“Désirée?”
“Oh, no particular reason, Jean-Marc. I am growing fond of the excitement here, that’s all. Mr. FitzDurham called this morning, you know. He said he would like to return tomorrow if possible. Now it will be possible—as long as we do not have to leave too early.”
Sibyl longed to be alone with Meg.
“Let’s talk about ball gowns,” the Princess said, leaning forward, animated. “Have you seen my peach and gold thread, Sibyl? I was unsure at first, but Meg convinced me it was charming with my hair.”
The minx was trying to bore her brother from the room, Sibyl decided. “I’m sure it is,” she said. “Those shades become you. What will you wear in your hair, or had you thought to try one of those daring evening hats?”
“Meg thinks a wreath of gold leaves, and—”
The Count cleared his throat loudly.
“Gold leaves at the hairline with small ringlets around her face and neck,” Meg said, and Sibyl marveled at her sister’s serious expression. “And another, smaller wreath at the crown.”
The Princess clapped her hands in a gesture very unlike herself.
“Will you excuse me, please, ladies?” the Count said. “Please be sure Miss Smiles is not left alone. I shall return shortly.”
The instant they had the apartments to themselves, the three women laughed self-consciously. “That wasn’t nice, I suppose,” Meg said.
“It was necessary,” the Princess said. “We cannot talk of important matters in front of him. I am devastated and must have your advice.”
Ah, the self-absorption of the young, Sibyl thought.
“Only you, Meg, and you, Sibyl, can help me because you know Adam Chillworth well.”
“A moment ago I thought you were pining for Mr. FitzDurham,” Meg remarked.
“That was…Well, you know what it was. Adam Chillworth is very handsome, don’t you think?”
Sibyl and Meg’s eyes met. “Yes,” Meg said.
“And he is so talented. I just know his portrait of me will be a masterpiece.”
Meg inclined her head and shifted her limbs as if uncomfortable. “And this is the young lady who, only weeks ago, had no interest in either her appearance or in gentlemen?”
“Do not tease me, please. If I cannot find a way to be with Mr. Chillworth, my life will be over.”
The urge to laugh almost undid Sibyl.
“Surely, even if Adam were suitable for you in other ways, he is rather old for so young a girl, don’t you think?” Meg said.
“I’m not an infant,” the Princess announced. “I’m more mature than many females much older than me in years. And he isn’t that much my senior.”
Sibyl regretted that the girl had become infatuated with poor Adam, who undoubtedly had no idea of the extent of his power over the girl’s feelings. He moved in his own world, and it was already filled with his painting.
“Well,” Princess Désirée said, standing up with Halibut overflowing her arms, “I can see you do not take my suffering seriously. I had thought you would try to be of help, but you do not believe the depth of my regard for him. I don’t blame you, of course. You are surprised by my choice, which shows you do not know me. I shall never be bound by convention. Now I will go to my rooms and meditate. Millie found me a lovely green mantilla. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.”
The sisters were quiet until they were alone. “Meditate?” Sibyl said. “Oh, dear, not another one.”
“I’ll ignore that,” Meg said. “I have a great deal to tell you and we must hurry before Jean-Marc interrupts us.”
Sibyl took the chair where the Princess had sat. “How were you burned?”
“With a taper. It’s a long, nasty story, but I’m already feeling better.”
“Because the Count brought you to his bed?”
Meg’s cheeks became bright pink.
Sibyl hated the tears that sprang into her eyes but couldn’t stop them. “I knew this would happen. I saw how you loved him. For weeks every time I have looked at you I have seen it. And he wants you so very much. I may be an inexperienced woman, but I am not a fool, and I know when I’m looking at a man who lusts after a woman.”
“Stop it,” Meg all but shouted. “Sibyl, stop it at once. I can’t bear to hear such words on your lips.”
“True words that cause you shame? He will want you for a time—perhaps for quite a long time, but eventually he will tire of the novelty of being with someone who is naturally an innocent and pure in heart and mind. No matter what he does to you, you will always be those things. Someone else will catch his eye, someone more flamboyant, more brilliant and accomplished, a triumph in society, and of high birth.”
Meg would not defend herself, she couldn’t. “No doubt you are right,” she said. “And of course you have guessed that I love Jean-Marc. Oh, Sibyl, I’m not ready to tell you everything. I doubt if I ever will be. Please stand beside me as you always have and try to understand.”
Sibyl found a handkerchief in her reticule and blew her nose. “You are my sister and my dearest friend,” she said. “I couldn’t change that if I wanted to. And I don’t. But I am so afraid for you.”
And she was wise to be afraid, Meg thought. “I never intended to fall in love with him. But from the first time I saw him—well, I suppose I was infatuated at first. We had just spoken of what we thought made a man attractive—what you found attractive, actually. Sibyl, dear, I saw every quality you mentioned in him. And I couldn’t stop thinking about him.”
“He is a man no woman could ignore,” Sibyl admitted grudgingly. “I saw how females mooned over him at Désirée’s musicale. What do you intend to do?”
Even if she knew for sure, Meg wasn’t prepared to confess either her choices, or how she wasn’t sure she could refuse to be with Jean-Marc, whatever the circumstances.
“Very well,” Sibyl said when Meg didn’t answer. “But when you decide what you want I hope you will discuss it with me first.”
Meg said, “I already know what I want. I want to be with him.”
Meg’s announcement carried clearly into Jean-Marc’s study, where he had returned with a letter recently delivered by a messenger. He had paused on the threshold. Now he continued quietly to the russet tapestry chaise and sat down, listening.
What a desperate pass this love affair had brought him to. He was even prepared to eavesdrop in hope of hearing what he so urgently wanted to hear. She had already said enough. She wanted to be with him. It should be enough and it might be if she had said she would remain with him no matter what happened, and, perhaps, that she loved him.
He wanted too much.
Sibyl and Meg had dropped their voices, and he wondered if they had heard him come into the apartments.
He broke open the heavy seal on the letter—his father’s seal—and drew out a sheet of heavy, cream-colored paper. His father’s strong hand had penned confident strokes.
Jean-Marc,
I trust you are well and that your sibling has not managed to destroy your mental faculties as yet. My daughter can be a great trial.
Thank you for writing to keep me informed of your progress. I read your comments on Désirée’s intellect and accomplishments with interest and satisfaction. I have always known her to be intelligent but I did not realize how far she has advanced.
Unfortunately, I must inform you that my brother, Louis, fell further from my favor. A foolish man with great and harmful pretensions—harmful to himself. I have proof that he planned to reclaim my throne after my death—by some dangerous and devious means that would harm my children. After consultation with my ministers, I was forced to agree to banish my relation from Mont Nuages. I trust you to repeat nothing of this at present—not until I decide enough time has passed and it seems expedient to announce his death.
Jean-Marc read the sentence several times but the only conclusion he could reach was that the Prince had used the word banish to mean kill. He read on.
On a more cheerfu
l note, and although I grieve deeply for my brother and regret his unfortunate decisions, I have made a resolution of the utmost importance. I hope you will embrace what I have to tell you with similar joy to my own.
Try to contain your disappointment, but I have decided that my daughter, the Princess Désirée, is the natural choice to wear the crown after me. She should not be told at once. She is too young yet, and I feel a quickening of my own vitality. I hope for a few years to assist in her training.
Did I mention that Louis probably killed himself? Yes, yes, in fact we will assume that is what happened.
My decision about Désirée’s future in no way alters my wish that she find a suitably important husband as soon as possible. Mont Nuages needs this connection. Naturally, as we discussed before you left, the man must be an Englishman. A prince or duke would be preferable, but I might be persuaded to accept a lesser rank as long as the bloodlines are impeccable and the association guaranteed to be invaluable to Mont Nuages.
I have decided to make the journey to England myself. I will arrive within a few weeks. This will be in time for me to give my blessing on Désirée’s intended—and to make sure he understands what is expected of him as a future ruler’s consort.
The letter was formally signed. “No endearment?” Jean-Marc murmured, and smiled cynically. His father had never uttered an endearment to his only son.
Almost at once, triumph overcame resentment. He had frequently tried, unsuccessfully, to make his father see Désirée’s potential. From this day forth the Prince would claim the idea as his own. Jean-Marc cared nothing for this as long as his half sister took the place to which he believed she would become well suited.
From the bedchamber, the Smiles sisters’ voices continued to rise and fall in quiet conversation. He folded the letter, went to his desk and unlocked a drawer. At the back there was a panel that fell away when pressure was applied just so. He hid the envelope in the compartment behind, then closed it carefully away.
Returning to the chaise, he slumped down with his head on the back. Exhaustion dulled even his uneasiness. He would not leave Meg alone in this house or anywhere else—not without someone he trusted to watch over her. Meanwhile, he would wait for reports on the search for Ila.
Abruptly, he sat up. His father’s letter had done more than set him free of any responsibility to give his future to Mont Nuages. Now there were less reasons to hold back from marrying Meg. Once he found the right moment, he could tell her that her inferior social status didn’t have to matter anymore.
34
“He wants me to be his mistress.” Meg pressed her lips together and watched her sister’s face lose all color.
“How could you be so foolish?” Sibyl said. “How could you consider throwing away everything we’ve believed in to gain some intrigue of the flesh that will last only as long as it takes the Count to grow bored and move on to another?”
Meg ignored what she didn’t want to think about. “The Count wishes us to live in Windsor, I think. You will be with me, dear Sibyl, and we shall not have to concern ourselves with how we can live.”
Sibyl’s pelisse was a deep green with satin frog closures. A pretty satin bonnet of the same green sported two tufts of shiny peacock feathers and set off her blond hair beautifully. She roamed the bedchamber apparently without knowing what she did.
“Think of it, Sibyl. Never another care for the necessities of life.”
“And you would sell your body and soul for that!” Sibyl’s voice rose as Meg had never heard it rise before. “You would forget everything Papa taught us, everything we grew to value as principles by which we would live? Go against your honest heart to chase the glamour of being with such a man? Shame, Meg, shame. It shall not come to pass.”
Shaken by Sibyl’s outburst, Meg said, “He says we should marry, but I don’t think that would be right.”
Sun penetrated the windows and cast shafts of warm light across the room.
“He is beneath contempt, a heartless manipulator,” Sibyl said. “How can you believe a count would marry a minister’s orphan, an orphan with absolutely no fortune? These people marry only for gain. What could he gain from you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Meg said. She needed to be alone, to seek the peace she knew she could induce.
“There are matters we must talk about. What is this he told me about Reverend Baggs? That poor man is frequently annoying, but he is not a monster capable of criminal doings.”
“I’m afraid it may be true,” Meg said. She shifted awkwardly and hung her feet over the side of the bed. “He was seen, at least I can only think it was him. He was described, and if he did take Lady Upworth, then there is something most strange going on. M. Verbeux should be in his bed—he was attacked and badly hurt last night—but I understand he has joined a search party to try to find Her Ladyship. Apparently they are friends. So many things I knew nothing about.”
“M. Verbeux attacked?” Sibyl stopped pacing and stood before her. “I suppose you will tell me next that Reverend Baggs did that also. What are you trying to do?” she asked while Meg gathered her clothing about her.
“I can’t be still any longer. You are more my concern than any of these matters—disturbing as they are. Don’t you intend to tell me about William’s latest visit?”
“How do you know about that? Who told you?”
“Lady Upworth herself. Late last evening, probably not long before she left this house again for some reason and fell into evil hands.”
Spreading her skirts and sitting, straight-backed and in a stiff manner quite unlike herself, Sibyl didn’t look at Meg. “That is what I want to talk to you about. I have had a change of mind. I have failed to see William for what he really is. He is a gentleman, and a very kind one. And he loves me. There.”
Meg took a deep breath and slid to the floor. She went immediately to Sibyl’s side. “He has not changed. You speak of my being…You are the one who is deluded. Our second cousin isn’t a nice man. You should have nothing to do with him.”
“You must not speak of him like that again. We are to be married, and soon.”
“Oh, Sibyl.” Her sister had always been transparent. “Because you think that would be a way to save me from what you consider wrong? You would submit to such a horror for me? No. No, I would not let you. Surely you know that.”
A door closed elsewhere in the apartments, and a man’s solid footsteps approached. “May I come in, ladies?” Jean-Marc asked.
“Yes,” Sibyl said at once.
“You want him here because you think you can make things move quickly and get your own way?” Meg said softly. “Say nothing to him, please.”
Jean-Marc entered, smiling and rubbing his hands in a jovial manner. “You two are so close. I wish Désirée had a sister.”
Meg couldn’t take her eyes from him. Her need for him stole her breath.
“I am to be married,” Sibyl said. “To Mr. William Godly-Smythe. The wedding will be soon, just as soon as can be arranged.”
“Ah.” Jean-Marc nodded and stopped rubbing his hands. “Godly-Smythe.”
“No.” Meg felt self-conscious in nightclothes that were not even her own. “You will not, do you understand? You don’t like him. In fact, you hate him.”
Sibyl swallowed, and her eyes filled with tears. “I thought we understood that matters of the heart were private. You have told me so.”
Jean-Marc picked up a chair and placed it close to Sibyl’s. “Sit down, Meg. You must stay off your feet. And before you argue, I know you aren’t an invalid.” He perched himself on the edge of the bed. “In response to a message from me, Latimer More at Number Seven says Reverend Baggs didn’t sleep in his bed last night. In fact, Mr. More returned home quite late and saw the Reverend leaving the house. He is sure he didn’t return.”
“Was he wearing his hat?” Meg asked.
“Yes, he was. When Mr. More went into the house, Mr. Godly-Smythe was in the fo
yer and seemed disconcerted to see—or perhaps to be seen—by someone.”
“Or so Latimer concluded,” Sibyl said. “He can’t know for certain.”
Jean-Marc watched Sibyl Smiles with interest. Again, he noted that she wasn’t herself. The determined set of her features, the bright light in her eyes—not at all typical.
“Dangerous things have already happened,” she told him. “And now Meg has been assaulted, and M. Verbeux, and poor Lady Upworth has been stolen away. And you believe Reverend Baggs could have done all these things?”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Meg said, and he allowed her to speak for him. “But Baggsy was near the Burlington Arcade, remember? And in Bond Street.”
“He has said he’s followed you because he and William have been concerned about us.” Sibyl brought her fists down on the arms of her chair. “Did you see him take Lady Upworth away? With your own eyes?”
Jean-Marc said, “An observant girl saw him—or someone who sounds too like him to be anyone else we are aware of. But I don’t fault your need for more proof. In fact I’ve had similar doubts myself and I’ve sent Pierre to Mount Street—to the bakery owned by the child’s parents—to ask if Betty can return to us.”
“What haven’t you told us, Jean-Marc?”
Meg’s use of his first name caused Sibyl to hold on to her chair this time.
For himself, rather than annoyance, he experienced pleasure and he smiled at her. “I have told you what you need to know,” he said. She might protest, but she was growing closer and closer to him just the same.
“Not good enough,” she said, as if she was unaware of her mistake. “I’ll rephrase the question. Do you think there is one force at work here, or two? And who is supposed to be the victim—or perhaps the one intended to be frightened into doing or not doing something? I don’t believe I am. How could I be?”
“You couldn’t.” But there was information that would be dangerous for her to know. He stood up. “I ask you to leave these matters in hands capable of dealing with them. I have a man keeping watch outside these apartments. Please make yourselves comfortable here.”
All Smiles Page 38