“Why you…” Will said in a furious sneer, pulling back his fist.
“No, Will!” I cried.
But it was too late.
He rammed his fist into Pierre’s face and sent him sprawling.
CHAPTER 30
William
“Pierre!” Cora screamed, running to him.
But he was already scrambling to his feet, rising to meet Will’s charge.
Two men from the maze had exited and were running to his aid. Antonio was behind Will, waiting for Richelieu to get up.
“No!” Cora said, coming between Will and Richelieu. She put a hand to his chest and the other to Richelieu’s. “Will, there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said, panting. “You owe Lord de Richelieu an apology.”
Seeing the insistent look in her eyes, Will could feel the color drain from his face. He’d thought that Cora had been fleeing from Richelieu, but perhaps she’d been running from the other men in the maze. He glared at the two of them, now on either side of their host. Richelieu rubbed his cheek and warily studied Will. A crowd was forming around them, including Hugh and Andrew.
“Cora,” Will said carefully. “Tell me what happened. Your dress—”
“Nothing!” she said, clearly horrified. “We were playing a game of hide-and-seek in the maze, and my dress got caught in the bushes.”
A look of shock ran through Richelieu’s face. “Vous pensiez que je…” You thought I… He straightened, and his eyes hardened. Muscles in his jaw twitched. “Monsieur, I pride myself on respecting a woman’s honor as well as her wishes. I am French, but I am a gentleman.”
Will swallowed hard. He took a deep breath. “Of course you are. I am very sorry, my lord. I only sought to come to Cora’s aid. I made a hasty assumption. Please, forgive me.” He touched his chest and bowed his head. He wished the man would take a swing at him, make things even.
But Richelieu only gave him a solitary nod. “You are Miss Cora’s protector, and for that I am grateful. You acted out of care for her, and because I, too, care for her, I shall overlook your attack.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Will said, still wishing he’d just hit him. It’d be easier to deal with than owing their host an additional debt. Uncle Stuart would lecture him for hours. Never had he gotten himself into such a mess before.
“It is very late. Perhaps it’s best if we all said good night,” Richelieu said.
“Thank you, Pierre,” Cora said, reaching up as if to touch his cheek, then pulling away. “I am so sorry it ended as it did.”
“As am I. I shall see you tomorrow?”
“We plan to go to Versailles,” Cora said, apologetic.
“Ah, that’s right.” He hesitated. Cora did too, and Will moved on, feeling as if he was intruding. He looked at Antonio and, with one glance, knew the man would wait to escort Cora. Will led the others to the chateau, enduring ribbing from Andrew and Hugh all the way.
“I’m only disappointed it didn’t come to full fisticuffs,” Andrew said. “A good fight would be a welcome relief.”
Will rolled his eyes. That would have been utter disaster. They were lucky, as it was, that Richelieu hadn’t been so offended that he showed them out the door despite the hour. But it didn’t bode well that he was so drawn to Cora that he didn’t toss them out either.
“I’ve been wondering if she has a bit more of her mother in her than we’d been led to believe,” Hugh said with a wink.
Will turned, grabbing hold of Hugh’s ruffled jacket in both hands and ramming him into a portico column. “Don’t ever speak of her in such a manner. She is a lady, regardless of her parentage.”
Hugh stared back at him, eyes wide with shock.
Andrew took hold of Will’s arm and wrenched him backward. “Enough, Will.”
Hugh brushed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Will. “So, I was right in assuming the tutor wishes he had more of sweet Cora than the tour rules allow.”
Will surged toward him again, but Andrew held him back. “Stop it,” Will seethed, trying to pull his arms free of Andrew’s hold.
But Hugh stepped toward him, his eyes widening with understanding. “It’s true. You’re jealous.”
“I am not. I was merely seeking to come to her aid. As I would for Lillian. Or Nell. Or you, for that matter.” He shook off Andrew’s hold and then led them onward, into the chateau and toward the staircase that led to their rooms. Both men were silent for once, which told Will they didn’t believe him. It didn’t matter; all he wanted was to fall into bed and into such a deep slumber that, for some hours, he wouldn’t remember the awful way the evening had ended. In the morning, he could cope.
But tonight, it seemed impossible.
Will awakened stiff and sore. He forced himself to his bath and into clothes, so he’d be ready for anyone who came to his door. He hoped to fit in a brief walk before breakfast, needing time under the trees, a chance to pray, in order to be fortified for the battles ahead. And there would be battles. Uncle Stuart, for one, once he found out about the altercation last night. Managing the clients, when they were less than respectful. Cora… Who knew how that would be resolved? And facing Richelieu? He cringed and rubbed his face. Strength, Lord. Give me strength.
He was glad he’d gotten that time in before Uncle Stuart found him on a bench beneath the trees. The portly man came toward him, hands behind his back, chin down, as if deep in thought. He sat beside Will, and they both stared at the sprawling gardens and the chateau beyond it.
“So you’ve heard,” Will said.
“I have.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Stuart. Truly. It was an honest mistake.”
“A grievous error. But understandable.” He sighed. “I have greater concerns.”
Will hesitated. What could be heavier on the older man’s mind? “Such as?”
“Your feelings for Miss Cora.”
“I have no more feelings for Miss Cora than I have for any of our clients,” Will said. The words, though he wanted to believe them, felt false. He frowned.
“No?”
His frown deepened, and he met his uncle’s gaze. “No,” he insisted.
His uncle continued to stare at him, searching his eyes, until he acquiesced. “All right, then,” he said, rising. “Time to go and face our host.”
Will sighed and followed behind him by a few steps, feeling every bit the small child as he had been when he had first come to live with his uncle.
But when they reached the blue breakfast room that held eight round tables to accommodate guests for small functions, their host did not arrive. Only other guests, looking rather worse for wear after a night short of sleep. Richelieu sent his regrets via a servant, and after Uncle Stuart gave Will a meaningful look, no one chatted but the youngest girls, who were blissfully unaware of anything that had gone on the night before, besides the marvelous ball.
Will picked at his food, chewing a croissant until it was paste in his mouth, wishing they were scheduled to leave for Provence today, rather than in a few days. At least they wouldn’t have to be back here at the Richelieu chateau until nightfall. With any luck, they wouldn’t see their host until tomorrow, and perhaps the day’s respite would have soothed his ruffled feathers.
Perhaps.
They stopped in an open-air market in a village outside of Versailles, picking up bread, cheese, chocolate, strawberries, and wine, reputedly Marie Antoinette’s picnic items of choice, according to Uncle Stuart. The groceries were loaded into backpacks, and they all took rented bicycles from a rack. Lillian shared a tandem bike with Will, since she said she wasn’t very adept at riding. Will was already weary. By day’s end, he’d be exhausted. That was fine by him. The more spent he was by nightfall, the more likely he would be to fall into a dreamless sleep.
Dreams were unwelcome. They frequently consisted of his mother and father, his mother welcoming him with open arms, over and over, his father patting his back… Seeing his parents made waking painful, their dream time tog
ether always cut short.
“Look out, Will!” Cora cried, riding past, the first she’d spoken to him since last night.
He opened his eyes wide and swerved, narrowly missing a tree.
“Should I be steering?” Lillian asked nervously from behind him when they were once again on a steady course.
“No, no. Sorry. I was just distracted for a moment. It won’t happen again.” The silly girl barely pedaled, and he had to work very hard to keep them upright. Now she thought she should steer? Frustration bloomed in his chest. Everything was falling apart around him, which he knew was an overreaction, which in turn made him all the more agitated. What was wrong with him?
Pull yourself together, Will, he told himself. Calm and collected, that was how Uncle Stuart liked him to be. Such demeanor reassured their clients. Calm and collected, calm and collected, calm and collected…
He focused on the dirt path before them, the long line of tall green trees on either side, the green pasture beyond a wooden fence, where horses busily grazed on long grasses. The group stopped near a small hamlet, where they reclined on the grass as Uncle Stuart lectured them on how Marie Antoinette had it built to remind her of her native Austria and often escaped there to “play” at farm life. “Immaculate livestock, bathed daily, were about, and the queen liked to feed them. She even milked the dairy cow,” he said. “It was a welcome respite for the queen from the constant positioning that took place up at the chateau. She only invited her most trusted friends here.”
They moved back to their bicycles to head toward the Grand Trianon, a smaller palace on one end of the Grand Lac, the man-made lake that spread out from the chateau, but Cora hesitated, staring at the timber-and-plaster buildings with thatched roofs. “Cora?” Will asked. Lillian looked from him to Cora and back again, plainly curious.
Cora jumped, startled out of her reverie, and turned to him.
“Ready?” he added.
She nodded hurriedly and passed by them. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the Grand Trianon and walked through the massive pink columns to the patio that edged the lake. Shaped in the form of a cross, the Grand Lac was deep enough for boats and took a good hour to ride around on bikes. Riding—either in a carriage, in a coach, or by bicycle—was truly the best means to explore it.
Uncle Stuart lectured for a bit about it, and they headed off again, toward the next arm of the lake, riding along a path that traced the waterway. They parked their bikes and walked down a broad hill. At the far end, in the distance, was the massive staircase lined by sculptures, and the sprawling chateau, a monument of white. It reminded Will of a king sitting on a green throne.
“My goodness, isn’t it beautiful?” Nell said.
“Can you imagine picnicking here every afternoon?” Lillian added, looping her arm through her friend’s.
“It’s lovely,” Vivian said, waiting as Andrew spread out the blanket for them. “No wonder the queen loved it.”
Women always seemed entranced by Marie Antoinette. And the young men liked the vivid drama of the French revolution, the royals driven out, necks placed upon bloody guillotines.
Felix lay down on Vivian and Andrew’s blanket. “Ahh, that’s perfect, Drew, thanks,” he said, closing his eyes and lacing his fingers over his chest. “I’ll just take a quick nap. You know, recover from our arduous ride, and then hand it over to you two for a go.”
“Felix Kensington!” Vivian chided.
But Andrew merely smiled and grabbed hold of the side of the blanket with two hands, then quickly lifted it, neatly sending Felix tumbling away. The group laughed as Felix pantomimed his outrage.
Hugh spread a blanket out and gestured for Cora to join him. Will could see her hesitation, but there was little that he could do about it—after last night, the worst thing he could do was to invite her to sit with him instead. He needed to steer clear of her, pretend he hardly thought about her. At least until tensions cooled. Then—perhaps then—they could resume their friendship.
He ignored the cocky look of triumph Hugh tossed his way as Cora sat down on the corner of the blanket.
The ladies had brought out their parasols, and they’d just gotten settled, distributing the picnic items, when a large boat appeared in the center of the lake, covered with a fabric roof to keep out the sun. “What is that?” Nell asked, pointing.
“I’ve seen canoes and rowboats, a few small sailing boats,” Uncle Stuart said, “but never a boat of those proportions on this lake.”
Will chewed on a chunk of bread, thinking back to his studies on Versailles. “Didn’t Louis XVI once cavort about the lake in something similar, Uncle?” he asked.
Uncle Stuart nodded, thinking. “I do believe you’re right, Will. Along with yachts sent to him from distant kings and gondolas from the doge of Venice.”
Six sets of oars were rowing in tandem, three on either side of the big boat, and it soon drew near. The girls giggled with excitement when a call went up inside and the rowing stopped, but the boat continued to drift toward them. At last it bumped up against the shore, and immediately, a gangplank was lowered.
“Oh my,” Nell said, hand at her throat.
“What is it?” Lillian asked.
Out walked Pierre de Richelieu, dressed in a fine summer suit, complete with jacket, vest, and ascot. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making him appear as a prince of another period. He grinned at their surprised expressions and walked straight to Cora.
When he got closer, they all could see the purple bruise on his cheek, the slight swelling. But he was looking only at Cora.
“Miss Cora,” he said, getting down on one knee. “Last night did not end as we wished, but today, I’m determined to give you your prize.” He gestured back at the boat. “Please, come with me, and you shall do nothing but drift and dream for an hour.”
Uncle Stuart finally seemed to awaken from his surprised stupor. “You are most kind, my lord. But I’m afraid we have to get on toward the chateau directly after our picnic—”
“All I ask for is an hour with Cora,” Richelieu said, meeting Uncle Stuart’s gaze and cutting a glance to Will. “We shall meet you at the chateau.”
“But we have her bike,” Will tried.
“That is no great difficulty. I’ll send a servant to fetch it, and we’ll bring it with us. There’s plenty of room for it.” He tucked his head and stared at the bear, waiting the briefest of moments for the approval he knew would come. Uncle Stuart nodded his assent, and Richelieu reached out a hand to Cora. “Come away with me for a bit, Cora.”
Glancing back at Will, she hesitated and then placed her hand in Richelieu’s. They walked to the boat, hand in hand, and he helped her up the gangplank and into the boat. A servant ran up the hill for the bike, then disappeared inside the boat, the gangplank following after him. Six sets of oars set into motion again.
“Well, for heaven’s sake, cease your fretting,” Vivian said, turning from the sight. “We’ll see her in an hour. They’re not sailing off into the sunset! I, for one, am glad that Lord de Richelieu has seen fit to look beyond last night’s…misunderstanding.”
“As am I,” Andrew said, pouring Vivian more wine.
“I think it’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever, ever seen,” Nell said dreamily, chin in hands.
Hugh and Felix groaned.
“We have a problem,” Uncle muttered to Will, sitting down heavily beside him.
“I know,” Will said.
A pirate had just kidnapped one of their clients. And there wasn’t a blessed thing they could do about it.
CHAPTER 31
Cora
It was the most extraordinary boat I’d ever been on. Like something in the storybooks about the Egyptians or Venetians, with slaves down below, propelling us forward. I doubted Pierre would be anything but a benevolent employer, but with the heat of the day, I worried over our oarsmen.
“Are they all right?” I asked, peering down through a small space, where I coul
d glimpse men pulling hard on their oars.
“They’re fine. And earning quite handsome pay. Now you must take your wished-for hour of silence and make it all worth your while.” He put his finger to his lips and smiled at me, then led me to the end of the boat, where there was a pile of pillows awaiting me.
I stared up at him. Once again, I felt the yawning distance between me and Montana, wondering just what sort of dreamscape I’d found myself in. I might as well have been Alice in her wonderland, so foreign was it.
He laughed and brushed a hand under my chin. “Honestly, Cora. Take it as the gift it is. I ask nothing in return.” He gestured toward the pillows, and I settled into them, realizing that they hid a lounge chair underneath. Pierre settled into another, several feet away, risking no sense of impropriety as a servant poured us tea and then set individual trays of tea sandwiches near each of us. We both faced forward, watching the chateau slowly edge nearer, as if we drifted on a cloud.
“How did you manage all of this?” I asked. “In just a morning’s time?”
He put a finger to his lips, shushing me again, then tossed a small sandwich in his mouth and pulled a book and pencil from his pocket. The lone remaining servant on deck stood in the rear of the boat, steering it.
I’d asked for an hour of silence, in which nothing was required of me. An hour in which I could just be.
And he was giving it to me.
A part of me wished he’d simply come up by himself in a rowboat, but I supposed when one was raised in a chateau, with elaborate parties like we’d experienced last night, nothing so basic would do in a place like Versailles. His world was full of grand gestures.
I looked over at him, again opening my mouth to speak, but he shook his head, his handsome eyes crinkling at the corners with glee.
I gave in then, smiling with him.
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