They were kept waiting only a brief time before a neatly dressed man with thinning hair entered the room through a separate door. His smile and soft brown eyes struck her as friendly. Adele’s rigid spine began to soften.
“You’ve come for Mr. Fletcher?” he asked.
Harry inclined his head. “We have, sir.”
The man lowered into a chair across from where she and Harry sat side-by-side, introducing himself as Monsieur Jaubert and welcoming them to La Grande Force.
Harry provided their names.
“I had hoped someone would come for the gentleman. I imagine he is eager to be released.” Monsieur Jaubert’s politeness and reasonable manner were as pleasantly surprising as the parlor. “Are you family?”
“In a matter of time. My sister is betrothed to Mr. Fletcher.”
Monsieur Jaubert aimed a sympathetic smile at Adele. “My lady, do you understand your betrothed has been accused of thievery?”
“Yes sir, I understand the charges.” Adele scooted to the edge of the settee to plead Marcus’s case. “But Mr. Fletcher is innocent.”
“I heard the necklace was found on his person. Was I misinformed?”
Adele dared not look in her brother’s direction for fear Monsieur Jaubert would discern the identity of the true thief. Instead, she proceeded as if he hadn’t posed a question. “Mr. Fletcher could not have taken Madame le Shavell’s necklace, because he was with me last night.”
“Ah, I see.” The amused tilt of the man’s eyebrow and smirk sent a wave of heat washing over her.
Harry’s fingers curled into a fist. “My sister and Mr. Fletcher are to be married in two days. It is not your place to comment.”
“Your sister’s affairs do not concern me, my lord, nor does Madame le Shavell’s necklace, since it is still in her possession. Mr. Fletcher will be released once his fine has been paid.”
Adele exhaled, smiling at Harry. As her brother had predicted, the only thing standing between Marcus and freedom was a small bribe. Harry didn’t meet her eye; his expression was hard and unchanged as if he were chiseled from marble.
“How much?” he asked.
“One hundred pounds.”
Adele gasped. Their rent money was barely a fourth of what he demanded. “That is outrageous. Where are we to find such a large sum?”
Monsieur Jaubert shrugged, and it struck her how deceptively cunning he had been, luring her into a false sense of hope. “Lady Adele, I am certain you and your brother will find a way to gather the funds. I am consistently impressed with the English when it comes to such matters. In the meantime, Mr. Fletcher is welcome to stay at La Grande Force as long as necessary.”
She bristled. “This is extortion.”
“Adele,” Harry said softly.
She bolted from the settee, frustrated and furious with the man unfairly holding Marcus. “You sir, are no better than the criminals you lock away here. How dare you misuse your position? I demand to speak with your commander.”
“I am afraid that is impossible,” Monsieur Jaubert said with a wry smile. “My superior has entrusted me with the running of the prison, and he is pleased with my performance. He would not see you, even if I posed your request to him. Perhaps he would demand I increase Mr. Fletcher’s fine for inconveniencing him.”
Adele trembled with barely checked rage as scalding tears pooled in her eyes. Harry stood, taking her arm.
“Hold your tongue,” he whispered. To Monsieur Jaubert, he sketched a bow. “Thank you for your time, sir. We will come around with the funds as soon as we are able.”
Harry ushered her out the door before she could gather her thoughts. When they stepped outside the prison, she jerked free of her brother’s grip. “I wanted to see Marcus.”
She tried to re-enter the building, but Harry captured her arm and tugged her toward the main thoroughfare. “Not today,” he said. “You’ve already angered Monsieur Jaubert. If he demands more money, it will be impossible to raise the funds.”
“How will we ever raise a hundred pounds? It is already an impossible task.” They couldn’t even pay their rent in full every quarter.
“I do not know.” As they reached the main road, Harry hailed a hack. “I will think of something.”
He handed Adele into the carriage, spoke with the coachman, and climbed in to sit on the bench across from her. As the carriage lurched into traffic, he stared out the window. His fingers tapped the seat cushion beside him, a telltale sign he was already deep in thought.
“If you are contemplating another theft,” she said, “I might strangle you.”
The drumming stopped; he frowned. “Your faith in my thieving abilities is sweet, but I believe your patience would wear thin waiting for me to steal a hundred pounds’ worth of trinkets.”
“What patience? I have none for you after this mess you have created.”
“Fair enough.” He returned to watching the scenery.
Adele wished he would quarrel with her like he usually did. A good row might clear the air and get them working together on a plan. When the carriage stopped outside Marcus’s building, she sat up straighter. “Why have we come here?”
“Wait in the carriage,” he said as the door swung open. “Perhaps I can find something of value in his belongings we can trade.”
“Oh, that is very good thinking, Harry.”
She granted his request to wait with the carriage, eager to see what her brother uncovered. Harry exited the building several moments later appearing none too happy. He rejoined her in the carriage and dropped on the bench.
“The door is locked and the landlord refuses to allow me entrance.”
“Did you explain that I am Mr. Fletcher’s betrothed?”
“I did, and he does not care. He says no one is allowed in his tenants’ rooms without the tenant.”
When the carriage continued toward their destination, she and Harry stared glumly out the windows.
“I could write to Father for the money,” Harry muttered.
His offer stole her breath. “You—you would do that for Marcus?”
Her brother had sworn on several occasions he would rather starve in a Paris gutter than beg their father for mercy again. Before Harry had arranged for them to travel with Lady Liliwen, he had gone to their father to ask for forgiveness and assistance. Their father had turned Harry away without hearing his plea.
Her brother’s earnest gaze bore into her heart. “I would do it for you.”
Fresh tears clogged her throat; she swallowed against them. Harry had given up everything for her, but to set aside his pride... “You’ve done so much for me already. I do not know how to thank you.”
One side of Harry’s mouth arched higher when he smiled—lending him a light-heartedness he likely didn’t feel. “You are my sister, half-wit. No thanks are necessary. You would do the same for me.”
Adele hoped that was true. What if she didn’t possess the same mettle her brother did? She had never been in a position to make a sacrifice for him, and she prayed Harry was never in any trouble that required her help.
They agreed both would write to their father and passed the remainder of the ride home in contemplative silence. Adele was unpinning her hat in the entry of their small apartment when a knock sounded at the door.
“Are you expecting anyone?” she called to her brother in the other room.
Harry’s brow was furrowed when he exited his small bedchamber. “No.”
She hurriedly hung up her hat and moved into the sitting room so her brother could answer the door.
A vision in green silk burst inside as soon as the door cracked open. Madame le Shavell threw herself into Harry’s arms.
“Harry, my love. Thank God, you are alive.”
The marchioness captured his face between her white kid gloves, emblazoned with her husband’s family coat of arms across the back of her hand, and planted a loud kiss on Harry’s mouth. “I feared for your life.”
Harry unwo
und the woman’s arms from around his neck and tossed a hassled glance in Adele’s direction that she couldn’t interpret. Did he wish to be alone with the auburn-haired beauty, or did he want Adele’s interference?
When the marchioness grabbed for his cravat to untie it, Adele gestured toward her bedchamber.
“I have a task awaiting me,” she mumbled, “if you will excuse me.”
She darted into the room and closed the door to hide the mortified blush she could feel rising in her cheeks. She crossed to the washstand to pour water into the basin and splashed it on her face.
The closed door did little to shield her from the conversation in the sitting room. Harry scolded the marchioness for coming to his apartment and demanded she behave.
“My sister is an innocent. I will not allow you to scandalize her.”
Madame le Shavell harrumphed. “I love you, and you treat me no better than a common trollop.”
“Stop,” he snapped. “I have no idea what game you are playing, but I want no part of it.”
Adele moved to the window, pretending the activity on the street below was more intriguing than the exchange in the sitting room. Harry wouldn’t be fooled for a moment if he walked through her door, but neither would he believe her if she feigned interest in a book, and there was very little to do in her bedchamber.
“There is no game, Harry,” the marchioness said in a sulky tone. “I needed reassurance that all is well with you.”
“My sister’s betrothed has been incarcerated, and we are unable to arrange for his release. All is far from well, Madame.”
“I do not know what you expect me to do about your sister’s betrothed. I’ve never met the man.”
“You could honor our agreement, so I might pay his fine.”
Madame le Shavell scoffed. “You fool, the Marchioness de le Shavell does not pay for any man’s attentions. I came here to save your life. That is payment enough.”
Harry issued a frustrated growl. “Do I appear to be in any danger? I want you to leave.”
“It would serve you right if I left without warning you that Frederique intends to kill you.”
Adele’s heart stilled.
“Your husband knows about us?” Harry sounded unnaturally calm. “How?”
“I had to tell him. An innocent man is in prison. My conscience demanded I reveal the truth.”
Harry cursed. “You are enjoying this. His jealousy entertains you.”
“A little,” Madame le Shavell admitted with a girlish giggle. “Frederique loses interest like most men, but I have discovered a way to regain his attention. Nevertheless, I am fond of you and do not wish to see you murdered.”
“How kind of you.” Angry footsteps moved in the direction of the front door. “Get out.”
“Don’t be silly. I should stay to reason with Frederique when he arrives. He will not listen to you.”
“Get out,” Harry shouted.
“But—“
“Now!”
The door slammed a moment later.
When Harry barged into her room, Adele spun away from the window.
“Gather your belongings quickly,” he said. “Shavell cannot find us here.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Hurry, Adele. He is likely to shoot both of us in his rage.”
She blinked as understanding hit her, and she bolted for her bed to retrieve the valise she had stored beneath it. “Where will we go?”
Her brother had already left. He could be heard slamming drawers in the room next to hers.
She had given everything of value to her brother to sell months ago, but the items she packed meant everything to her—a volume of poetry Harry had given her one Christmas, her mother’s brush and comb, a stack of paper embossed with her name, a love letter from Marcus.
Marcus. She couldn’t leave him in Paris.
Her brother stormed into her room with a case in hand. “Let’s go.”
“Perhaps I should speak to Marcus’s landlord. Maybe I will be able to persuade him to allow me to stay in Marcus’s apartments”—she sank down on the edge of the bed—“until Father sends money for his release.”
Harry sighed and ambled further into the room, taking her spot at the window. He stared down at the activity in the street. “What if you fail? What if our father ignores my request? I cannot leave you alone.”
Adele didn’t wish to think about her father refusing to help. “When Marcus is released, he will not know where to find me.”
“Once we are settled, you will write to him. I think we should retreat to Belgium. It is not far to travel, and he will come to collect you before you know it.”
“Are you certain?”
Harry’s shoulders tensed. “He is here.”
“Who? Marcus?” She leapt from the bed to press her face close to the window. Across the street, a carriage rolled to a stop with the Shavell coat of arms on the door.
“Damnation,” Harry mumbled. “We are out of time. Find a place to hide and I will go meet him.”
“Nonsense.” Adele snatched the valise from her bed, grabbed her brother’s hand, and urged him to follow her into the corridor. “There is a back staircase this way.”
She’d had plenty of time to explore when she and Harry first arrived in Paris with Lady Liliwen. The countess had kept him busy and had no qualms about leaving Adele unattended for hours on end.
As she and Harry ran down the narrow corridor leading to the back of the building, a racket began below stairs.
“Tell me where the bastard resides,” a man bellowed.
“No, please let him be,” a familiar feminine voice pleaded. “I love him, Frederique.”
Madame le Shavell had accompanied her husband, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. The woman had orchestrated this entire charade. She probably had directed the marquis to the apartment, too.
A loud argument ensued, allowing Harry and Adele more time to escape. When they reached the exit, a resounding slap echoed in the front stairwell. She and Harry didn’t loiter to figure out who had slapped whom. The back stairs ended at a door that opened to an alley. They hurried toward the street to search for a carriage to take them to the river port.
Adele looked over her shoulder several times for reassurance Monsieur le Shavell wasn’t following them, but she never spotted him or his wife. Once they were safely on a steamer headed north, Adele found a quiet place in the main cabin and pulled out a sheet of paper to compose the first of many letters she would write to her beloved Marcus.
Four
Lady Adele Sinclair’s twenty-ninth letter to inmate Marcus Fletcher
My dearest Marcus,
I pray you are no longer in that hellish place, yet I have received no word from you in all these long months. Do you read my letters, my love? In moments of doubt, I despair that you no longer love me while every tick of the clock I ache to be with you.
Harry and I have managed to gather half the funds needed for your release. Since my last letter, I have taken work as a seamstress for the theatre. None of the players or crew knows my identity nor do I expect they care about my station as long as I finish their costumes on time. It is rather freeing to exist in a state of anonymity and form friendships with whomever I please. I have met a lovely actress and her beau at the playhouse. I do hope you will be receptive to an introduction if we cross paths with them in the future. You would like Lars and Tilde, I think.
Harry’s paintings have been well-received here. For a while, he painted scenery for the same theatre that hired me, but he had to stop when he was commissioned to paint a portrait of a widow and her three small dogs. That proved to be a boon. Nevertheless, the project was not without its challenges. Harry reported the dogs were better behaved than the lady, who required repositioning many times at each sitting.
Do forgive me for prattling on. I have found it is best if I do not dwell overlong on sad events, and I have been miserable without you. I have also lost sight of the p
urpose of my correspondence. We received word of my father’s death yesterday. I cannot say I am grieved by the loss of a man I barely knew, but I am saddened that he was a stranger to his own offspring.
I do not know if our father’s wife would have ever notified us. Apparently, he died last summer. The news was delivered via a letter from the solicitor. Harry and I are leaving for England next week. Harry believes he will be able to access the family accounts quickly, and we will return for you at once if we do not find you have already come home.
Forever yours,
Adele
* * *
January 1820, Paris
* * *
Enzo Delarue had been a guard at La Grande Force Prison for three years, and he had despised every moment of the dreary job. That is until Lady Adele Sinclair’s letters began to arrive at the prison. For six months, she had been writing to her betrothed, and sadly, Marcus Fletcher hadn’t been allowed to read a single word.
Enzo, however, could read whatever he liked when the senior guard wasn’t around to boss him about. After reading the last line of the lady’s most recent correspondence, he sank against the seatback with a smile.
“My, my, my,” he mumbled to himself. “Harry prevailed.”
His bride Lara would be as surprised as he was when he smuggled the letter home this evening. A couple of months past, Adele had written about her brother trying his hand at painting to earn money, but Enzo and Lara never expected the endeavor to yield rewards. It seemed they had underestimated the nob’s talent.
Lara found the plight of the star-crossed lovers to be tragically romantic, and she tended to become quite amorous when a new letter arrived. He was eager to snuggle with her on their worn sofa tonight as he read to her.
Lara had hoped for a Christmas reunion for Adele and Marcus. When that hadn’t occurred, she had been rather blue until Adele’s next letter arrived. Of course, the lovers reuniting would mean an end to the letters and sadly, the only reward Enzo found in arriving at his prison post each day. He never knew when Adele’s letter would arrive, but she hadn’t missed a week in nearly six months.
A Lady to Remember Page 3