She shook her head, not having the strength to explain that she had resumed her maiden name upon returning to her homeland and was now known as Katherine Hewitt.
Jacques didn't question her answer, but tapped his broad chest with his fist. "Me, I never marry," he said proudly. Then his tone changed so suddenly that Katherine flinched. "But what of la petite mademoiselle, Suzanne Durham?"
His contempt for Suzanne was apparent, for his face darkened and his lip curled when he said her name. Katherine closed her eyes. What should she say? Jacques blamed Suzanne for the death of the Comte de Valdois, as many did. But it had all happened so long ago. There would be no point in protesting that the girl had been innocent, useless to explain why she and Suzanne had fled France for the safety of England. Better to leave the past buried, Katherine thought with a shudder. "Suzanne Durham died several years ago," she whispered at last.
Jacques nodded solemnly. Then his brows drew together in a thoughtful frown. "Peut-etre . . . that is why I think I see Mademoiselle Carringdon before. She has the red hair also, the same as Madame Lisette."
Katherine's age-lined face paled once more. "I expect it is merely coincidence," she said hurriedly before Jacques could follow his line of thought. "Tell me, what are you doing here in England?"
Jacques seemed surprised by her question. "Surely you did not think I would desert Monsieur Dominic?" It was Katherine's turn to look puzzled. "Monsieur Dominic," Jacques said patiently. "The comte's son. Do you not remember him? He was but a boy then, but his life was in danger. It was not safe for the aristos, you understand? So I come with him to England, soon after you disappear. He has grown to be a fine man. The comte would have been proud of his son. Now he has the English title and I am his coachman."
"His coachman," Katherine repeated, her voice faint.
"Mais oui. Ah, Lord Stanton comes now," Jacques said as his tall, dark-haired employer descended the front steps. "Pardon, but I must leave you. It was good to see you again, madame—although I think I have brought you unpleasant memories. But the past is the past," he added with a Gallic shrug. "Au revoir. Perhaps we will see each other again, non?"
He left Katherine standing by the tilbury and resumed his place in the box. When Dominic had climbed into the coach, Jacques whipped up the bays and skillfully maneuvered the vehicle around the turn and down the gravel drive.
Katherine stared blindly after the disappearing coach, her face chalk white, her arthritic fingers convulsively gripping her walking cane. The man who had brought Brie home the previous day was the son of the Comte de Valdois, the son of a man she had once feared and hated!
Katherine could not remember making her way to her bedroom, but she found herself huddling in front of the fire, as if its warmth could drive away the chill that had invaded her aged limbs. She was still trembling with the shock of her discovery. Philippe Serrault's son was now Lord Stanton—the same Lord Stanton who had shown such a marked interest in Brie recently.
Katherine stared into the flames, seeing only the ghostly images in her mind. Why had she not felt any premonitions of danger? She had heard the neighborhood gossip about Stanton, but his surname had never been mentioned. Even so, she should have seen the strong resemblance he bore to the comte. Did he even know of the connection between his late father and Brie's family? Perhaps not. He had been a mere boy when the nightmare had ended with the deaths of two people. But now it seemed that history was repeating itself. . . . Indeed, that explained why Brie had been acting so strangely of late. She had been bewitched by the fatal Serrault charm.
Giving a moan, Katherine buried her face in her hands. Surely the fates could not be so cruel. "My poor Lisette," she whispered in anguish. "My poor sweet innocent. I warned you, but you paid no heed. And now your granddaughter . . . with his son. I won't let him hurt her, Lisette. I could not save you, but I will save Brie. She will not suffer your fate. Somehow, I will see to it."
The following week was an extremely trying one for Brie. Never before had she felt such a strong urge to escape her home. Caroline's secretive smiles irritated her, while Katherine's dire warnings of the evils of London nearly drove her to distraction.
The change in Katherine was puzzling. Overnight, she seemed to have aged ten years, a look of pain replacing the usual sadness in her eyes. She had astonished Brie by adamantly refusing to take part in the preparations for the trip to London. But even though Brie could tell something was troubling her elderly companion, no amount of cajoling could make Katherine disclose what it was.
"Why this sudden dislike of London, then?" Brie finally asked in exasperation. "A month ago you were insisting that I not miss the season, and now you want me to cancel the trip after I promised to accompany Caroline. There must be a reason." When Katherine refused to answer, Brie stubbornly declared she would go, with or without her companion.
For Dominic was in London, and Brie discovered that his absence only intensified the longing she felt for him. How absurd it was to pine after a man, she thought crossly. And yet, how pleasant to recall the wonderful moments they had shared. Her emotions continually oscillated between despair and excitement. She found herself constantly wondering what Dominic was doing, experiencing a stab of jealousy whenever she pictured him in another woman's arms, and a flash of fear whenever she remembered that someone had been trying to kill him.
She was worried about Katherine's strange behavior, though. Wanting to discuss the matter, Brie went in search of John Simms. She found him at one of the small paddocks, watching Firefly and the new little filly.
John looked up as she approached. "Nothing wrong with that one," he said critically, pointing to the frolicking youngster.
Brie smiled, grateful that John at least hadn't changed. He was still the same quiet-spoken, thoroughly reliable man she had always looked up to like a father. She stood beside him for a time, observing the horses in companionable silence.
"John," she said at length, "do you have any idea what is troubling Katherine? She's upset about something, but I can't get her to talk about it. She just keeps repeating that I shouldn't go to London. Why, I can't imagine, for she has always said I spend too much time buried in the country."
He was silent for so long that Brie thought he might not have heard her. Glancing at him, though, she realized he was considering the question carefully. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Well, Miss Brie, I'm not certain, but I expect she's worried about losing you."
"Losing me? Whatever do you mean?"
John squinted up at the sun, looking embarrassed. "Katie's getting on in years. It would be hard on her if you were to go away."
"But she's coming with me. And it won't be forever. A month at most."
"I'm not talking about your trip to London." He cleared his throat again. "What I mean to say is that a lady is expected to be with her husband, and when you are married—"
"Married! And just who am I supposed to marry?"
He eyed her reprovingly, as he had whenever she had pulled a mischievous prank as a child. "Come now, Miss Brie, I've known you since you were a babe. I can tell when something's afoot. You've been acting like a skittish colt lately, and that young lord hasn't been much better. He's right taken with you. I'd wager a year's salary there's something between you two."
It was Brie's turn to look embarrassed. "That doesn't mean that he wants to marry me," she said in a small voice, her fingers nervously twisting a button of her spencer. "Or that I want to marry him."
John shrugged. "Well, now, he's a fine man, Miss Brie. Reminds me of a horse I once knew. Strong, proud animal. Wild as the devil himself. Wouldn't let anyone near him, till one day, this little girl came along and broke him to the bit, gently as you please. Surprised us all. Remember that, Miss Brie?"
Brie flushed, recalling the incident. When she was ten or so, her father had bought a new stallion that no one dared to ride. Against Sir William's express orders, Brie had climbed on the animal's back and proceeded to tame him. Remembering
her father's reaction—rage mingled with pride in her skill—Brie laughed self-consciously. "Surprised? Papa was furious with me for riding him. But you can hardly compare Lord Stanton to a horse."
"I don't know about that," John shook his head slowly. "People aren't so different from horses. They need patience and understanding . . . a firm hand sometimes, a loose rein others. I'd think about it carefully, Miss Brie. Your father would have been proud to have Stanton for a son."
Brie did think about it, but she had none of John's confidence about her future. Nor could she objectively view her relationship with Dominic. She would toss restlessly in her bed each night until she fell asleep, and then she would dream of him. In her dreams, Dominic would take her in his arms and make love to her till she thought she would die of happiness, but once or twice her fantasies turned to nightmares, filled with hatred and fear. Brie would wake, gasping for breath, still feeling the strangling pressure of strong fingers around her throat. It left her with a sense of foreboding that she found hard to understand and even harder to dispel.
Brie's relationship with Dominic was the subject of concern in yet another quarter, for Caroline was still determined to bring her cousin and the rakish Lord Stanton together.
Caroline had never learned precisely what had happened the night Dominic stayed at Greenwood—and she had wisely refrained from asking Brie about it—but she could tell something was different. Brie had positively glowed the next morning, and Lord Stanton had smiled at her in a way that was unmistakably intimate, his cool gaze softening whenever he looked at her. Caroline, who was no stranger to courting rituals since she had grown up with three older sisters, had no trouble recognizing the possessive interest in his eyes.
She spent several days contemplating what else could be done to further Brie's cause, but she was still dwelling on the vexing problem at the end of the week—even when she was supposed to be playing chess with Julian.
"The devil take it, Caroline, can't you keep your mind on the game?" Julian demanded as he neatly checkmated her defenseless queen.
Startled, Caroline looked up from the chessboard. "I beg your pardon, Julian. I suppose I am worried about Brie."
"Yes?"
"I . . . I think she is in love with your friend, Lord Stanton."
"That doesn't surprise me. Dominic can charm the birds out of the trees if he puts his mind to it."
Caroline eyed Julian curiously. He didn't seem disturbed to have a rival for Brie's affection, for he was casually rearranging the playing pieces. "But I thought you were in love with Brie," she said doubtfully.
A smile curved his lips. "I was, once. A strong case of calflove, I've come to realize. Luckily Brie had the good sense to turn me down."
"Then you wouldn't mind if Brie married Lord Stanton?"
Julian shot her a disapproving glance. "This is hardly a suitable subject for us to be discussing, don't you think?"
"I don't see why not. We are her friends, and I for one am concerned for her happiness. Lord Stanton is said to be a rake and a womanizer and—"
"You aren't even supposed to know of such things."
"Well, I do! And I think it's horrid that girls are supposed to be blind to what goes on around them."
Julian tried to repress a grin at her sudden earnestness. "I expect the gossip about Dominic is greatly exaggerated. He just doesn't care what people say about him."
"Then you ought to help me."
"Help you? Help you do what?"
"Why, help me help them make a match of it, of course." When Julian laughed out loud, Caroline glared. "I don't see what you find so amusing."
"Caroline," Julian said patiently as he attempted to control his humor, "Dominic wouldn't thank me for interfering in his affairs, or you either for that matter."
"But we must do something!"
"I've already warned him not to trifle with Brie. If I say any more on the subject, I'll have to back up my words with pistols at dawn." When Caroline's eyes widened, Julian leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Besides, I'm not sure that we would be doing Brie a favor. Dominic has the devil's own temper at times, not to mention a tongue that can let blood faster than a rapier. Before this, I had always thought him too cold-hearted to fall in love."
"Then you think he returns her regard?"
"I don't believe there's any question that he's attracted to Brie, but whether he will marry her is a different matter entirely. He's always had a particular aversion to marriage."
"But why?" Caroline persisted. "I can't believe that he simply hates women, not with all the affairs he is said to have had."
"No, he doesn't hate women. He just won't allow himself to trust them. I suppose it might have something to do with his mother."
"What about his mother?"
"To tell the truth, I'm not really sure. Normally Dom won't talk about her. But as I understand it, she deserted him when he was quite young—just walked out one day, leaving her husband and son behind. Shortly afterward Dominic lost his father, too."
"Oh, how sad! Was it an accident?"
Julian shook his head. "Dominic's father was a French count who owned a large part of Burgundy—Valdois, I think the place was called. The comte was sentenced to death for murdering a woman who lived on the neighboring estate.
"Murder!" Caroline exclaimed in horror. "Was he guilty?"
"Lord, I have no idea. Dom certainly doesn't think so, but he only told me the barest details."
"Surely there had to be proof of some kind."
"Caroline, it happened during that bloody revolution of theirs, when the French beheaded their own king. They delighted in chopping off the heads of anyone with blue blood, most particularly loyal royalists. I doubt if the Comte de Valdois was even accorded a trial. If so, it would have been a farce. Dominic is still bitter about it—and about his mother's
desertion. To this day he refuses to see her or speak to her, and he won't acknowledge her existence if they meet in public."
"I can certainly understand why!"
"Well, the whole thing seems a little odd to me. I met Lady Harriet last year, and while I'd never say this to Dominic, I thought her a lovely, kind lady. She didn't strike me as being the type of woman to abandon her family for no reason at all. She's remarried now, and she appeared to be quite content with her husband."
When Caroline chewed thoughtfully at her lower lip, Julian leaned toward her and pulled one of her curls. "What are you thinking now, minx?"
"Lord Stanton simply must marry Brie. She will be miserable without him."
"Well, I warn you, there'll be no use trying to hurry him. Dominic has never been in love before. He'll be very cautious—and slow. He probably doesn't even realize that he's in deep water now."
"But what if he never realizes it?" Caroline asked, gazing up at Julian expectantly.
Julian settled back in his chair. "That is entirely possible. We'll just have to see what happens, won't we?"
It was several days later when they all left for London—Brie, Caroline, Katherine, Julian, and a number of servants. Two carriages were required to accommodate them and their vast array of luggage.
As they pulled away from Greenwood, Brie tried to remain calm, but there were butterflies in her stomach brought on by nervous excitement. Caroline, too, was in high spirits, and Julian could be heard whistling cheerfully as he rode beside the coach.
Only Katherine stared out of the carriage window, not sharing in the general mood of anticipation.
Chapter Twelve
The hour was late when Dominic's coach reached London and pulled up before his townhouse in Berkeley Square, but he lost no time in sending a message to Jason. Some half hour later, the Marquess of Effing was ushered into the library.
Dominic offered his friend a brandy, and when they were both settled before the blazing fire, he raised his glass in salute. "I take it congratulations are in order? You certainly look less hag-ridden than when I last saw you."
Dominic shifted restlessly in his chair. Odd, but he had been having similar thoughts of late. Brie had shown . . . but that would have to wait. Driving away thoughts of her, he returned to the subject. "And the babe, a girl, did you say?"
"Yes, a beautiful daughter. No, don't grin at me. She is beautiful, and so incredibly small. I expect she'll have Lauren's eyes."
Jason continued in the same vein for several minutes before he recalled the purpose of his visit. "You have mellowed, old friend," he said with a chuckle. "My raptures have been boring you to flinders and you haven't once interrupted me. You want to know about Germain? Actually there's been no change since I last wrote you. He has recovered enough to talk, but so far he hasn't been inclined to divulge any secrets. I can take you to see him tomorrow, if you wish."
Nodding in agreement, Dominic then told Jason about Boulter and the recent events of the past weeks, though he avoided mention of Brie's part in the affair.
Jason's expression grew grim as he listened to the tale. "It's unfortunate that Boulter is dead," he said at the conclusion. "Did you get any information from him?"
"Only that he and his brother were hired to kill me. My guess is that when Germain failed, they followed me from London."
"And do you still think it has something to do with your activities during the war?"
Dominic nodded slowly. "That's the only explanation I can think of. But why go to so much trouble to make it look like an accident? No doubt Boulter had several opportunities to put a bullet through me. And Germain's challenge was contrived to look natural enough."
"Perhaps they didn't want an investigation if you were killed."
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