Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “Did they catch them all?” Art asked, fiddling with his sterling spoon, straightening it, and then meeting my eyes from under a concerned, hooded brow.

  “All but two of them,” I said. We had to move on from this if the girls were to get any sleep at all tonight. “Happily, we’re far from them now.”

  “And in a castle, an ancient stronghold,” Adrien said with a warm, reassuring tone. A footman cleared my half-eaten plate, and another delivered a delicate custard drizzled with a golden sauce and several gigantic raspberries. “We shall pull up the drawbridge and release crocodiles into the moat this night,” he said with a gentle smile. “No one will get to you here. Trust me on this.” His eyes moved to my sister and to Nell, reassuring them as well.

  “Merci, Monsieur Bellamy.” I took a tiny bite of my custard, but my stomach roiled. From thoughts of the attack? Or simply because I was miserably full?

  “Forgive me, Cora,” Art said, watching me set down my spoon. “I didn’t mean to upset you by egging him on.”

  “Oh, it’s all right.” I forced a smile to my face. “It’s all behind us. Only hardships like this for us to endure now,” I said, waving about.

  Art smiled and then laughed. “Your brother’s right, Cora,” he said, taking a sip from his glass. “You are an uncommon sort of society girl.”

  Was it my imagination, or did he intend to goad me? Did he already know of my parentage? Had the story made the rounds among European society? Adrien had said Art enjoyed such stories.…

  Fortunately, the bear picked up his own tale, and the whole table listened as he shared of one tour group’s misadventures aboard a Greek yacht, years ago. “From then on,” he finished, “we cut Greece from our itinerary.” He shook his gray head.

  “Much to my dismay,” Will added. “I’d dearly love to return.”

  “Well, my boy,” his uncle said, patting him on the back, “when the business is yours, you can take your clients where you wish. The world will be your own oyster.”

  Will smiled and winked for effect. “Do I detect a dare in those words, Uncle? Do you not think I have it in me?”

  “Ah, no, son. I think you have more than enough mettle to take it on. It shall be a delight to see how you make the tour your own.”

  I loved their relationship, the way the bear could be the tough taskmaster one moment and the doting uncle the next. It made me long for my own papa, who was now in Minnesota, and wonder how he was faring since his stroke.

  First thing tomorrow, I’ll see about sending a telegram, I thought. I needed to know how he and my mother were doing—and, likely, they hungered for word from me as well. It struck me that I hoped I wouldn’t hear from Wallace Kensington at all. Because it’d only take one sentence from him or Mr. Morgan for this whole Grand Tour to end. And as much as I missed home, there was much, much yet here for me to discover.

  William

  Will luxuriated in the rare opportunity to have some space to himself as he watched the warm rays of a dawning sun stream through cross-mullioned windows.

  He yawned and forced his legs out from under the fine, warm covers. He sat up, resting his feet on the Turkish carpet, the chill of the stone beneath seeping up to meet his skin. This place will be frigid come winter. He shivered at the thought of it, glad they’d arrived in summer. He knew that as the sun climbed, baking the arid Alpilles region, he’d likely be sweating, wishing for the cool of morn, but for now he rubbed his arms and rose to hurriedly dress.

  But when he entered the dining hall for breakfast, he saw Art, Felix, and Hugh, soaking wet and shivering, standing on the edge of the far wall, their host beside them in a similar state. Celine, their hostess and the only other person up yet, lifted her china cup in welcome. “Bonjour,” she greeted him.

  “Bonjour, madame,” he said with a nod and partial bow.

  “Shall you breakfast with me, monsieur, or do you favor a dip in the Rhône as my husband is fond of doing each morning?”

  “Each morning, madame? Even come winter?”

  “Even come winter,” she said, shaking her head as if the man were beyond reason. “He says that it gives him, ahhh, la vie.”

  Life. Will smiled and looked out through the French doors to the vast patio beyond it. Felix was stepping up on the wall again. “By your leave, madame, I’d best see to my clients,” he said.

  “Please,” she said, gesturing outward as if he were merely the latest lost cause.

  Will’s heart skipped a beat as he shut the door, even as Art and Felix leaped together, hollering all the way down. Adrien Bellamy and Hugh exchanged a delighted look and laughed as the sound of a splash rose from the river. “Hugh!” Will called.

  The man glanced over his shoulder. “McCabe! Quickly! Find your bathing costume and join us.”

  Their host nodded and put his fists to his chest. “Il va mettre les cheveux sur votre poitrine,” he said, nodding and smiling, encouraging him. It will put hair on your chest. “It is what you Americans say, no?”

  Will laughed and walked up to the wall beside them and looked down. Thirty feet below, Felix was swimming toward shore. Will laughed and shook his head. It looked incredibly dangerous. As well as overwhelmingly fun. The only chance he’d have to join them was if he leaped before Uncle Stuart arrived for breakfast. As much as the old man preached about joining the locals in whatever exercise they had planned—in order to “better experience a place”—Will highly doubted he’d endorse this particular adventure.

  Quickly, he unknotted his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, peeling both away.

  “Bon, bon!” their host praised. With a salute, Adrien dived off the edge, his arms outstretched and feet together, before bringing his arms together and slicing through the blue-green water below.

  Will whistled lowly. “That takes some chops. And it has to hurt.” Far below, their host reached the surface, bubbles still rising from his entry.

  “You’re going in nothing but your trousers?” Hugh asked, his teeth chattering.

  “It’s more than you have on,” Will said, yanking off his shoes and then his socks.

  Hugh shrugged and looked down at the water.

  “How many times have you jumped?” Will asked.

  “This will be my third. The key is to break the surface tension with your hands or feet. Slice it. Otherwise, it’ll feel like you’ve just slammed into a wall. Trust me.”

  Will gave him a grim smile and stepped up beside him. The drop seemed far longer than it had a moment before.

  “Scared?” Hugh taunted.

  “I’d be a fool if I wasn’t,” Will said, rubbing his hands together.

  Hugh laughed. “Just don’t land on me,” Hugh said. And then he leaped.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cora

  I awakened to shouts and laughter coming from outside my window. As I turned over in the wide bed, I heard the clang of a hallway gate and the sound of footsteps passing my door. I fought the urge to peek out the door to see what was happening, remembering that Arthur Stapleton was right across the hall. What if he peeked out at the same time? I thought about his blond hair and piercing blue eyes. It wasn’t that I sought him as another beau…I had my hands full already with Pierre and…

  I groaned and rolled over, forcing Will’s face from my mind, concentrating on the fine bones of my room’s architecture instead. Which inevitably led me right back to Will and his love for architecture. I sighed and again forced him from my mind, thinking instead about the people this room had once contained. Each wall echoed of memory, of struggle and strife, but also of triumph and release. I’d walked the perimeter of the whole thing last night, tracing my fingertips over the etched lines of graffiti, the names of men long dead, dates long past. 1732. 1649. 1810.

  The Bellamys had refurbished these rooms with care. Thick tapestries adorned the walls. Warm, wide, finely polished planks covered what I assumed were stone floors. And through the far arch, around a corner, was that lovely bathroom with the view of th
e Rhône Valley.

  When I heard another shout and then, a second later, a distinct splash below, my curiosity got the better of me. I threw back my covers and went to the door, and leaned against it to listen. From the hall, I heard the clang of a lower gate, then the one on our level, then footsteps running past again, slapping as if wet and barefoot. What on earth…?

  I reached for my robe and wrapped it around me, then eased out onto the balcony. But just as I did so, a body fell, not ten feet away. I gasped and drew back, but then heard the splash and the laughter of others above me. I stepped forward again and scanned the water, smiling as I discovered what they were up to. They were jumping! From above! Even from where I stood, below them, it was a good twenty feet to the water. From their launching point, a good forty. Who was up to such shenanigans?

  I stepped closer to the stone rail and peeked over, watching as the man surfaced and took a deep breath, grinning widely. Will. With firm strokes, he swam toward the beach below. He wore no shirt; the muscles in his back were broad and toned, reminding me of some of the statues we’d seen in museums. I had no business watching him, admiring him. And yet I couldn’t seem to do anything else. He reached shore, grabbed hold of the rocks, and tentatively, shakily moved up them. I heard the clang of a metal gate at the shoreline. I stepped into my room, then over to my door. A moment later, I heard the muffled voices—an exchange between a guard and Will?—another gate, then more slapping footsteps of a man passing by.

  I eyed my window and smiled. Before I left this place, I wanted a try at that jump. Even if I just did so from my small balcony. That was likely daring enough. And would give me a taste for what the men in my party were clearly so enjoying.

  Hurriedly, I shook out a sleeveless gold dress, not waiting for Anna to rise and come tend me. I was eager to get above and see if I could watch at least one of the men leap before they tired of their game. What a thrill to be a man! What freedom! Should I decide to take such a jump, it would most assuredly have to be under cover of darkness. I slammed several pins into a quick knot of hair at the base of my neck, wincing as one scraped along my scalp, then turned toward the door. I’d last heard a man pass by and jump five minutes ago. But I’d been around the corner, in my bathroom. Were they done? Was I too late? I rushed to the door and opened it—

  Right as Yves let Will come through the gate, five feet away.

  “Will,” I said, smiling and studiously keeping my eyes on his, rather than on the wide expanse of his muscled chest and narrow waist below. Dripping wet and plainly freezing, he hugged himself, but his grin was sheepish as well as wide. “Was your bath inside the chateau not acceptable?” I asked.

  “This is far more invigorating,” he said, nodding back toward the gate and running a hand through his wet hair.

  “I can imagine,” I said, turning to close the door.

  “Wait,” he said, stepping forward, right beside me. I held my breath. But his eyes were on my room, not me. “May I?” he asked, barely glancing down at me, already moving past.

  “Of course,” I said, gesturing in. I remained in the hallway, rolling the big key in my hands. It’d hardly be proper for me to be in there with him. I could already feel the detective’s eyes on my back. But I watched him, dripping on the fine, wood floor. “What is it, Will?”

  “It’s this place,” he breathed, looking up and around. His eyes followed the lines of the ceiling, and then he moved to the wall, his fingers tracing the lines of some of the graffiti I had traced the night before. It was silly, really. But in that moment, I felt as if we had touched, rather than merely touching the same etchings in wood and stone. I looked away, aware that my eyes were drawn too often to his skin, rather than to the things he was so clearly admiring.

  He appeared beside me then, perilously close. “Forgive me, Cora,” he said. “I forgot myself when I saw those arches.” He reached up and slicked his wet brown hair back again. “I wager you were assigned the finest room of all. This place is fantastic.”

  “Indeed,” I said, hoping he’d move on. “It’s a veritable suite.”

  “Do you mind if I bring Uncle down to see it?”

  “Not at all.”

  He went to the door and wavered, gesturing to his soggy trousers. “I’m hardly in a state to escort you.”

  “No,” I said, hurriedly, thinking it could not get any more uncomfortable. “Please. Go on. I’ll see you up top.”

  “I fear my leaping is done for the day,” he said, rubbing his arms again, drawing my attention to biceps and triceps that rippled with each movement.…“I’d best get to my room and change before Uncle finds out what we are up to. At least, if I hope to take part again tomorrow.”

  I nodded, keeping my eyes to the floor. “I’ll see you in the dining hall.”

  “All right. Should I send someone down for you?”

  “William McCabe,” I said, looking up to meet his warm brown eyes. “I think I’m capable of walking a couple flights of stairs on my own. Besides, Yves is here.”

  “Good,” he said, smiling at me, glancing over at the detective, then back to me, a wet lock of hair falling toward his eyes. Never, ever had I thought he looked more handsome. I found myself wishing we were alone. That I could say…what? Something to keep him there. With me. For just a second longer. But then he smiled, turned, and took the stairs, two at a time.

  The clang of the gate shook me out of my reverie, and I turned to find Hugh, Felix, and Arthur coming through, Yves locking it behind them. At least they were in proper bathing costumes, adequately covered from neck to knee. “Well, well, well,” Hugh said, a laugh on his breath as he looked up the stairs to see Will disappear. “Keeping company in the hallway?”

  Arthur smiled and ducked past us, as dripping wet as the others were. “Good morning,” he said, giving me a friendly wave before opening his door across the hall.

  “Truly, is there not something between you and our Will that might give Pierre a run for his money?” Hugh whispered, nudging me.

  I caught Art’s blue-eyed gaze as he shut his door, clearly hearing every word.

  “Hugh, leave her be,” Felix said, grabbing hold of his friend’s arm and yanking him past me. “Come. We need to change and get to the breakfast room, or the bear will skin us alive.”

  “I’m coming,” Hugh said, yanking his arm from Felix’s grip. My brother led the way, and Hugh made a polite offer of his arm.

  Resignedly, I climbed the steps with him, suddenly more than ready to be in the company of our hosts and guardians.

  “You should try it, Cora,” Hugh said, lifting one brow in a subtle challenge. “The jump, I mean. Adrien leaps three times each morning, rain or shine. It’s quite bracing.”

  I nodded noncommittally. If I were to jump, the last person I wanted watching me was Hugh Morgan. He’d seen me once in my bathing costume. And I sincerely hoped it would never occur again. Even the memory of his wolfish eyes running over me from head to toe sent a shiver down my back.

  “What did you think of your mad jump into the Rhône this morning, Mr. Stapleton?” Lil asked him, casting him her best attempt at a flirtatious smile.

  I frowned. Arthur was much too old for her. That wasn’t quite fair—there were plenty of May-December romances—but there was something about him that made me hesitate…something I couldn’t quite grasp. It nagged at me.

  “I thought it was perhaps the most sane thing I’ve done of late,” he returned.

  “Oh? How so?” I asked.

  He sat next to Will in the backward-facing seat of our rented motorcar, across from us. The two shared a smile. Their hair was not yet quite dry, and their faces held fresh color.

  “Sometimes a man just needs to remember he’s alive,” Arthur said to me, his blue eyes sweeping over Lillian, too. “You step off a ledge like that, and every second feels like a minute. Your whole life runs through your mind as if it’s about to end, and you have the maddest desire to turn and try to catch yourself, claw your way bac
k. But then you’re falling, piercing the water, going under, under, under. You reach for the sky, kicking for all you’re worth, desperate for air, and when your face breaks the surface…” He took off his bowler hat, ran a hand through his blond hair, and then settled it again. “There isn’t anything quite like it. Wouldn’t you agree, McCabe?”

  “Indeed,” Will said, a glint in his warm eyes. “I can see why our host jumps each morn. It’s quite the way to start the day.”

  The motorcar’s engine roared to life, and the driver got in at last. We joined the caravan of three other vehicles carrying the rest of our traveling party, servants, and guardians off to visit the town of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, which had its own Roman ruins but was more famous for being where the seer Nostradamus was born, and where van Gogh painted The Starry Night during a stay in a place for the mentally infirm.

  “Perhaps I’ll have to attempt a leap myself,” I said, thinking over the hot, dry day ahead of us and how welcome a swim would feel.

  “I think not,” Will said, his brow lowering. “Uncle Stuart nearly had a fit of apoplexy when he learned we had attempted it. He would never hear of our fairer companions doing so.”

  “Pish,” said Lillian. “If the boys can do it, so can we!”

  Arthur smiled in his catlike way. “It’s a different thing, being on the edge of the precipice. Ten dollars says you won’t get farther than thinking about it.”

  “Ten dollars!” I said, outraged by both his attempt to lure my sister in to the jump and his unseemly, costly bet.

  His eyes widened at my response. “I only propose a gentlemanly wager,” he said. “Forgive me if I’ve offended you or your sister.” He seemed sincere.

  “Not at all,” I said, my tone lower, less defensive. “It’s only that—”

  “I’ll take your wager, Mr. Stapleton,” Lillian said, reaching out her hand to shake his in the manner of men.

  “Lillian.”

  “No, Cora. I’m a woman grown, with quite a generous bank account. If I wish to make it ten dollars fatter with Mr. Stapleton’s money, I shall do it.”