Nicole’s lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears. All the things she most feared were falling from his lips, but her stiff pride refused to allow her to protest.
“Damn you, don’t cry about it,” he hissed. “These are your own wishes, aren’t they?” He paused. “Well, aren’t they?”
“Yes, yes! I can’t wait until you are out of my life for good!” How could she be saying these things? What perversity drove her?
“That can be easily arranged,” he drawled and sprang into the waiting curricle. Wielding his whip to the horses, they leapt and plunged ahead spraying stones and gravel as they gathered speed and carried him out of her life.
She watched thunderstruck until Pierre, who had been hovering nearby, placed an envelope into her hand saying, “From his lordship, my lady.”
In a daze Nicole made her way to her room where she read a list of instructions from the Viscount. The last was the most devastating—he would not interfere in her life as long as she remained discreet. Oh God, what had she done? Flinging herself across the bed, she cried until she slept as in a nightmare. Visions of Valentin as he scorned her haunted her tortured sleep.
She awoke to a household buzzing with the fact that his lordship had departed leaving his wife behind. She refused to leave her room, hoping against hope for the return of her bridegroom, but he did not come.
When Nicole finally left her room, it was under the surreptitious surveillance of the servants who watched the girl wander aimlessly about the silent chateau.
In the back rooms of the villa rumors were rife about the departed bridegroom and his forsaken bride. Snatches of past conversation were repeated, exaggerated and expanded during the course of the retelling. The Viscount’s sudden departure; Nicole’s weeping into the night; her silence for over twenty-four hours; no word from him; no action from her. What could it mean? But the bride remained oblivious to their speculations.
Late the next afternoon, Nicole wandered into the museum room. The tirades of recrimination and self-pity which had consumed her were now over, leaving her in a state of numbed apathy. There was only a dull insistent ache around her heart. Absentmindedly she stared at Uncle Maurice’s treasures. Lifting one object after another and viewing them with unseeing eyes, she let them slip through her fingers. Silent tears began to course down her face as she retrieved the broken mask from the trunk on the floor and remembered that happy playful moment with Valentin in this very room. This mask which had once hidden unnamed players’ faces and feelings could not provide her with the same anonymity. She must wear the face of grief before the mocking world. Her swollen red eyes stared back at her from a gilded mirror on the wall. There was no disguising what had happened to her.
If only she could call back those words and change the consequences of their last scene together. It was a scene that replayed itself cruelly over and over in her mind. His claim that he had never loved Tessa. His bewilderment at her reaction to his having spoken Tessa’s name. Perhaps she had made too much of it. But why had he tried to belittle her? Why hadn’t he made her go to Vienna with him? Did he really want to be free of her? She couldn’t think about it any more. She must escape her own plaguing thoughts.
Running out of the museum room along the corridor to the terrace doors, she flung them open and fled into the cold winter air. Heedlessly she raced toward the lake stopping abruptly to stare at its frozen banks. Even here memories assailed her.
“Oh Val,” she cried to the icy wind.
But she couldn’t go on like this, torturing herself. She must take hold of her shattered life. While the brisk breeze cut across her tear-stained face, causing her to catch her breath in deep gulps, she sighed and began to summon her courage. She wasn’t defeated yet. She would consult Uncle Maurice. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Perhaps a letter to Val? Determinedly she strode back to the chateau.
That very day Nicole wrote three notes and dispatched them by messenger to Paris. Anxiously she waited the replies. First came the reply from the Marquis expressing his concern and the desire to be of service. Next came Madame Lafitte’s assurance that she would join Nicole at the Marquis’s home as soon as possible. The last was a devastating response from Lady Eleanore castigating Nicole’s actions. Nicole immediately crushed it in her hand and flung it into the fire. All her resentment toward Lady Eleanore flared forth again.
A few days later Nicole arrived at the Hotel de Crécy where she was met by a grim Uncle Maurice. She had never seen the old gentleman look more severe or forbidding and there was no welcoming kiss of the hand or cheek as on previous occasions. He beckoned her into the drawing room rather curtly as a sense of panic seized her fading spirits. His first remarks did little to lessen her fears.
“Well, my dear, it seems you and Ardsmore are conturning the fine Harcourt traditions of scandalous behavior.”
Nicole shrugged, unable to meet his eyes.
“Would you like to tell me about it?” Maurice queried.
“There is nothing to tell.”
“That is not what the gossip mongers‘are whispering. The servant grapevine has already spread tales,” he added vehemently.
“I see,” she said stiffly.
“No, I don’t think you do.”
It had been wrong to come here. The Marquis took sides with the Harcourts and there would be no help from him. It had been a false step.
“I think you had better be prepared for the worst.”
“The worst?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean?”
Relentlessly the Marquis went on, “Before returning to Vienna, Ardsmore came to Paris to see Tessa Von Hoffman.”
“Oh.” She grew deathly pale and turned abruptly from the Marquis. “It was to be expected.” So there was to be no reconciliation. She would never forgive him for turning to Tessa. Never!
“I see. Then perhaps you are better prepared for the future you have carved out for yourself than I expected,” he asserted angrily.
Straightening her back in response to his outburst, Nicole turned to face him. “I ask nothing from anyone. I am quite capable of handling my own affairs. It was a mistake to come here and I shall leave at once.” She started toward the door, but his voice arrested her.
“Foolish child! Do you think that I too intend to desert you?” he shouted at her.
Nicole’s lips quivered, but she refused to give in to her emotions. Noticing her effort, Maurice softened. “Come here.” He opened his arms. “We shall plan the future together if you will accept the advice of an old man.”
Trembling with relief and exhaustion, Nicole flung herself into his arms. Minutes passed with neither speaking; however, the interlude of comfort was brief. Distant chimes rang and Nicole questioned, “Are you expecting company?”
He shook his head negatively just as his butler announced Lady Eleanore. She burst into the room, a dignified but determined figure.
“So, Maurice, you have chosen to support this malcontent!”
Maurice forced Nicole into a chair before addressing the dowager Viscountess. “Ma chère Eleanore, won’t you please be seated while I ring for some refreshments?”
“I do not want refreshments, Maurice! I want an explanation of this fiasco. I should have known this girl would cause a scandal and follow her mother’s example, and I want to know what she intends to do about this shocking breach of duty.” Lady Eleanore pointed a quivering finger at Nicole.
“It was your son who walked out on me! Perhaps you had best ask him.” Nicole rose hastily to defend herself.
“I have already received a communiqué from him informing me that I must take you to London with me.”
“You need not bother yourself. I have no intention of returning to London.”
“You what?”
“I am going to remain right here. After all, Paris is my home, and now that I am independently wealthy, there is no reason why I should go where I am not wanted.”
“If you… if you choos
e to remain here unescorted…”
“Uncle Maurice has graciously consented to be my chaperon. And Madame Lafitte will be returning quite soon from her sister’s.”
“Maurice, you are not going to support her in this… this act of defiance!”
Forced into the role of mediator, Maurice attempted to control the rising tide of emotions. “Eleanore, I think it best at present for Nicole to remain here.”
Both women began to speak at once.
“Nicole! Eleanore! Enough! This caterwauling will desist immediately!” he demanded frantically. They grew silent. “That is better. Now it is quite evident that you and Nicole are no better suited to live together in your present frame of minds than were Ardsmore and Nicole! This marriage happened too quickly.” He peered hopefully from one woman to the other. “Perhaps in time…” He saw the warring look on Nicole’s face and added, “But we shall have to wait and see, eh? In the meantime I shall acquaint Nicole with Parisian society.”
“But everyone will be talking about Valentin and me.”
“She is right,” Lady Eleanore agreed.
“Eleanore, you know better than anyone the time to hold your head highest is at the moment the heat is hottest. Let them gossip. What can they prove if the Harcourts close ranks? All anyone need know is that Ardsmore is completing his assignment for the Duke of Wellington in Vienna.”
“I still think she should return to London with me.”
“Well, I won’t!”
“Then I am washing my hands of you, my girl. Your mother took the same defiant attitude. It is a nightmare repeating itself.” She rose instantly. “Maurice, I pity you your burden.” She glared at Nicole. “But I accept your gallant offer to help the Harcourts out of this… this disastrous situation. As for you, Nicole, I hope in time you come to your senses.”
Maurice kept Nicole from replying with a beseeching look. “I shall escort you to the door, Eleanore.” He took her by the elbow and firmly closed the door behind them.
Eleanore stared up at him. “Did she tell you what went wrong?”
“No.”
“Oh, I could box both their ears.
“The damage is done. Now it must be repaired. I shall see to Nicole for the present.”
“I hope you… we do not regret this, Maurice,” Eleanore cried in an anguished whisper.
“Well, well… we must play for time, my dear. A reconciliation might be managed in the future. Let us take one day at a time.”
“Perhaps you are right, but I am most uneasy about the distance between them.”
“Think how lucky you are that it is happening on the Continent. When you are in London, it will be easier to pooh-pooh the rumors,” he chuckled.
“If only you are right.”
“When do you return to London?”
“Very soon.”
“Bien, I think it is best. If you are not here, there will be no need to explain why Nicole is not staying with you. She simply decided to wait in Paris for Ardsmore to complete his work in Vienna, eh?”
“Yes, his commission is up in a few months.”
“By then we will hope for a change.”
They had reached the entrance. “Au revoir, Eleanore. God speed.”
“Good-bye, Maurice, and God bless.” Briefly she clung to him as he kissed her cheek.
Upon returning to the drawing room, Maurice encountered a stormy Nicole.
“Did you pacify her?”
“Now, now, mon enfant. Did I not try to comfort you? Could I do less for a woman I have known for thirty years?” he grumbled.
“I am sorry, Uncle Maurice. It is just that everything has become so confusing.”
He laughed. “To say the least, my child. To say the least.”
She smiled tentatively and relaxed.
Chapter VIII
Lord Ardsmore arrived at his headquarters in Vienna one bitter winter night during a heavy snowstorm. His rooms overlooking the Danube were damp and sparsely furnished, doing little to relieve the gloomy thoughts filling his mind about life in general and women in particular.
In the. days following his arrival he threw himself into his work preparing for the Duke of Wellington to replace Lord Castlereagh at the Congress of Vienna. It was a difficult job requiring the arts of diplomacy as well as the social graces. The major negotiations of the Congress were conducted at balls and receptions and in secret committees rather than in formal sessions. The atmosphere of social gaiety masking the diplomatic intrigues in which the fate of nations was decided by an uneasy alliance of the Great Powers demanded constant attention from the Viscount. It afforded him little time for his own problems.
However, on returning to quarters one night he found a letter from Lady Eleanore that was all complaints about Nicole. The thoughts about his marriage which he had pushed to a corner of his mind came forth to plague him. Why hadn’t Nicole gone to London with his mother so he could have some peace of mind? The girl was being deliberately unpredictable and obstinate, making the breach between them worse than it was. She was a fool!
But he had washed his hands of her, hadn’t he? She could go to blazes and he was well rid of her. Or was he? Could he really push Nicole out of his life so easily? The memory of those violet eyes shimmering with unshed tears cut his heart to the core. Damn it all, he was in lovewith Nicole and she hated him! Hell what was the use of torturing himself? Nicole was in Paris and he was in Vienna. He would have to close the door on that problem for the time being.
Among those stationed with the Viscount in the Austrian capital were several of his comrades from his Peninsular campaigning. It was a seasoned corps from the best families of the English aristocracy that the Duke of Wellington had gathered about himself. They were a fine blend of hardy manhood and cultured breeding, and they addressed themselves to the duties of military diplomacy with a charm and skill that made them the envy of less polished contingents from other countries.
The Viscount spent whatever free time he had in the rooms of one or another of these gentlemen playing card games and enjoying the friendly raillery of his comrades. But cards no longer supplied the excitement they once did and now that money was not an urgency for him, he found the spice of gambling losing its savor. He was not sure this was an altogethef agreeable consequence of his sudden change in fortune.
An even less desirable change he began to perceive in himself was in his regard for the ladies. Vienna was overflowing with exotic lovelies from many nations, yet it was a rather detached view he took of the fairer sex lately, and many a fetching smile was rewarded by a distant gaze from the Viscount.
It was thoughts about this very change in himself that interrupted his card game in Major Ainsley’s rooms one night. The Viscount was losing steadily but could not rouse himself enough to really care, which made him wonder if the rewards of a beautiful wife and a ready purse were indeed so rewarding after all. God keep him from turning into a sober figure of propriety! He laughed aloud at the absurdity of such a thought.
“Well, Ardsmore, it’s a deuced queer sort who laughs when his blunt is spent on hands such as you have held this evening,” Major Ainsley commented with a note of disapproval tinging his words.
“It’s a strange circumstance, I’ll agree, Ainsley. But it was not exactly the turn of the cards that stirred my humor,” the Viscount replied lazily.
“And it was not the wine, I’ll wager. This Rhenish will do when there is nothing else, but it cannot compare with a hearty claret or Burgundy if you ask me,” interjected Captain Wentworth.
“And who asked you?” Ainsley jeered good-naturedly. “What I want is the Viscount’s explanation for that cursed laugh that rattled my play just moments ago. Come, now, Ardsmore, out with it. The Congress taking its toll of the old brain box, eh?”
“I must admit I would rather fight my wars on a battle field than in the ballroom, but it’s not the Congress that piqued my fancy just now,” Valentin replied.
Andrew Van Stratton, a new memb
er of the Duke’s staff, took up the discussion. “Well, if it’s not old Hookey and the Congress, then it must be a female. Nothing like the fairer sex for cutting up a man’s peace. Who is it these days, old man?”
Ainsley, noting the sudden dark look on the Viscount’s face, sought to cover Van Stratton’s blunder. “Put a damper on it will you, Andy. Don’t you know his lordship is a respectably married man these days? Hear that wife of yours is a real beauty, Ardsmore.”
If anything, the Viscount’s face grew darker, and there was a sudden tension in the air. No one spoke, fearing to add to the offense—whatever it was. Realizing his ill humor was spoiling the game, the Viscount relaxed and spoke jestingly. “Beauty though my wife may be, she will’ never cast the cloak of respectability over these shoulders. God prevent it until I am dead and buried.”
“Here, here!” shouted Wentworth.
The others quickly took up the cry and turned to their cards with a sigh of relief. Their good friend had been acting deuced queer lately.
The time was passing with equal strain for the new Viscountess. As she sat alone before a dying fire one evening, Nicole was suddenly startled by a tall blond figure standing in the doorway.
“Val!” she cried jumping to her feet only to realize her mistake.
“Sorry to have startled you like that, Nicole.” Perry hesitated, uncertain of his welcome.
“Just for a moment I thought… well never mind…” stammered. “Do come in. I am so glad to see you.” Perry came forward and clasped her hand in his. “Come sit beside me and tell me what you have been doing osince the…wedding.” Embarrassed, she lowered her gaze from his.
“Gee, Nicole,” he sympathized. “I don’t know what has got into that numbskull of a brother…”
“Perry, please,” she pleaded tightening her grasp on his fingers. “Let’s not talk about it. No serious discussions right now.”
“As you wish,” he smiled reassuringly. An awkward silence reigned briefly until Perry jumped to his feet and reached for the bell cord announcing, “Let’s get one of those lazy servants to bring us a bottle of Burgundy. If you were a man, Nicole, I would suggest our getting foxed together.”
Sweet Bravado Page 9