All Smiles

by Stella Cameron

  “He’s not married,” Meg said, and didn’t feel badly about the thought that had suddenly entered her head. “Why didn’t I think of that before? Why, if you married Reverend Baggs and looked after things for William and the Reverend, he wouldn’t need us.”

  Ash turned first a little gray, then bright pink. She smiled and flapped a hand at Meg. “Oh, you’re funning me. That delightful man would never look at me. What foolishness even to suggest such a thing.”

  “Of course he would. In fact, I’ve already seen him look at you.” Not a complete fib. “Run along and think about it, Ash. Or may I call you Lavinia? After all, we’ve shared a good deal. The Princess will play the pianoforte soon.”

  “Please do call me Lavinia. I don’t recall the last time anyone wanted to.” A faraway look entered Ash’s eyes, and she wandered away to find a chair and sit down.

  “Meg,” Sibyl said. “That was mean.”

  “Baggsy doesn’t have a wife. It’s about time he did.”

  “But you know…Meg, did you know Hunter’s over there—staring at us?”

  Meg glanced around to find Verbeux and Hunter in conversation. “Hunter is staring at you, not at me.” She caught Verbeux’s eye and beckoned. He came toward her, and she saw what she’d been too involved to notice before. He limped.

  Hunter passed and went directly to Sibyl. He did nod at Meg on the way. She heard him say, “Sibyl. Let me guess, some sort of deep-sea creature? One of those mysterious beings from a lost world?”

  Sibyl giggled. “A lost Eastern world,” she said. “How observant and clever you are.” Smiling at each other, they wandered away.

  Meg felt lonely. She didn’t begrudge Sibyl some happiness, she just wished she could see something other than disappointment in her future.

  “Your position is difficult,” Verbeux said. She’d forgotten he was there.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do.”

  Did he? He might well, since he was never far from Jean-Marc.

  “If I could ease your way, I would,” he said, taking her completely by surprise. He looked straight ahead. “The Count cares about you. He wants you. He has dilemmas few men even dream about.”

  “I’m sure he does. Thank you for your concern.”

  “He would like to take you away and forget all of this.”

  Meg looked sideways at him, and frowned. “M. Verbeux, you are injured.”

  “Not at all.” He pulled his hair forward at both sides. “It’s nothing.”

  But she had seen the welt on the side of his head, and the bloody crust that formed there. “What happened? I insist you tell me.”

  “You can insist nothing, Miss Smiles. And your protests do not divert me. You want him, too. Why not allow me to help you get what you want?”

  She would not as much as answer such wild suggestions. “What happened to your head? Did someone hit you?”

  “That’s laughable. Of course not. Tonight you shall be with the Count.”

  “Leave us alone,” she said, suddenly furious at his manipulation. “And seek help for your wounds.”

  “Your Lady Hester appears to have monopolized the Count.” Verbeux said. His hair couldn’t hide the bruise that darkened the side of his face. “He will be polite, but he will not allow her too much time. Miss Smiles, I think it very important for the Count to leave and take you with him.”

  Meg cast about for someone who might break the feeling of strangeness M. Verbeux had brought with him.

  “There are things I know that even the Count does not know. Do you believe me?”

  She stared at him, at the evidence that he had been involved in some violence. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good. I shall need your help. I want the two of you to leave tonight and to go into hiding. It is too dangerous for you here.”

  “I don’t understand. I have suffered some unfortunate accidents, but they did not affect the Count.”

  M. Verbeux touched his face and winced. “So we thought at first. I have been assured we were wrong to miss certain signs. Those signs were intended for people other than you. You got in the way. In fact there is some annoyance that you have become a complication. Nevertheless, you and the Count will leave tonight. You are considered in the way. Convincing him of the urgency will be the largest task.”

  Meg backed away from him. “I think you have hit your head hard. You should see a physician.”

  “So you say, but before this night is out, you may think otherwise.”

  28

  “Good evenin’, miss,” a distinguished gentleman wearing a kilt said to Meg. His thick white hair was at odds with his pleasant, youthful face. “I believe I’ve the pleasure o’ speakin wi’ Miss Meg Smiles.”

  When she frowned at him, he smiled, revealing strong white teeth. “Ye wonder how I know,” he said. “I wish I could reveal some mysterious method. Unfortunately it was verra easy. I asked.”

  “Oh,” Meg said, and smiled back. She had adjusted the veil to almost entirely cover her face and had been spending a few moments silently repeating her mantra. “Do they not say the simplest forms of detection are usually the most successful?”

  “Should ye mind if I sat with ye?”

  She had learned no rules for dealing with moments such as this. After all, she was a young, single woman alone. “I am Princess—”

  “Désirée’s companion? Yes, I know that, too. I assure you that there can be no gossip about a widower such as myself sitting to rest his feet and talk with his hostess’s companion. Why, we could say—if we were asked—that I was in hopes of requesting a wee dance wi’ the Princess mysel’.”

  Meg gathered the entirely too thin silver fabric over her limbs. “You have an answer for anything, sir.”

  “But ye are all alone here, are ye not? And considerin’ a wee bit o’ abstract thinkin’?”

  “How…” She wasn’t sure how to ask what he knew on the subject.

  “I could tell by watchin’ ye. I meditate mesel’. Have done since I was wi’ the army in India. Had the pleasure of studyin’ wi’ a very holy man in the mountains.”

  Meg was impressed. “I envy you,” she said.

  “So,” he said, “I’m sorry to interrupt ye, but I wanted to meet ye. Are ye feelin’ a wee bit lonely, perhaps?”

  “Possibly,” she said. What she really felt was terrified. How could she tell Jean-Marc that his own valet had said he should take Meg and leave because he was in danger, and she was in the way so might also be in danger?

  “Ye’re troubled,” the man said. “Och, forgive me. I’m Sir Robert Brodie of Edinburgh. Prince Georges, the Count’s father, has been a good friend t’me.”

  “I see.” Why was Jean-Marc taking so long?

  “Who are your people, lass?”

  Meg jumped and looked at Sir Robert. “My father was Reverend Smiles of Puckly Hinton. I’m afraid he passed away some years since. My mother predeceased him. So you see, I really am no one.” She dropped her head and smiled up at him.

  His brows were still red, and he raised them. A dashing man with exceedingly broad shoulders beneath his velvet jacket with its silver buttons. His legs were strong and well set off by tartan knee socks. Lace frothed at his throat and wrists. “So,” he said, “what’s the verdict? Like what ye see, do ye?”

  Meg blushed so fiercely her cheeks throbbed.

  Sir Robert patted her hand on her lap and laughed aloud. “I’m a wicked man t’take advantage of your youth wi’ such a sly question. I’ve been widowed a mite too long and I’ve lost some o’ the skills a man likes t’have around a pretty woman. And ye are pretty, Miss Smiles.” He dropped his voice, and the smile disappeared. “I should like the chance to speak more wi’ ye, lass. If ye’d let me. I’m no an old man—despite the white hair. I fear I took my wife’s death badly and the hair is the mark I carry now.”

  “I’m sure you did take it badly.” She looked at him with sympathy. And he looked back wit
h regret. “You are a most handsome man and you look young. I like your white hair—it’s distinguished.”

  Sir Robert barked out his laughter. He took hold of her hand firmly, sputtered, “May I?” and when she nodded, kissed it lightly while smiling into her eyes. “You’re wonderful. So natural. The sooner ye’re no longer a part of all this, the better. A quiet life filled with love and the kindness of home is what ye need. What are ye doing here, anyway?”

  “It’s a long story.” She leaned to see around people in hope that Jean-Marc would appear. “Mostly it’s because my sister, Sibyl, and I found ourselves in reduced circumstances after my father died. We had to make our way. But we are well enough, thank you.”

  “I’ve a practice here in London,” Sir Robert said. “I’m a surgeon. Now isn’t that an unpleasant announcement to make?”

  “You don’t like being a surgeon?”

  “I like it verra well, thank ye. But it doesna make for suitable conversation wi’ a gentle young woman. I also teach in Edinburgh for part of each year so I’ve two homes to administer. They’re a big responsibility for a man alone.”

  “Oh, they must be.” Meg liked him, liked the firmness of his hand, which should undoubtedly not be holding hers, and the way he smiled and how young he looked to have white hair. And she liked his red brows and blue eyes—and his very interesting knees.

  “Will ye dance wi’ me, Meg?” he said. “Your charge is busy and likely t’be so from what I can see.”

  Meg located Princess Désirée and Adam on the floor. Completely engrossed in each other, they danced a slow waltz that could absolutely not be suitable.

  “Well?” Sir Robert asked.

  “I…Well, all right. But for just a short time.”

  Not far away Jean-Marc seethed. With Verbeux at his side insisting Jean-Marc should take Meg and leave as soon as he could see an escape, and Meg herself dancing with Sir Robert Brodie as if she were enjoying herself, he was a man besieged, a man infuriated and close to exploding. “I’ve never known you to be an alarmist, Verbeux. Leave? Tonight? And take Meg Smiles with me? You aren’t yourself, man. What has happened to you?”

  “This,” Verbeux said, pulling back his hair to reveal a bloody gash beneath his hairline. “Note the bruising, too. And there are marks I can’t show you here. They kicked my legs from beneath me, and my knees may never be the same.”

  “You have my entire attention,” Jean-Marc said. “Who, in God’s name, were these maniacs?”

  “I couldn’t see them. The room was dark. I had been sitting with Lady Upworth in very subdued light. Two people entered in cloaks. They extinguished the lamps. Lady Upworth screamed. A hand over her mouth stopped her. They warned me not to move unless I wanted her hurt. Then their message was simple. The Count is to leave, taking Miss Smiles with him. He should go into hiding and make no contact until they come for him.”

  “Damn them,” Jean-Marc said. “Take care of that wound and say nothing to anyone. If they were sure of themselves they would have acted, not sent a warning.”

  “We don’t even know who they are,” Verbeux replied.

  “And Ila.” Jean-Marc turned on Verbeux. “For God’s sake, man, where is Ila?”

  “In her room,” Verbeux said. “She’s not hurt, but she is very shaken. She didn’t even see anyone approach—but she heard what they said. She’ll corroborate.”

  “I don’t need her to corroborate. You have never lied to me. What’s your best speculation? Who are they? What do they want?”

  “Friends of your uncle’s. Who else?”

  “If something happens to me—my father will suspect Uncle Louis first. But I still do not believe he is behind any of this. What has Meg to do with it?”

  Verbeux shook his head.

  “Why in the hell is she dancing with Brodie?”

  “He’s eligible,” Verbeux said. “She could do a great deal worse. And she’s unlikely to do much better, hmm?”

  Jean-Marc glared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve already made it clear you won’t marry a woman to please your father, but you also don’t want the kind of woman your father disapproves of. You are confused.”

  “I don’t know any women he’d approve of,” Jean-Marc snapped. “If he knew Meg Smiles, he might approve of her, but he would never give her a chance.”

  “I wish you’d heed the threat and get away,” Verbeux said. “Then perhaps there will be time to convince the Prince.”

  “I’m going to interrupt them,” Jean-Marc said, looking at Meg and the Scotsman. “She’s young enough to be his daughter.”

  “Concentrate, My Lord. Allow me to help you get away from here.”

  “Run away? Never. Let them come and get me—if they can. In case you’ve forgotten, I have a sister to care for.”

  “You won’t be any use to her if you’re dead.”

  “I’ll try to forget you said that. Désirée needs me, and she needs Meg. Much as it might appeal, I can’t disappear and take Meg with me.”

  Verbeux grimaced as if with pain, and said, “So you do admit you are infatuated with Miss Smiles?”

  “I admit no such thing. Leave me. Go and check on Lady Upworth. Tell her to be calm. There is nothing to worry about.”

  “My Lord—”

  “Do it. I have faced true fear, Verbeux, fear that crawled in hot sand in the middle of the night. I will not be daunted by this situation. However, I will find out exactly who has decided to be my enemy. Watch over Ila. I will watch over Meg.”

  Verbeux stared at him for so long that Jean-Marc almost expected him to take the unprecedented step of refusing. At last the valet said, “Ignore me if you will. You can’t shake my determination to give my life for yours if necessary.” He dropped a bow and walked away. The man limped badly. There was no doubt that something dangerous was going on, and the only possible reason had to be tied up with the throne of Mont Nuages.

  Jean-Marc crossed his arms and collected himself. Verbeux was no ordinary valet. Loyalty rarely presented itself so unwaveringly.

  On the ballroom floor, Brodie had Meg smiling and reacting to him with unconscious charm. Damn the man.

  “Pretty piece, that little companion of your sister’s,” an aged soldier said to Jean-Marc. “Nice to have around the house, is she? After all, the master should have his little benefits.”

  Jean-Marc came close to knocking the old fool down, then recalled moments when he’d held Meg in his arms. Little benefits? Well, he’d offered her marriage, and she’d refused. He’d offered her his protection, and so far she hadn’t accepted.

  “Sir Robert’s got plenty of blunt,” the old soldier said.

  “Really?” Jean-Marc didn’t know much about Brodie.

  “Hell of a surgeon, so they say. Got a reputation for being a generous sort, too. Been a widower for a few years. Shouldn’t be surprised if he’s decided to look for a wife. He’d treat her well and give her everything she wanted. Of course, he never had any children, so I expect he’s a mind to do something about that, too. That piece has caught his eye, I should say. Wonder who decided she ought to show a bit too much every time she moves. What a pair of—” He caught Jean-Marc’s ferocious glare and snickered. “Bit possessive, are we? Well, she’s got a nice pair, and everything else looks worth a romp or two. But I think you know that.”

  “Will you excuse me?” Jean-Marc said, and walked away. He walked directly to the area where Sibyl continued to talk with Hunter Lloyd, and Miss Ash occupied a chair but appeared to be elsewhere in her mind. He leaned on the pillar and watched the dancers. It looked less and less as if there would be further musical performances this evening.

  Had the knife and the carriage accidents, or at least the second one, been intended for him? Had Meg walked into those situations and borne them on his behalf? He shifted uneasily.

  Brodie held her too close, and she looked too happy for him to do so.

  This was not going well. Apart from
the young whiskey heir, his sister had only shown interest in an impoverished painter. The program had gone poorly, although he could have controlled that had he not been distracted.

  True, the company seemed as numerous as it had at the beginning of the party. They were certainly as loud, if not louder. He supposed all were enjoying themselves. The event would be gossiped about in the morning.

  Some ladies and gentlemen were becoming more amorous than he considered appropriate when there were young people present. In future the drink would not flow as readily.

  The piano and strings performed with gusto and were clearly appreciated by the crowd. All chairs had now been cleared from the floor, and the largest percentage of the company danced. He caught sight of the baritone and the soprano, also dancing. The baritone entertained himself by dropping sweetmeats down the front of the soprano’s considerable décolletage and retrieving them with his mouth and tongue while his partner wriggled with pleasure.

  Désirée should not be here.

  Flushed and chuckling, Meg turned from the surgeon and said something, evidently that she wished to stop dancing. He held her hand and led her slowly from the floor, talking to her all the way.

  Something akin to blind fury overtook Jean-Marc. “There you are,” he said to Meg when she and Brodie reached him. “Have you forgotten you have a job to do?”

  She stood before him, her eyes huge and worried. “I watched the Princess while I danced, My Lord.”

  “That was not what I observed.”

  “My Lord,” Brodie said. “If there is any fault, it’s mine. I pressed Meg to dance. She didn’t want to but I convinced her we would be able to see the Princess at all times.”

  “Her name is Miss Smiles. Such familiarity is unsuitable.”

  Dr. Brodie flexed his shoulders. There was no sign of a smile now. Handsome devil, Jean-Marc was forced to note. “Excuse us, if you please,” he said.

  “Soon enough,” Brodie said in a voice of steel. “Miss Smiles, in the absence of your having a parent, I must ask you. Would you consider allowing me to call on you?”