his horse’s flanks and joined the others. They moved out in pairs, down the street.
“Why do you look so smug?” asked Hugh, beside him.
“Just some news from home.”
Andrew looked over his shoulder at him. “What is it?”
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