“Speaking of‘pestering ways’ you owe me a game of piquet. How about now?”
“I don’t think I could begin to concentrate…”
“All the better. I will get the cards.” Perry hurried out of the room.
Dear Perry! She was going to miss him when he returned to London at the end of the week.
Perry was right. Not everyone had dissociated themselves from her. That very afternoon flowers arrived from the Bramwells, and Danforth called with two other friends of the Viscount as a show of support for the troubled Viscountess. And by evening the Marquis joined her for supper to discuss the possibilities of a dinner party in the near future. When she protested that no one would come, he declared that society would not dare refuse his invitation. Although Nicole was not necessarily comforted by this, she voiced no further objections.
It was at this juncture in Nicole’s affairs that Madame Lafitte returned. Amidst the excited clamor of ringing doorbells and running servants there was a familiar voice claiming, “C’est barbare.”
Nicole almost shouted, “Darling Fifi,” and flung herself into her arms.
“What I suffered to come to you would make a strong man weep. But enfin, I am here.”
Madame Lafitte did not question Nicole but made small talk while she observed her former charge. Nicole talked gaily enough and laughed at the little jokes which passed between them; however, the pale face and haunted eyes told a different story. Finally she asked, “Ma chère, how may I help you?”
That did it. The barrier was down. The tears flowed as the story of the Wexfords’ ball tumbled out, an incoherent jumble of characters and scenes unfamiliar to Madame Lafitte.
“But this Von Hoffman woman, Nicole, was it not settled with her some weeks ago?” Madame Lafitte queried.
“She is still Valentin’s mistress!”
“Still? Nicole, are you sure?”
“Sure? I have such assurance that it is breaking my heart.”
“Ma pauvre enfant,” Lafitte sympathized. “Tell -me, what is this assurance you have?”
Nicole hesitated, searching for words to relay what seemed to her an indelicate disclosure. “Valentin… on our wedding night… he… he called for her.”
Madame Lafitte looked shocked. “You mean the Viscount, he sent for her on your wedding night?” Her voice was hushed with incredulity.
“No, no! Of course not.”
Madame Lafitte relaxed. “Eh bien. But I do not understand? What do you mean he called for her?”
“In his sleep, after… oh, you know…”
“And this is what makes you so sure Tessa Von Hoffman is his mistress still?”
“Not only that! There is more, much more! Did that woman not come to the Hotel Belmontaine before the wedding?”
“Oui, and Lady Eleanore…”
“And Lady Eleanore as usual took charge!”
“But that was the right thing for her to do, I am sure.”
“Well, I am not so sure. No! Valentin’s mama has treated me all along as if I were an incompetent nobody…” Suddenly Nicole was remembering all her grievances against the Harcourt family. The accumulated injuries both real and imagined, began to pour forth. “She made me feel unworthy of the Ardsmore name. And Cecily never thought I was good enough for the Viscount. You know that.”
“That may be true, Nicole…”
“How can you side with them?” Nicole demanded hotly.
“Ma chère Nicole, I do not take sides with them. We do not even discuss the Harcourts.” The woman tried to soothe the distraught girl.
“Oh, yes, we do! I realize it all now. That is exactly what we are discussing. I never should have married Valentin. The Harcourts hated my mother and ruined her life, and now they are ruining mine.”
“Nicole, you must not say these things. It is too late for such charges.”
“You do not know the final insult in this whole foolish charade, Fifi, do you?”
Lafitte was not sure she wanted to hear the rest, but Nicole plunged ahead anyway.
“My husband left me on our honeymoon and went straight to the arms of Tessa Von Hoffman.” Her outrage reached its peak. “He left me and made me vulnerable to the maneuvers of that unscrupulous woman! And now the whole world blames me. Oh, it is so unfair! It is insupportable! Whatever am I to do?” Nicole sobbed on Madame Lafitte’s shoulder.
“Hush, hush, child, you will make yourself ill. We must think… oui?” Surely there was an answer to this puzzle. But what? The girl was desperately in love with the Viscount, and it seemed to Lafitte that he was far from indifferent to his bride. Yet these two strong-willed individuals were destroying their chance for happiness. Ah, love, thy guises cause such pain to those who wear the mask.
Chapter X
Fortunately for the pining and unhappy Nicole, the Marquis came up with the right diversion for her—a night at the ballet. A love of the ballet had been instilled in Nicole since early childhood. In her youth Sylvie Harcourt had been a member of the corps de ballet, and because of her Nicole had received more than the average young lady’s training in the dance. It was considered necessary that a girl of gentle breeding acquit herself well in the various country dances and waltzes of her day. But anything beyond that was uncalled for and unthinkable. Secretly, Nicole had nurtured a yearning to perform on the stage as her mother once had done.
She vividly remembered her mother’s tutelage in the art of the ballet. An empty room at the back of their house had been turned into a dance studio where her mother continued to practice faithfully every morning at the barre and train her young daughter in the rigors and intricacies of the dance.
Looking back on it now, Nicole realized that when Sylvie Harcourt practiced her art, the intervening years of her marriage slipped away and she was once again the beautiful ingénue of the Opéra de Paris that claimed the patronage of kings. Striking various poses and attitudes, Sylvie had floated across the room executing intricate dance patterns which she had performed. Eventually she would turn to Nicole and instruct her in the five basic positions essential to the dance. Gaily she would chatter about her career and the courtship of Rupert Harcourt while Nicole worked diligently at the barre. When Nicole was ready, Sylvie would sit contentedly while her daughter performed for her, and a faraway look would creep into her eyes as she would recall her own youth. The spell would be abruptly broken the moment Nicole made a mistake and the recriminations would start. The Harcourt blood would prevent Nicole from ever attaining the true spontaneity of a dancer, her mother would charge with dismay.
Desperately wanting to please her mother, Nicole would steal back into the room and practice long hours hoping to undo her mother’s disfavor and prove her wrong about her skill as a dancer. Nevertheless, this period in her life was short-lived, for she was soon sent to the convent school and the years passed quickly. Nicole was a young woman when her mother died, and she always regretted never having been able to win her approval.
Naturally, when the Marquis suggested an evening at the ballet, Nicole accepted the invitation with alacrity.
The fiasco at the Wexfords’ ball was the last time she had mingled in society, and Nicole looked forward to the evening despite some apprehension. Her gown for the affair was a dark blue silk in the high-waisted Empire style. The hem, sleeves, and neckline were embroidered with brilliants and tiny seed pearls, and she wore a matching headress. Elbow-length white satin gloves and a dainty painted fan completed her outfit.
As the Marquis slipped a blue silk cape about her shoulders, he complimented her, “As always, you are magnifique.”
“Do you think I shall pass inspection?”
“But of course, my child, do not fret. We shall come around.” He patted her arm reassuringly. There was a definite twinkle in his eyes. Nicole was certain he looked forward to the confrontation, and his attitude gave her confidence.
As Nicole stepped into the foyer of the theater on the Marquis’s arm, a number of interested faces fo
cused on their arrival. With a pounding heart, she walked slowly through the crowd of people with her head held high. Jeweled heads turned speculatively in their direction. Some stared rudely while others smiled encouragingly and greeted them. There were noisy whispers and some friendly nods. Qearly it was a mixed victory. She was not going to be cut—certainly not in the company of the Marquis. However, her reception was a cautious one. A distinct formality cloaked most of their polite exchanges as they wended their way toward the grand staircase.
“Monsieur le Marquis!” A loud voice arrested them midway up the staircase.
The Marquis barely turned his head to acknowledge the man who called. “Sir.” He nodded curtly and continued to escort Nicole toward their box.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” Lord Crawley said as he followed closely on their heels.
“What are you doing here, Crawley? I thought by now you would have fleeced enough pockets at the tables to return to England,” the Marquis spoke contemptuously.
Crawley laughed, “Don’t be such a quarrelsome old devil, Maurice. Will you not introduce me to your charming companion?”
“Damned if I will. I never liked you and neither do any of the Harcourt family!” With that, the Marquis steered Nicole into their box.
Nicole’s interest was aroused. This was the man Valentin had wounded in the duel, and she longed to question the Marquis, but his set profile discouraged any inquiry about Lord Crawley.
When the curtain rose, the performers captured her attention completely and she forgot all about Lord Crawley. Seeming to ignore the law of gravity, the dancers glided and spun across the floor in fairylike motions. The beauty of their movements during the pas de deux surpassed her expectations. Blissfully transported by the performers’ grace and charm, Nicole sat spellbound, overwhelmed by a strong desire to be a part of this enchanting beauty. To experience and share in the dancers’ magical world would be sheer delight. Her mother must have felt this need and grievously missed performing in those last years with her father. A sharp pain of regret for her mother’s lost world smote Nicole’s heart. How deeply Sylvie must have loved Rupert Harcourt to give up such joy. Surely she had not married him just for position and money, as the cruel Harcourt family insinuated. Yet their love had failed and Nicole could not forget her mother’s bitter charges against Rupert and his family.
The applause at the end of the first act abruptly drew Nicole back to the present. The Marquis asked her if she were enjoying the ballet, and she pleased him with her enthusiastic praise.
During the intermission several acquaintances joined them in their box including Gordon Danforth who offered to escort Nicole to the refreshment salon. She accepted graciously seeing it as an opportunity to question him on a matter she had been wondering about.
“My dear Mr. Danforth, I have been hoping to ask you about Mademoiselle Lumière.” She noted the hot color that flushed his cheeks as he replied. “I have not had the pleasure of seeing her for several days, Lady Ardsmore.”
“You must not think me forward, sir, but I could not help noticing the easy sympathy that seemed to grow between the two of you at our Christmas party.”
“Not at all, my lady. Mademoiselle Lumière and I have become… good friends.”
“Geneviève is the best of people, Mr. Danforth. Her friendship is to be greatly valued.”
“I am very much aware of the lady’s fine qualities…”
“Of course. You must forgive me if I sound critical. I am so very fond of Geneviève.”
“I understand, and I share your concern for Gene… Mademoiselle Lumière. You see I… Mademoiselle Lumière… that is…” Gordon Danforth was stammering uncomfortably when he was interrupted.
“So Gordon, I see you have the good fortune of knowing the Viscountess. Would you be so kind as to introduce us?” Lord Crawley had come up behind them. Danforth scowled but made the unavoidable introductions.
“My dear Lady Ardsmore, if you only knew how desirous I have been of making your acquaintance,” Lord Crawley murmured silkily.
“How kind, my lord, but I cannot imagine why you should particularly wish my acquaintance.” She knew she should not encourage his attention, but the flicker of danger she felt in his presence was a temptation to her. Nicole studied the heavy features of Lord Crawley’s face trying to read the character of the man who was her husband’s enemy. Despite a certain predatory manner, there was an attractiveness about his swarthy skin and dark eyes.
“Perhaps you will let me tell you sometime.” He was deliberately suggesting something, she felt sure.
“Perhaps I shall,” she replied provocatively.
Danforth moved to end the interview by asking pointedly, “Shall we continue to the refreshment salon, Lady Ardsmore?”
But not to be outmaneuvered, Crawley intervened. “It is such a crush in there. I am sure the Viscountess would prefer to wait out here while you secure her refreshment. I will be only too glad to look after her.”
Before Danforth could reply, Nicole responded, “Would you be so kind, Gordon?” It was the first time she had ever used his first name. The demands of courtesy left Danforth no recourse, so he bowed stiffly and withdrew.
“Are you enjoying the ballet, Lady Ardsmore?”
“Very much, I find their technical skill amazing.”
“I take it you have a knowledge of the dance?”
Nicole hesitated. Was this a sly attempt at a slur, or was he genuinely interested? She decided to proceed on the latter assumption for the present. “Yes, it is one of my favorite art forms.”
“It is also one of mine,” he smiled broadly. “Do you come to the theater often?”
“This is my first time here, but I hope to see this company in performance again soon. They dance beautifully.”
“Indeed they do. I am immensely pleased that you appreciate their excellence.”
“Why would that be, Lord Crawley?”
“I am a patron of this troupe, and it is gratifying to find them appreciated by so lovely a lady.”
She smiled, accepting the compliment without demur. “It is so good of you to support them. I understand they are fairly new in Paris.”
He had managed to capture her interest at last. “This year is their début and being a young company, they are in need of all the backing they can receive. Right now they are having quite a struggle establishing themselves.”
“I certainly hope they are able to continue to bring pleasure to so many,” Nicole added thoughtfully.
“Including yourself, I trust.”
“Why yes.” Nicole stiffened slightly, sensing that he was trying to lead her to some point.
“I wonder,” he hesitated a moment. “Would I be too bold in suggesting that you yourself might be interested in becoming a patron?”
“Me? A patron? This is rather sudden, my lord; I have never considered myself in such a role.”
“If the idea were appealing to you, I could arrange for you to meet the director and his artists,” he suggested warily.
Nicole felt herself tempted. “That would be very exciting. But you must give me time to think it over.”
“Naturally.”
“Excuse me,” Danforth appeared with the refreshments. “I believe it is time I was returning Lady Ardsmore to the Marquis.”
“Why yes, the intermission must be nearly over. So nice to meet you, my lord. I will think over your suggestion.”
“You are too kind, dear lady. Until we meet again.” Lord Crawley caught Danforth’s eye and smiled before turning smartly on his heel and departing.
Danforth continued to stare after the gentleman’s retreating figure.
“He seems a congenial man. Why do the Harcourts detest him so much?”
“That is not for me to discuss, my lady,” Danforth said at his most formal. “But believe me, the Viscount would not wish you to become friendly with Crawley.”
“Oh, really?” She spoke curtly and turned from him thinking s
he might enjoy encouraging a man the Viscount held in such contempt.
Danforth grasped her hand and said urgently, “Nicole… I may call you Nicole, mayn’t I?” She nodded. “Once before I pledged my loyalty to you. Will you let me speak as a friend?”
“No, I would rather you did not!” Nicole pleaded and tried to withdraw her hand; however, he held it more firmly.
“Then may I offer one word of advice?”
“It seems I am obliged to listen since you insist.”
“I am afraid I must, Nicole! Lord Crawley is a bad companion for anyone—especially the Harcourts and those who number themselves among Valentin’s friends.”
“That may be, but I consider myself an exception. I personally have no reason to reject Lord Crawley’s friendship. You must let me lead my own life, Gordon. That was understood by the Viscount when he… left me.”
“Certainly he did not mean for you to ruin your life!” he retorted in exasperation.
Stunned, Nicole stared at him. Then she laughed, “Oh, come sir, you are much too melodramatic. Now, do let us hurry or I shall miss the opening of the second act.”
Reluctantly Danforth followed her back to the Marquis’s box. Before taking his leave, he mentioned that business compelled him to travel to England for a brief time. However, he hoped to see her within a fortnight.
Rather absentmindedly she attended to the second half of the ballet. Danforth’s unexpected departure surprised her since she had hoped to question him further about his courtship of Geneviève. He was about to confide something to her when Lord Crawley had intruded upon them during intermission. And Lord Crawley? He had surprised her too. Could he possibly be the villain everyone depicted? In the name of loyalty she should have nothing to do with him, considering that the original cause of that duel was Crawley’s insult to her mother. Perry had taken him up on it, and Valentin had finished it, yet she was sure there was more than that insult causing the hatred between the Harcourts and Crawley. If only Perry were still in town, she could ask him, but he was not, and she was curious about Lord Crawley. Besides he had promised to introduce her to the dancers, and she wanted to meet them. What harm could there be in that?
Sweet Bravado Page 12